Blue Bloods (Blue Bloods 1)

"Do not be so alarmed. Nothing is going to happen to her," Charles said soothingly. "The Committee has not come to a definitive conclusion concerning her fate. She appears to have inherited some of her mother's traits, so we have kept close watch on her."

"You're going to kill her aren't you?" Jack said, his head in his hands. "I won't let you."

"That is not for you to decide. Look deep into your memories, Benjamin. Tell me what you see. Look for the truth inside yourself."

Jack closed his eyes. When they had danced at the Informals, he had felt Schuyler's presence in his own memories as if he had known her from out of time. He went back to that night, to the room where they were dancing at the American Society mansion, and to the memory of the night of the Patrician Ball - the night they had waltzed to Chopin. One of his most vivid and treasured memories - it was... her... it couldn't be anyone else! There! He felt triumphant! He looked closely at the face behind the fan. There was the fair, porcelain skin, the delicate features, that upturned nose, and he recoiled - those weren't Schuyler's eyes - those eyes were green, not blue - those eyes were...

"Her mother's," Jack said, opening his own eyes and looking at his father and sister.

Charles nodded. His voice was uncharacteristically harsh. "Yes. You saw Allegra Van Alen. It's a powerful resemblance. Allegra was one of our best."

Jack lowered his head. He had projected that image onto Schuyler when they were dancing, had used his vampire powers to fill her own senses, so that she thought she had sensed the past as well. But Schuyler was a new soul. Her mother, it was her mother whom Jack had pursued across the centuries. That's why he'd been drawn to Schuyler, ever since that night in front of Block 122 - because her face was so like the one that haunted his dreams.

Then he looked up at Mimi. His sister. His partner, his better half, his best friend and worst enemy. It was she who had been with him since the beginning. It was her hand that he reached for now in the darkness. She was strong, she was a survivor. It was from her that he drew his strength. She had always been there for him. Agrippina to his Valerius. Elisabeth de Lorraine-Lillebonne when he was Louis d'Orleans. Susannah Fuller to his William White.

Mimi reached over and took his hand in hers. They were so alike; they had come from the same dark fall, from the same expulsion that had cursed them to live their immortal lives on earth, and yet, here they were, thriving after a millennia. She patted his hand, the tears in her eyes mirroring his own.

"So what do we do now?" Jack asked. "What's going to happen to her?"

"For now, nothing. We watch and wait. It's probably best if you stay clear of her. And your sister has informed me about your concerns about Augusta's death. I'm pleased to say we are very close to finding the perpetrator. I am sorry to have kept you both in the dark for so long. Let me explain..."

Jack nodded and gripped his sister's hand even more tightly.

CHAPTER 31

The next week went by swiftly. Every day after school, Schuyler and Oliver hit the stacks at the Repository, trying to find any record or mention of "Croatan." They combed through the computer database, trying every conceivable spelling of the word. But since the library files were only automated in the late 1980s, they also had to reference the ancient card catalog.

"Can I help you?" a grave voice asked as they huddled together at Oliver's desk one afternoon, poring over dozens of old books and several cards from the "Cr - Cu" drawer.

"Oh, Master Renfield. May I introduce Schuyler Van Alen?" Oliver asked, standing up and making a small, formal bow.

Schuyler shook the old man's hand. He had a haughty, aristocratic visage and was dressed in an anachronistic Edwardian greatcoat and velvet trousers. Oliver had told her about Renfield - a human Conduit who took his job way too seriously. "He's been serving the Blue Bloods for so long he thinks he is a vampire. Classic Stockholm Syndrome," Oliver had said.

"I think we've got it covered." Oliver smiled nervously. They had tacitly decided not to ask any of the librarians for any help with their search, intuitively understanding that it was an illicit subject. If The Committee was hiding something, and that something had to do with "Croatan," then it was probably best if they didn't tell anyone about it.

Renfield picked up a piece of paper from Oliver's desk, where Schuyler had scribbled down a series of words. "Croatan? Kroatan? Chroatan? Chroatin? Kruatan?" He quickly put the paper down, as if it burned his fingers.

"Croatan. I see," he said.

Oliver attempted a casual tone. "It's just something we heard about. It's nothing. Just a school project."

"A school project," Renfield nodded somberly. "Of course. Unfortunately, I have never heard of the word. Would you care to enlighten me?"

"I think it's a piece of cheese. Something to do with an old English recipe." Oliver replied with a straight face. "From Blue Blood banquets in the sixteenth century."

"Cheese. I see."

"Like Roquefort or Camembert. But I'm thinking it's more like a sheep's milk, maybe," Oliver said. "Or a goat. It could be a goat. Or maybe like a mozzarella. What do you think, Sky?"

Schuyler's lips were twitching and she couldn't trust herself to answer.

"Very well. Carry on," Renfield said, leaving them to their task.

When he was safely at a far distance, Schuyler and Oliver burst out laughing - as softly as they could.

"Cheese!" Schuyler whispered. "I thought he was going to faint!"