"We didn't have any evidence until now." Kingsley nodded. "But it looks as though Lawrence's suspicions were correct."
"If Corcovado is compromised, I cannot stress how grave a danger we are in," Lawrence said.
"But there have been no … deaths?" asked Eliza Dupont in a timid voice.
"None that we know of," Kingsley confirmed. "One of the young, a Yana Riberio, has also been missing. But her mother thinks she has absconded with her boyfriend on an impromptu weekend in Punta del Este," he said with a smirk.
Mimi kept silent; she was the only member who had yet to contribute to the discussion. In New York, there had been no deaths or attacks since the night at the Repository. She felt frustrated that she couldn't remember why Corcovado was so important—obviously everyone else on the Conclave knew why, but she didn't. It was annoying not to have come into her full memories.
The word meant absolutely nothing to her. And she would never ask anyone what it meant either—she had way too much pride. Maybe she could get Charles to illuminate her, although it seemed that ever since his resignation from the Conclave he had little interest in anything save sitting in his room, poring over old books and photographs, and listening to muffled recordings on an old eight-track.
"As the attack on the Repository has shown, the Silver Bloods are no longer a myth we can choose to ignore. We must act quickly. Corcovado must hold," Lawrence declared.
What on earth was Lawrence talking about? Mimi wished she knew.
"So. What is the plan?" Edmund inquired. The atmosphere had shifted. Distress at Kingsley's presence had transformed into distress at the news he had brought.
Kingsley shuffled the papers in front of him. "I'll be joining my team in the capital. Sao Paolo is a rats' nest. It will make a good hiding place. Then we'll make for Rio on foot, check out the situation in Corcovado, talk to some of the families."
Lawrence nodded. Mimi thought he was going to dismiss the meeting, but he didn't. Instead he removed a cigar from his shirt pocket. Kingsley leaned forward with a lit match, and Lawrence inhaled deeply. Smoke filled the air. Mimi wanted to wave her hands and remind Lawrence of the Committee's no-smoking rule, but she didn't dare.
The Regis regarded the table with a stern eye. "I am aware that some of you are wondering why Kingsley is here today," Lawrence said, finally addressing the question burning in everyone's mind.
He took another puff from his cigar. "Especially concerning the evidence shown at the blood trial. However, I have since learned that the Martins, and Kingsley in particular, are innocent. Their actions were justified by the mission they were given by the former Regis. For the protection of the Coven, I cannot disclose any more information about this."
Her father! Charles had something to do with it—but why wouldn't Lawrence tell them what it was?
"What mission?" Edmund demanded. "Why was the Conclave kept in the dark about this?"
"It is not our place to question the Regis," Forsyth Llewellyn reminded sharply.
Nan Cutler nodded. "It is not our way."
Mimi could see the table was neatly divided in two: half the members were indignant and anxious, while the other half were prepared to accept Lawrence's statement with no question. Not that it mattered. The Conclave was not a democracy; the Regis was an undisputed leader whose word was law. Mimi trembled with barely suppressed rage. What happened to the Conclave that had condemned her to burn just a few months ago? It wasn't fair! How could they trust a "reformed" Silver Blood?
"Would anyone care to formerly lodge a dissent?" Lawrence asked casually. "Edmund? Dashiell?"
Dashiell bowed his head. "No. We have put our faith in you, Lawrence."
Edmund gave a grudging nod.
"Thank you. Kingsley is once again a voting member of the Conclave, with full Venator status. Join me in welcoming him back to the fold. Without Kingsley, we would not have known about Corcovado so early."
There was a smattering of applause.
The meeting adjourned, and the Elders divided into whispering groups. Mimi noticed Lawrence talking in hushed tones with Nan Cutler.
Kingsley walked up to Mimi and put a light hand on her elbow. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened. The trial and all."
"You set me up," she hissed, shaking off his arm.
"It was inevitable. Still, I'm glad to see you're well," he said. But his tone of voice indicated that her well-being didn't matter to him in the slightest.
Theboy stepped into the light, his face illuminated by the fire. He looked the same—the same sad eyes, the same mess of black hair. He was wearing the same dirty T-shirt and jeans that Schuyler remembered him wearing the last time she'd seen him.
"Dylan! But how? What happened? Where have you been?" She ran to hug him, an ecstatic smile on her face. Dylan! Alive! He was not expected, but he was very welcome. She had so many questions to ask him: what happened the night he disappeared? How had he escaped from the Silver Bloods? How was it possible that he survived?
Yet as soon she got close to him, she realized something was very wrong. Dylan's face was grim, angry. His eyes were unfocused and bordering on hysteria.
"What's going on?"
Lightning-fast, Dylan pushed Schuyler with his mind, a telepathic shove—SLAM!—but Schyler was faster and ducked the mind-blow.
"Dylan! What are you doing?!" She held up her hands as if to shield herself, as though she could protect herself with a physical barrier.
SLAM! Another one. This time the suggestion was to throw herself off the balcony.
Schuyler choked, her brain feeling like it might explode from the pressure it was fighting.
She fled to the terrace, not able to stop the suggestion from taking over her senses. She looked over her shoulder. Dylan was right behind her. He looked manic and cruel, as if possessed by some malicious force.
"Why are you doing this?" she cried, as he sent yet another wrenching, agonizing command.
JUMP!
Yes. She must comply, she must obey—JUMP!—yes, she will, but if she is not careful, and she has no time to be … she could lose her footing…she could…Oh God, what if Lawrence is wrong? What if she isn't immortal? She is half human after all…What if she doesn't survive? What if, unlike the other Blue Bloods, the cycle of sleep and rest and reincarnation doesn't pertain to her. What if this one life is all she has? But it is much too late to worry about that now—she has no choice. JUMP! She can't see where she's going, she is flailing and scrabbling for purchase…He's right behind her, so she's going to…
She leaps from the terrace, flying…
No time, no time to scramble for another ledge, no time to grasp a rail…The sidewalk looming…
Schuyler braced herself for impact and landed on her feet. On her boots. THUD. Right into the middle of a stylish mob huddled in front of the Perry St. restaurant. New Yorkers abandoned to the elements because they smoked.
And in a flash, Dylan was right behind her. So fast, he was so very fast…
Then a powerful coercion took over: this was no mere suggestion—this was a control-lock. Crushing. This was what Lawrence had told her was the little-known fifth factor of the glom. The Consummo Alienari. Complete loss of one's mind to another.
For the Red Bloods, alienari meant instant death. For the vampires, it wrought irrevocable paralysis—the mind taken over so that one's will was completely subsumed. Lawrence had told her that taking the blood and the memories of fellow vampires, performing the Caerimonia Osculor on their own kind, was not the only thing Silver Bloods were known for. They had many other tortures and tricks up their sleeve. They did not drain all of their victims; some of them were left to live because they were more useful to the Silver Bloods as pawns.