Chapter 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 uni- verse. 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, momen- tarily 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 explo- sion, 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 comman-ded 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.
Masquerade Page 37
