"So why does the Conclave think Corcovado is a danger then?" she asked.
"Is that why they are here?"
Schuyler nodded.
"I don't know. But Nan must have her reasons; the Regent would never act without just cause." Lawrence finished his drink. "Then again, maybe Kingsley is right," he said softly to himself.
"Kingsley!" Schuyler exploded. "How can you trust him? You said yourself, never to trust shiny surfaces. Kingsley's as slick as they come."
"Actually Kingsley has proven his loyalty to the Coven above and beyond the call of duty. Do not speak of him so disrespectfully, Granddaughter," Lawrence said sternly.
"That stunt he pulled at the Repository? That was how he proved his loyalty?"
"Kingsley was only doing what was asked of him. He was following the orders of his Regis."
"You mean Charles told him to call up the Silver Blood?" Schuyler half laughed in indignation. Michael was an Archangel. He would never be capable of such treachery.
"There is a reason for everything. Perhaps even for this sudden influx of Elders into this city," Lawrence surmised.
"You know, the Almeidas are giving a dinner tonight," Oliver interrupted. "For the whole Conclave." He checked his watch. "I think it's already started."
Lawrence signaled for the bill. "Very good. Perhaps we will find our answers there. At the very least, the Almeidas throw a wonderful party."
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Bliss noticed how both her parents jumped at the sound. Forsyth took a quick step and looked through the keyhole. "It's all right," he declared, unlocking the door. A stern, elegant woman with a white streak in her raven hair strode into the room, followed by two servants.
Bliss had always been a little afraid of Warden Cutler. The Elder had been the one who had probed her mind for Silver Blood corruption. She still remembered the disquieting feeling of being judged.
"Where is the Watcher?" Nan Cutler asked.
BobiAnne indicated the bundle at the far end of the room.
"You've put her in stasis?"
Forsyth nodded. "Yes. It's going to be a long time until she wakes up."
"We found her with this," BobiAnne said, handing Jordan's weapon to the Warden.
"We need to find a way to destroy it; it's too dangerous for us to use," Forsyth said. "I thought that spell was enough to hold it in the vault, but obviously she was able to disarm it. She's too clever by half."
"If there is a way to destroy it," Nan said. "It's not susceptible to the Black Fire."
"You will be able to manage?" Forsyth asked.
"You won't be followed?" BobiAnne wanted to know.
Bliss watched as the grim-faced Warden shook her head. "No, we will not be followed. We will make sure of that. It is amazing she waited this long, really, to make her move. But do not worry, I will make certain that she is no longer a threat to us." She looked with disdain in the direction of the comforter. "Cordelia Van Alen was weak minded as usual to think sending the Watcher into your family would solve anything."
"She suspected, then?" BobiAnne asked.
"Of course she suspected," Forsyth snapped. "You don't give her enough credit, Nan. That bird was sharp. She knew something was up."
"A pity her little assassin was as ineffectual as she was, then." Nan signaled, and her servants picked up the bundle and left the room.
Bliss had no idea what they were talking about, but was desperate to find out. What did Cordelia Van Alen suspect?
"We have to hurry," BobiAnne said to her husband. "The dinner starts in an hour."
Forsyth nodded.
"What's going on? Where are you going?" Bliss asked, fighting tears of frustration. "Where are they taking Jordan?" She wondered what had sparked her little sister to do something so crazy. But her parents refused to explain or tell her anything more than the cryptic comments they'd made.
They left for the big dinner at the Almeidas', as if nothing at all had happened. BobiAnne even told Bliss she could order anything she wanted off the room-service menu.
She had to accept it.
Jordan was gone.
Her younger sister, who used to follow her around, trying to emulate her every move. At five Jordan had wanted big curly hair like her sister, and forced the maids to use a curling iron on her stubbornly straight locks, so that her hair would resemble her sister's. Jordan, who had called her "Biss" when she was a baby because she couldn't pronounce her name correctly. Jordan, who'd offered her chocolate and comfort just the other day. Bliss found that there were tears in her eyes.
Bliss understood that she would never see Jordan again.
Why these tears ? A low, sympathetic voice asked.
I'm sad.
Jordan tried to hurt Bliss.
I know. But she was my sister. My friend.
What kind of friend brings pain?
Bliss suddenly remembered how she'd felt as if she were being torn in two. She'd experienced more pain than she had ever felt in her life. Jordan had done that. She had aimed for the heart. She'd tried to kill Bliss with that weapon—something bright and golden, like a sword.
But it was different from the sword her father kept in his study. The sword Forsyth had used during the attack at the Repository—when the Silver Blood had killed Priscilla Dupont—was a dull yellow gold. The blade Jordan had used emanated a bright white light.
Nan Cutler had said it couldn't be destroyed, and Bliss suddenly remembered Mimi's words: the Blade of Justice was missing. Did her father have Michael's sword? The only thing in the world that could kill Lucifer? The Archangel's sword? And if so, why had Jordan used it against her? Bliss felt a pounding headache coming on.
I didn't have a choice, her sister had said that afternoon.
Why not?
Bliss gradually stopped feeling so sorry for Jordan. She began to feel glad that they had taken her away. Wherever they'd taken her, Jordan deserved to be there. Bliss hoped it was a dark, deep dungeon where Jordan could think for eternity on her crimes.
Excellent, said the voice in the back of her mind. She recognized it now. It sounded like the gentleman in the white suit. The one who called her "Daughter."
Then once again she could see, but she could not see. She was going to black out. Yes, it was happening right now. She tried to hold on to her vision, tried to fight it, but the same voice inside her head said, "Let go."
And Bliss let go.
She found it was sweet relief to surrender.
Mimi chose a gorgeous little Valentino cocktail dress to wear to the dinner party. It was a black-and-white strapless confection, with a tight bodice that accented her tiny waist. A thick black band and a dramatic lace bow added just the right hint of girlish insouciance. She had bought it straight from the couture show and brought it to Brazil, because she knew she would have stiff competition from all those Almeidas and da Limas and Ribeiros— annoyingly beautiful Brazilians with blockbuster wardrobes. She still didn't understand what they were all doing in Rio. Something about Lawrence, of course. And Kingsley she wasn't sure. Nan Cutler, that wrinkled hag, had been a little vague about the whole thing. But that was the way of the Conclave: they didn't question their leaders. Nan Cutler was Regent, and if she wanted the Elders in Brazil, then the Elders would be there.
A security detail picked her up from the hotel and took her to the sprawling villa. Mimi thought it ironic that while her hosts' massive mansion commanded a grand view of the city, those wretched little huts she saw on the way, precariously perched on the cliff edges, probably had an even better view.
She had expected a bigger to-do, and was surprised to find that only her fellow Conclave members were expected. The Brazilians usually threw massive parties, with samba dancers and festivities all through the night. But the evening was a quiet one, and Mimi politely chatted to a few of the wardens and Alfonso Almeida's intimidating wife, Dona Beatrice, before finding her seat at dinner.