Revelations (11 page)

he said as an elderly woman walking a poodle crossed the street and shot a puzzled look in their direction. “We don’t want the police involved.”

Dylan suddenly lunged toward them, clawing through the bars and gargling in a language they didn’t understand.

Schuyler just barely ducked his reach. “We’ve got to get to him before he uses the glom on us again.”

Bliss immediately transformed into the golden lioness. She was a sight to behold—a stalking, ruthless creature. She leaped over the gate and padded up to Dylan, who raged at her.
“Devil spawn! TRAITOR!”
he hissed.

Bliss cornered him against the iron bars and bared her teeth. She reared back on her hind legs and shoved him with her giant golden paws. Dylan cringed and whimpered, cowering with his hands over his head.

“She’s got him!” Oliver yelled, motioning to Schuyler to move toward Bliss’s right flank.

Schuyler ran to Bliss’s side. She looked Dylan in the eyes. Saw the rage, anger, and confusion there. She wavered. This was no monster. This was a wounded animal.

But Oliver had no qualms. “SCHUYLER! DO IT! NOW!”

“Dormi!”
she ordered, and waved her hand in front of Dylan’s face.

Dylan slumped and fell to the ground. Bliss turned back into herself and knelt by his side.

“He’ll sleep until he is commanded to wake up,” Schuyler told them.

Oliver knelt beside Bliss, and they were able to make a makeshift straitjacket from Dylan’s sweater. The lines on his face slowly smoothed away. Asleep, he looked docile and peaceful.

“We’ve got to turn him over to the Committee; this has gone on long enough,” Oliver said. “I know you don’t want to, Bliss, but it’s best for him. Maybe they can help him.”

“They don’t
help
Silver Bloods—they destroy them. You know that,” Bliss said bitterly.

“But maybe…”

“I’ll take him to my father,” Bliss decided. “I might be able to plead his case with Forsyth. Get him to show Dylan some mercy because he’s my friend. He’ll know what to do.”

Schuyler nodded. Forsyth should be able to deal with Dylan. Meanwhile, the Llewellyns’ Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. They bundled Dylan into the backseat and strapped him in next to Bliss.

“He’ll be okay,” Schuyler assured.

“Yeah,” Bliss said, even though she knew that none of them believed it anymore. The car pulled away, and she raised her hand in good-bye. Oliver returned the wave, while Schuyler simply looked stricken. Finally the car turned the corner and she couldn’t see them anymore.

When Bliss arrived at Penthouse des Reves, her family’s extravagant triplex apartment on the top of one of the most exclusive buildings on Park Avenue, BobiAnne was consulting with her astrologer in the “casual” sitting room. Bliss’s stepmother was a big-haired Texan socialite who was dripping in diamonds even in the early afternoon. Bliss’s half sister, Jordan, was doing homework on a nearby coffee table. The two of them looked up in surprise at Bliss’s entry.

“What on earth?” BobiAnne cried, leaping from her chair at the sight of her stepdaughter and the bound, unconscious boy.

“It’s Dylan,” Bliss said, as if that would explain everything. She was frightfully calm as she addressed her family. She had no idea how they would react at the sight of him, especially since he was so dirty. BobiAnne had a heart palpitation when someone forgot to use a coaster or left sweaty handprints on the Japanese wallpaper.

“The boy who disappeared,” Jordan whispered, her eyes round and frightened.

“Yes. There’s something wrong with him. He’s…not quite all there. I have to tell Dad.” Bliss confessed to everything—Dylan’s unexpected return, how she’d hid him in the Chelsea Hotel—and gave them the Cliff’s Notes version of his previous attacks. “But we’re all fine,” she assured. “Don’t worry about me. Help
him,”
she said, gently setting Dylan down on the nearest chaise longue.

“You did the right thing,” BobiAnne said, pressing Bliss to her chest and smothering her with her perfume. “He’ll be safe here with us.”

Twenty

Spring in New York was a mirage. The city turned from brutal winter to brutal summer with barely a gap in between. After the winter snows melted, there would be a few days of rain, and then the sun would shine mercilessly, turning the city into one big sauna.

Like her fellow residents, Schuyler prized what little spring they had. As she walked across Ninety-sixth Street with Bliss after school, she smiled when she noticed the first fragile buds of the season. However much her life had changed, she could still count on the tulips to blossom in Central Park.

She picked off a tiny yellow flower from a nearby bush and tucked it in her hair.

Duchesne was starting to unwind in its last few months before summer vacation. The seniors had all received their college acceptances, and teachers held half their classes in the outdoor courtyards.

Bliss told her that Dylan was being taken care of—and not in a bad way. Forsyth had been more than sympathetic to Dylan’s situation. The senator had told her there might still be hope for him, even if he had been corrupted, since it took a long time for a Blue Blood to turn into a Silver Blood. There might still be time to halt the process. Forsyth had put him in a place where he could be observed and rehabilitated.

“Basically, he’s in rehab,” Bliss explained as they walked past the familiar landmarks of the neighborhood, dodging a group of scowling Nightingale-Bamford girls in their blue-and-white uniforms. “You know how Charlie Bank and Honor Leslie had to go to Transitions last year? And everyone thought it was because of drugs?” Bliss asked, naming two Duchesne students who had disappeared from school for months at a time.

“Uh-huh.” Schuyler nodded.

“Well, they weren’t druggies. Their transformations were freaking them out. They were having delusions, they couldn’t separate the past from the present. They were attacking humans, violating the Code. So they were sent away to deal with it. Rehab’s a good cover, don’t you think? The humans think they’re there to dry out, which I guess is true in a way.”

It always amazed Schuyler how the vampires found a way to disguise their real lives by integrating into regular human society, but Bliss explained it was actually the other way around. “Apparently, the Mayo Clinic, Hazelden, and all those famous rehab centers were founded by Blue Bloods. They had to start catering to human problems when it became fashionable to go. You think he’ll be okay?” Bliss asked.

Schuyler didn’t want to give Bliss any false hope, but she thought it would be cruel to say otherwise. “I’m sure they’ll try their best.”

Bliss sighed. “Yeah.”

They made plans to go visit Dylan in a few days, and Schuyler said good-bye at Eighty-sixth to catch the Fifth Avenue bus.

All week she had forced thoughts of Mimi’s warning from her mind. Was Mimi telling the truth? Was she putting Jack in danger? She had wanted to ask Lawrence about it, but she had been too ashamed. What had her grandfather told her?
You must have noticed he
is drawn to you. Thank goodness you are not drawn to him. It would spell disaster to both of
you.

How could she tell her grandfather that he was wrong. That she did return Jack Force’s affections. That she was weak and pathetic when Lawrence believed she was so strong. She could not. She told herself she couldn’t bother him with such a silly thing as her love life anyway, while he was out there dealing with a problem as grave and serious as the possible destruction of the very essence of the Blue Bloods’ existence. She was starting to worry about Lawrence. There hadn’t been a message from him in days.

Her grandfather had been wary of using the normal means of communication, and once he’d arrived in Rio had relied exclusively on telepathy to get in touch and let her know everything was okay. So far he’d only complained about the weather (steamy) and the food (too spicy). He hadn’t addressed the problem of Corcovado, and Schuyler didn’t know if that was good or bad.

There had been no opportunity to ask Jack about his sister’s dire predictions either.

They had been unable to meet since the night of Dylan’s attack. Mimi, Schuyler knew, was taking up all of his free time.

When she arrived at the town house, Jack was in the living room, speaking to his father. Charles was in his bathrobe. The former leader of the Blue Bloods now spent his days in his study. He didn’t even look as if he had showered that day. Schuyler felt pity and annoyance. He had caused her so much heartache. She’d had to avoid everyone she loved because of him. She’d believed his threats, but lately it looked as though Charles was only a threat to himself. But then she realized if Charles had not dragged her to his home, maybe she and Jack would never have had the chance to find out just how much they truly liked each other.

“Hey.” Jack smiled. “You’re back early.”

“I made the bus this time,” she said, setting her school things down on a nearby table.

She still didn’t feel comfortable in their house, but on the other hand, she was tired of tiptoeing around the place as if she didn’t belong there.

“Hello, Schuyler,” Charles grunted.

“Charles,” she said coldly.

The former Regis tightened the belt on his robe and shuffled off to his den, leaving the two of them alone.

“Is she here?” Schuyler asked, looking around the opulent space that was the Forces’

living room. Decorated in lush, French-Victorian style, the room was closely packed with rare antiques, jaw-droppingly familiar museum-quality art, and sumptuous fabrics. Her senses told her that Mimi was not around the premises. But who knew.

“No. She’s at some sort of tasting,” he replied.

Schuyler sat next to him on a gilded velvet “kissing chair” dating to the sixteenth-century and so named because a couple had to sit side-by-side and facing each other. “Jack.”

She looked at his face. The face she loved so much. “I want to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” Jack said, stretching his legs out in front of him and loping his long arm over the edge of the chair so that his fingers rested lightly on her shoulders. She tingled at his slightest touch.

“Is it true that the bond between you and—”

“I don’t want to talk about the bond,” Jack said, cutting her off and withdrawing his arm. His face turned cold, and for a moment she saw a flash of his true nature, saw the dark angel that he was. The angel who had wrought destruction in Paradise, the one who would sound the trumpet to the Apocalypse when it came. His was the face of Abbadon, the enforcer, the hammer blow, the most dangerous soldier in the army of the Almighty.

“But I want to know—”

“Shh.” Jack turned to her and pressed a hand on her cheek. “Let’s not…”

“But Mimi…” Just as Schuyler said her name, she sensed a presence at the front doorway. Mimi was home, or just about to be. Quicker than a blink, or at maximum vampire speed, Schuyler left the living room and ran to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

When Mimi entered mere seconds later, carrying several shopping bags with her, she found Jack reading a book by himself.

Schuyler and Jack weren’t alone again that evening. The entire family gathered for their mandatory dinner a few hours later. Once a week, Trinity Burden, their mother, required that the children be home to join their parents for dinner. Schuyler had once dreamed of a nuclear family, of a life that included a loving mother, an attentive father, and siblings who would tease each other over the meat and potatoes.

Of course, the Forces were nothing like this.

Meals at home were served in the formal dining room, on a table so large and intimidating, each person was seated a good two feet away from the other. Each entree was served by a butler on a silver tray, and the menu never varied—it was always French, it was always rich and complicated, and it was always perfectly delicious. Yet Schuyler missed Hattie’s no-nonsense slapdash cooking, and longed for simple, unpretentious servings of macaroni-and-cheese or a pot roast that didn’t require a red-wine reduction and an accent to pronounce.

Conversation was stale or nonexistent. Charles continued to be lost in his own world, while Trinity tried to engage the twins in perfunctory chatter about their lives. Jack was courteous while Mimi was simply curt. At least someone other than Schuyler thought these dinners were a farce and a waste of time.

“So, Jack and I have an announcement,” Mimi said, when the dessert course arrived, a flaming peaches jubilee. “We’ve decided on the date of our bonding.”

Schuyler tried to compose her face but found she could not help staring at Jack, who looked as impassive as ever. Their bonding! So soon…

Mimi reached out to hold her brother’s hand in hers.

“It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Trinity asked, looking concerned. “You have a lot of time.”

Yes, Schuyler thought. Lots and lots of time. Possibly forever.

Charles coughed. “Remember that age is an illusion among us, Trinity. You are starting to think like a Red Blood. The sooner they bond, the stronger they will be. A toast is in order. To the twins.”

“To us!” Mimi crowed, clinking her glass against Jack’s. The crystal rang like a deep booming bell.

“To the twins,” Schuyler whispered. She sipped but found she could not swallow the wine in her glass.

Later that night as Schuyler dreamed, she received a message from Lawrence. The sending was easier in the dream state, he explained. It was not as shocking to the senses, and asleep her mind held no distractions. “Corcovado secure. All is well.”

Twenty-one

Hiring Lizbet Tilton was the best decision she could have made, Mimi thought, congratulating herself on her savvy. Lizbet ran a very tight ship, and in short order the venues were locked in on the requested dates, contracts drafted, budgets balanced, deposits made.

Earlier that afternoon Trinity and Mimi had gone over color schemes and menus with the caterer and the interior designer. Everything was operating like clockwork; although you’d think it was the doomsday clock, the way Jack was acting.

“Do you know what this is about?” he asked, meeting Mimi in Trinity’s sitting room the next evening.