Oliver took Schuyler home, both of them still feeling shaken up. The awkwardness of what went on between them earlier at the Mercer had completely disappeared in the face of this new calamity. They were back to their normal selves, and Schuyler was glad to have her friend by her side.
Hattie made a fuss over the two of them when they arrived, placing bandages on Schuyler's head and the cut on Oliver's chin. The loyal maid prepared steaming cups of hot chocolate and wrapped them snugly in cashmere blankets by the fire.
"Where's Lawrence?" Schuyler asked, taking a cookie from a tray that Hattie was holding out to them.
"He ran out of here just a few minutes ago; said he had an emergency meeting of some kind," Hattie said. "He told me to take good care of you when you got here. To get the first-aid kit out. I think he knew something happened."
Once Hattie had left the room, Oliver asked, "Do you think it was a Silver Blood?"
Schuyler shrugged. "It has to be. It's the only explanation. But it doesn't make sense. Lawrence told me that Silver Bloods hunt by themselves. They take their victims when they are alone, without their canine protectors. The attack happened in a public space, where there were many witnesses."
"Do you think she's dead?" Oliver asked again.
"Who? Bliss? No. Charles Force said she was alive," Schuyler replied. Still, it was hard to believe. The Texan girl had two deep puncture wounds on her neck, and the floor around her had been swimming with her blood.
"No, I mean...Mrs. DuPont," Oliver clarified.
"I don't know." Schuyler shuddered. It had certainly looked that way from where she was standing, and she had overheard members of the Conclave discussing the situation from across the room as they gathered around the body.
Full consumption...Impossible...But the blood has been drained...Which means...She is gone...She has been taken...Not Priscilla! Yes...This is dire indeed.
Dr. Pat's ambulance team had taken Bliss away on a stretcher, with an oxygen mask on her face and her father by her side. But the second stretcher, the one that carried Priscilla DuPont, had been covered with a white sheet over the body. Which only meant one thing...
Schuyler scooted up next to Oliver so that the two of them were leaning against the couch legs. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and he put an arm around her to draw her closer. They took comfort in each other's company.
Lawrence returned close to dawn. He saw Schuyler and Oliver sitting side by side on the rug against the couch.
"You should both be in bed. Especially you, granddaughter. Surviving a Silver Blood attack is not to be taken lightly," he said, waking them gently.
Schuyler waved the sleep from her eyes, and Oliver yawned.
"No. Not yet. We want to know what happened," Schuyler insisted. "We were there."
Lawrence sagged onto the opposite leather chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. "Yes, and I'm only glad that nothing worse happened to either of you."
"It wasn't after us," Schuyler said.
"Thank heaven for that," Lawrence replied. He took out his customary cigar and cigar cutter.
Schuyler knew this was a sign that her grandfather would explain everything, or at least as much as he himself knew. She leaned in closely.
"What did Cordelia tell you about the Croatan?" He asked, puffing on his cigar.
"That they were an ancient danger that became a myth to the Blue Bloods. Because the last known attack was four hundred years ago," Schuyler said. "During Plymouth."
"Yes. Roanoke was their most violent and crushing victory. They took out an entire settlement. But she did not tell you about Venice, or Barcelona, or Cologne."
Schuyler raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"What is not known, or at least, what has been suppressed, is that ever since their so-called defeat in Rome, Silver Bloods have returned to feed on the Blue Blood young at the turn of each new century. We had tried to convince the Conclave of this pattern, this ever present danger. But the years after Roanoke were peaceful, and there was only one other instance of an attack in the New World."
"Here? In America?" Schuyler asked. Cordelia had never mentioned this.
"Yes." Lawrence set a thick file folder, burned at the edges, on the coffee table and pushed it toward Schuyler. "This is the file Priscilla DuPont was working on. She was going to present some evidence to The Committee, testify to what Cordelia and I had warned them about, so long ago."
She opened it, and several newspaper clippings fell out. She and Oliver looked through them. "Who's Maggie Stanford?"
"She was a Blue Blood who disappeared. We had no idea that she had been committed to an asylum. Red Blood doctors had thought it was a mental disease, but it was actually evidence of Silver Blood corruption. She was a victim."
Lawrence tapped on the papers with his cigar. "When Maggie was never found, Cordelia and I knew the Silver Bloods were behind it, but that we would never be able to prove it. That was when we decided to separate, so that I could continue the investigation without The Committee being the wiser. Priscilla had told me she had found some- thing in the archives that would shed some light on their actions, but I have looked through this file. There is nothing I haven't seen before."
"What happened after Maggie?" Schuyler asked, noting how pretty the young debutante had looked in her picture.
"Nothing. The Silver Bloods retreated back into the shadows again. Until last year, when Aggie Carondolet was killed. And since Aggie, there have been four Blue Bloods slain at the beginning of their Transformation. Four. That is the most since Roanoke. That means they are getting stronger, more confident.
"Priscilla's death, however, is the most troubling. To know that they have overcome a vampire at the height of her powers this means their strength has grown. They are becoming more aggressive.
"The Committee must wake up to this danger. We can no longer sit back and wait while the Prince of the Silver Bloods marshals his forces against us and takes us one by one."
"You really think Lucifer has returned?" Schuyler asked.
Lawrence said nothing for a long moment, his cigar burning steadily, the ashes at the tip growing longer and longer until they fell, sizzling into the Aubusson rug and leaving a small hole. "Oh, rats," he cursed. "Cordelia will never forgive me for that. She never let me smoke in the house."
"Grandfather, you haven't answered my question." Schuyler said sharply.
"Maybe it doesn't need to be answered," Oliver said nervously. All this talk of Lucifer and Silver Bloods was making him feel queasy. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so much hot chocolate or eaten that fifth cookie.
"Only the most powerful of Silver Bloods would be able to cause a massive destruction in such a protected place," Lawrence finally said.
"Protected?"
"The Repository of History is one of the safest of our strongholds. It has wards all over it, spells to keep out such an invasion, to keep out Abomination. It is an ominous sign for all of us that the wards did not hold."
"What are you going to do?" Schuyler asked.
"The only thing I can do. Call for the White Vote. It is time Michael is challenged as Regis."