Revelations (Blue Bloods 3)

"Dormi!" she ordered, and waved her hand in front of Dylan's face.

Dylan slumped and fell to the ground. Bliss turned back into herself and knelt by his side.

"He'll sleep until he is commanded to wake up," Schuyler told them.

Oliver knelt beside Bliss, and they were able to make a makeshift straitjacket from Dylan's sweater. The lines on his face slowly smoothed away. Asleep, he looked docile and peaceful.

"We've got to turn him over to the Committee; this has gone on long enough," Oliver said. "I know you don't want to, Bliss, but it's best for him. Maybe they can help him."

"They don't help Silver Bloods - they destroy them. You know that," Bliss said bitterly.

"But maybe..."

"I'll take him to my father," Bliss decided. "I might be able to plead his case with Forsyth. Get him to show Dylan some mercy because he's my friend. He'll know what to do."

Schuyler nodded. Forsyth should be able to deal with Dylan. Meanwhile, the Llewellyns' Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. They bundled Dylan into the backseat and strapped him in next to Bliss.

"He'll be okay," Schuyler assured.

"Yeah," Bliss said, even though she knew that none of them believed it anymore. The car pulled away, and she raised her hand in good-bye. Oliver returned the wave, while Schuyler simply looked stricken. Finally the car turned the corner and she couldn't see them anymore.

When Bliss arrived at Penthouse des Reves, her family's extravagant triplex apartment on the top of one of the most exclusive buildings on Park Avenue, BobiAnne was consulting with her astrologer in the "casual" sitting room. Bliss's stepmother was a big-haired Texan socialite who was dripping in diamonds even in the early afternoon. Bliss's half sister, Jordan, was doing homework on a nearby coffee table. The two of them looked up in surprise at Bliss's entry.

"What on earth?" BobiAnne cried, leaping from her chair at the sight of her stepdaughter and the bound, unconscious boy.

"It's Dylan," Bliss said, as if that would explain everything. She was frightfully calm as she addressed her family. She had no idea how they would react at the sight of him, especially since he was so dirty. BobiAnne had a heart palpitation when someone forgot to use a coaster or left sweaty handprints on the Japanese wallpaper.

"The boy who disappeared," Jordan whispered, her eyes round and frightened.

"Yes. There's something wrong with him. He's...not quite all there. I have to tell Dad." Bliss confessed to everything - Dylan's unexpected return, how she'd hid him in the Chelsea Hotel - and gave them the Cliff's Notes version of his previous attacks. "But we're all fine," she assured. "Don't worry about me. Help him," she said, gently setting Dylan down on the nearest chaise longue.

"You did the right thing," BobiAnne said, pressing Bliss to her chest and smothering her with her perfume. "He'll be safe here with us."

e Mimi, Bliss enjoyed the Committee's new agenda. She liked discovering and using her vampire abilities, instead of merely memorizing boring facts about their history, or stuffing envelopes and critiquing caterers for extravagant events that she didn't look forward to attending. Lessons got her blood pumping. She was thrilled to find herself adept at some of the more difficult tasks, like the mutatio, for instance.

The senior committee had asked the younger members to arrange themselves into groups of two or three while they practiced the delicate art of metamorphosis.

"All vampires should be able to change into smoke, or air, or fog; although most of us can transform into fire and water as well. As you might be aware, The Conspiracy saw to it that the false legends about our people perpetuated in Red Blood history are based on a modicum of truth." Dorothea Rockefeller, their guest lecturer, chuckled as she said this. The Conspiracy was a great source of amusement to the Committee.

"They also thought it might be suitable if the humans were led to believe that our kind can only transform into bats or rats or other creatures of the night. That way the Red Bloods would be lulled into a false sense of security during daylight hours. And while it is true that those of us who have the ability to shape-shift may choose these rather repulsive physical shapes, most of us do not. In fact, our lady Gabrielle chose a dove as her mutatus. If you are one of the few who can transform at will, you will find a shape that suits your abilities. Do not be surprised when it is one that you did not expect."

Bliss was one of the lucky few. She found she could switch from girl to smoke and back again, and then tried out other forms - a white horse, a black crow, a spider monkey -  before settling into the shape of a golden lioness.

But Schuyler simply stood in the middle of the room, getting more and more frustrated with each failed attempt. "Maybe it's because I'm half human," she sighed when yet another try at forcing her matter to change into a different configuration resulted in her simply falling onto the floor, still herself.

"Hey, what's wrong with being human?" Oliver asked, watching with fascination as Mimi Force transformed herself into a phoenix, a column of fire, and a red serpent in the space of three seconds. "Wow - she's good."

"Show-off," Bliss hissed. "Don't worry about her. And stop laughing, Ollie. You're distracting Schuyler!" Bliss tried not to be too smug about her success, but it was satisfying to know that Schuyler wasn't great at everything.

"Look, here's what you do. You're supposed to visualize your goal. You have to be the fog. Think like fog. Let your mind go blank. Can you feel it - a wispiness - it starts in the edge of your skin, and then ..."

Schuyler obediently closed her eyes. "Okay, I'm thinking fog. Golden Gate. San Francisco. Little cat feet. I don't know...it's not happening."

"Sshhhh," Bliss admonished. She could already feel the transformation begin, could feel all her senses shift, could feel her very being disappear into a soft gray cloud. She was having fun imagining how she could use this new talent, when she had another vision. It hit her with a bang. The starkness of the image was like a punch in the gut.

Dylan.

If he'd looked merely disheveled before, he was worse now. His clothing was in tatters, his shirt ripped to shreds, his jeans torn, and his hair wild. He looked like he hadn't eaten or slept in weeks. He was standing in front of the school gates, shaking the bars and raving like a madman.