Blue Bloods bb-1

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Bliss found his scarf and leather jacket hanging on the bedpost, and it gave her an idea. She slipped a duplicate of her keys in the pocket.

  "What are you doing?" Dylan asked.

  "Nothing—just giving you something that will maybe make it easier for us to get together next time," Bliss said coyly.

  "Well, get over here now."

  "I'm cold," she said, slipping under the covers.

  After a second, Dylan pulled aside the covers and slid in beside her.

  They lay there for a while, listening to the sound of gangsta rap thumping from the second floor.

  "You are really cold," he marveled.

  "But your skin's warm," she said.

  He wrapped his arms around her. They started kissing and Bliss was thankful she didn't black out this time, as she felt his hand explore underneath her dress, reaching for her bra. She smiled, thinking boys were all alike. He would get what he wanted, but not before she got what she wanted.

  She closed her eyes, feeling his warm hands unclasp the hook of her bra. He pulled her dress off, over her head. She raised herself a little off the bed to help him, and then she was lying there, in only her Cosabella thong, before him.

  She opened her eyes to see him hovering over her. She pulled him closer.

  He made a cross of his arms and pulled his T-shirt over his chest. He was so skinny she could feel the ribs underneath his skin. They were both breathing quickly, and in a moment, he was lying on top of her, pushing his body against hers.

  She caressed his neck and felt the hard bump underneath his jeans pressing against her thigh. She rolled over him, so that she was on top of his chest. He held her close, his hands caressing her back, slipping off her underwear. She began kissing his mouth, the line of his jaw, licking her way down.

  She felt her back teeth extend; she was going to do it— Now! She could almost smell his thick, rich blood—she raised her jaw, and suddenly, the room was ablaze with light.

  "What the hell?" Dylan poked his head out of the comforter.

  Two giggly sophomores were standing in the hallway, watching them.

  "Oops!"

  Bliss looked up at them, her fangs still sticking out. The two girls at the door screamed.

  Bliss quickly disarmed. Shit. The Committee had warned them about this—they couldn't allow the Red Bloods to see them as they were, to know their real nature. They were just some kids. Maybe they'll think they were just imagining things.

  There was a loud thump from behind her. Dylan had fallen off the bed and was rolling heavily to the floor.

  Still underneath the comforter, Bliss turned and saw what had made him jump. Her father was standing in the hallway. Where had he come from? How had they gotten home so early? Bliss scrambled to put her dress back on.

  "What's going on in here?" the senator asked. "Bliss, are you all right? And who are you?" he asked.

  Dylan was hopping around, zipping up his jeans and pulling down his T-shirt. He grabbed his leather jacket and stuffed his feet back into his sneakers. "Uh, nice meeting you, too."

  "What is the meaning of this?" Forsyth Llewellyn demanded. "Bliss, who was that boy?"

  With a sinking heart, she heard Dylan's quick footsteps stomp down the stairs.

  He'd never be hers now.

  "Young lady, are you going to explain? What exactly is going on in here? And what happened to all of our furniture?"

  CHAPTER 28

  Schuyler didn't doubt that what Jack had told her was true. He told her about the way they'd found Aggie at the club, with all her blood drained, just like a Red Blood after full consumption, except it had happened to one of their own. Just as they preyed on the humans, something was preying on them. Jack explained that while the Blue Bloods kept to The Code there hadn't been a human death due to blood-sucking in centuries, those that hunted the Blue Bloods were not as chivalrous.

  Then he told her about some girl who'd died in Connecticut over the summer. Another Blue Blood. She had been a Hotchkiss sophomore, and they'd found her in the same condition as Aggie. There was also a sixteen-year-old Choate boy who'd died just before school had started. He'd been in The Committee as well. Again, the blood was drained completely from his body. Aggie's death was just the latest one they knew about.

  Jack was certain the Elders were hiding something from them, and he was determined to find out what it was. "Why do I feel like I've seen this before, like I've lived this before? But there's something blocking my memory. Almost as if someone's tampered with it somehow. But we need to know. We need to know what's happening to us. And why everyone who's dying is our age. Are you with me?" he asked.

  Schuyler nodded.

  "We need to find out how to stop it. For all our sakes. We can't live in the dark, like we are now. The Elders think it will just go away, but what if it doesn't? I want to be prepared for it—whatever it is."

  He looked so passionate and angry, Schuyler couldn't help but put a hand on his cheek. He looked at her intently. "It's going to be dangerous. I don't want to drag you into something you might regret."

  "I don't care," Schuyler said. "I agree with you. We have to find out what this thing is. And why it's preying on us."

  He pulled her closer to him, and she felt his heart beating in his chest. It was amazing how calm and centered she felt—like this was the only place in the world where she belonged.

  He leaned over, his nose gently brushing hers, and she tilted her chin up to be kissed.

  When their lips met, and their tongues touched, it was like they were kissing in a hundred different places, and her senses were flooded with new sensations and old memories.

  He kissed her, and their souls melted into each other in a melody older than time.

  "What a pretty picture."

  Schuyler and Jack pulled away.

  Mimi Force was standing in front of them, clapping her hands slowly.

  "Mimi, there's no need for that," Jack said coldly.

  Schuyler blushed. Why on earth was Jack's sister staring at her like that—like, like, like she was jealous of them! How creepy and weird was that? Was she missing something here? Mimi was his twin sister.

  "The Llewellyns are here. They're pretty pissed. I came to warn you. We gotta scram."

  Jack and Schuyler followed Mimi to the back staircase, where dozens of kids from the party were already streaming out, carrying their goodie bags and chattering excitedly.

  "Damn! I forgot to take one!" Mimi cursed. "And I'm out of body lotion, too," she lamented as they walked out to the lobby. The building's concierge looked a tad horrified to encounter a rash of teenagers bursting through, some still carrying beer bottles and cocktail glasses. He gazed openmouthed at the sight of them.

  The group dispersed, and Mimi ran out to the street, where their car was waiting. “Jack, are you coming?" she asked, turning around impatiently.

  "You're leaving?" Schuyler asked.

  "For now. I'll explain later, okay?" he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Then he let go.

  Schuyler shook her head. No. Why did he have to go? She wanted him to stay by her side, not run off again somewhere without her. Her lips still ached with the force of his kiss, her cheeks red from his stubble.

  "Don't be like that. Remember what I said. Be careful. Don't go anywhere without Beauty."

  She nodded mutely, and was about to turn away. Then, as if she thought better of it, she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Jack."

  "Yes?"

  "I…" she faltered. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

  It turned out she didn't have to. Jack put a hand on his heart and nodded. "I feel the same way about you."

  Then he turned around and disappeared inside the black Town Car that was carrying his twin.

  CHAPTER 29

  Schuyler watched the car pull away, conflicting feelings and thoughts warring in her brain. Aggie was a vampire—and she was dead—which meant she, S
chuyler, could die too. She'd almost died that day—if not for Beauty. She watched the car disappear around the corner. He was leaving her. Something about the way he had walked away made her feel as if he were walking away from her forever, and she would always be alone.

  "Miss, can I help you?" the disgruntled concierge asked, pursing his thin lips.

  Schuyler looked around. She was the only person standing in the Llewellyns' marble lobby. "Actually, yes," she replied smoothly. "I need a taxi, please."

  The doorman at the front soon sent her on her way.

  "Houston and Essex, please," she instructed the driver. She was going to the only place where she knew she would find a safe haven.

  The line at The Bank was long as usual, but this time Schuyler walked straight up to the front of the rope. "Excuse me," she told the drag queen, "but I really need to get inside right now."

  The Cher wannabe pursed her lips. "And I really need a tummy tuck. But nobody gets what they want. Get in the back like everyone else."

  "You don't understand. I said, LET ME IN RIGHT NOW." The words were a roar in her mind, even stronger than the last time she had tried it.

  The drag queen staggered back, holding her head as if she'd received a blow. She nodded to the door goons, who lifted the rope.

  Schuyler strode in, mentally waving away the ticket taker and the ID check who were thrown backward toward the wall as if they were just dominos.

  Inside the club was pitch-black, and Schuyler could barely make out the shadowy forms of revelers swaying, humming and dancing to the intoxicating music. The music was so loud, she could hear it in every pore of her body. She felt rather than saw her way through the crowd, slowly but steadily pushing her way forward through the mass of dancers. Finally, she found the stairs that led up to the lounge on the top floor.

  "Grass, crank, blow," came the hiss of a reptilian drug dealer perched on the third step. "Something for the little lady? Take her to the stars?"

  Schuyler shook her head and hurried past him.

  She found Oliver on the second level, next to the windows, sitting cross-legged and admiring the view of Avenue A. He looked at once aloof and perfectly miserable. She felt exactly the same way. She didn't realize how much she'd missed him until she saw his familiar face, his hazel eyes hidden underneath his long bangs.

  "Well, well. To what do I owe this honor?" he asked, when he noticed her standing in front of him. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and stared at her in a hostile fashion.

  "I have to tell you something," she said.

  Oliver crossed his arms. "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?" he snapped, motioning to the large empty space surrounding him. "Well, I was busy," he muttered. "There were tons of people here just a minute ago. I don't know how you missed them."

  “Just because…" she protested. Just because I left you at the dance alone and went to be with another guy, she had begun to say, but she stopped herself right in time. She had left Oliver alone, and for all intents and purposes, she had been his date at the Informals. He was her best friend, and she saw him all the time, but at the dance, they were supposed to have been a couple. Not in a romantic way, but in a, we're-here-at-this-crappy-dance-together-so-let's-make-the-best-of-it kind of way. What she'd done was incredibly rude. How would she feel if Oliver had done the same to her? If he'd left her alone, with no one to talk to, while he went off and danced with Mimi Force? She would probably give him as cold a shoulder as he was giving her now. Colder, most likely.

  "Ollie, I'm sorry about last Saturday night," she said finally.

  "What's that?"

  "I'm sorry. I said I'm sorry. Okay? I wasn't thinking."

  He looked up at the ceiling, as if talking to an unseen observer. "Schuyler Van Men, admitting she was wrong. I don't believe it." But his hazel eyes were crinkling, and she knew they were friends again.

  That was all she'd had to say. Sorry.

  No matter how overused and abused it was, sorry was still a powerful word. Powerful enough to make her best friend talk to her again.

  "So we're okay?"

  Oliver had to laugh. "Yeah. I guess."

  Schuyler smiled. She sat down on the ledge next to him. He was her best friend, her confidante, her soul mate, and in the past week, she had ignored and neglected him, pulling away because she was too frightened to tell him the truth about herself. "I have to tell you something about me." She reached out and took his hands in hers. "Oliver, I'm a… I'm a vam…"

  Oliver's face softened. "I already know."

  "Excuse me?" she demanded.

  "Schuyler. Let me show you something."

  Still holding her hand, he led her down past the basement pit and the coed bathrooms toward the corner where she had encountered that strange blank wall the last time they were at the club. He muttered a few words, and an outline of a door glowed brightly. Oliver pushed softly on it, and the wall swung open, revealing steep, curving stairs that led to the lowest bowels of the building.

  "What is this?" Schuyler asked as they stepped through the entryway. The wall shut behind them, leaving them alone in the dark.

  Oliver removed a thin flashlight from his shirt pocket. "Follow me," he said. They began to walk down the stairs, which spiraled down for what seemed like miles. Schuyler was out of breath by the time they arrived at the bottommost stair.

  There was another door, a more magnificent one this time, made of gold, ebony, and platinum. INGREDIOR PERCIPIO ANIMUS read the inscription around the perimeter.

  Oliver removed a gold key from his wallet and twisted it in the lock.

  "Where are we? What is this all about?" Schuyler asked, stepping tentatively inside the room.

  It was a library—a large, airy space that smelled like chalk dust and parchment. There were bookshelves that reached seventy-five feet to the ceiling, and a maze of ladders and bridges that connected the towering stacks. It was bright and well-lit, and decorated with cozy Aubusson rugs and bankers lamps. Several scholars at rolltop desks looked up curiously when they entered. Oliver bowed to them and led Schuyler to a private cubicle.

  "This is the Repository of History. We keep it protected."

  “Who's we?"

  Oliver put a hand to his lips. He led her to a small, shabby desk in the back of the room. It held a gleaming iBook, several framed photographs, and a dozen Post-it notes. He searched the shelf on top of the desk and made a satisfied sound as he took down a book, musty and dirty from years of use. He blew softly on the cover. He flipped to the first page and displayed it to her. He pointed to the crumbling page where a family tree was illustrated, the name Van Alen inscribed in the center, with Hazard-Perry in small letters underneath.

  "What is this?"

  "It's how we're related," Oliver explained. "How we're associated, I mean. We're not family, so don't worry."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, still trying to fathom the fact that there was a secret library underneath the nightclub.

  "My family has served yours for centuries."

  "Come again?"

  "I'm a Conduit. Like everyone in my family. We've been caretakers for the Blue Bloods forever. We work as doctors, lawyers, accountants, financiers. We've served the Van Alens in that capacity since the 1700s. You know Dr. Pat? She's my aunt."

  "What do you mean, serve us? Your family is so much richer than mine," Schuyler pointed out.

  "An accident of fate. We offered to ameliorate the situation, but your grandmother wouldn't hear of it. 'Times have changed, she said."

  "But what does that mean—a Conduit?"

  "It means, we serve a different purpose. Not all humans are familiars."

  "You know about that?" she asked. She looked down at the page again, recognizing the names of her ancestors on her mother's side.

  "I know enough."

  "But why didn't you ever say anything?"

  "I'm not allowed."

  "But how come you can know what you are, but I didn't know what I was?"

 
"Search me. That's how it's been since the beginning Being a Conduit is something that's passed down, that's taught, and it's easier to teach at a young age. We serve to keep the Blue Bloods a secret, to protect them and help them manage in the real world. The practice is an old one, and only a few vampire families keep Conduits nowadays. Most got rid of theirs, like the Forces. It's an ancient tradition, and some Blue Bloods don't keep to the old ways anymore. Like your grandmother said, things are different now I'm one of the last of our kind."

  "Why?"

  "Who knows?" Oliver shrugged. "Most Blue Bloods can take care of themselves anyway. They don't need us anymore. They don't trust the Red Bloods to help; they want to control them instead."

  There was a commotion at another desk, and they turned to see a cowering, hunchbacked librarian being berated by an angry older woman with a distinctly recognizable blond bob.

  "What's happening?"

  "Anders is getting it again. Mrs. DuPont is not happy with the way his research is going."

  Schuyler recognized the graceful figure of The Committee chair. “And Anders is?"

  "A librarian. All the library staff is Red Blood. Conduits who don't work for any single family anymore."

  Schuyler noticed that the Blue Bloods at the library ordered the librarians around with a grand, authoritative fashion, and for a moment she was embarrassed to be a vampire. What happened to common courtesy?

  "Why do they talk to you guys like that?"

  "Your family never did," Oliver said, blushing. "But like I told you, most Blue Bloods resent us. They don't even think we should be here, or know about them. But no one from your side wants to take over the Repository. No one's interested in caretaking some old books."

  "What's she doing here anyway?" Schuyler wondered, watching Mrs. DuPont look through some paperwork her Conduit had brought.

  "This is the headquarters of the Conclave of Elders. The Wardens—you know. They meet over there, in the boardroom behind the stacks."

  "How long have you known? About me, I mean." Schuyler asked. She looked back at his desk, at the photograph of the two of them that had been taken the past summer in Nantucket. Oliver, his face red from the sun, was squinting at the camera. He had a dark, deep caramel tan and his hair had lightened to a rich golden brown, while Schuyler looked pale and uncomfortable, underneath a huge floppy beach hat, a white smudge of sunscreen on her nose. They had looked so young then, even if it was only a few months ago. Last summer they had been just kids,just a bunch of kids who were dreading going back to high school. They had spent the two weeks sailing and making bonfires on the beach. To Schuyler it felt like a lifetime ago.