“I don’t know,” Schuyler said, coughing and covering her mouth and nose with her hands.
“Jack! Are you all right? Can you hear me? Jack!” Mimi’s frantic voice could be heard from the hidden alcove that led to the underground stacks. She emerged from the corner, looking dazed but unhurt.
“I’m here.”
“Oh thank God! Jack! I was so worried!” Mimi cried, throwing herself into her brother’s arms. She began to sob uncontrollably. “I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“It’s all right, I’m all right,” Jack soothed, gently stroking her.
Schuyler took a step back to let them have their privacy, feeling a tangled weave of jealousy and pity and embarrassment at witnessing their intimacy.
There was a groan beneath a toppled bookshelf. “Help,” a strangled voice called. “Help!”
Jack, Mimi, and Schuyler ran to the sound, and helped lift the heavy weight from the boy.
Kingsley thanked them. “Fucking-A. What was that?”
All around them, librarians and Committee members were picking themselves up from the rubble, counting heads, and making sure friends had survived. The smoke enveloped everything, and it was hard to see through the haze.
“Over here!” A familiar voice called. Schuyler left the Force twins and Kingsley to find Oliver kneeling next to an injured librarian. There was a cut on his chin and a bruise on his forehead, and he was covered in a thick layer of plaster dust.
“You’re all right,” Schuyler said. “Thank God.”
“Schuyler, what are you doing here?” Oliver asked.
“Looking for you.”
He nodded briskly. “C’mon, give me a hand.”
Renfield, one of the crotchety human historians, was doubled up against one of the overturned copy machines, groaning. He had been thrown against the wall by the explosion, and the force had broken his ribs.
They helped him lie down by a stack of books, promised to send help as soon as possible, and walked around to see if there were any other trapped or injured parties.
So far, everyone they came across had survived. There were minor scratches and a few concussions, but people were surprised to find themselves more or less intact. Oliver stopped to administer first aid to a Blue Blood girl with a broken arm by ripping his shirt sleeve and creating an impromptu sling.
Schuyler picked through the mess and came across the prone body of a girl, facedown and covered with dust and plaster.
She turned the girl over and gasped. “Bliss, oh God, Bliss . . .” There were two punctures underneath her chin, and her blood, sticky and blue, was running down her neck.
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” a loud voice commanded from the entry. The group froze.
Schuyler kept a shaky hand on Bliss’s neck to staunch the blood. Oh, Bliss . . .
The violet smoke cleared, and Charles Force and Forsyth Llewellyn were soon standing by her side, holding gleaming swords aloft.
Charles knelt down next to Bliss and put a hand on her head. “This one is still alive.”
This one? Schuyler wondered. There was a scream from the other side of the room, and Schuyler soon understood what he had meant. There, by the entrance to the Coven headquarters, splayed on the archway steps, was Priscilla Dupont, the Chief Warden.
Lying in a pool of blood.
THIRTYEIGHT
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.