“Do you mean it?” Schuyler asked a little fearfully.
“I don’t know,” Oliver groaned behind his hands, which were now folded over his mouth.
“It’s just, you know, I’ll be really careful, if you’re scared, I mean. You have to trust me.” She was still sitting upright so that her words were spoken to the wall of windows, while Oliver seemed to be talking to the ceiling.
“I trust you,” Oliver said in a strained, sad voice. “I trust you with my life.”
“I know it’ll change our relationship, but we’re best friends. It can’t change that much, can it? I mean, I already love you,” Schuyler said. Every word she said was true, she was very fond of Oliver. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
She turned around to look at him. Oliver had removed his hands from his face and opened his eyes. She noticed how his chestnut hair framed his handsome face, and how his neck looked inviting under his stiff Oxford collar. “Don’t you love me?” She knew she was being manipulative, but she couldn’t help it. She needed Oliver to say yes. Otherwise . . . who would she do it with?
Oliver tried not to blush and couldn’t quite meet Schuyler’s eyes. He lifted himself to a sitting position once again. “All right,” he said, almost more to himself than to her.
Schuyler moved closer to him and leaned against his body, and with a few small movements, she was sitting on his lap. “Okay?”
“You’re heavy,” he teased, but he was smiling.
“Am not.”
“All right, you’re not.”
“You’re cute, you know? I mean, really cute. Why do you spend all your time with me? You should date,” she said matter-of-factly as she brushed the hair out of his hazel eyes. They were the kindest eyes she had ever seen, she thought. She would always feel safe with Oliver.
“Yeah, me, date.” Oliver laughed. He put his arms around her waist.
“Why not? It’s not unheard of.”
“Yeah?” Oliver asked.
“Uh—” But Schuyler didn’t finish, because Oliver was putting a warm hand on her chin and drawing her toward him, and soon they were kissing. Soft, tentative kisses that turned more vigorous as they opened their mouths to each other.
“Mmm . . .” she sighed. So this was what it was like. Kissing Oliver. It wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. It was better. It was as if they were made for each other. Schuyler pressed herself against him, and Oliver put his hand through her hair. This was new. This was a turning point. Then she started kissing his chin and his neck.
“Sky . . .”
“Mmmm?”
Suddenly, Oliver pushed her away, took her hands from behind his back, and abruptly shoved her off his lap.
“No,” he said, panting heavily. His cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.
“No?” Schuyler asked, not understanding. It seemed like it was going well—this was what was meant to happen, wasn’t it?
“No.” Oliver stood up and started pacing. “The Sacred Kiss means something. It did to your mom. And you know what? You’ll have to find another guinea pig. I’m not going to do it out of obligation.”
“Ollie.”
“Don’t, Schuyler.”
He never called her Schuyler unless he was really mad.
Schuyler shut up.
“I’m going. I can’t be with you . . . You’re not yourself.” Oliver said, putting his coat on and slamming the door of the hotel room as he stormed out into the night.
THIRTYSIX
In a hidden alcove deep within the underground stacks underneath the Repository of History, Mimi Force was leaning over an old leather-bound book. The same book her father had confiscated several weeks ago. The Repository might keep it under lock and key, but it was only a matter of figuring out which key was used to liberate it, and that had taken minimal effort—the human librarians being no match for the rage of an angry vampire. The book was open to the final page, a black page, whose words were etched in a luminous blue—the same color as the blood that ran in Mimi’s veins. Kingsley Martin stood next to her, and the two of them read from the page by the light of a lone tapered candle. Around them, the stacks—rows and rows of six-foot-tall bookcases that seemingly stretched to infinity—were silent and shrouded in darkness. The Repository held approximately ten million books. It was the largest library in the world, and the stacks went far under Manhattan, several stories below the sidewalk. No one was even sure how far down the old, rickety caged elevator went.
They had decided to perform the incantation on the subbasement level. The spell had mandated a “location of primal power,” and Kingsley had suggested the Blue Blood headquarters.
“It says only one who is of like mind can call it,” Mimi said, reading from the text.
“That means it has to want what you want, because only then can it answer your call,” he explained.
“Okay.”
“First you have to draw your victim,” Kingsley said.