Revelations

by Melissa de la Cruz

  When her vision returned, she was shaking.

  "What just happened?" she asked Jordan.

  Jordan's face was drained of color.

  "Your eyes - they were blue. " Bliss had green eyes, as green as the emerald that glinted around her neck.

  "You're joking. " Bliss laughed.

  Jordan looked like she was trying to decide something. Finally she spoke. "Listen, you have to believe that I didn't have a choice, okay?" She grabbed Bliss's arm.

  "What are you talking about?" Bliss asked, totally confused.

  Jordan just shook her head, and Bliss was shocked to see her stoic younger sister so close to tears.

  "Nothing, it's nothing. " Jordan sniffed.

  Bliss embraced her. "Take it easy, kid. "

  "Remember that you were truly like a sister to me. " Jordan whispered so softly that Bliss wondered if she'd really said it or if she was just hearing things.

  "Whatever it is you're worried about, everything's going to be okay, okay?" Bliss said, hugging her sister tightly. "Nothing's going to happen, I promise. "

  Chapter Thirty-five

 

  Oliver, how can I ever thank you," Schuyler said, buckling her seat belt. She looked at the armed bodyguards. "Don't you think you've overdone it on the muscle?"

  He shrugged, "One can never be too careful. "

  Schuyler nodded. "Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

  "Let's not talk about it right now. We're here for Lawrence, right?"

  "Right. "

  "Did you know the whole Conclave is here?" he asked. "I saw Warden Oelrich on my flight. And the Duponts and the Carondolets are in my hotel. "

  "I know. Bliss told me Warden Cutler called an emergency session and brought them here. Have they found Lawrence?"

  "That's the thing. No one's talking about Lawrence at all. They're all getting ready for a big dinner at some Brazilian Blue Blood's house tonight," he said, as the car drove into the downtown proper, and the landscape became even more scenic: lush greenery, gorgeous beaches, and equally gorgeous people sunbathing upon them.

  "Where are you staying?" Schuyler asked.

  "The Fasano. The new Philippe Starck hotel. Bliss is there too. I would have gotten you your own room, but they didn't have any more. Do you think you'll be okay sharing with me?" he asked.

  "Of course," she said, trying not to look uncomfortable. "Listen. . . about what happened the other night. "

  "Let's not talk about it right now," Oliver said lightly. "I mean, I was being a bit dramatic, wasn't I? Him or me. Whatever. "

  "So you didn't mean it?" Schuyler asked hopefully.

  "I don't know. Let's just. . . let's just deal with Lawrence first and talk about it later. Is that okay?"

  "Sure. " Oliver was right. They didn't have time to dwell on that now. They had to find Lawrence.

  Her grandfather's continued silence worried her. What if he had been trapped, or restrained, or worse? Had it been wise for him to come to Rio alone? Or to meet with Kingsley's team? Kingsley who was now unreachable as well, according to Bliss. Schuyler still didn't understand why Kingsley, who'd been shown to be a Silver Blood - albeit reformed - had been allowed to come back as a Venator. Her grandfather wasn't a gullible person, and he must have had good reason to trust Kingsley again, especially after what happened in Venice.

  But still. . .

  She worried.

  She closed her eyes and thought of her grandfather. Pictured his leonine hair, his aristocratic bearing.

  The sending was returned immediately.

  What are you doing here? Lawrence demanded crossly. He was obviously very annoyed, and worse, sounded perfectly fine.

  Saving you? Schuyler sent tentatively.

  There was a sound like a telepathic snort.

  Meet me at the Palace bar. In an hour.

  Lawrence was dressed in his usual tweeds and heavy woolens when they met him at the bar at the Copacabana Palace. His face was red, and sweat was dribbling down his forehead. Schuyler thought maybe he wouldn't complain so much about the weather if he were dressed for it.

  "You were supposed to remain in New York," Lawrence said sternly as a greeting. They took seats at the bar and Lawrence ordered a round of drinks. A Bellini for himself and virgin pi§?coladas for his granddaughter and her Conduit. Even if alcohol didn't affect the vampires, Lawrence liked to abide by Red Blood rules and frowned upon "underage" drinking.

  "But grandfather . . . I heard you were in trouble. " She squirmed in her seat. She felt relieved that Lawrence was all right, but her grandfather's steely gaze made her recent actions feel impulsive and foolish. More and more it appeared her trip was unnecessary and unnecessarily dramatic.

  "That's news to me," Lawrence said, bringing out his pipe.

  "But why haven't you returned my sendings then?" Schuyler asked. "I've been worried. "

  Lawrence sucked on his pipe before replying. "I didn't hear them. I've heard nothing from you until today," he said, blowing smoke into the air.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and the three of them clinked glasses. "There's no smoking here, sir," she told him.

  "Of course not. " Lawrence winked as he continued to smoke, conjuring a silver ashtray on the table.

  The waitress looked confused and walked away, just another victim of the glom. Lawrence turned to Schuyler. "Did you do the exercise as I taught you? Concentrate on locating my spirit?"

  "Yes, of course," Schuyler said a bit impatiently.

  Oliver piped in. "Telepathic messages are encrypted, right? Could someone have - I dunno - subverted them? Or erased them somehow?"

  "That's not how it works," Schuyler said. "They're not like e-mails sent to a network. Using the glom is a direct line to someone's consciousness. It can't be . . . messed with. Right, Grandfather?"

  "I'm not sure. You may have a point, young man," Lawrence said thoughtfully as he sipped his drink. "Using telepathy depends on a vampire's ability to tap into the 'otherworld,' what the humans call the paranormal. The source of our power comes from the great divide, the place where the usual boundaries between the material and spiritual worlds fall away. "

  "And that's Corcovado; the crossing is here," Schuyler said.

  "Yes," her grandfather said, his frown lines deepening.

  "And Kingsley? Have you seen him?" Schuyler asked.

  "We're in touch. "

  "So he hasn't disappeared either. "

  Her grandfather looked puzzled. "No he hasn't. We've been in contact the entire time. "

  Schuyler shook her head. "It's just. . . we heard . . . " she said weakly. "That you and Kingsley. . . never mind. "

  Lawrence continued to look mystified as he knocked back his drink.

  Oliver excused himself from the table to answer his cell phone, and Schuyler took the opportunity to ask her grandfather something that had been troubling her for weeks. But the answer was not what she was hoping for.

  Lawrence looked directly at his granddaughter, under arched eyebrows. "There is no way. Suppose Jack breaks his bond, there is no recourse for him. It is against our laws. The Code of the Vampires. If his twin invokes the covenant, there will be a trial. If he is found guilty, he will be condemned. Burned. If he chooses to flee rather than face judgment, his own twin must bring him to justice. "

  Schuyler's breath caught in her throat. "But Allegra. . . she's alive. "

  "Allegra is practically dead at her own hands. Charles argued that the sentence could not be carried out while she was unconscious. But once she wakes up, she is subject to the laws, as well as he. "

  "Then why does he keep hoping that she will wake up one day?" Schuyler asked, thinking of Charles kneeling by her mother's bedside.

  "Charles refuses to acknowledge the breaking. But he will have to. If she wakes up, the Coven will insist on a trial. "

  "But you are Regis. Yo
u could save her," Schuyler insisted. You could save Jack.

  "No one is above the Code, Schuyler. Not even your mother," Lawrence said, and Schuyler could swear she heard anguish in his voice.

  "So Jack will lose his life one way or another. "

  Lawrence cleared his throat and tapped the ashes from his pipe onto the crystal ashtray. "If he breaks the bond, even if he manages to escape trial, his spirit will diminish. There is no death for our kind, but he will be fully aware of his paralysis. Fortunately he has never been tempted to break his vows. Abbadon is a flirt and a rogue, but he is loyal at his core. He will not sever ties to Azrael so easily. But Schuyler, tell me, why all this interest?"

  "We were learning about it in the Committee meetings is all, Grandfather. "

  So that was why Jack never wanted to talk about it. Because there was no way to escape the bond. He had lied to her. A lie born of love. There was no hope for the two of them. He was putting himself at risk by resisting it.

  Mimi was right. Mimi was telling the truth.

  Without the bond Jack would never be the vampire he was meant to be. He would be half of himself, weakened and destroyed. It would happen slowly over the centuries, but it would happen. His spirit would die. And if that did not get him, the laws would. Mimi would hunt him down. The Conclave would condemn him to the Burning. By loving Schuyler he was risking his very soul. The longer they continued to meet, the more danger he was putting himself in.

  It had to end.

  She thought wistfully of their last meeting. That heavenly evening full of art and poetry, how handsome and brave he'd looked when he spoke about breaking the bond. What he would risk to be with her. Schiele's painting came to mind again. There was a reason why she loved it so much. Two lovers, embracing, as if it were their last. Just as in Anne Sexton's "The Break," Schuyler's story was one of a shattered heart.

  There would be no more nights by the fire. No more books slipped under her door. No more secrets.

  Good-bye, Jack.

  As hard as it would be, as much as it would destroy her very will to even live, Schuyler knew what she had to do.

  She had to tell another lie.

  A lie that would release him.

  AUDIO RECORDINGS ARCHIVE:

  Repository of History

  CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT:

  Altithronus Clearance Only

  Cordelia Van Alen Personal File

  Transcript, of conversation dated 12/25/98.

  Cordelia Van Alen: Come here, child. Do you know me?

  Jordan Llewellyn: Seraphiel.

  CVA: Good.

  CVA: Do you know why I have brought you?

  JL: (child's voice changes) I am Pistis Sophia. The Watcher. A spirit born with its eyes wide open, born into full consciousness. Why have you woken me?

  CVA: Because I am afraid.

  JL: What are you afraid of?

  CVA: I am afraid that we have failed. That the battle in Rome was a farce. That our greatest enemy still walks this earth, but I do not know how. You are Jordan Llewellyn. For this cycle you are the daughter of Forsyth Llewellyn. If my suspicions are correct, then you will be our first line of defense.

  JL: What must I do?

  CVA: You shall watch and listen and observe.

  JL: And then?

  CVA: If what I fear is true, you must complete what we failed to do in Rome. But I cannot help you. I am bound by the Code. This is the last time we shall speak.

  JL: I understand, Godmother.

  CVA: Be well, child. Take my blessing on your journey May it keep you safe. Facio Valiturus Fortis. Be strong and brave. Till we meet again.

  JL: See you in the next life.

  Chapter Thirty-six

 

  Pain.

  Searing pain.

  As if someone were holding a hot poker to her heart. It was scalding, burning. She could feel her skin turn red, then black, could smell the smoke rising from her frying flesh. This was nothing like the attack at the Repository. She would not survive this.

  Bliss tore through the miasma of sleep, forced herself to wake up. Wake up! Wake up! It was like being suffocated and torn apart at the same time. But she salvaged what power she had, and gathered all of her effort, all of her strength, and successfully pushed the pain away.

  There was a crash and a scream.

  She blinked awake and sat up on the couch. She had taken a nap in their suite after coming back from the beach. She was still trying to make sense of what had happened when the door flew open and her parents appeared in the doorway.

  In the dark she saw Jordan lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, holding something bright and glittering in her hand.

  Her parents assessed the situation quickly, almost professionally, as if they had been expecting something like this to happen.

  "Quick, BobiAnne, she's still stunned. Set the spell," Forsyth said as he began to bundle up his younger daughter with the hotel's comforter and blankets.

  "What's going on? What are you guys doing?" Bliss asked groggily. Things were happening much too fast for her understanding.

  "Look," Forsyth said, removing a small blade from Jordan's hand and tossing it to his wife. "She picked the vault. "

  Bliss tried to make sense of everything, but logical thinking eluded her in her dizzy and disoriented state. Was she going insane, or did Jordan just try to kill her?

  She flinched as her stepmother put a hand on her brow. "She's warm," she told her husband. Then she lifted Bliss's shirt and examined her chest. "But I think she's okay. "

  Forsyth nodded, kneeling to rip Bliss's sheets into strips so that he could tie the comforter holding Jordan closed.

  Thinking the pain had come from the emerald stone, Bliss looked down at her chest. It felt as if the stone had burned itself on her skin, branding her. But when she touched it, it was as cool as ever. Her skin underneath was smooth and unharmed. Then she understood. The emerald had saved her from whatever weapon had just tried to pierce her heart.

  "She's fine," BobiAnne announced after checking Bliss's pupils and pulse. "Good girl. You gave us quite a scare," she said, tapping her pockets for her Marlboro Lights.

  BobiAnne lit a cigarette and sucked on it deeply until it formed a long column of ash. Bliss noticed that her stepmother's face was perfectly made up for a party, and both her parents were dressed in formal dinner clothes.

  "What's going on? Why did Jordan attack me?" Bliss asked, finally finding her voice and turning to face her father.

  It took a few minutes for him to answer. Forsyth Llwellyn's reputation in the Senate was as of a moderate facilitator, someone who was willing to negotiate with the other side, to bring consensus to warring parties. His smooth Texan charm came in handy during partisan battles in the legislature.

  Bliss could see he was turning this charm on her now. "Sweetie, you have to realize that Jordan is different from us," Forsyth said, securing the bundle that held his younger daughter. "She's not one of us. "

  "One of us? What do you mean?"

  "You'll understand in time," he assured her.

  "We were forced to take her. We had no choice!" BobiAnne burst out, a bitterness creeping into her voice. "Cordelia Van Alen made us. That meddlesome old witch. "

  "Jordan is not of this family," Bliss's father added.

  "What are you talking about?" she cried. It was getting to be too much. All these secrets and lies, she was sick of it. She was sick of being kept in the dark about everything. "I know all about Allegra!" she declared suddenly, with a look of defiance.

  BobiAnne gave her husband a look that said, "I told you so. "

  "Know what about Allegra?" Forsyth inquired, a look of innocence on his face.

  "I found this . . . " Bliss reached into her pocket and showed them the photograph with the inscription, which she kept close by at all times. "You lied to me. You told me my mother's name was
Charlotte Potter. But there never was a Charlotte Potter, was there?"

  Forsyth hesitated. "No - but it's not what you think. "

  "Then tell me. "

  "It's complicated," he sighed. His eyes wandered over to the panoramic view of the beach, not wanting to meet her gaze. "One day when you're ready, I will tell you. But not yet. "

  It was maddening. Her father was doing it again: sidestepping her questions, stonewalling her. Shielding her from the truth.

  "What about Jordan?" she asked.

  "Don't worry. She won't hurt you again," Forsyth said soothingly. "We're going to send her someplace safe. "

  "You're sending her to Transitions?"

  "Something like that," her father said.

  "But why?"

  "Bliss, honey, she'll be better off," BobiAnne said.

  "But . . . " Bliss was completely confused. Her parents were talking about Jordan as if she were a dog being sent off to the country. They talked about her like she didn't matter.

  But Bliss had to admit to herself that the strange family dynamics weren't entirely new. She thought about how BobiAnne never spoke lovingly of Jordan, had always made it clear that she preferred Bliss, who wasn't even her real child. How her father had always kept an arm's-length distance from his odd younger daughter.

  When Bliss was younger she'd relished her parents' indifference to her younger sister. Now she realized it was pathological.

  Her parents hated Jordan.

  They always had.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

 

  "That was the hotel," Oliver explained, returning to the table. "Someone's checked out, and a room's opened up. They asked me if I wanted to take it. So you've got a room," he told Schuyler, his face neutral.

  "Thanks," she said, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible, even if there was a hole where her heart should be. But she forced all thoughts of Jack out of her head; later. . . she would mourn later.

  "So why is the Conclave here, Lawrence?" Oliver asked. "Is it because of Leviathan?"

  "The Conclave is here?" Lawrence asked sharply.

  "Oh! I forgot to mention it - yeah. They're here. All of them," Schuyler said. "I think they arrived last night. "

  Lawrence mulled over this latest piece of information while draining his drink. As if she had vampire ability of her own, the waitress reappeared with another cocktail at his elbow. "More virgin coladas?" she asked, motioning to the half-empty glasses filled with melting yellow goo.