Мелисса де ла Круз - Masquerade

"No. Not yet. We want to know what happened," Schuyler insisted. "We were there.”

Lawrence sagged onto the opposite leather chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. "Yes, and I'm only glad that nothing worse happened to either of you.”

"It wasn't after us," Schuyler said.

"Thank heaven for that," Lawrence replied. He took out his customary cigar and cigar cutter.

Schuyler knew this was a sign that her grandfather would explain everything, or at least as much as he himself knew. She leaned in closely.

"What did Cordelia tell you about the Croatan?" He asked, puffing on his cigar.

"That they were an ancient danger that became a myth to the Blue Bloods. Because the last known attack was four hundred years ago," Schuyler said. "During Plymouth.”

"Yes. Roanoke was their most violent and crushing victory. They took out an entire settlement. But she did not tell you about Venice, or Barcelona, or Cologne.”

Schuyler raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"What is not known, or at least, what has been suppressed, is that ever since their socalled defeat in Rome, Silver Bloods have returned to feed on the Blue Blood young at the turn of each new century. We had tried to convince the Conclave of this pattern, this ever present danger. But the years after Roanoke were peaceful, and there was only one other instance of an attack in the New World.”

"Here? In America?" Schuyler asked. Cordelia had never mentioned this.

"Yes." Lawrence set a thick file folder, burned at the edges, on the coffee table and pushed it toward Schuyler. "This is the file Priscilla DuPont was working on. She was going to present some evidence to The Committee, testify to what Cordelia and I had warned them about, so long ago.”

She opened it, and several newspaper clippings fell out. She and Oliver looked through them. "Who's Maggie Stanford?”

"She was a Blue Blood who disappeared. We had no idea that she had been committed to an asylum. Red Blood doctors had thought it was a mental disease, but it was actually evidence of Silver Blood corruption. She was a victim.”

Lawrence tapped on the papers with his cigar. "When Maggie was never found, Cordelia and I knew the Silver Bloods were behind it, but that we would never be able to prove it. That was when we decided to separate, so that I could continue the investigation without The Committee being the wiser. Priscilla had told me she had found something in the archives that would shed some light on their actions, but I have looked through this file. There is nothing I haven't seen before.”

"What happened after Maggie?" Schuyler asked, noting how pretty the young debutante had looked in her picture.

"Nothing. The Silver Bloods retreated back into the shadows again. Until last year, when Aggie Carondolet was killed. And since Aggie, there have been four Blue Bloods slain at the beginning of their Transformation. Four. That is the most since Roanoke. That means they are getting stronger, more confident.

"Priscilla's death, however, is the most troubling. To know that they have overcome a vampire at the height of her powers this means their strength has grown. They are becoming more aggressive.

"The Committee must wake up to this danger. We can no longer sit back and wait while the Prince of the Silver Bloods marshals his forces against us and takes us one by one.”

"You really think Lucifer has returned?" Schuyler asked.

Lawrence said nothing for a long moment, his cigar burning steadily, the ashes at the tip growing longer and longer until they fell, sizzling into the Aubusson rug and leaving a small hole. "Oh, rats," he cursed. "Cordelia will never forgive me for that. She never let me smoke in the house.”

"Grandfather, you haven't answered my question." Schuyler said sharply.

"Maybe it doesn't need to be answered," Oliver said nervously. All this talk of Lucifer and Silver Bloods was making him feel queasy. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so much hot chocolate or eaten that fifth cookie.

"Only the most powerful of Silver Bloods would be able to cause a massive destruction in such a protected place," Lawrence finally said.

"Protected?”

"The Repository of History is one of the safest of our strongholds. It has wards all over it, spells to keep out such an invasion, to keep out Abomination. It is an ominous sign for all of us that the wards did not hold.”

"What are you going to do?" Schuyler asked.

"The only thing I can do. Call for the White Vote. It is time Michael is challenged as Regis.”

THIRTY-NINE

They were arguing about her. Through the morphine haze, Bliss could hear her father and Charles Force arguing about her behind the closed hospital door. What had happened?

She dimly remembered the black, purplish fire that covered the entire library in a thick, impenetrable fog, and she knew something bad had happened to her. There was the gauze around her neck. Had she been bitten? By a Silver Blood? The thought made her forehead perspire. If she had been attacked by Abomination, why was she still alive?

Bliss tried to lift her hands up to her neck so she could check on the wound, but she was paralyzed. She panicked, until she realized her hands were tied down to the bedposts. Why?

The room was as lavish as a hotel suite, with the modern white plastic furniture she knew so well. She was in Dr. Pat's clinic, the Blue Blood hospital. With her extrasensitive hearing, she concentrated on what her father and Charles Force were arguing about in whispered tones in the hallway.

"She has not been corrupted, Charles—you know the signs as well as I do you've seen her neck! There wasn't enough time," her father was saying.

"I understand, Forsyth, I do, but you know how it looks. I can't get Lawrence off my back about this. She's going to have to be tested, just like everybody who was there that night.”

"She's a victim! This is an outrage! I won't let you!”

"You don't have a choice," Charles said, and his tone brokered no further argument. "I know how worried you are, but as you said, she appears to be safe.”

There was a long silence, and then the two men returned to Bliss's room. Bliss immediately closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

She felt her father's hand on her forehead as he whispered a short prayer in a language she didn't understand. "Hey," she said, opening her eyes.

Her stepmother and Jordan walked into the room and crowded by the foot of the bed. BobiAnne was wearing another haute-hideous outfit a cashmere sweater with VERSACE emblazoned on its chest—and carried a small handkerchief, which she kept pressing to the side of each eye, although no tears were visible.

"Oh, honey, we were so worried! Thank God you're okay!”

"How are you feeling?" her father asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Tired," Bliss replied. "What happened?”

"There was an explosion at the Repository," Forsyth explained, "but don't worry, it was so deep underground the Red Bloods didn't even notice it on the sidewalk. They think it was just a small earthquake.”

Bliss hadn't even thought to worry about humans discovering the Blue Bloods' most secret place.

"What happened to me?" she asked.

"Well, that's what we're going to find out," he said. "What do you remember?”

She sighed and glanced out at the window, which looked into an empty office in the building next door. Rows of computers were switched on, blinking, even though it was past office hours. "Not much. Just a lot of black smoke…and…”

Eyes, crimson eyes with silver pupils. The beast, come to life. It had spoken to her…It had said…

She shook her head and closed her eyes tightly as if to ward off the evil presence. "Nothing, nothing…I don't remember anything.”