Revelations (13 page)

“What do you mean?” Schuyler asked. “Blubbery?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just feel like love isn’t supposed to be so … angsty, you know? Like, if it works, it shouldn’t be so tortured.”

“Huh,” Schuyler said, wondering if she should change the station. It seemed traitorous to play a song that reminded her of another boy. “You are so unromantic.”

“Am not.”

“But you’ve never even been in love.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Schuyler was silent. In the past month they had performed the
Caerimonia
twice. She knew she should take other familiars—vampires were told to rotate their humans so as not to tax them—but she’d been able to go longer than she’d thought without a feeding. And she had resisted taking other humans, not quite sure that Oliver would approve.

But Schuyler didn’t want to think about their relationship—friendship—whatever it was. After Oliver’s passionate outburst at the Odeon, it hadn’t come up again. She wanted to diffuse the tension she was starting to feel in the car. “Bet you can’t even name one romantic movie you like,” she teased.

She felt smug when a few minutes went by and Oliver was still unable to name one romantic movie he could profess to enjoy.

“The Empire Strikes Back”
Oliver finally declared, tapping his horn at a Prius that wandered over the line.

“The Empire Strikes Back?
The Star Wars movie? That’s not romantic!” Schuyler huffed, fiddling with the air-conditioner controls.

“Au contraire, my dear, it’s very romantic. The last scene, you know, when they’re about to put Han in that freezing cryogenic chamber or whatever? Remember?”

Schuyler mmm-hmmmed.

“And Leia leans over the ledge and says, ‘I love you.’”

“That’s
cheesy,
not romantic,” Schuyler argued, although she did like that part.

“Let me explain. What’s romantic is what Han says back. Remember what he says to her? After she says ‘I love you’?”

Schuyler grinned. Maybe Oliver had a point. “Han says, ‘I know.’”

“Exactly.” Oliver tapped the wheel. “He doesn’t have to say anything so trite as ‘I love you.’ Because that’s already understood. And
that’s
romantic.”

For once, Schuyler had to admit he was right.

Twenty-three

When Bliss woke up from her nap, Oliver and Schuyler were snapping at each other in the front seat. “What’re you guys arguing about now?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing,” they chorused.

Bliss accepted their reticence without question. Those two always kept secrets from her, even when they didn’t mean to.

“Okay, I guess we can stop for lunch, then,” Schuyler finally said. Ah, so that was what it was about. Those two fought about everything. It had gotten worse since Oliver had become Schuyler’s familiar. They acted more like an old married couple than before. On the surface, at least, they pretended their friendship was exactly the same. Which was just fine with Bliss; she didn’t know if she could really stand any Schuyler-Ollie PDA.

“I’m just saying we’re not going to do Dylan any good by going hungry.” Oliver shrugged.

They pulled into a rest area, joining weary travelers at the vending machines and the food court.

Oliver observed that one of the novelties of growing up as city kids was that they were all addicted to suburban fast-food chains. While none of them would ever even consider going to a McDonald’s in Manhattan—those places were basically ad-hoc homeless shelters—once they were out of city limits, the rules changed, and no one cared to eat expensive panini sandwiches and precious organic green salads. Bring on the supersized meals.

“God, I feel sick,” Bliss said, sipping the last of her milk shake.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Oliver declared, crumpling the wrapper of his greasy hamburger and wiping his hands with several napkins.

“It’s always fun to eat this stuff. But afterward…” Schuyler agreed, even though she was still picking at the fries.

“Afterward you always feel like you’re going to hurl. Or that your cholesterol count just skyrocketed,” Bliss said, making a face.

It was quiet when they climbed back into the car and felt the soporific effects of their heavy meal. A half hour later, the GPS blared “EXIT ON THE RIGHT IN FIVE HUNDRED

METERS,” and Oliver followed the

signs up the ramp and down the road to a parking lot. They had arrived.

The rehabilitation center grounds were immaculate. It looked more like a five-star resort, where celebrities went to hide after a lost weekend, rather than a high-priced treatment facility for floundering vampires. They saw a group practicing tai chi on the lawn, several others performing yoga poses, and clusters of people sitting in the grass in a circle.

“Group therapy,” Bliss whispered as they made their way to the front door of the main building. “I asked Honor what it was like here, and she said there’s a lot of past-lives-regression therapy.”

They were greeted at the entrance by a slim, tanned woman in a white T-shirt and white pants. The effect was less clinical and more fashionable—like a New Age ashram.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked in a friendly manner.

“We’re here to visit a friend,” Bliss said, who had become the de facto spokesman for the trio.

“Name?”

“Dylan Ward.”

The counselor checked the computer and nodded. “Do you have permission from the senator to visit this patient?”

“I’m, uh, his daughter,” Bliss said, showing the woman her ID.

“Great. He’s in the north campus, in a private cottage. Follow the path out the door, you’ll see signs.” She handed them visitor stickers. “Visiting hours are until four. The café is in the main building. It’s International Day—I think it’s Vietnamese. You guys like pho?”

“We already ate,” Oliver said, and Bliss thought she sensed a hint of a smile in Oliver’s words. “But thanks.”

“It seems nice here,” Schuyler said as they walked through the greenery.

“The Committee does do a good job, I’ll give them that. Nothing but the best for the vamps.” Oliver nodded and put on a pair of dark sunglasses.

Bliss couldn’t believe how calm and organized everything was. This was where they put troubled Blue Bloods? Maybe she’d made a mistake in hiding Dylan for so long. Maybe they really could help him here. She began to feel less strained and more optimistic. Several patients waved to them as they passed.

Dylan’s room was one of the nicer cottages, with a white picket fence and rosebushes growing by the windows. A nurse was sitting in an anteroom.

“He’s sleeping. But let me see if he’ll take visitors,” she told them. She disappeared into the main room, and they could hear her talking in a soft, gentle voice to Dylan.

“He’s ready for you.” The nurse smiled and indicated that they were welcome to go inside.

Bliss exhaled and didn’t realize she was holding her breath all this time. Dylan certainly looked better. He was sitting up in bed, there was color in his cheeks, and he didn’t look as thin or haggard. His black hair had been cut so it didn’t fall in lank strands on his face, and he was cleanshaven. He looked almost like his old self, like the boy who played air guitar during chapel just to annoy the teachers.

“Dylan! Thank God!” she cried. She was happy to see him looking so much healthier.

He smiled at her pleasantly.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

Twenty-four

“T
he past can sometimes blind us from what is happening today,” the chief warden said to begin his lecture. “It is why we were in denial about the Silver Bloods’ existence for so long. Because our past had told us they were no longer a threat. Because the past had blinded us to their existence. We had forgotten what the early days in our history were like. We had forgotten about the Great War. About our enemies. We had become soft and contented.

Gorging on Red Blood and getting fat and lazy and ignorant.”

A fine thing to say when your waistcoat strained at the buttons, Schuyler thought. It was yet another Monday. Yet another Committee meeting. A tedious one too, since they wouldn’t be practicing
mutatio
today.

Sitting beside her, Bliss and Oliver looked just as bored as she felt. The visit to Transitions had been greatly disturbing to all of them, affecting Bliss the most. Schulyer didn’t know what they expected to see, but they certainly hadn’t expected to find Dylan’s memories and personality erased completely.

Sure, Dylan didn’t seem like he was about to knock them out with a mind-blow or start spouting off accusations about one of them being Satan’s minion, but he didn’t seem at all like himself either. It was as if he were a different person altogether. He was amiable, pleasant, and totally dull.

None of his doctors were around to answer any questions, and the nurse wouldn’t tell them anything except that Dylan, as far as she could tell, was “fine.” He was dutifully going to all the therapy sessions and making “progress.”

Schuyler knew Bliss blamed herself, but there was nothing they could do. None of them had any idea how to fix whatever had happened to Dylan. She had tried to console Bliss as much as she could. She knew how terrible she would feel if she had seen Jack that way. If he ever looked at her as if he didn’t know her at all. And yet, that was exactly what was going to happen once he was bonded to Mimi. He would forget about Schuyler completely, forget about what they meant to each other.

Schuyler tried to pay attention to what Warden Oelrich was saying. It was important information, but she had no patience for it right then. Seated right in front of her were the Force twins. She had watched them enter the room together, feeling resentful at the sight of Jack laughing at something his sister said.

Although, of course he had to pretend. The atmosphere at the town house was frenetic with bonding preparations. Different packages arrived every day, and many people came to call. Mimi’s bonding planner, Lizbet Tilton, had arrived with a whole crew of photographers, stylists, florists, and “aural-landscape artists” (her exact words for the DJ who was to take over after the orchestra signed off at two in the morning) for Mimi to approve.

Schuyler felt sick just listening to them talk about the event. Not only because the event in question would take Jack away from her forever, but because the way Mimi was acting, you’d think no one had ever been bonded before. The upcoming ceremony did have its advantages—Mimi was so busy that the petty thievery and malicious pranks had finally ceased.

Sometimes Schuyler missed Jack so much she felt a hollow ache in her belly that felt like it would never be filled. She wished he didn’t have to hide the way he felt about her. She had to remind herself that it was all an act, but sometimes his indifference seemed so real it was hard to console herself with memories of their private meetings. Sometimes it felt as if her memories were merely fantasies, especially when she saw him in the hallways at school, or when he barely acknowledged her presence in his own home…

Until another book was slipped under her door, a signal that it was safe for them to meet. The last one had been a slim book of poetry. John Donne. That night she had smiled and teased him about his old-fashioned taste. He had asked her what kind of poetry she preferred, and she told him.

Up by the lectern, Edmund Oelrich continued his lecture. “One of the tricks of the Croatan is to use illusion to manipulate its foes.

“You must not fall for the trick of the eye. You must use your internal sight to be able to see what is truly in front of you. Use the
animadverto
and your past memories to make a truly informed decision.”

He asked Mimi to hand out papers for that week’s reading assignment. Mimi glided around the room passing out the stapled sheets. When she got to Schuyler’s table she deliberately knocked all of Schuyler’s books to the floor.

“Oops!” she said disingenuously.

Schuyler picked up her books with a frown. She’d had enough of Mimi for all eternity.

She wondered how the other vampires put up with it. If she had to spend the rest of her lives dealing with that witch, she would gladly let the Silver Bloods take her.

She was still glowering as she skimmed the reading. Then her eyes widened. At the top of the page she read:
Vampire Bonds, A History.

Several members snickered out of titillation and embarrassment, and Schuyler found herself blushing. She noticed Oliver paging through the document with a thoughtful air, while Bliss was doodling in the margins.

The chief warden cleared his throat before addressing his audience again. “I wanted to talk today about vampire twins. At your age, there is a lot of interest in this topic, and I thought I would end this meeting on a more pleasant note. You are familiar with the bond.

Each of us has a twinned soul that was formed in our heavenly past. Through the centuries, we spend each cycle searching for our twin so that we may be bound to one another once again in a new lifetime.”

All the color drained from Schuyler’s face as she listened to the warden’s words.

“Sometimes it is hard to recognize our twinned spirit in a different physical shell. Or, as in some lonely cases, one’s twin has not been called up for the same cycle again and again, and thus becomes lost in time. There are stories of lovers who have looked for each other in vain throughout the ages, never finding their twin.”

Right in front of her, Mimi began to massage the back of Jack’s neck.

“However, these are very rare cases. Since there are only four hundred of us, it is not too difficult to find each other. This happy reunion usually results in a short courtship and a public presentation at the Four Hundred Ball. The bond must be renewed during each cycle.

Renewing the bond renews the spirit of life that flows in our veins. It is one of the ecclesiastic mysteries. But perhaps the bond is where all the legends about true love and romance in this world come from.

“The Red Bloods even have their own name for it: ‘soul mate.’ They’ve taken many of our traditions and practices for their own. Their wedding ceremony is directly derived from our vampire communion.