CHAPTER 37
Schuyler
They were in Sydney when it happened. Right in Chinatown, in a little apothecary shop that sold the organic green tea that Schuyler liked to drink in the morning. The trembling began in her legs, then her arms, then her whole body was convulsing and she fell to the floor, dropping the tin she was holding as she writhed and thrashed against the cold linoleum tile.
"Stay back!, it's okay'she's... she's epileptic!" Oliver said, pushing everyone away. "Just give her room to breathe! Please! It'll pass."
It was strange for Schuyler not to be able to control her body, to find it was in revolt against her wishes, almost as if it had been possessed by an evil spirit. She felt as if she were watching herself from a distant place, as if this was not happening to her, but to another girl, who was lying down while her arms and legs moved jerkily, and she frothed at the mouth.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered when it finally stopped. The shaking had ceased, but even if her limbs weren't moving anymore, her heart was still beating a mile a minute.
"It's okay. You're okay," Oliver said, gently helping her to her feet by giving her his shoulder to lean on.
"Here... water," the shopkeeper said, bringing a paper cup to her lips. Schuyler was glad for the kind eyes of the man and of the other customers. She kept leaning on Oliver as they walked out of the shop and to the bus stop, where a bus back to The Rocks was already waiting.
"This was a bad one," he said, as they paid their student fare and found seats at the back.
He was being kind. It was probably the worst episode she'd experienced. The massive headache, the frothing, the way her tongue had almost choked her... What had Dr. Pat said during her last visit? That the vampire strength was a gift, but in her case was also a burden. Her human body was treating the transformation as a disease, as something it wanted out of her....
"Are you sure you're all right?" Oliver asked again, as Schuyler leaned forward with her head in her hands.
"I'm okay," she said. 'really I am." It was the last thing she said before she fainted.
Back at the hotel, and feeling much better, Schuyler sat on the little balcony outside their room, wrapped up in a bathrobe. Inside the tiny kitchenette, Oliver was putting the final touches to his curry. He brought out a steaming bowl and set it in front of her with a spoon. They had both learned to cook while on the run. Oliver's specialty was an Indian bananaand-chicken curry, while Schuyler liked to make interesting concoctions out of pasta and whatever she could find in the fridge. (Sometimes Oliver said they were too interesting.)
"Thanks," she said, gladly accepting the warm bowl of yellow curry and rice. She lifted a spoonful to her lips and blew on it before eating, so it wouldn't scorch her tongue.
Outside, sailboats and cruise ships dotted Sydney's harbor. The ocean was a deep sea-green, not unlike Jack's eyes, she thought, then stopped herself. She would not think about him, or what he was doing, or if he was missing her too. She focused on her food. Oliver was watching her through the sliding glass door.
He had that look on his face, and she knew what it meant. He walked out, set a cup of tea next to her, and sat on one of the plastic chairs.
"Sky, we need to talk."
"I know what you're going to say, Ollie, but the answer is no." She took a sip of the tea. Amazing that even with everything that had happened, Oliver had still managed to buy a tin. He really was a good Conduit.
"Sky, you're not being reasonable."
"I'm not? They're going to put us in jail, or whatever they do to people like us." Schuyler shrugged. She knew the punishment for evading Conclave justice: a thousand years of Expulsion. Your spirit locked up in a box. But what if she wasn't immortal? What would they do to her then? And what would happen to Oliver?
"You heard what Jack said. The Conclave has bigger problems than the two of us right now. Besides, maybe this time they'll believe you. The fire at the H'tel Lambert was all over the papers, and the European Conclave is up in arms'they have witnesses who saw Leviathan! They can't deny it anymore."
"Even if they believe me now, they won't let our actions go unpunished. You know that better than I do," Schuyler pointed out.
"True, but that was when Charles Force was Regis. No one is leading the Conclave right now. They're frightened and disorganized. I think it would be safe to go home."
"Frightened people make the worst judgments," Schuyler argued. " I don't trust an organization that would make policy out of fear. And how about you? You're a traitor too, you know. What about your parents? They'll go after them."
So far Oliver's family had been left alone, aside from their every move being tracked by the Venators: phones bugged, accounts analyzed. Oliver's parents told him on one of their rare satellite phone calls that they couldn't go to Dean & Deluca without feeling they were being watched.
Oliver took a gulp from his big Foster's can. "I think we can buy them."
Schuyler stacked her empty cup into her empty bowl. "Excuse me?"
"Pay them off. The Conclave needs money. They're pretty much broke. My parents have a ton. I can buy my way out of it, I know I can."
Why was she arguing? Oliver was telling her what she wanted to hear, that they could go home, and yet it frightened her.
"I don't want to go."
"You're lying. You want to go home. I know it. And we are. End of discussion," Oliver said.
"I'm booking us on the next flight back. I won't hear anything else."
Oliver didn't speak to her for the rest of the evening. She fell asleep with a crick in her neck from the tension. Why was she being so stubborn, she wondered as she drifted off to sleep. Oliver only wanted the best for her.
Why are you being so stubborn?
Schuyler opened her eyes.
She was in New York, in her bedroom. The faded Broadway Playbill covers that lined the walls were yellow and curling at the edges.
Her mother was sitting on her bed.
This was a dream. But not the usual one. A dream about her mother. She didn't think about her much anymore. She hadn't even had time to say good-bye when they had left New York last year.
It was the first time she'd seen her mother since Allegra had appeared on Corcovado holding a sword.
Allegra looked at Schuyler sternly.
"He is right, you know. The Conduits always are. You cannot live this way. The transformation will kill you without the proper guidance and care. You cannot risk your life like this."
"But I can't go home," Schuyler said. "As much as I want to, I can't."
"Yes you can."
"I can't!" Schuyler rubbed her eyes.
"I know you are afraid of what will happen when you return. But you must face your fear, Schuyler. If you and Abbadon are meant to be, then there is nothing that any-one, not him, not even you, can do to stop it."
Her mother was right. She didn't want to go home because then Jack would be so, so, so very close. Jack, who was still free... Jack, who had kissed her so passionately... who could still be hers.... But if she kept away, then she wouldn't be tempted to see him and betray Oliver.
"You cannot be with someone just because you don't want to hurt him. You have your own happiness to think about," Allegra said.
"But even if we're together, it will only kill Jack," Schuyler said. "It's against the Code. And he'll diminish..."
"If he will take the risk to be with you, who are you to tell him what to do with his life? Look at me. Look at how much I risked to be with your father."
"My father is dead. And you're in a coma. I practically grew up an orphan," Schuyler said, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She had never known her father, he had died before she was born. As for Allegra? well, there wasn't much of a relationship anyone could have with a living corpse, now was there. 'tell me, Mother, was it worth it? Was your "great" love for my father worth what has happened to your family?"
She couldn't keep herself from saying such hurtful things. But everything spilled out after years of living alone.
She loved her mother, she did. But she didn't want an angel who only appeared once in a lifetime to give her some enchanted sword. Schuyler wanted a real parent: one who was there for her when she cried, who encouraged and prodded and annoyed her, a little bit, only because they cared so much. She wanted someone ordinary. Like Oliver's mom. She had no idea how Mrs. H-P knew where they would be, but every few months a package would arrive at their hotel, and inside would be chocolates and new socks and things they didn't even know they needed, like flashlights and batteries.
Allegra sighed. "I understand your disappointment in me. I hope that one day you will understand and forgive. There are consequences to every action. It is true, I have deep, deep regrets sometimes. But without your father I would never have had you. I was only with you for such a brief moment of time, but I treasured every moment, with you and your father. I would do it all over again if I had to. So yes. It was worth it."
"I don't believe you," Schuyler said. "No one in their right mind would choose your life."
"Be that as it may, come home, daughter. I am waiting for you. Come home."
CHAPTER 38
Mimi
When Mimi opened her eyes, the auction room had slipped away and she was in the sanctuary, a small room with four walls made of stained glass. Of course, in the glom, it had never been destroyed.
She stood in a circle with the five other members; Forsyth, the seventh, stood in the middle. They were dressed in long black hooded robes. Like a bunch of grim reapers, Mimi thought. So much of the Blue Blood ways had seeped into popular culture, but twisted and stripped of their gravity.
"Welcome, everyone," Forsyth Llewellyn said, looking very puffed up and self-satisfied. Perfectly natural, Mimi thought, as he was assuming the highest office in the land, as head of a secret government the Red Bloods didn't even know existed. His work as a senator was completely perfunctory. Mimi heard he had done only superficial work toward helping to resolve the financial crisis that held the country in its grip. Mimi had not been a full-serving member of the Conclave when Lawrence had been elected, but she had a vague idea of the proceedings.
Seymour Corrigan called the roll and started the ceremony. "Since the early days of this world, our Regis holds the soul of the Coven in his heart. But before he is chosen, he must be blessed by the Seven, and so we have gathered here today for the benediction."
It was a ceremony that went back to ancient Egypt. Except this time there would be no false beard of goat's hair, no magic scepter, no symbolic leather whip, no crown of ostrich feathers. But the fundamentals were the same.
Warden Corrigan began the tabulation, calling out to the great houses by their names from the Sacred Language.
"What say you, Domus Magnificat?" The House of Riches was represented by Josiah Rockefeller Archibald, whose family had built the center on which they stood.
"We say aye," he murmured.
"What say you, Domus Septem Sanctimonialis?"
"We say aye," said Alice Whitney, who was the last of the line of the House of the Seven Sisters.
"What say you, Domus Veritas?"
Of course the Venators were represented on the council, but Mimi was curious as to why Abe Tompkins spoke for them. He hadn't been an active Venator for many years.
"We say aye," old Abe responded.
"What say you, Domus Preposito?"
The House of the Stewards was a title that had always been given to the family nearest to the Regis. The Llewellyns currently had that honor.
Forsyth Llwellyn smiled. "We say aye."
"What say you, Domus Stella Aquillo?"
The House of the Northern Star was one of the biggest benefactors of art programs in the country. Ambrose Barlow looked nervously at Minerva Morgan. He bowed his head and whispered, "Aye."
There were only two houses left. Next to her, Mimi felt Minerva Morgan's anxiety.
"What say you, Domus Domina?"
The House of the Gray Lady. Death House, but no one called it that. The family that was in charge of the records, of the cycles of expression and expulsion.
Minerva Morgan did not respond.
"Domus Domina?" Seymour Corrigan cleared his throat. "Domus Domina?"
Minerva Morgan sighed. "Aye."
"Domus Lamia says aye," Warden Corrigan said, a bit grumpily.
The House of the Vampyres; an old title, and the head of the Conspiracy.
Mimi braced herself. She was next.
Warden Corrigan coughed.
"What say Domus Fortis Valerius Incorruputus. House of the Pure Blood, of the Uncorrupted, of the Valiant and the Strong, Protector of the Garden, Commander of the Lord's Armies? What say you?"
That was Michael's line. Gabrielle's line. The Van Alen line, now bastardized by the Force name. Mimi raised her voice.
"We say..." She wavered. She thought of Minerva Morgan's uncertainty. Ambrose Barlow, who was so old they had all thought he was senile. And yet he had brought in that piece of paper. Had brought it to her. They were counting on her. An anonymous note, but an important one. They were right. They could not discount its message.
Mimi suddenly understood that Ambrose and Minerva could not do it themselves, but they very much wanted her to. She was young, but she outranked them by far. She represented the house that had led this Coven of immortals for centuries upon centuries.
The house that would now be stripped of its power by the very ritual they were undertaking. She hadn't thought about it until today, but it suddenly hit home that they were just going to hand over the Coven to Forsyth Llewellyn? Who was Forsyth Llewellyn anyway? Mimi scanned her memories.
A minor angel. A minor deity. A steward. He was no Regis.
She could do this. She had battled Silver Bloods and sent demons back to Hades. She would stand up when others could not.
"The House of the Pure Blood would like to render their objection to this proceeding," she said clearly and confidently.
"Objection?" Seymour Corrigan looked confused.
"We say no." Mimi said.
"No?" Corrigan asked again.
"No." More clearly this time.
Forsyth, for his part, looked composed.
"I just don't understand why we need to do this'move the spirit of the Coven to a new leader when my father is still alive?" Mimi burst out. She took a deep breath. "Therefore I must object."
"The White Vote must be unanimous," Warden Corrigan said worriedly. "We cannot move the Coven to Forsyth's safekeeping unless it is a unanimous vote by the seven families."
He looked lost, while Ambrose and Minerva looked relieved. Everyone else looked to Forsyth for guidance.
Mimi noticed that, White Vote or not, he was already their leader.
"We shall stay the installation as Warden Force wishes," Forsyth said smoothly. "I have no desire to assume a role that not everyone agrees is mine. And I too am distressed by Charles's disappearance. We shall wait."
One by one they popped back into the proceedings at the auction room. Mimi realized she was still holding her hand up, as she had been in the glom.
The auctioneer gave her a brilliant smile. "And Portrait de Femme (Francoise Gilot) goes to... the beautiful young lady in the front row!"
She had just bought a Picasso.
