Revelations by Melissa de La Cruz Page A

arrived at the gates ahead of Oliver, who was gasping as he tried to keep up with them.
    Duchesne was located on a quiet corner of Ninety-sixth Street, on Prep School Row.
    Since it was mid-afternoon, the streets were practically deserted, save for a nanny or two pushing a stroller toward the park.
    The boy who stood in the middle of the sidewalk violently shaking the gates looked like a prophet from a bygone age, a throwback to a time of preachers and pontificators, when ragged men warned about the End Of The World. There was almost no sign of the teenage boy who had wanted to grow up to play guitar like Jimi Hendrix and had been the instigator of countless pranks.
    “ABOMINATION!” he thundered when he saw them.
    “It’s my fault,” Bliss cried, already close to tears at the sight of Dylan. “I know I promised I was going to tell the Conclave about him, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t check up on him … I left him and I ignored him … I wanted him to just go away. It’s all my fault.”
    “No, it’s mine,” Schuyler said. “I was going to tell Lawrence, but—”
    “It’s all our fault,” Oliver said firmly. “We should have done something about him, but we didn’t. Look, we’ve got to get him out of here. People are going to start asking questions,”
    he said as an elderly woman walking a poodle crossed the street and shot a puzzled look in their direction. “We don’t want the police involved.”
    Dylan suddenly lunged toward them, clawing through the bars and gargling in a language they didn’t understand.
    Schuyler just barely ducked his reach. “We’ve got to get to him before he uses the glom on us again.”
    Bliss immediately transformed into the golden lioness. She was a sight to behold—a stalking, ruthless creature. She leaped over the gate and padded up to Dylan, who raged at her. “Devil spawn! TRAITOR!” he hissed.
    Bliss cornered him against the iron bars and bared her teeth. She reared back on her hind legs and shoved him with her giant golden paws. Dylan cringed and whimpered, cowering with his hands over his head.
    “She’s got him!” Oliver yelled, motioning to Schuyler to move toward Bliss’s right flank.
    Schuyler ran to Bliss’s side. She looked Dylan in the eyes. Saw the rage, anger, and confusion there. She wavered. This was no monster. This was a wounded animal.
    But Oliver had no qualms. “SCHUYLER! DO IT! NOW!”
    “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