Because Jack had transformed. He was no longer there. Only Abbadon. Schuyler did not want to turn around. Did not want to see what Jack had turned into, but she caught a glimpse of the black fire that surrounded him, that lit up his image and made him glorious and terrible, like a vengeful, wrathful god. Frightful and awful to behold, a power that was not of this world, not of this kind.
Schuyler would not want to admit it, but Abbadon didn't look all that different from Leviathan, the demon that had sprung from the earth. But she couldn't think about that now.
Instead, she ran.
CHAPTER 25
Bliss
Of course, just because Bliss was allowed to have control once in a while did not mean that things were back to normal. She would start taking her life for granted, but then the Visitor would return, and it was out, out, out again till next time. She would keep track: Monday to Wednesday, then out for much of Thursday, then the weekend blending into a blur, then back!, she would still be confused by dates, think it was Thursday when it was really Saturday. As the days passed, it was becoming more difficult to adjust to the times when the Visitor returned, to suddenly find herself thrown out of the light and the world, and back into that cold, empty void of memory and restlessness.
She decided that the next time it happened, she would not allow him to shut her out. There had to be a way to stay. She had to find out what the Visitor was planning, where this was all going. Sure, the Visitor had allowed her to have part of her life back, but who knew if it would continue? Plus, Bliss didn't want to share. She wanted all of herself back. She couldn't live like this, like a crazy person. There were other people to think about. The Visitor was dangerous, evil. She couldn't let what had happened in Rio happen again.
The thought made her insides turn to ice. If only there were more fashion shows to book, or more parties to distract her; but things were winding down in the Hamptons, and there were fewer excuses for her to be out in the world.
She spent the afternoon sunbathing in the backyard. She was so pale, she always burned, and had lathered up with some French sunscreen that was like, SPF 100, you might as well be wearing a blanket. She basked in the sun, enjoying how the heat slowly warmed her body. After a year of being nowhere, it was heaven to be outside again, to sit on a chaise lounge, bobbing gently in the middle of the pool, her hand skimming the warm water.
Then she felt it: a darkening... like a shadow passing over the sun, and then the push, the Visitor coming back. But instead of dutifully letting him take over, Bliss forced herself to remain. Inside her mind, Bliss made herself very, very quiet, curled up like a ball, like a shadow against the wall so that the Visitor would not notice that she was sticking around. She knew, instinctively, that he must not realize she was still there. She tried to become an ocean of stillness, with nary a ripple on the surface. She forced herself to hang on. Somehow, it worked.
The Visitor was in charge, but she was still there. This time, she could see everything he could see; she could even hear him speaking (through her voice). They (she had to think of them as two people now) were getting up, putting on a robe, then striding into the house. They took the steps two at a time and practically charged into Forsyth's study.
The senator was home for the congressional summer recess. He was sitting behind his desk with a cigar, and he jumped at their unannounced entrance.
"Didn't I teach you to knock?" he snarled.
"It is me, Forsyth," the Visitor said in Bliss's voice.
"Oh! My lord, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I did not know you were returning so soon," he said, throwing himself at Bliss's feet. It was discomfiting to see Forsyth through the Visitor's perception, a lowly worm cowering before her.
"Tell me how I can be of service, my lord," the senator said, still on his knees.
"News, Forsyth. Tell me of the Conclave."
Forsyth practically chuckled. Bliss had never seen her "father" look so smug, which was saying a lot for a politician.
"We have nothing to fear from that group, my lord. Half of them are relying on Red Blood "hearing aids" to listen to reports. It's highly entertaining, really. Did I tell you Ambrose Barlow is now a voting member? Of course you know him as Britannicus."
"Britannicus..." the Visitor said. "He does sound familiar."
"He was once your foreman. He took the children to the baths." The Visitor found this incredibly funny. "Very good. I take it everything is set in motion, then? The Venators aren't giving you any trouble?"
"Not at all. Everything is proceeding as planned. Charles Force is in Paris as we speak. He is easier to manipulate than a puppet," Forsyth said with a sharp bark of a laugh.
A deep sense of satisfaction settled over Bliss. The news had made the Visitor very happy. Like an overstuffed cat who had just devoured a cage of canaries.
"Very good. Very good. And my brother?"
Forsyth removed a bottle of scotch from underneath his desk and poured two shots into crystal glasses.
"Say the word and Leviathan will strike. The girl is within his reach. It will be easy enough for him to infiltrate the party. By the way, you may find this amusing: my sources tell me that Charles was unable to get an invitation to the ball."
"How fortunate that the schism still holds." The Visitor nodded, sounding very pleased. "I could always count on my dear sister to harbor such a long grudge. It works to our favor." The Visitor downed the scotch in one fluid motion. "And my other sister, Sophia?"
"Alas, she refuses to divulge information about the Order. She swears she does not know. You know, after a year with Harbonah, she might just be telling the truth."
"I see."