“That is no Silver Blood,” Oliver said.
“He must have been possessed,” Schuyler said, her voice breaking a little while Oliver walked over to gently close Dylan’s eyes. Schuyler noticed there were tears in Oliver’s eyes as well as her own.
“Yes.” He nodded.
“The blankness . . . it was the alienari,” Schuyler said, realizing how deeply they had been deceived.
“An old Silver Blood trick.” Oliver nodded. “Disguised as Lucifer himself, so that Lawrence would kill his own kind. An innocent.”
Schuyler nodded. “I sensed it, Oliver—Lawrence must have too. There was something wrong. The light was blinding, you couldn’t even look at him directly. It was a distraction, so that we wouldn’t be able to see what was in front of us. The image of Lucifer was so powerful, it threw us off. I should have used the animaverto.”
“This was a well-executed plan. Leviathan was freed by Dylan’s death. The prison bonds can only be broken when a Blue Blood commits the highest crime of all—murder of their own kind. It’s in the books,” Oliver said.
“Grandfather,” Schuyler said softly, taking Lawrence’s hand in hers. They’d had too little time together; there was so much she still had to learn. So much he still had to teach her.
Then for the last time, she heard Lawrence’s voice inside her head.
Listen.
I was not worthy of this task. I have learned nothing over the centuries. I did not find the Dark Prince. I am no keeper. You must ask Charles . . . you must ask him about the Gates . . . about the Van Alen legacy and the Paths of the Dead. There has to be a reason why the Silver Bloods have been able to so easily breach the divisions between the worlds.
“What gates? What paths?”
You are Allegra’s daughter. Your sister will be our death. But you are our salvation. You must take your mother’s sword and slay him. I know you will triumph.
Then Lawrence spoke no more.
FORTY-FOUR
Dark blood. There was blood everywhere. On her face. In her eyes. On her hands. On her clothes. Then slowly it began to vanish, the metallic tinge turned white and invisible as the cold night air hit the liquid. Vampire blood . . . Bliss stared at her arms. What happened? She couldn’t remember. She had blacked out. Or had she? The memories began to flood back. She saw herself get inside the car with her parents, saw them nod at her. They were expecting her to accompany them. How strange. It was like being in a movie. She could see out of her eyes, but she could not move her arms or legs or even speak. Someone else was doing that for her. Someone else was inside her body. The man in the white suit. Yes.
I am you. You are me. We are one, my daughter.
They arrived at a hilltop mansion, and Bliss remembered hiding in the shadows until the time came. She had watched the killing unfold with an overwhelming sense of horror. The massacre she had inflicted with her own hands. She had been imprisoned in her own body, a helpless figure, trapped inside her head while the other took over. Inside she had raged and wept and screamed. But she was powerless, with absolutely no ability to stop herself.
Slowly, she began to remember what happened during her blackouts. Began to realize the truth.
She was the one who had attacked Dylan that first night at The Bank. She had wanted to drain him, but something—a vestigial attraction to him—had stopped her, so she had taken Aggie instead. She had attempted to take Schuyler twice. That was why Schuyler’s bloodhound had barked at her—Beauty knew her true nature even if Schuyler did not. Then she had attacked Cordelia, had almost taken her, if Dylan had not stopped her.
Dylan had been a problem. He knew but did not know. That was why his memory was so screwed up all the time. He knew the truth even though she’d tried to wipe it from his consciousness.
That first time he had returned to warn her about the Silver Bloods had resulted in that bloody scene in the bathroom. She remembered his blood-soaked leather jacket, the scratches on her face and the bruise on her neck. But he had escaped, and she’d had to send others to track him down. But the Venators got to him first. Oliver was wrong. They were not Silver Bloods.
They had let Dylan go when they discovered he was innocent.
He was free to return to her.
The stupid, stupid boy.
“I know who the Silver Blood is,” Dylan had said that night he crashed through the window. “It’s you.”
And right then and there, she had changed his memory. Made him think it was Schuyler.
A small, sad voice inside her began to cry.
I loved him. I loved Dylan.
We love no one.
No one but ourselves.