It was called simply The Embrace, and depicted a man and a woman with their bodies entwined together. There was a ferocious energy to the piece, and Schuyler felt as if she could sense the couple's intense connection to each other. And yet the piece was far from romantic. It was fraught with angst, as if the two people in the painting knew their embrace was their last.
There was a melancholy to his art - it wasn't for everyone. In Schuyler's Art Hum. class everyone was enamored by Gustav Klimt's Art Nouveau masterpiece The Kiss. But Schuyler thought liking that painting was too easy; it was dorm-room decor, a typical safe choice.
She preferred madness and tragedy, loneliness and torment. Schiele had died young, perhaps of a broken heart. Her art teacher was always talking about the "redemptive and transformative quality of art," and as she stood in front of the painting Schuyler completely understood what that meant.
She had no words for what she was feeling. She felt Jack's hand in hers - so cool and dry, and counted herself the luckiest girl in the world.
"Where to now?" Jack asked as they left the museum.
"Your choice. "
Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Let's stop by a caf§? I have a taste for Sacher torte. "
They dined on the rooftop of an apartment building and watched the dawn break over the horizon. One of the advantages of being a vampire was that it was easy to adjust to a nocturnal schedule. Schuyler didn't need as much sleep as she used to, and on the nights when she met Jack, they hardly slept at all.
"Is this what you wanted?" Jack asked, leaning over the small rickety table and pouring her more wine.
"How did you know?" she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. He had surprised her by bringing her to yet another beautiful apartment his family owned. The Forces had more real estate than Schuyler had holey black sweaters in her closet.
"Come on, let's go back downstairs," Jack said, leading her by the hand back inside the apartment. "I want you to hear something. "
The Force pied-a-terre was located in a building that dated back to 1897, in the prestigious Ninth District, with vaulted ceilings, ornate moldings, and views from every window. It was airy and spacious, yet unlike their sumptuously decorated New York home, the place was sparsely furnished and almost monastic.
"No one's been here in ages, ever since they stopped doing the Viennese Opera Balls properly," Jack explained. He dusted off an ancient-looking Sony cassette recorder.
"Listen to this," he said, putting a tape inside. "I think you might like it. " He pressed PLAY.
There was a scratchy hissing sound. Then a husky, low voice - unmistakably female, but sounding ravaged by years of smoking - began to speak.
"It was also my violent heart that broke . . . "
Schuyler recognized the lines. "Is it her?" she asked rapturously. "It is her, isn't it?"
Jack nodded. It was. "I found the tape at this old bookshop the other day. They had poets reading their work. "
He had remembered. It was Anne Sexton. Reading from Love Poems. Her favorite poet reading from her favorite poem, "The Break. " It was the saddest of the lot, angry and bitter and beautiful and enraged. Schuyler was drawn to grief - like Schiele's paintings, Sexton's poetry was brutal, honest in its agony. Love Poems had been written during an affair the poet had - an illicit, secret affair not unlike their own. She knelt and huddled close to the little stereo, and Jack folded her in his arms. She didn't think she could love him more than she did right then.
Maybe there was part of him that she would never understand, but at this moment the two of them understood each other perfectly.
When the tape ended, they were silent, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies.
"So. . . " Schuyler felt hesitant and lifted up on one elbow to speak to him. She feared that talking about the reality of their situation would break the magic of the evening. And yet she wanted to know. The bonding was full speed ahead. "The other day at The Committee meeting you said that there was a way to break the bond. "
"I believe so. "
"What are you going to do?"
In answer, Jack pulled Schuyler down so that they were lying together again. "Schuyler, look at me," he said. "No, really look at me. "
She did.
"I have lived a very long time. When the transformation happens. . . when you begin to become aware of your memories. . . it is an overwhelming process. It's almost like you have to relive every single mistake," he said softly.
"I don't want to make the same mistakes I've made before. I want to be free. I want to be with you. We will be together. I believe I will have less to live for, if I am not with you. "
Schuyler shook her head vigorously. "But I can't let you do that. I can't let you take the risk. I love you too much. "
"Then you would rather see me bonded to a woman I do not love?"
"No," she whispered. "Never. "
Jack held her then and kissed her. "There is a way. Trust me. "
Schuyler kissed him back, and every moment was sweeter than the last. She trusted him completely. Whatever it was he was going to do to break the bond, they would be together. Always.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Dylan's doctor was a bear of a man, with a full bushy beard and a tilted lumbering gait. Dress him in a red suit and send him down the chimney, Bliss thought, not quite trusting to put her faith in the awkward human, even though he was a very prominent hematologist and came from an old Red Blood family of trusted Conduits.
"My secretary tells me you are friends of Dylan Ward. I know you've been trying to get in touch with me. I apologize for the delay in responding. It's been a very busy week. Someone snuck a familiar into one of the dorms, and it was almost a bloodbath. " He winced. "But not to worry, everything's under control for now. " The doctor smiled.
"Right. " Bliss nodded and took a seat across from his desk. "We're his friends. Thank you for seeing us. "
"I'm not a friend. I'm here to find out what's going on with him for the Conclave," Mimi snapped. "I'm a Warden. "
He raised his eyebrow. "You look young for your age. "
Mimi smirked. "When you think about it, we all do. "
"I mean, for someone in your position," he said nervously, coughing and shuffling papers on his desk.
"Get to the point, doctor. I didn't come here to debate the policies of the Conclave. What's going on with that basket case?"
Dr. Andrews opened the file in front of him and grimaced. "Dylan appears to be suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress disorder. We've enrolled him in several regression therapies to help recover his memories. But so far he hasn't made any real connection to anything. He remembers neither what happened to him a hundred years ago nor what happened to him a month ago. "
It was just as Bliss feared. Dylan was like an unmoored boat, anchored to nothing and no one. "So he'll just have amnesia like that. . . forever?"
"Hard to say," the doctor said hesitantly. "We don't like to foster false hopes. "
"But why," Bliss said, feeling extremely agitated, "why did it happen?"
"The mind does that sometimes; it blanks out everything in order to function. To blunt the force of a recent trauma. "
"He's been through a lot," Bliss whispered.
"Silver Blood attack and all. " Mimi nodded.
The doctor consulted his chart again. "That's the interesting thing. Like I told Senator Llewellyn, as far as we can determine, there are no signs of Silver Blood corruption in his blood. He has been attacked, yes, and badly tortured, but we are skeptical that he has actually performed the Caerimonia on a fellow vampire. He hasn't completed the process. Or let me make it clear: he hasn't even begun it. "
Bliss started. "But. . . "
"That's ridiculous," Mimi said flatly. "We all know Dylan killed Aggie. She was fully drained. And he was the only suspect. He even confessed to Bliss. "
"He did," Bliss agr
eed.
Dr. Andrews shook his head. "Perhaps he'd been deluded, or manipulated into thinking he was one of them. Our findings are quite conclusive. "
"Forsyth knew this? That Dylan was innocent?" Mimi asked sharply.
The doctor nodded. "I called him as soon as the tests came in. "
Mimi laughed a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "If Dylan's not a Silver Blood and he didn't take Aggie, that means he probably wasn't lying when he told me he doesn't know where the jeans she'd borrowed from me are. "
"What are you talking about?" Bliss asked, her mind awhirl.
"Never mind. " Mimi shrugged. She stood up, and Bliss followed her lead. "Thanks very much for meeting us, doctor. You've been a great help. "
Bliss couldn't concentrate. Her fingers shook as she buttoned her coat. She bumped her knee into the table and almost tripped.
Dylan was innocent.
He was not a Silver Blood nor about to become one.
He was a victim.
For months, everyone in the community had believed in Dylan's guilt in the murder of Aggie Carondolet. That he had dispatched the other victims, attacked Schuyler, and mortally wounded Cordelia. He'd told Bliss himself that he'd done those things. And she'd believed him.
But what if he'd just been covering up for someone else? What if he'd just been made to think he had been infected?
And if it hadn't been Dylan who'd done all these things, then who had?
Chapter Thirty
It was evening when Schuyler left the apartment on Perry Street. Her face was still flushed from Jack's kisses, her cheeks and lips a rosy deep red. Like everything in New York, Schuyler was blooming. A kiss for a kiss for a kiss, she thought, still hazy from their night in Vienna. They had just returned and repaired to the hideaway to shower and change.
Jack had left first - slipping out the side door - and she had waited the requisite half hour before attempting an exit herself.
She was smiling softly to herself, trying to calm her wild hair in a sudden wind, when she saw someone she did not expect to see.
He was standing across the street, staring at her with a look of shock and dismay. One look in Oliver's eyes and she knew he knew. But how? How could he have known? They'd been so careful to keep their love a secret.
The grief etched all over in his face was too much to bear. Schuyler felt the words catch in her throat as she crossed the street to stand in front of him. "Ollie. . . it's not. . . "
Oliver shot her a look of pure hatred, turned on his heel, and began to walk, then run away.
"Oliver, please, let me explain. . . "
In a flash, she was standing right in front of him. He could run, but he could not outrun her. "Don't do this. Talk to me. "
"There's nothing to say. I saw him leave, and then, just as she'd said, I waited a half hour, and then you left too. You were with him. You lied to me. "
"I didn't - it's nothing like that - Oh God, Oliver. " The sobs forming now, Schuyler felt his sadness and anger wash over her. If only he would hit her, if only he would strike her - do something other than stand there looking so devastated that she could only feel more devastated in turn.
It began to rain. Thunderclouds opened up overhead, and the first raindrops pelted, then drummed on them. They were going to get drenched.
"You have to choose," Oliver said, as the rain mixed with tears that fell from his cheeks. "I'm tired of being your best friend. I'm tired of being second best. I won't settle for that anymore. It's all or nothing, Schuyler. You have to decide. Him or me. "
Her best friend and Conduit, or the boy she loved. Schuyler knew one day it would come to this. That she would have to lose one to have the other. That this game would have consequences. That she could not carry on just as she'd had - with a vampire lover and a human familiar, with none the wiser. She had lied to Oliver, lied to Jack, lied to everyone, including herself. But her lies had finally caught up with her.
"You are selfish, Schuyler. You should never have made me your familiar," Oliver said impassively. "But I let it happen because I cared about you. I was worried at what would happen to you if I didn't. But you - if you ever cared about me at all, if you were thinking about me at all, you should have had the decency to restrain yourself. You knew exactly how I felt about you, and you used me anyway. "
He was right. Schuyler nodded dumbly as the rain ran in rivers over her hair and her clothes, her garments becoming a soggy mess. Oliver had always been the more sensible of the two of them. He'd had a crush on his best friend, loved her since they'd first met, carried a torch for her for years, but if she hadn't brought the Caerimonia into it, hadn't drunk his blood, hadn't imprinted herself on his soul, maybe someday he would have stopped feeling that way about her.
If she had found another familiar, if she had chosen another human boy, Oliver's crush might have faded into a soft, nonbinding affection. Oliver would be able to grow up, love a Red Blood girl, have his own family one day. But she had made him her own. She had sealed his affection with that first tantalizing bite. The Sacred Kiss had marked him as hers.
She had acted selfishly, needlessly, recklessly.
He had no choice but to love her. Even if he left her now, he would never love another; he would always be alone.
He was damned, and she had cursed both of them with her weakness.
"I am sorry. " Schuyler's eyes filled with tears. There would be no way to make this right.
"If you are sorry, you will leave him. Jack will never be yours, Schuyler. Not like I am yours. "
She nodded, crying bitterly, wiping her tears and runny nose with a wet sleeve. She knew she looked as wretched as she felt.
Oliver softened. "Come on, let's get out of the rain. We're both going to catch a cold. " He led Schuyler gently into the shelter of a store awning.
"You're too kind to me," Schuyler whispered.
Oliver nodded. He knew what it was like to love one who did not - or could not - love you back. But he'd had no choice. None of them did.
AUDIO RECORDINGS ARCHIVE:
Repository of History
CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT:
Altithronus Clearance Only
Transcript of Venator report filed 3/3
Venator Martin: They have called for the blood trial. All will be known. I will be discovered.
Charles Force: Yes, I heard. You must be quick. You must disappear. I will help you.
VM: But I want to know why. Why did you have me call the Silver Blood? Why?
CF: Because I had to know.
VM: Had to know what?
CF: If it was possible.
VM: What do you mean?
CF: It should not have worked, (agitated) It should never have happened - it was just a test. To see . . .
VM: What?
CF: No time, (whispers) I know what I must do now.
VM: But the Regis. He will want an explanation for my actions.
CF: Yes. I will take care of Lawrence. Do not worry. He, of all people, will understand why I did what I had to do. Now, listen to me. I am sending you to Corcovado. . . .
Chapter Thirty-one
"Sky, you look awful. What happened?" Bliss asked, finding Schuyler standing morosely at her doorway. Schuyler's eyes were red from crying, and she was blowing her nose with a tissue.
"Your maid let me in. I hope that's okay. Are your parents around?" Schuyler asked, still sniffing.
"No. They're at some campaign fund-raiser. What else is new. Come on in. Not that they'd care anyway. You know they like you," Bliss said. As soon as she said it, Bliss realized she wasn't sure if it was true. Her parents had never shown any interest in her friends. They still assumed she hung out with Mimi Force. That's how clueless they were. They'd never even met Schuyler or Oliver.
"Are you all right?" Bliss asked.
Schuyler shook her head. She followed
Bliss into her bedroom and climbed onto her bed, leaning back on the pillows and closing her eyes. "Oliver hates me," she said with a strangled cry as she rubbed her eyes. "He saw. . . the. . . two of us. . . Jack and. . . "
"He knows. " Bliss nodded. So that's what Mimi was telling Oliver that afternoon.
In answer, Schuyler grabbed a fluffy pillow from among the huge goose-down heap and put it behind her neck. "Yeah. "
Bliss sighed. She picked up the television remote and started flipping through recorded programs. "Did you see the latest episode of The Beach?"
"No, put it on," Schuyler urged. The fabricated "reality show" about the lives of three vacuous and yet strangely fascinating blond girls from Los Angeles was their favorite.
"So how'd he find out?" Bliss asked, keeping her eyes on the screen. Then she paused the action and turned to Schuyler. "Although, I guess it doesn't matter. You know he would eventually. "
"I know," Schuyler said. "I wish you wouldn't look at me that way. I know what you're thinking. "
"I didn't say anything. "
"You don't have to. "
Bliss rubbed Schuyler's back. She was sympathetic, but Schuyler had known what she was doing when she hooked up with Jack. She'd alienated a friend, and for what - Jack Force? What did she see in him anyway?
"Look, I've got to tell you something: Mimi and I visited Dylan today," Bliss said. She repeated everything the doctor had told her.
Schuyler was astonished and confused. "So if it wasn't Dylan who killed Aggie and all those others - who was it?"
"Who knows?"
"Does anyone else know about this? That he didn't do it?"
"Other than Mimi and me? Yeah. Forsyth," Bliss said. She realized she somehow couldn't bring herself to call him "Dad" lately. "Dr. Andrews said he'd called him once the tests came in. "
"But your dad didn't mention anything to you?"
"Not a word. "
"Or to the Conclave?"
"Mimi said Forsyth didn't tell them about Dylan at all," Bliss said, feeling more and more embarrassed about her father's actions.
"I wonder why . . . "
"Maybe he did it to help me," Bliss said defensively. "He knew the Conclave would want Dylan destroyed, so he hid him from them. "
"But Dylan's not a Silver Blood," Schuyler said. "And he never was. So there was no threat that he would be destroyed. They performed the test, and he passed. Hey, what's with the suitcase?" she asked, motioning to the half-packed Tumi rollers at the foot of Bliss's bed.
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