“Well, they weren’t druggies. Their transformations were freaking them out. They were having delusions, they couldn’t separate the past from the present. They were attacking humans, violating the Code. So they were sent away to deal with it. Rehab’s a good cover, don’t you think? The humans think they’re there to dry out, which I guess is true in a way.”
It always amazed Schuyler how the vampires found a way to disguise their real lives by integrating into regular human society, but Bliss explained it was actually the other way around. “Apparently, the Mayo Clinic, Hazelden, and all those famous rehab centers were founded by Blue Bloods. They had to start catering to human problems when it became fashionable to go. You think he’ll be okay?” Bliss asked.
Schuyler didn’t want to give Bliss any false hope, but she thought it would be cruel to say otherwise. “I’m sure they’ll try their best.”
Bliss sighed. “Yeah.”
They made plans to go visit Dylan in a few days, and Schuyler said good-bye at Eighty-sixth to catch the Fifth Avenue bus.
All week she had forced thoughts of Mimi’s warning from her mind. Was Mimi telling the truth? Was she putting Jack in danger? She had wanted to ask Lawrence about it, but she had been too ashamed. What had her grandfather told her? You must have noticed he is drawn to you. Thank goodness you are not drawn to him. It would spell disaster to both of you.
How could she tell her grandfather that he was wrong. That she did return Jack Force’s affections. That she was weak and pathetic when Lawrence believed she was so strong. She could not. She told herself she couldn’t bother him with such a silly thing as her love life anyway, while he was out there dealing with a problem as grave and serious as the possible destruction of the very essence of the Blue Bloods’ existence. She was starting to worry about Lawrence. There hadn’t been a message from him in days.
Her grandfather had been wary of using the normal means of communication, and once he’d arrived in Rio had relied exclusively on telepathy to get in touch and let her know everything was okay. So far he’d only complained about the weather (steamy) and the food (too spicy). He hadn’t addressed the problem of Corcovado, and Schuyler didn’t know if that was good or bad.
There had been no opportunity to ask Jack about his sister’s dire predictions either. They had been unable to meet since the night of Dylan’s attack. Mimi, Schuyler knew, was taking up all of his free time.
When she arrived at the town house, Jack was in the living room, speaking to his father. Charles was in his bathrobe. The former leader of the Blue Bloods now spent his days in his study. He didn’t even look as if he had showered that day. Schuyler felt pity and annoyance. He had caused her so much heartache. She’d had to avoid everyone she loved because of him. She’d believed his threats, but lately it looked as though Charles was only a threat to himself. But then she realized if Charles had not dragged her to his home, maybe she and Jack would never have had the chance to find out just how much they truly liked each other.
“Hey.” Jack smiled. “You’re back early.”
“I made the bus this time,” she said, setting her school things down on a nearby table. She still didn’t feel comfortable in their house, but on the other hand, she was tired of tiptoeing around the place as if she didn’t belong there.
“Hello, Schuyler,” Charles grunted.
“Charles,” she said coldly.
The former Regis tightened the belt on his robe and shuffled off to his den, leaving the two of them alone.
“Is she here?” Schuyler asked, looking around the opulent space that was the Forces’ living room. Decorated in lush, French-Victorian style, the room was closely packed with rare antiques, jaw-droppingly familiar museum-quality art, and sumptuous fabrics. Her senses told her that Mimi was not around the premises. But who knew.
“No. She’s at some sort of tasting,” he replied.
Schuyler sat next to him on a gilded velvet “kissing chair” dating to the sixteenth-century and so named because a couple had to sit side-by-side and facing each other. “Jack.” She looked at his face. The face she loved so much. “I want to ask you something.”
“Shoot,” Jack said, stretching his legs out in front of him and loping his long arm over the edge of the chair so that his fingers rested lightly on her shoulders. She tingled at his slightest touch.
“Is it true that the bond between you and—”
“I don’t want to talk about the bond,” Jack said, cutting her off and withdrawing his arm. His face turned cold, and for a moment she saw a flash of his true nature, saw the dark angel that he was. The angel who had wrought destruction in Paradise, the one who would sound the trumpet to the Apocalypse when it came. His was the face of Abbadon, the enforcer, the hammer blow, the most dangerous soldier in the army of the Almighty.
“But I want to know—”
“Shh.” Jack turned to her and pressed a hand on her cheek. “Let’s not . . .”