Мелисса де ла Круз: Masquerade

Schuyler nodded. "She swore never to take another human familiar after my father died.

Cordelia said it was because she wanted to die herself.”

"But she cannot. She is a vampire. So she lives," Charles said bitterly. "If this is what you call living.”

"It is her choice," Schuyler said, her voice even. She did not like the judgment inherent in Charles's words.

"Choice," Charles cursed. "A romantic notion, but nothing more." He turned to Schuyler.

"I hear you are going to Venice.”

Schuyler nodded. "We leave tomorrow. To find my grandfather," she declared. It is said that the daughter of Gabrielle will bring us to the salvation we seek, her grandmother had told her. Only your grandfather knows how to defeat the Silver Bloods. He will help you.

Cordelia had explained that throughout the history of the world, Silver Bloods had preyed on Blue Bloods, consuming their blood and their memories. The last known attacks had happened in Plymouth, when the vampires had crossed to the new world. Four hundred years later, in New York City, when Schuyler had started her sophomore year at the elite Duchesne School, the attacks had started again. The first victim was a fellow student—Aggie Carondolet. Soon after Aggie's death, the body count had increased. Most disturbing to Schuyler, all of the slain had been Blue Blood teens, taken during their most vulnerable period between the years of fifteen and twenty-one, before they were fully in control of their powers.

"Lawrence Van Alen is an outcast, an exile," Charles Force said. "You will find nothing but confusion and sorrow if you travel to Venice," the steely-eyed magnate declared.

"I don't care," Schuyler muttered, her eyes downcast. She gripped the hem of her sweater tightly, twisting it into knots. "You still refuse to acknowledge that the Silver Bloods have returned. And already there have been too many of us who have been taken.”

The last killing had happened shortly after her grandmother's funeral. Summer Amory, last year's Deb of the Year, had been found drained in her penthouse apartment in Trump Tower.

The worst part about the Silver Bloods was that they didn't bring death no—they brought a fate worse than death. The Code of the Vampires expressly forbade them from performing the Caerimonia Osculor, the Sacred Kiss, the feeding on blood—on their own kind. The Caerimonia was a regulated ritual, with stringent rules. No humans were ever to be abused, or fully drained.

But Lucifer and his legions discovered that if they performed the Kiss on other vampires instead of humans, it made them more powerful. Red Blood held the life force of only one being, while Blue Blood was more potent, holding in it an immortal bastion of knowledge. The Silver Bloods consumed a vampire's blood and memories, sucking them to complete dissipation, making the Blue Blood a slave to an insane consciousness. Silver Bloods were many beings trapped in one shell, forever. Abomination.

Charles Force's frown deepened. "The Silver Bloods have been banished. It is impossible.

There is another explanation for what has happened. The Committee is investigating “ "The Committee has done nothing! The Committee will continue to do nothing!" Schuyler argued. She knew the history that Charles Force clung to that the Blue Bloods had won the final battle in ancient Rome, when he had defeated Lucifer himself, then known as the maniacal Silver Blood emperor Caligula, and sent him deep into the fires of Hell by the point of his golden sword.

"As you wish," Charles sighed. "I cannot stop you from going to Venice, but I must warn you that Lawrence is not half the man Cordelia wished him to be.”

He lifted up Schuyler's chin, as she stared at him with defiance. "You should take care, Allegra's daughter," he said in a kinder tone.

Schuyler shuddered at the memory of his touch. The past two weeks had done nothing but prove that Charles Force might have known what he was talking about. Maybe Schuyler should just stop asking questions, go back to New York, and be a good girl, a good Blue Blood.

One who didn't question the motives or actions of The Committee. One whose only problem was what to wear to the Four Hundred Ball at the St. Regis.

She blew out her bangs and looked beseechingly across the table at her best friend. Oliver had been a faithful supporter. He had been right by her side throughout the whole ordeal, and during the chaotic days right after her grandmother's funeral.

"I know he's here, I can feel it," Schuyler said. "I wish we didn't have to leave so soon."

She put the bottle, completely stripped of its label, back on the table.

The waiter arrived with the check, and Oliver quickly slipped his credit card in the leather tablet before Schuyler could protest.

They decided to hitch a ride on a gondola for one last tour of the ancient city. Oliver helped Schuyler into the boat, and the two of them leaned back on the plush cushion at the same time, so that their forearms pressed against each other. Schuyler inched away just a tiny little bit, feeling slightly embarrassed at their physical proximity. This was new. She had always felt comfortable with Oliver in the past. They had grown up together—skinny-dipping in the pond behind her grandmother's house on Nantucket, spending sleepovers curled up next to each other in the same double-wide sleeping bag. They were as close as siblings, but lately she had found that she was reacting to his presence with a newfound self-consciousness she couldn't explain. It was as if she had woken up one day and discovered her best friend was also a boy and a very goodlooking one at that.

The gondolier pushed off from the dock, and they began their slow voyage. Oliver took pictures, and Schuyler tried to enjoy the view. But as beautiful as the city was, she couldn't help but feel a wave of distress and helplessness. If she didn't find her grandfather, what would she do then? Aside from Oliver, she was alone in the world. Defenseless. What would happen to her?

The Silver Blood—if it had been a Silver Blood—had almost taken her twice already. She pressed a hand to her neck as if to shield herself from the past attack. Who knew if or when it would come back? And would the slaughter stop, as The Committee hoped or would it continue, as she suspected, until all of them were taken?

Schuyler shivered, even though there was no chill in the air, looked across the canal, and saw a woman walking out of a building.

A woman who looked eerily familiar.

It can't be, Schuyler thought. It's impossible. Her mother was in a coma, in a hospital room in New York City. There was no way she could be in Italy. Or could she? Was there something about Allegra that Schuyler did not know?

Almost as if she had heard her, the woman looked straight into Schuyler's eyes.

It was her mother. She was sure of it. The woman had Allegra's fine blond hair, thin aristocratic nose, the same knife-blade cheekbones, the same lissome figure, the same bright green eyes.

"Oliver—it's—oh my God!" Schuyler exclaimed, pulling on her friend's coat. She pointed frantically across the canal. Oliver turned. "Huh?”

"That woman…I think it's my…my mother! There!" Schuyler said, pointing toward a figure running swiftly, disappearing into a crowd of people leaving the Ducal Palace.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Oliver asked, scanning the sidewalk where Schuyler was pointing. "That woman? Are you serious? Sky, are you out of your mind? Your mother's in a hospital in New York. And she's catatonic," Oliver said angrily.

"I know, I know, but…" Schuyler said. "Look, there she is again—it's her, I swear to God, it's her.”

"Where do you think you're going?" Oliver demanded, as Schuyler scrambled to her feet.

"What's gotten into you? Hold on! Sky, sit down!" Underneath his breath he muttered, "This is a huge waste of time.”