. . . could ever . .
." She shook her head vehemently. "It would never happen. Even the Venators ruled it out. The Sacred Kiss precludes any of that; it's impossible."
"Nothing's impossible. Sure, it's never happened before, but it doesn't mean it couldn't happen in the future. Who knows? The power of the Caerimonia may have been corrupted somehow, or lessened, we don't know."
"But it's preposterous! They'l laugh me out of the Conclave for even suggesting it!"
Oliver was stubborn. "Even so, we've got to fol ow it up."
NINETEEN
Venators' Quarters
It was painful to see the Lennox twins sometimes. It reminded Mimi too much of her assignment with Kingsley. She had traveled the world as part of his team for a year, keeping him at arm's length al that time except for that one hookup in Rio. Their time together in New York was too little, too late. She'd realized her true feelings for him only at the very end, and now he was gone. A bubble of grief wel ed up inside her, but she pushed it away--she had no time to feel sorry for herself.
She was glad Sam and Ted never brought it up--the brothers were too discreet for that. They had asked her to meet them at Venator headquarters, a former tenement building in the far West Vil age. It was Thursday, three days until the crescent moon, and she was getting nervous. The Venators were doing their best, but so far had turned up nothing of any significance. They should at least have a suspect, by now--a clue, something. They were Blue Bloods--keepers of the secret history, vampires who knew the truth about the world--they were not used to being threatened, to being kept in the dark.
Mimi let herself in the gate and pricked her finger on the blood-lock on the front door. The shabby interiors were the complete antithesis of the slick, polished perfection of the Force Tower. She pursed her lips at the sight of the dusty banister, the broken stairs, and the peeling wal paper. The Venators had moved to this location in the nineteenth century, and it stil looked exactly as it had back then. She had a memory-flash of visiting during debutante season, when everyone in the Coven had been cal ed in for questioning during Maggie Stanford's disappearance.
"Up here!" A cheerful voice cal ed. Ted stood at the top landing and waved. "Elevator's broken."
"Of course," Mimi muttered.
Dormitories occupied the first and second floors. Since the Venators traveled so much, the Committee provided housing. Many of the rooms were empty. To serve as a Venator, one had to display an extraordinary amount of courage, honor, and loyalty to the Coven in at least fifty lifetimes. But even if the Conclave had lowered the threshold for acceptance so that more vampires could join, its ranks were stil stretched too thin.
Only very few Blue Bloods aspired to become Venators these days. It was as Cordelia Van Alen had said--most of the vampires were content to live their lives as little more than extra-privileged Red Bloods: humans with a touch of immortality, a little more money, and not a whole lot of responsibility. Why couldn't she get Cordelia out of her head, Mimi wondered. How could it be possible that Cordelia Van Alen, a fearmonger and conspiracy theorist who had been demoted from the Conclave, could have been so prescient, while her father, Charles Force, who had led the vampires since the beginning, had been so obtuse?
Ted ushered her into the office he shared with his brother, a cramped space stacked with books and antediluvian police technology that the brothers had col ected over the years: fingerprint ink pads, analog lie detector machines, yel owing evidence tags, broken binoculars. Ted in particular had an affinity for the Red Bloods' quaint idea of law enforcement. Venators had no need for such things, as most of their work was done in the shadow world of the glom.
Stil , they kept to some of the same protocol as their human counterparts. Taped to the wal were photographs of each person who had
." She shook her head vehemently. "It would never happen. Even the Venators ruled it out. The Sacred Kiss precludes any of that; it's impossible."
"Nothing's impossible. Sure, it's never happened before, but it doesn't mean it couldn't happen in the future. Who knows? The power of the Caerimonia may have been corrupted somehow, or lessened, we don't know."
"But it's preposterous! They'l laugh me out of the Conclave for even suggesting it!"
Oliver was stubborn. "Even so, we've got to fol ow it up."
NINETEEN
Venators' Quarters
It was painful to see the Lennox twins sometimes. It reminded Mimi too much of her assignment with Kingsley. She had traveled the world as part of his team for a year, keeping him at arm's length al that time except for that one hookup in Rio. Their time together in New York was too little, too late. She'd realized her true feelings for him only at the very end, and now he was gone. A bubble of grief wel ed up inside her, but she pushed it away--she had no time to feel sorry for herself.
She was glad Sam and Ted never brought it up--the brothers were too discreet for that. They had asked her to meet them at Venator headquarters, a former tenement building in the far West Vil age. It was Thursday, three days until the crescent moon, and she was getting nervous. The Venators were doing their best, but so far had turned up nothing of any significance. They should at least have a suspect, by now--a clue, something. They were Blue Bloods--keepers of the secret history, vampires who knew the truth about the world--they were not used to being threatened, to being kept in the dark.
Mimi let herself in the gate and pricked her finger on the blood-lock on the front door. The shabby interiors were the complete antithesis of the slick, polished perfection of the Force Tower. She pursed her lips at the sight of the dusty banister, the broken stairs, and the peeling wal paper. The Venators had moved to this location in the nineteenth century, and it stil looked exactly as it had back then. She had a memory-flash of visiting during debutante season, when everyone in the Coven had been cal ed in for questioning during Maggie Stanford's disappearance.
"Up here!" A cheerful voice cal ed. Ted stood at the top landing and waved. "Elevator's broken."
"Of course," Mimi muttered.
Dormitories occupied the first and second floors. Since the Venators traveled so much, the Committee provided housing. Many of the rooms were empty. To serve as a Venator, one had to display an extraordinary amount of courage, honor, and loyalty to the Coven in at least fifty lifetimes. But even if the Conclave had lowered the threshold for acceptance so that more vampires could join, its ranks were stil stretched too thin.
Only very few Blue Bloods aspired to become Venators these days. It was as Cordelia Van Alen had said--most of the vampires were content to live their lives as little more than extra-privileged Red Bloods: humans with a touch of immortality, a little more money, and not a whole lot of responsibility. Why couldn't she get Cordelia out of her head, Mimi wondered. How could it be possible that Cordelia Van Alen, a fearmonger and conspiracy theorist who had been demoted from the Conclave, could have been so prescient, while her father, Charles Force, who had led the vampires since the beginning, had been so obtuse?
Ted ushered her into the office he shared with his brother, a cramped space stacked with books and antediluvian police technology that the brothers had col ected over the years: fingerprint ink pads, analog lie detector machines, yel owing evidence tags, broken binoculars. Ted in particular had an affinity for the Red Bloods' quaint idea of law enforcement. Venators had no need for such things, as most of their work was done in the shadow world of the glom.
Stil , they kept to some of the same protocol as their human counterparts. Taped to the wal were photographs of each person who had
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