“Mimi’s selfish . . . but she’s not evil,” Jack implored. The afternoon bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period and the start of classes. Students began streaming out of the cafeteria, up the stairs, and crowding the marble foyer, where Jack and Schuyler were standing. Several whispered to each other as they noticed Jack and Schuyler huddled in conversation. Some Blue Bloods who had attended the hearing looked sympathetic when they saw Jack, while others glared, and one went so far as to hiss at his presence. A special Committee meeting had been scheduled that afternoon to alert junior members on the latest discoveries.
“She would never truly hurt another person.” Jack continued to press his sister’s case. “She doesn’t hate you. Not really.” He wished he could explain. It’s not you she hates, Schuyler. It’s me. She just turned her anger outward because she couldn’t bring herself to hate whom she loves. And she does hate me for what I have done—for loving you.
Schuyler looked at him skeptically, but remained silent. Mimi Force. Azrael. The Angel of Death? Wasn’t that Mimi’s job? To bring about the end of life? To her surprise, Jack seemed to be able to read her mind.
“You don’t understand—it is part of the balance. We are who we are. Death is as much a part of life. It is the gift of the Red Bloods. Mimi is part of the grand plan,” Jack said.
Schuyler shrugged. “I’m not so sure,” she said. “Goodbye, Jack.”
FORTYTHREE
Lawrence was poring over archives from the Repository, and noticed that one clipping had been completely burned—except for the date on the top. November 23, 1872. He was still puzzling over it when Schuyler returned from school. She told her grandfather about Jack Force being able to read her mind that afternoon. “I thought I was safe from telepathy, and yet he was still able to read my thoughts. Why?” she asked. “Abbadon has always been one of our most gifted seers,” Lawrence said. “It will take more than a simple occludo exercise to close one’s mind from him. But it sometimes happens that those who are drawn to each other can share a kinship of some kind.” “Drawn to each other?” Schuyler asked. “You must have noticed he is drawn to you,” Lawrence said.
Schuyler blushed. She had hoped but she had never thought of it as a reality. And yet, even with his bond with Mimi, he had sought her friendship and hinted that maybe he would be interested in something more. . . . He had kissed her once, so long ago. And the boy behind the mask . . . Could it have been him?
“But he is bonded,” Schuyler said. “It cannot be.”
“No. Not among our kind. Abbadon has always been this way. You were not the first to tempt his fidelity,” Lawrence said. “But it will pass. Thank goodness you are not drawn to him. Otherwise it will spell disaster for both of you.”
She looked down at the carpet, wondering if her grandfather was testing her, or if he merely assumed that Schuyler would choose the right path simply because she was his granddaughter.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank God for that.”
She felt a sudden light-headedness, and her vision became pixilated and blurry; her knees buckled, but before she could collapse, Lawrence leaped to his feet and steadied her. “You have not done as you were told,” he said grimly. “You have not taken a human familiar. You are weakening.”
She shook her head.
“This is not a trivial matter, Schuyler. If you do not take a familiar, there is a very real danger you will succumb to a coma like your mother.”
“But I . . .”
Lawrence cut her off with a curt directive. “You must hunt, then—use the seduction. The call. That is the only way now.”
The Caerimonia Osculor was a ritual between vampire and human that was usually a development within an existing relationship. That was why human familiars were traditionally lovers and friends of Blue Bloods. But the Code also allowed for the use of the powers of Seduction if the vampire was desperate. The vampire would use The Call to draw the human to him, hypnotizing the human and drawing its blood.
“I have taught you the words from the sacred language that would induce it,” Lawrence said. “I will be going to the club tonight. When I return, I will trust that you have performed what is necessary.”
Her grandfather departed soon after that, leaving Schuyler upstairs in her room. I don’t want to, she thought stubbornly. I don’t want to do it with a stranger. I don’t want to do it with someone I don’t know. I’m not desperate! Or am I?
Then, almost as if drawn by the call, someone knocked on Schuyler’s bedroom door.
“What is it, Hattie?” Schuyler asked.
The door opened. “It’s not Hattie, it’s me,” Oliver said, slouching in the doorway.
“I didn’t hear the front door open. What are you doing here?” Schuyler asked defensively.
“Your grandfather told me you wanted me to come over,” Oliver explained.
Ah. So Lawrence had performed a call of his own. Only, this one merely involved the use of a telephone. Very clever, grandfather, Schuyler thought.
Oliver walked over to sit on the footlocker across from Schuyler’s bed. He looked at her pensively. “I was thinking . . . if you still want to do it, we can.”
“You mean?”