Revelations (18 page)

Mimi admired what the Brazilian Blue Bloods had done with their city, and reminded herself to invite them all to the Spring Gala. The families should really know each other better, she thought. So many of them lived so far away from each other now. Of course the heads of the various Committees would meet with the Coven’s Elders in New York every year, but otherwise they had almost no contact with each other.

She lay facedown on the towel and untied the straps to her bikini top.

A muscular pool boy approached, his dark skin and hair striking against his white swimsuit. “Caipirinha?”

“Sure.” Mimi pulled herself up on her elbows and didn’t bother to cover herself.

His nonchalant gaze—almost obnoxious really, the way he stared at her chest, excited her senses. She was always on a hunt for a new familiar, and when in Rio…

Thirty-four

As far as Bliss was concerned she could stay in Rio forever. All afternoon she’d wandered the city’s beautiful beaches, wearing a swimsuit she’d purchased at the hotel shop when the one she’d brought struck her as way too puritanical for this city.

They were staying at the fabulous Fasano Hotel on Ipanema, and although Bliss enjoyed sunning on the roof deck, she’d itched to walk the coast on her own. BobiAnne had asked her to take Jordan with her, and the sisters were having fun swimming in the ocean and people watching. Brazilians wore skimpy bikinis, no matter their shape or size; it was liberating and somewhat appalling at the same time. The American in Bliss believed grandmothers should not wear thongs.

Still, she was really starting to enjoy herself, relaxing in the sultry weather and forgetting they were in Rio for some fairly serious stuff. She’d overheard Forsyth talking to Nan Cutler, and it sounded as if Lawrence was in a real mess. Her parents didn’t say anything, but it was obvious they were unsettled and anxious. Forsyth kept snapping at every little thing, and even BobiAnne was on edge. Bliss wondered if Schuyler had any luck contacting him.

Bliss hadn’t been able to convince her family to bring Schuyler with them.

(“Absolutely not,” her father had said. “She is Charles’s ward and I do not think he will give permission.”) She’d done the next best thing and given Schuyler enough money from her personal account to secure a ticket. Schuyler was probably in the city already, but she was supposed to call Bliss when she got in, and so far Bliss hadn’t heard from her. She hoped Schuyler was all right. Rio wasn’t a place for young girls traveling alone.

She tried calling Dylan again, but there was no answer. The two of them had gotten into the habit of talking every night and checking in with each other during the day. She knew when he had yoga, when he had therapy, and what time he ate lunch. It bothered her he hadn’t returned any of her messages. Where was he?

She dialed the main number of the center and asked for his counselor.

“Dylan?” The therapist’s voice was cheerful. “He was checked out the other day.”

“Really?” This was news to Bliss. Dylan hadn’t even mentioned that he was eligible for release. “Do you know who picked him up?”

“Let’s see…” There was a sound of papers shuffling. “It says here he was discharged to Senator Llewellyn.”

Bliss felt uneasy. Obviously her father had failed to mention any of this to her. Maybe it was time to confront him about what she knew, but the thought of bringing it up with Forsyth made her stomach feel queasy. Dylan would call her when he got a chance, she was sure that he would. She would just have to wait. Next to her Jordan was huddled underneath an umbrella, covered with towels and layers of sunscreen. Bliss mocked her for it—taking out her unease over Dylan by insulting her sister.

“You don’t tan either,” Jordan retorted.

“Yeah, but I don’t care. I like to burn.”

“B, can I have a coco juice?” Jordan asked, pointing to a seller who was hawking the frosty wares.

“Sure.” Bliss rooted in her bag for her wallet, when everything suddenly went white.

She couldn’t see a thing. She was completely blind, even though her eyes were wide open. It was the most unnatural, disturbing feeling—almost as if
someone else
were seeing through her eyes. As if there were another person inside her head.

When her vision returned, she was shaking.

“What just happened?” she asked Jordan.

Jordan’s face was drained of color.

“Your eyes—they were blue.” Bliss had green eyes, as green as the emerald that glinted around her neck.

“You’re joking.” Bliss laughed.

Jordan looked like she was trying to decide something. Finally she spoke. “Listen, you have to believe that I didn’t have a choice, okay?” She grabbed Bliss’s arm.

“What are you talking about?” Bliss asked, totally confused.

Jordan just shook her head, and Bliss was shocked to see her stoic younger sister so close to tears.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Jordan sniffed.

Bliss embraced her. “Take it easy, kid.”

“Remember that you were truly like a sister to me.” Jordan whispered so softly that Bliss wondered if she’d really said it or if she was just hearing things.

“Whatever it is you’re worried about, everything’s going to be okay, okay?” Bliss said, hugging her sister tightly. “Nothing’s going to happen, I promise.”

Thirty-five

Oliver, how can I ever thank you,” Schuyler said, buckling her seat belt. She looked at the armed bodyguards. “Don’t you think you’ve overdone it on the muscle?”

He shrugged, “One can never be too careful.”

Schuyler nodded. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. We’re here for Lawrence, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you know the whole Conclave is here?” he asked. “I saw Warden Oelrich on my flight. And the Duponts and the Carondolets are in my hotel.”

“I know. Bliss told me Warden Cutler called an emergency session and brought them here. Have they found Lawrence?”

“That’s the thing. No one’s talking about Lawrence at all. They’re all getting ready for a big dinner at some Brazilian Blue Blood’s house tonight,” he said, as the car drove into the downtown proper, and the landscape became even more scenic: lush greenery, gorgeous beaches, and equally gorgeous people sunbathing upon them.

“Where are you staying?” Schuyler asked.

“The Fasano. The new Philippe Starck hotel. Bliss is there too. I would have gotten you your own room, but they didn’t have any more. Do you think you’ll be okay sharing with me?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, trying not to look uncomfortable. “Listen…about what happened the other night.”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” Oliver said lightly. “I mean, I was being a bit dramatic, wasn’t I? Him or me. Whatever.”

“So you didn’t mean it?” Schuyler asked hopefully.

“I don’t know. Let’s just…let’s just deal with Lawrence first and talk about it later. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Oliver was right. They didn’t have time to dwell on that now. They had to find Lawrence.

Her grandfather’s continued silence worried her. What if he had been trapped, or restrained, or worse? Had it been wise for him to come to Rio alone? Or to meet with Kingsley’s team? Kingsley who was now unreachable as well, according to Bliss. Schuyler still didn’t understand why Kingsley, who’d been shown to be a Silver Blood—

albeit reformed—had been allowed to come back as a Venator. Her grandfather wasn’t a gullible person, and he must have had good reason to trust Kingsley again, especially after what happened in Venice.

But still…

She worried.

She closed her eyes and thought of her grandfather. Pictured his leonine hair, his aristocratic bearing.

The sending was returned immediately.

What are you doing here?
Lawrence demanded crossly. He was obviously very annoyed, and worse, sounded perfectly fine.

Saving you?
Schuyler sent tentatively.

There was a sound like a telepathic snort.

Meet me at the Palace bar. In an hour.

Lawrence was dressed in his usual tweeds and heavy woolens when they met him at the bar at the Copacabana Palace. His face was red, and sweat was dribbling down his forehead. Schuyler thought maybe he wouldn’t complain so much about the weather if he were dressed for it.

“You were supposed to remain in New York,” Lawrence said sternly as a greeting.

They took seats at the bar and Lawrence ordered a round of drinks. A Bellini for himself and virgin piña coladas for his granddaughter and her Conduit. Even if alcohol didn’t affect the vampires, Lawrence liked to abide by Red Blood rules and frowned upon “underage”

drinking.

“But grandfather … I heard you were in trouble.” She squirmed in her seat. She felt relieved that Lawrence was all right, but her grandfather’s steely gaze made her recent actions feel impulsive and foolish. More and more it appeared her trip was unnecessary and unnecessarily dramatic.

“That’s news to me,” Lawrence said, bringing out his pipe.

“But why haven’t you returned my sendings then?” Schuyler asked. “I’ve been worried.”

Lawrence sucked on his pipe before replying. “I didn’t hear them. I’ve heard nothing from you until today,” he said, blowing smoke into the air.

The waitress returned with their drinks, and the three of them clinked glasses. “There’s no smoking here, sir,” she told him.

“Of course not.” Lawrence winked as he continued to smoke, conjuring a silver ashtray on the table.

The waitress looked confused and walked away, just another victim of the glom.

Lawrence turned to Schuyler. “Did you do the exercise as I taught you? Concentrate on locating my spirit?”

“Yes, of course,” Schuyler said a bit impatiently.

Oliver piped in. “Telepathic messages are encrypted, right? Could someone have—I dunno—subverted them? Or erased them somehow?”

“That’s not how it works,” Schuyler said. “They’re not like e-mails sent to a network.

Using the glom is a direct line to someone’s consciousness. It can’t be … messed with. Right, Grandfather?”

“I’m not sure. You may have a point, young man,” Lawrence said thoughtfully as he sipped his drink. “Using telepathy depends on a vampire’s ability to tap into the ‘otherworld,’

what the humans call the paranormal. The source of our power comes from the great divide, the place where the usual boundaries between the material and spiritual worlds fall away.”

“And that’s Corcovado; the crossing is here,” Schuyler said.

“Yes,” her grandfather said, his frown lines deepening.

“And Kingsley? Have you seen him?” Schuyler asked.

“We’re in touch.”

“So he hasn’t disappeared either.”

Her grandfather looked puzzled. “No he hasn’t. We’ve been in contact the entire time.”

Schuyler shook her head. “It’s just… we heard …” she said weakly. “That you and Kingsley…never mind.”

Lawrence continued to look mystified as he knocked back his drink.

Oliver excused himself from the table to answer his cell phone, and Schuyler took the opportunity to ask her grandfather something that had been troubling her for weeks. But the answer was not what she was hoping for.

Lawrence looked directly at his granddaughter, under arched eyebrows. “There is no way. Suppose Jack breaks his bond, there is no recourse for him. It is against our laws. The Code of the Vampires. If his twin invokes the covenant, there will be a trial. If he is found guilty, he will be condemned. Burned. If he chooses to flee rather than face judgment, his own twin must bring him to justice.”

Schuyler’s breath caught in her throat. “But Allegra…she’s alive.”

“Allegra is practically dead at her own hands. Charles argued that the sentence could not be carried out while she was unconscious. But once she wakes up, she is subject to the laws, as well as he.”

“Then why does he keep hoping that she will wake up one day?” Schuyler asked, thinking of Charles kneeling by her mother’s bedside.

“Charles refuses to acknowledge the breaking. But he will have to. If she wakes up, the Coven will insist on a trial.”

“But you are Regis. You could save her,” Schuyler insisted.
You could save Jack.

“No one is above the Code, Schuyler. Not even your mother,” Lawrence said, and Schuyler could swear she heard anguish in his voice.

“So Jack will lose his life one way or another.”

Lawrence cleared his throat and tapped the ashes from his pipe onto the crystal ashtray. “If he breaks the bond, even if he manages to escape trial, his spirit will diminish.

There is no death for our kind, but he will be fully aware of his paralysis. Fortunately he has never been tempted to break his vows. Abbadon is a flirt and a rogue, but he is loyal at his core. He will not sever ties to Azrael so easily. But Schuyler, tell me, why all this interest?”

“We were learning about it in the Committee meetings is all, Grandfather.”

So that was why Jack never wanted to talk about it. Because there was no way to escape the bond. He had lied to her. A lie born of love. There was no hope for the two of them. He was putting himself at risk by resisting it.

Mimi was right. Mimi was telling the truth.

Without the bond Jack would never be the vampire he was meant to be. He would be half of himself, weakened and destroyed. It would happen slowly over the centuries, but it would happen. His spirit would die. And if that did not get him, the laws would. Mimi would hunt him down. The Conclave would condemn him to the Burning. By loving Schuyler he was risking his very soul. The longer they continued to meet, the more danger he was putting himself in.

It had to end.

She thought wistfully of their last meeting. That heavenly evening full of art and poetry, how handsome and brave he’d looked when he spoke about breaking the bond. What he would risk to be with her. Schiele’s painting came to mind again. There was a reason why she loved it so much. Two lovers, embracing, as if it were their last. Just as in Anne Sexton’s

“The Break,” Schuyler’s story was one of a shattered heart.

There would be no more nights by the fire. No more books slipped under her door. No more secrets.