Masquerade (16 page)

T
hey were arguing about her. Through the morphine haze, Bliss could hear her father and Charles Force arguing about her behind the closed hospital door. What had happened? She dimly remembered the black, purplish fire that covered the entire library in a thick, impenetrable fog, and she knew something bad had happened to her. There was the gauze around her neck. Had she been bitten? By a Silver Blood? The thought made her forehead perspire. If she had been attacked by Abomination, why was she still alive? Bliss tried to lift her hands up to her neck so she could check on the wound, but she was paralyzed. She panicked, until she realized her hands were tied down to the bedposts. Why? The room was as lavish as a hotel suite, with the modern white plastic furniture she knew so well. She was in Dr. Pat’s clinic, the Blue Blood hospital. With her extrasensitive hearing, she concentrated on what her father and Charles Force were arguing about in whispered tones in the hallway.

“She has not been corrupted, Charles—you know the signs as well as I do—you’ve seen her neck! There wasn’t enough time,” her father was saying.

“I understand, Forsyth, I do, but you know how it looks. I can’t get Lawrence off my back about this. She’s going to have to be tested, just like everybody who was there that night.”

“She’s a victim! This is an outrage! I won’t let you!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Charles said, and his tone brokered no further argument. “I know how worried you are, but as you said, she appears to be safe.”

There was a long silence, and then the two men returned to Bliss’s room. Bliss immediately closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

She felt her father’s hand on her forehead as he whispered a short prayer in a language she didn’t understand.

“Hey,” she said, opening her eyes.

Her stepmother and Jordan walked into the room and crowded by the foot of the bed. BobiAnne was wearing another haute-hideous outfit—a cashmere sweater with VERSACE emblazoned on its chest—and carried a small handkerchief, which she kept pressing to the side of each eye, although no tears were visible.

“Oh, honey, we were so worried! Thank God you’re okay!”

“How are you feeling?” her father asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Tired,” Bliss replied. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion at the Repository,” Forsyth explained, “but don’t worry, it was so deep underground the Red Bloods didn’t even notice it on the sidewalk. They think it was just a small earthquake.”

Bliss hadn’t even thought to worry about humans discovering the Blue Bloods’ most secret place.

“What happened to me?” she asked.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out,” he said. “What do you remember?”

She sighed and glanced out at the window, which looked into an empty office in the building next door. Rows of computers were switched on, blinking, even though it was past office hours. “Not much. Just a lot of black smoke . . . and . . .”

Eyes, crimson eyes with silver pupils. The beast, come to life. It had spoken to her . . . It had said . . .

She shook her head and closed her eyes tightly as if to ward off the evil presence. “Nothing, nothing . . . I don’t remember anything.”

Forsyth sighed and BobiAnne sniffed again. “Oh, you poor, poor child.”

Jordan, her sister, remained silent, watching Bliss from the corner of her eye.

“Bobi, can you and Jordan leave us alone for a minute?” her father asked.

When they were gone, Forsyth turned to Bliss. “Bliss, what I’m about to tell you is very important. You were attacked by a Silver Blood, one of the Croatan,” her father said.

“Noooo,” Bliss whispered. “But The Committee says they’re just a myth. . . .” she said weakly.

“The Committee was wrong. We realize that now. In fact, Priscilla Dupont had gathered enough evidence to . . . but I won’t talk about that now. The fact is, somehow the Silver Bloods have survived, and we must face up to that reality.”

“But how?”

“Sadly, it means one of us is culpable. The Silver Bloods would not be able to thrive unless someone from our circle was hiding them. Helping them. It would have to be one of the very old families, powerful enough to cover up such black evil that Michael could not notice a change in the balance.”

“But what does it mean for me?” Bliss asked, her voice quavering.

“There are very few who have lived after a Silver Blood attack, and there is always the danger of corruption.”

“Corruption?”

“Sometimes, the Silver Blood will not take his victim to full consumption; instead it will instill a hunger . . . drawing enough blood so that the vampire is left weakened. But Red Blood becomes poison to the victim, and he will hunt his own kind for survival.”

That’s what happened to Dylan, Bliss thought. He had been
turned
. Corrupted. Transformed into a monster, and then killed before he could reveal its secrets.

“The crisis in Roanoke, we believe, happened because several of our people in that settlement had already been corrupted when they left the Old World.”

“How do you know if you’ve been corrupted?” Bliss asked nervously.

In answer, Forsyth began lifting the gauze from Bliss’s neck. He unwrapped the bandage.

Bliss looked at her father anxiously. What was he going to show her? Had she been turned into a monster?

Her father handed her a small hand mirror from the nurse’s table.

She brought it up to her neck, dreading what she would see.

But her neck was smooth, as clear and unblemished as before.

“What does it mean?”

“There are no marks, which means the poison was not strong enough to hold. Your Blue Blood, the
sangre azul
, was able to rehabilitate your chemistry on its own. Heal itself, and protect you from corruption. The Croatan did not make you one of its own.”

She nodded, grateful and relieved. She had survived. . . . She wasn’t sure how, but she had lived.

“There will be other tests,” Forsyth warned. “One of the Elders will administer them to you. They will ask you to share your memories, to commune with them. To show them what you saw. But I am confident you will pass their judgment.”

Her father was about to leave the room, but Bliss called out another question. “But, Dad, if one had been corrupted . . . how could you tell?”

“It’s hard to say, but we have noticed that those who have befallen corruption tend to be drawn to the Dark Matter, and to start exhibiting curiosity concerning the Black Spells.”

Later that evening, Nan Cutler, one of the high-ranking Wardens, arrived to visit Bliss. Nan was one of the bird-thin, elegant society women in Priscilla Dupont’s circle; she had a shock of white hair with a raven stripe in the middle. The city knew her as an indefatigable fund-raiser and shopper of high-end couture. But when she came into Bliss’s hospital room that evening, all traces of the public facade were gone. Here was a formidable, centuries-old vampire. Bliss could see the faint blue blood lines on her face.

She introduced herself to Bliss, then took a seat at her bedside.

By evening, sensation had returned to Bliss’s limbs, and she was feeling much better already.

“Take my hands, child,” Nan said softly. Bliss placed both of her hands in the old lady’s soft ones. Nan’s hands were smooth and unwrinkled.

“Now close your eyes and take me back to yesterday evening. Show me everything you saw.”

The glom. Nan would use the glom to read her mind, Bliss knew. She had to open her mind and let the old woman see.

Bliss nodded.

She closed her eyes.

Together, they saw what had happened. Bliss, waiting in the reception area for Kingsley. They saw Renfield bring a list of files to Priscilla Dupont. They saw Schuyler walk in and ask if she had seen Oliver. They saw several girls from Duchesne check out books for the next Committee meeting.

Then all went black. A dark, noxious smoke engulfed the entire area. . . .

Bliss waited for the beast to appear, but all they saw was the thick, black smoke.

When she opened her eyes, Nan was scribbling in her notebook.

“Good,” Nan said. “Now, if you please, lift your hair and show me the back of your neck.”

The back of my neck?

Bliss did as told. Nan nodded. “You may put your hair down.”

After the Warden left, her father walked in and hugged her tight.

Whatever test it was, it looked as though she had passed.

The back of her neck . . .

Part of the test . . .

She thought of how Kingsley’s hair was so long, it always covered the back of his neck. A fashion statement? Or was he hiding something?

Kingsley . . . who carried that book around with him all the time, the
materia acerbus
. Kingsley, who had taught her to palaver with the beast of her nightmares.

Kingsley Martin, who was part of an old, old, Blue Blood family. One of the most powerful, and the most prestigious . . .

Bliss closed her eyes. She saw the beast again, the beast had spoken to her. It had said one word . . .

Now.

S
chuyler was brushing her teeth when her cell phone rang. She rinsed, gargled, and spit, quickly wiped her face, and ran to pick it up. It was early in the morning, and she was getting ready for school. “Yeah?” “Is that any way to answer the phone?” “Oh, Bliss. Hey. Sorry. I thought it was Oliver. He always calls in the morning.” “Sorry to disappoint.” “No, not at all. How are you?” Schuyler asked. She had been meaning to visit Bliss in the clinic, but the past several days had been hectic, what with trying to keep up with a full class schedule, vampire lessons, and deal with the fact that her grandfather was getting ready for the battle royal of his life. The White Vote had been called, and the election was imminent.

“Better,” Bliss said. “You, uh, know what happened to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Schuyler said. “My grandfather said it was a Croatan, but that you were safe.”

Bliss told Schuyler about the test, opening her mind up to Nan Cutler, and how the marks on her neck disappeared.

“The same thing happened to me,” Schuyler said. “Remember? The night we modeled for that shoot?”

“Yeah.”

“I was attacked, but the marks disappeared. And I couldn’t remember anything.”

“She also wanted to see the back of my neck. Isn’t that odd?”

Schuyler nodded, even though Bliss wasn’t able to see her. “Actually, that’s another kind of test, my grandfather said. Nan came over here, too. To check me out.”

“Really? I’m not the only one?”

“No, of course not. Everyone there that night has to be tested.”

“Cool.”

“So, what’s up?”

“Listen, I found out something from my dad. You know how The Committee always said there was no such thing as the Silver Bloods?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I guess they’re coming around.”

“Yeah, I heard that too,” Schuyler said. Lawrence had filled her in on the politics of the Conclave. Now that a full-grown vampire had been taken, the Conclave was up in arms and primed for revolt. The Silver Bloods were a grim reality they would have to face.

“Anyway, my dad said that it has to be one of us— someone high up, an old family,” Bliss said.

“That’s what Cordelia always said too.”

“You might think this is crazy,” Bliss said, “but I think I know who did it.”

“Who did what?”

“I mean, I think I know who’s harboring the Silver Blood, or Silver Bloods,” Bliss said. “I think Kingsley has something to do with it.”

Bliss told Schuyler her suspicions, and how they matched up with what her father had told her about corruption—his intense curiosity about the Dark Matter, the odd book she always saw Kingsley reading, the way he was so familiar with Silver Blood history and mythology.

Schuyler whistled. “I don’t know . . . it sounds suspicious . . . but don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions?”

“Maybe, but I’m stuck in here for another week,” Bliss said. “Do you think you and Oliver could look into it?”

Later that week, Schuyler and Oliver dug up a few interesting facts about the new boy. The Repository had been restored to somewhat usable condition (the
Velox
factor came in handy). All the dust and plaster had been cleared, and nothing remained of the explosion except for a small, hairline crack in the middle of the marble floor. It was amazing what vampires could do when they set their minds to it.

Tracking Kingsley’s whereabouts was easy with Oliver’s network of connections in the private-school circuit, as well as some clever computer sleuthing.

Schuyler called Bliss at the clinic to let her know what they had found. “The Martins moved to New York the same night that you said Dylan was murdered,” she said. “And we found out Kingsley spent summer school at Hotchkiss, where that girl was killed, and he’d spent a week at Choate visiting a friend, where a sophomore had been found dead right before school started. He was here in New York the night of Aggie’s death at Block 122, and he was also at the party where Landon Schlessinger died.”

“I knew it!” Bliss said.

“There’s other stuff: Kingsley was the last person to visit Summer Amory. Oliver said the gossip was that he was dating her. So that places him at the scene of all the crimes. But I’m not sure, it could just be coincidence. Lots of other Blue Blood kids spent summer school at Hotchkiss, go to Choate, were at Block 122 that night, and knew Landon Schlessinger. And Summer Armory was dating a bunch of people. I’m sure if we wanted to, we could find several other people who fit the bill.”

“No, it has to be him. I know it is,” Bliss said emphatically.

“Are you going to tell your dad about this?”

“I’m not sure. He’s kind of an adviser to Kingsley’s family. I mean . . .”

“I’ll tell Lawrence.” Schuyler offered. “He’ll know what to do.”

When Schuyler presented their case to Lawrence at dinner, with all of Bliss’s suspicions and the incriminating evidence, her grandfather hardly looked up from his rib-eye steak.

“Interesting,” he said absentmindedly.

“Interesting, that’s it?” Schuyler asked. “But don’t you think we might have something here?”

Lawrence took a sip from his wineglass. “Perhaps.”

That was all he would say on the matter, and Schuyler could not get anything out of him for the rest of the evening.