Мелисса де ла Круз - Masquerade

The last thing Bliss remembered was a massive explosion that ripped through the floor of the library, splitting it in two, a crack in the earth itself, and her nightmare came to life. Right in front of her was a dark mass with crimson eyes and silver pupils, roaring, struggling, leaping into life, covering the entire space with the buzzing of a thousand hornets, the agonies of a thousand tortured souls, and the ugly laughter of a deranged lunatic.

Bliss screamed and screamed and screamed.

Then everything went black.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The smoke was suffocating. It was a dark, violet smoke, and smelled faintly of sulfur and acid. Schuyler opened her eyes to find them burning. Tears were falling from her cheeks although she was not crying. Something had happened—an explosion—it sounded like a rip in the universe. She looked around: the Repository was in disarray, whole shelves of books were toppled, and papers were strewn all about, as if a bomb had destroyed the place. There was debris from the ceiling, plaster and dust everywhere, shattered glass and broken pieces of wood.

“Jack! Jack, where are you?" Schuyler asked, panicking. She had been standing right there, next to his chair, but his chair was nowhere to be seen. She felt blood dripping into her eyes and put a tentative hand on the crown of her head. Something had cut her, but it wasn't a deep wound. The palms of her hands were scratched and bloody, and there was a tear in her jeans, but thankfully that was the extent of her injuries.

There was a cough, and Schuyler crawled over to the sound. Jack was lying underneath the reading table, momentarily stunned.

"I'm all right," he said, struggling to sit up and wiping the smoke from his eyes. "What the hell happened?”

"I don't know," Schuyler said, coughing and covering her mouth and nose with her hands.

“Jack! Are you all right? Can you hear me? Jack!" Mimi's frantic voice could be heard from the hidden alcove that led to the underground stacks. She emerged from the corner, looking dazed but unhurt.

"I'm here.”

"Oh thank God! Jack! I was so worried!" Mimi cried, throwing herself into her brother's arms. She began to sob uncontrollably. "I thought…I thought…”

"It's all right, I'm all right," Jack soothed, gently stroking her.

Schuyler took a step back to let them have their privacy, feeling a tangled weave of jealousy and pity and embarrassment at witnessing their intimacy.

There was a groan beneath a toppled bookshelf. "Help," a strangled voice called. "Help!”

Jack, Mimi, and Schuyler ran to the sound, and helped lift the heavy weight from the boy.

Kingsley thanked them. "Fucking-A. What was that?”

All around them, librarians and Committee members were picking themselves up from the rubble, counting heads, and making sure friends had survived. The smoke enveloped everything, and it was hard to see through the haze.

"Over here!" A familiar voice called. Schuyler left the Force twins and Kingsley to find Oliver kneeling next to an injured librarian. There was a cut on his chin and a bruise on his forehead, and he was covered in a thick layer of plaster dust.

"You're all right," Schuyler said. "Thank God."

"Schuyler, what are you doing here?" Oliver asked.

"Looking for you.”

He nodded briskly. "C'mon, give me a hand.”

Renfield, one of the crotchety human historians, was doubled up against one of the overturned copy machines, groaning. He had been thrown against the wall by the explosion, and the force had broken his ribs.

They helped him lie down by a stack of books, promised to send help as soon as possible, and walked around to see if there were any other trapped or injured parties.

So far, everyone they came across had survived. There were minor scratches and a few concussions, but people were surprised to find themselves more or less intact. Oliver stopped to administer first aid to a Blue Blood girl with a broken arm by ripping his shirt sleeve and creating an impromptu sling.

Schuyler picked through the mess and came across the prone body of a girl, facedown and covered with dust and plaster.

She turned the girl over and gasped. "Bliss, oh God, Bliss…" There were two punctures underneath her chin, and her blood, sticky and blue, was running down her neck.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" a loud voice commanded from the entry. The group froze.

Schuyler kept a shaky hand on Bliss's neck to staunch the blood. Oh, Bliss…

The violet smoke cleared, and Charles Force and Forsyth Llewellyn were soon standing by her side, holding gleaming swords aloft.

Charles knelt down next to Bliss and put a hand on her head. "This one is still alive.”

This one? Schuyler wondered. There was a scream from the other side of the room, and Schuyler soon understood what he had meant. There, by the entrance to the Coven headquarters, splayed on the archway steps, was Priscilla DuPont, the Chief Warden.

Lying in a pool of blood.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Oliver took Schuyler home, both of them still feeling shaken up. The awkwardness of what went on between them earlier at the Mercer had completely disappeared in the face of this new calamity. They were back to their normal selves, and Schuyler was glad to have her friend by her side.

Hattie made a fuss over the two of them when they arrived, placing bandages on Schuyler's head and the cut on Oliver's chin. The loyal maid prepared steaming cups of hot chocolate and wrapped them snugly in cashmere blankets by the fire.

"Where's Lawrence?" Schuyler asked, taking a cookie from a tray that Hattie was holding out to them.

"He ran out of here just a few minutes ago; said he had an emergency meeting of some kind," Hattie said. "He told me to take good care of you when you got here. To get the first-aid kit out. I think he knew something happened.”

Once Hattie had left the room, Oliver asked, "Do you think it was a Silver Blood?”

Schuyler shrugged. "It has to be. It's the only explanation. But it doesn't make sense.

Lawrence told me that Silver Bloods hunt by themselves. They take their victims when they are alone, without their canine protectors. The attack happened in a public space, where there were many witnesses.”

"Do you think she's dead?" Oliver asked again.

"Who? Bliss? No. Charles Force said she was alive," Schuyler replied. Still, it was hard to believe. The Texan girl had two deep puncture wounds on her neck, and the floor around her had been swimming with her blood.

"No, I mean…Mrs. DuPont," Oliver clarified.

"I don't know." Schuyler shuddered. It had certainly looked that way from where she was standing, and she had overheard members of the Conclave discussing the situation from across the room as they gathered around the body.

Full consumption…Impossible…But the blood has been drained…Which means…She is gone…She has been taken…Not Priscilla! Yes…This is dire indeed.

Dr. Pat's ambulance team had taken Bliss away on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask on her face and her father by her side. But the second stretcher, the one that carried Priscilla DuPont, had been covered with a white sheet over the body. Which only meant one thing…

Schuyler scooted up next to Oliver so that the two of them were leaning against the couch legs. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and he put an arm around her to draw her closer. They took comfort in each other's company.

Lawrence returned close to dawn. He saw Schuyler and Oliver sitting side by side on the rug against the couch.

"You should both be in bed. Especially you, granddaughter. Surviving a Silver Blood attack is not to be taken lightly," he said, waking them gently.

Schuyler waved the sleep from her eyes, and Oliver yawned.