“And the Conclave?”
“They are understandably concerned, but it is best if they do not know too many details of my trip. You know my doubts about the Conclave, what Cordelia and I always suspected.”
“That one of the great families has betrayed us,” Schuyler said, watching as her grandfather meticulously arranged his necktie. Lawrence always dressed formally for every occasion.
“Yes. But I do not know how. And I do not know why. Of course, our misgivings have never been confirmed, and certainly we have never had any evidence of such a betrayal. Yet the latest attacks confirmed that somehow, one or more of the Silver Bloods survived, and have returned to prey on us. That perhaps the Dark Prince himself still walks this earth.”
Schuyler shuddered. Whenever Lawrence spoke about Lucifer, she felt as if her blood had turned to ice. There was evil embedded even in his name.
“Now, Schuyler, I must bid you good-bye.”
“No! Let me come with you,” Schuyler said, rising from her seat. That dark, terrible, hateful animosity. Her grandfather couldn’t face that thing—whatever it was—alone.
“I am sorry.” Lawrence shook his head and slipped his wallet into his coat pocket. “You must stay here. You are strong, Schuyler, but you are very young. And you are still under my care.”
He drew the blinds and put on an old raincoat. Anderson, his Conduit, appeared at the door. “Ready, sir?”
Lawrence picked up his bags. “Do not look so disappointed, granddaughter. It is not only for your sake that you must remain in New York. If there is one thing I can do for your mother, it’s keep you safe from harm, and as far away from Corcovado as possible.”
AUDIO RECORDINGS ARCHIVE:
Repository of History
CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT:
Altithronus Clearance Only
Transcript of Venator report filed 2/28
<<Muffled recording. Two distinct voices are heard: Venator Martin and Charles Force, Regis.>>
Venator Martin: She has taken the bait.
Charles Force: Are you perfectly sure?
VM: Yes. There is no doubt in my mind that she will attempt to perform the Incantation Demonata.
CF: But a mere child to dabble with such dark magic. Perhaps if you could reveal her to me. . . .
VM: You know I cannot speak her name until it is confirmed at trial, Regis. But do not worry, I will not allow her to complete the spell.
CF: But you must.
VM: Excuse me, Regis? I do not understand.
CF: It is a test, Venator. The Incantation must be performed. If she fails, you will take up the blade and draw your own blood.
VM: The Committee knows of this? The Conclave approves?
CF: Do not worry about the Conclave. This is my business. The Venators are loyal to me, are they not?
VM: But Regis—the Incantation. Are you sure?
CF: I am. When the time comes, do it. On my order.
SEVENTEEN
When Bliss was growing up, her family lived in one of those mega-mansions that were ubiquitous in River Oaks, a wealthy Houston suburb. Their house was the epitome of “Texas Excess,” at twenty-eight thousand square feet. Bliss used to joke that it should have its own zip code. She had never felt comfortable in it, and preferred her grandparents’ rambling ranch in the wilds of West Texas instead. Despite their Yankee roots, her family was considered Lone Star aristocracy—their money made in oil, cattle, and well . . . mostly oil. The story the Llewellyns liked to tell was how the family patriarch had scandalized his upper-crust family by dropping out of Yale to work at an oil field. He’d quickly learned the ropes, buying up thousands of acres of oil-rich land to become the luckiest oil baron in the entire state. Was it luck or due to vampire ability, Bliss wondered now.
Forsyth was the youngest son of the youngest son. Her grandfather was a rebel who’d stayed East after boarding school, married his Andover sweetheart, a Connecticut debutante, and raised their son in her family’s Fifth Avenue apartment, until bad luck on the stock market sent the family back to the Texas homestead.