"I've known since I was born. I was assigned to you," he said simply.
"You were assigned to me?"
"As I understand it, every member of a vampire family is assigned a human conduit at birth. I'm two months younger than you. You could even say you're the reason why I was born. I sought you out. Remember?"
Schuyler looked back on all her memories. She remembered now how he kept making friendly overtures, and how she'd resisted at first. He was always sitting next to her in class, or asking her questions, and finally, in the second grade, when they'd shared that dismal lettuce sandwich, they'd become friends.
"And what exactly do you do?"
"I help you. I nudge you in a certain direction, suggest how to use your powers so you can discover them on your own. Remember that night at The Bank, when I kept telling you 'think positive and we'll get in'?"
She nodded. It was as she suspected, and she told him how she had used it this evening to get past the drag queen at the door.
He guffawed. "Priceless. Wish I'd seen that one."
She smiled wryly. "Well, they did tell us at Committee meetings that mind-control was possible."
"But only very few vampires can do it," he pointed out.
"I don't get it, though. If this Repository is down here— why were you so worried about us not getting into The Bank? Surely there's another entrance to this place."
Oliver nodded. "There is. Through Block 122. That's why they have a 'members-only' policy. As in, Blue Bloods and their guests only. I could have gone in through there, I'm one of the few with a key—even though I'm only a lowly Red Blood—but I hate that place."
She nodded for him to continue.
"The Bank is a fluke. For the longest time it was empty. But then a couple of neighbors and homeless people reported seeing people go in and never coming out, and to alleviate suspicion, they figured they'd rent out the top floors to anyone interested. This club promoter came along first, and they liked the idea of a nightclub so much they decided to open another club next door—but a private one of course."
Schuyler processed all the information. The private nightclub, The Committee, it certainly fit in with everything she knew about the Blue Bloods so far. They liked to keep to themselves.
She was still bothered by Oliver's admission, however, and his explanation for their friendship. She couldn't help but remember how Oliver was always loaning her money, and she never had enough to repay him, but he never seemed to worry about it, or ask for it back. Was that part of it? Where did the Conduit end and her friend begin?
"So anyway, you're not really my best friend? You're like, my babysitter?"
Oliver laughed and raked a hand through his thick hair. "You can call me whatever you want. You're just not going to get rid of me that easily."
"Then why did you get so mad at me when I told you about The Committee?"
He sighed in frustration. "I don't know—I guess a part of me didn't want it to be true, even though I knew it was. I mean, I knew it would happen, but I just wanted us to be the same, you know? And we're not. I'm a Red Blood. You're immortal. I guess it just bummed me out. So sue me, I'm human." He smiled at his pun.
"You're wrong. Apparently I'm not so immortal, actually," Schuyler said.
"What do you mean?"
“Jack told me that something is killing vampires."
"That's impossible." Oliver shook his head. "I told you, there's something wrong with that dude." He cracked a smile.
"No, there's not. I'm serious. It's a secret. Aggie was a vampire. And she's not recycling. She's gone. She's dead. Like, really dead this time. Her blood is gone."
"Oh, God," Oliver said, his face draining of color. "I didn't know. That's why I told you I wasn't in mourning at her funeral. I thought, what's the big deal? She'll just come back."
"She's never coming back. And she's not the only one. There have been more—other kids are getting killed. Blue Bloods. We're not supposed to die, but we are."
"So what does Jack want to do about it? What does he know?" Oliver asked.
"He wants to find out what's hunting us." She told him about Jack's memory about Plymouth. The message nailed to a tree in a lonely field. Croatan.
"How is he going to do that?" Oliver asked.
"I don't know, but I think we can help him."
"How?"
Schuyler looked around the old room.
"This library holds the entire history of the Blue Bloods, right? Maybe there's something in here we can find."
CHAPTER 30
They had invaded the sanctuary. Ever since Mimi could remember, her father retreated into his book-lined den after work and hardly ever came out for dinner. It was a locked door, a special place, where children weren't allowed. Mimi recalled scratching at the door when she was a child, desperate for his attention and love, only to have her nanny cart her away, with admonishments and threats. "Leave your father alone, he's a busy, busy man with no time for you."
Her mother had been the same way—a distant satellite—always on vacation somewhere children were not allowed or welcomed. It had been a lonely, quiet childhood, but she and Jack had made the most of it. They were each other's sole company; they depended on each other to the point where Mimi didn't know where she ended and her brother began. Which made what she was about to do even more necessary. He had to know the truth.
She strode into the great marble hallway and walked right up to the locked door to their father's study. With a wave of her hand, the lock disintegrated and the door blew open with a bang.
Charles Force was sitting at his desk, nursing a crystal goblet of dark red liquid. "Impressive," he congratulated his daughter. "It took me years to learn that one."
"Thank you." Mimi smiled.
Jack followed behind, slouching forward, his hands in his pockets. He looked at his sister with a newfound respect.
"Father! Tell him!" Mimi demanded, walking up to the desk.
"Tell me what?" Jack asked.
Charles Force took a sip from his glass and watched his children with hooded eyes. His so-called children. Madeleine Force and Benjamin Force. Two of the most powerful Blue Bloods of all time. They had been there in Rome, during the crisis. They had founded Plymouth, they had settled the New World. He had been the one to call them up again and again, whenever they were needed.
"About the Van Alen mongrel," Mimi said. "Tell him."
“What about Schuyler? What do you know?" Jack asked. "More than you, my brother." Mimi said. She took a seat in one of the leather club chairs across from her father's desk. She turned to her brother, flashing her green eyes at his identical ones. "Unlike you, I've accessed my memories. She's not in them. I've checked. Again and again. She's not there. She's not anywhere. She isn't supposed to exist!" Mimi's voice took on a high screech. Her fangs were bared.
Jack took a step backward. "That can't be. I have her in mine. You couldn't be more wrong. Father, what the hell is she talking about?"
Charles took another sip from his glass and cleared his throat. Finally, he said, "Your sister's right."
"But I don't understand…" Jack said, slumping down into the other club chair.
"Technically, Schuyler Van Alen is not a Blue Blood." Charles sighed.
"That's impossible," Jack declared.
"She is and she's not," Charles explained. "She is a product of Caerimonia Osculor, of a union between a vampire and a human familiar."
"But we can't reproduce—we don't have the capacity…" Jack argued.
"We cannot reproduce among ourselves, that is true. We cannot create new life; we merely carry the spirits of those who have passed in a new embryonic form through in vitro fertilization. I believe it is even common among the Red Bloods these days. Our women are implanted with the seed of an immortal consciousness so that it can take on a new physical shell in the Cycle of Expression.
"But since the Red Bloods have the ability to create new life, new spirits, miscegenation between the tw
o is apparently not impossible. Improbable, but not impossible. However, in all our years, it has never happened before. To conceive a baby of mixed blood is against the strictest laws of our kind. Her mother was a troubled and foolish woman."
Mimi poured some of the liquid in the decanter into a new Baccarat glass. She took a sip. Rothschild Cabernet. "She should have been destroyed," she hissed.
"No!" Jack cried.
"Do not be so alarmed. Nothing is going to happen to her," Charles said soothingly. "The Committee has not come to a definitive conclusion concerning her fate. She appears to have inherited some of her mother's traits, so we have kept close watch on her."
"You're going to kill her aren't you?" Jack said, his head in his hands. "I won't let you."
"That is not for you to decide. Look deep into your memories, Benjamin. Tell me what you see. Look for the truth inside yourself."
Jack closed his eyes. When they had danced at the Informals, he had felt Schuyler's presence in his own memories as if he had known her from out of time. He went back to that night, to the room where they were dancing at the American Society mansion, and to the memory of the night of the Patrician Ball—the night they had waltzed to Chopin. One of his most vivid and treasured memories—it was… her… it couldn't be anyone else! There! He felt triumphant! He looked closely at the face behind the fan. There was the fair, porcelain skin, the delicate features, that upturned nose, and he recoiled—those weren't Schuyler's eyes—those eyes were green, not blue—those eyes were…
"Her mother's," Jack said, opening his own eyes and looking at his father and sister.
Charles nodded. His voice was uncharacteristically harsh. "Yes. You saw Allegra Van Alen. It's a powerful resemblance. Allegra was one of our best."
Jack lowered his head. He had projected that image onto Schuyler when they were dancing, had used his vampire powers to fill her own senses, so that she thought she had sensed the past as well. But Schuyler was a new soul. Her mother, it was her mother whom Jack had pursued across the centuries. That's why he'd been drawn to Schuyler, ever since that night in front of Block 122—because her face was so like the one that haunted his dreams.
Then he looked up at Mimi. His sister. His partner, his better half, his best friend and worst enemy. It was she who had been with him since the beginning. It was her hand that he reached for now in the darkness. She was strong, she was a survivor. It was from her that he drew his strength. She had always been there for him. Agrippina to his Valerius. Elisabeth de Lorraine-Lillebonne when he was Louis d'Orleans. Susannah Fuller to his William White.
Mimi reached over and took his hand in hers. They were so alike; they had come from the same dark fall, from the same expulsion that had cursed them to live their immortal lives on earth, and yet, here they were, thriving after a millennia. She patted his hand, the tears in her eyes mirroring his own.
"So what do we do now?" Jack asked. "What's going to happen to her?"
"For now, nothing. We watch and wait. It's probably best if you stay clear of her. And your sister has informed me about your concerns about Augusta's death. I'm pleased to say we are very close to finding the perpetrator. I am sorry to have kept you both in the dark for so long. Let me explain…"
Jack nodded and gripped his sister's hand even more tightly.
CHAPTER 31
The next week went by swiftly. Every day after school, Schuyler and Oliver hit the stacks at the Repository, trying to find any record or mention of "Croatan." They combed through the computer database, trying every conceivable spelling of the word. But since the library files were only automated in the late 1980s, they also had to reference the ancient card catalog.
"Can I help you?" a grave voice asked as they huddled together at Oliver's desk one afternoon, poring over dozens of old books and several cards from the "Cr—Cu" drawer.
"Oh, Master Renfield. May I introduce Schuyler Van Alen?" Oliver asked, standing up and making a small, formal bow.
Schuyler shook the old man's hand. He had a haughty, aristocratic visage and was dressed in an anachronistic Edwardian greatcoat and velvet trousers. Oliver had told her about Renfield—a human Conduit who took his job way too seriously. "He's been serving the Blue Bloods for so long he thinks he is a vampire. Classic Stockholm Syndrome," Oliver had said.
"I think we've got it covered." Oliver smiled nervously. They had tacitly decided not to ask any of the librarians for any help with their search, intuitively understanding that it was an illicit subject. If The Committee was hiding something, and that something had to do with "Croatan," then it was probably best if they didn't tell anyone about it.
Renfield picked up a piece of paper from Oliver's desk, where Schuyler had scribbled down a series of words. "Croatan? Kroatan? Chroatan? Chroatin? Kruatan?" He quickly put the paper down, as if it burned his fingers.
"Croatan. I see," he said.
Oliver attempted a casual tone. "It's just something we heard about. It's nothing. Just a school project."
"A school project," Renfield nodded somberly. "Of course. Unfortunately, I have never heard of the word. Would you care to enlighten me?"
"I think it's a piece of cheese. Something to do with an old English recipe." Oliver replied with a straight face. "From Blue Blood banquets in the sixteenth century."
"Cheese. I see."
"Like Roquefort or Camembert. But I'm thinking it's more like a sheep's milk, maybe," Oliver said. "Or a goat. It could be a goat. Or maybe like a mozzarella. What do you think, Sky?"
Schuyler's lips were twitching and she couldn't trust herself to answer.
"Very well. Carry on," Renfield said, leaving them to their task.
When he was safely at a far distance, Schuyler and Oliver burst out laughing—as softly as they could.
"Cheese!" Schuyler whispered. "I thought he was going to faint!"
It was the one bright spot in an otherwise dreary week. The colder weather brought a rash of ailments. The flu bug hit the school, and several students had been out for the past couple of days, Jack Force among them. Apparently, even vampires weren't immune to the flu epidemic. Schuyler also heard Bliss had been grounded since the party, and the tall Texan girl kept to herself. Even Dylan complained about it—Bliss was moody and remote, and never left Mimi's side.
The next day was bitter cold and gray. The first sign that winter was approaching. It was a New York gray—from the buildings to the smog to the skies—as if a dark, damp cloud had descended on the city like a wet blanket. When Schuyler arrived at the Duchesne gates, a dark mist hung over a bustling commotion in front of the school. She passed several white news vans with satellite antennas, and a crew of reporters primping, checking their teeth in handheld mirrors, and grooming before the cameras rolled. There were camera crews with tripods everywhere, as well as newspaper and magazine reporters and photographers—an even bigger mob than on the day of Aggie's funeral.
Several Duchesne students were huddled at the front doors, watching the scene. She found Oliver in the crowd and joined him.
"What's happened?" she asked.
Oliver looked grim. "Something awful. I feel it."
"I feel it too," she agreed. "It's not another death is it?"
“I'm not sure."
They waited at the gates. From the front door of the Duchesne mansion, two burly policemen were escorting a young man between them. A scruffy, disheveled young man wearing a beat-up leather jacket.
"Dylan! Why? What's he done?" Schuyler asked, horrified.
The crowd of reporters and cameramen pressed forward, covering the scene with flashes and a barrage of questions. “Any comment?"
"Why did you do it?"
"Care to share your feelings with our readers?"
Schuyler felt panicked and distressed. Why were they taking Dylan away? And in such a public fashion? She couldn't believe the school would let them do something like this! She found a wild-eyed Bliss in the crowd.
"Schuyler!" For the moment, Bliss had
forgotten she and Schuyler weren't really friends.
Schuyler took Bliss's hands in hers. "Why? What happened? Why are they taking him away?" she asked.
"They think Dylan killed Aggie!" she said. Bliss was fighting to hold on to her composure, but seeing Oliver's and Schuyler's stricken faces made her break down. She held on to them for support. "I overheard them talking to the headmistress. Aggie didn't die of a drug overdose, she was murdered… strangled, and she had Dylan's DNA on her fingertips…"
"No."
"It's got to be a mistake," Bliss said tearfully.
"Bliss, listen to me," Schuyler said, a hard edge to her voice. "He's being set up. Dylan couldn't have killed Aggie. Remember?"
Bliss's eyes focused. She nodded. She knew what Schuyler was saying. "Because…"
"Because he's human and a Red Blood can't kill a Blue Blood… Aggie would have overpowered him in a second. It's a lie. Aggie was a vampire. There was no way Dylan could have killed her."
"A setup."
"Right," Schuyler said. The rain was coming down in torrents, and all three of them were getting soaked, but none of them seemed to notice.
Bliss looked fearfully at Oliver. "But Schuyler, there's no such thing as a vampire…" she said lamely.
"Oh. Don't worry about Oliver. He knows. He's okay. He's a Conduit. I'll explain later."
Oliver tried to look trustworthy and reassuring. He remembered his umbrella in his pack and opened it, shielding them from the rain.
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