Bliss just stared at him. It suddenly made sense. Of course he was one of them, she'd known it somehow, that was why she'd been drawn to him all along. Because he was just like her.
"But something's happening to me… I'm not sure, but I think I just tried to kill Schuyler… I saw her leave the hotel, and I followed her. I don't know why, it just came over me. I saw her on the street and I… I don't think it's the first time either."
"No," Bliss said, refusing to hear what he had to say. "Stop. You're not making sense." Why would he attack Schuyler? Unless he was… unless he'd become… unless he'd turned into a… She remembered that night after the photo shoot. Schuyler, staggering on the sidewalk, clutching the side of her neck…
"Listen," he said, standing up from the bed and putting his jacket back on. "You need to get out of here. They got me, and they're going to get you too. They want all of us. I only came back to warn you, but I can't stay. I don't think it's safe for you to be around me. But I wanted to tell you to be careful. I don't want them to get you. You have to protect yourself. You've got to believe me. They're coming…"
Then everything went blank. That was all she remembered.
She had blacked out. She was in her skin and not in her skin. She slipped through time and went somewhere else. When she woke up, she was screaming, and her parents were standing above her bed.
Dylan had come to warn her—and now he was gone.
She felt a dull emptiness, an ache, deep in her bones, as if she had survived a beating. She walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. She gasped when she looked at herself in the mirror. There was a mark underneath the collar of her T-shirt. Had her parents not noticed? She pulled on the fabric to see it better. It was an ugly bruise. A dark purple swelling, as if someone had tried to strangle her. The skin was tender to her touch. What had happened? Where was Dylan?
She turned on the faucet to wash her face, when she noticed shards of pulverized glass on the bathroom floor. The room was cold. She turned toward the window The curtains billowed from a draft. The top of the windowpane was shattered—and it was bulletproof glass—her father had had it installed when they moved in, even if they were on the highest floor of the building thirty stories high.
Bliss picked her way carefully through the broken glass, when she noticed something strange. Next to the heater, a dark crumpled thing. She reached for it and pulled out Dylan's motorcycle jacket. Dylan never went anywhere without his jacket. It was like his second skin. It smelled like him—a little sour, like cigarettes and aftershave.
There was something different about it, though. She turned the jacket toward the light, and that's when she saw it. The lining was soaked with blood. Thick and wet. Heavy. There was so much blood. Oh God…
She was still holding the jacket when she noticed Jordan standing in front of the bathroom door. A small, silent form in cotton pajamas.
"You scared me. Ever think of knocking? You know you're not allowed in my room!" Bliss said.
Her younger sister looked at her as if she'd seen a ghost. "You're okay."
"Of course I am," Bliss snapped.
"I heard something—I heard—a deep voice…"
"Dylan. My boyfriend. He was here with me earlier."
“No, not the boy—another," Jordan said. She was shaking violently, and Bliss was surprised to find her sister near tears. She'd never seen Jordan act that way before.
Bliss, still holding the jacket, walked to her side and held her close. "What did you hear?" she asked, trying to soothe her trembling sister.
"There was a thump—like—something heavy dropping—then footsteps, out of your room—dragging something away—then you were screaming—I, I didn't know what to do—so I called Mom and Dad…"
It all made sense now.
The broken window.
Someone had been there.
Someone else.
Or more likely, something.
And it had… oh God, Dylan… all the blood—there was so much blood on the jacket—how could anyone survive after losing so much blood? She felt a deep sense of grief. He was as good as dead. The creature had taken him.
It had returned, to finish the job—to get her—the swelling in her neck—she'd tried to fight it off—if Jordan hadn't heard, if her parents hadn't come… She felt chills. The fine hair on her arms stood on end.
It was no nightmare—she'd been fighting it, it had been there, it was real. It had tried to kill her. What Dylan had tried to warn her about, what she and Oliver and Schuyler had discovered in the Repository. Croatan. A creature that preyed on vampires.
A Silver Blood.
CHAPTER 42
The Forces dropped her off in front of her door.
Schuyler was painfully embarrassed to think that she had accused Jack's father of being a Silver Blood. Even though she was still troubled by his cavalier attitude toward their return—almost as if it didn't bother him—almost as if he had expected it. But that couldn't be true. He was the Regis, their leader, a vampire by choice instead of sin. She had to trust him to know the right thing to do.
"Take it easy," Jack said, bidding her good-bye.
She nodded her thanks and exited from the car. Then she realized she had completely forgotten to ask why Charles was visiting her mother in the first place. Maybe her grandmother would know.
When Schuyler entered the house, she felt a strangeness in the air. The sitting room was as dark and shrouded as ever, but there was a feeling of menace. The umbrella stand had been knocked over, as if someone had run down the stairs in a hurry. The silence seemed ominous. Hattie was away on her week off, and her grandmother would be alone in the house. Schuyler quickened her pace up the stairs. She noticed one of the paintings hanging in the stairway was askew. Someone had definitely been in the house. Someone who did not belong there.
Dylan! What if Dylan had been here? Looking for her? To finish what he'd started? She felt a wild panic. Her grandmother's room was on the far end of the second landing. She threw the doors open and walked briskly inside, calling her name.
"Cordelia! Cordelia!"
There was a moan from the other side of the bed.
Schuyler ran toward the sound, frightened of what she would find. But she didn't scream when she saw Cordelia lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood—thick blue liquid surrounding her—it was almost as if she had known it would happen.
"Fought it off… but so powerful…" Cordelia whispered, opening her eyes to see Schuyler leaning over her.
"Who? Who did this to you?" Schuyler asked, helping Cordelia to a sitting position. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"No, no time." Cordelia argued, her voice barely louder than a croak. "Came for me. Croatan." She spit up blood. "Who? Was it Dylan? Did you see?"
Cordelia shook her head. "I saw nothing. I was blinded momentarily. But it was young, powerful. I did not see its face. I held it off. It tried, but it wasn't able to take me or my memories. But this is the end of my cycle. You need to take me to Dr. Pat's. So they can take my blood. For the next Expression. Very important."
Schuyler nodded, tears in her eyes. "But what about you?"
"This cycle is ended for me. This is the last chance we will have to speak for a long time."
Schuyler told her quickly about what happened at the Carlyle, and what she'd learned from Charles Force about Dylan, how he'd been bitten, and turned, by a Silver Blood. How he had killed Aggie. "But he's missing. He escaped from the hotel room. Nobody knows where he is."
"He is most likely dead by now. They will kill him before he can reveal their secrets. Before the Blue Bloods can hold him again. It is as I always feared," Cordelia whispered. "The Silver Bloods are back… Only you can defeat them… Your mother was the strongest of us and you are her daughter…"
"My mother?"