Blue Bloods: Keys to the Repository

Oliver is an exceptional student at Duchsene, with one of the highest human IQ’s recorded for his generation. His academic performance has been stellar, although his participation in athletics has been the minimum required of a Conduit. He is a frequent visitor to museums and galleries, and is one of the youngest important collectors of antiquities in the world.

The Repository has long suspected that Oliver was instrumental in aiding and abetting Schuyler Van Alen’s yearlong evasion from Committee justice. However, the Committee is satisfied with his confession, and further investigation into the possibly illegal nature of his actions has been terminated. (Note: The HazardPerry family recently made a sizable donation into the Committee’s accounts.) He was rumored to have been spotted at Kennedy Airport with Schuyler Van Alen the day after the Silver Blood attack at St. John’s Cathedral. However, details remain inconclusive, as conflicting eyewitnesses report that she was last seen with Jack Force, entering the International Terminal. Under the Vampire–Conduit Confidentiality Act of 1755, Oliver will not confirm or deny any of our suspicions of Schuyler Van Alen’s actions or whereabouts. In any event, with Schuyler missing, Oliver has been relieved of his duties as human Conduit and has chosen to serve the Committee in another position.

Current Status: Repository Scribe





Author’s Note: A request—more like a plea—I receive very often from my readers is to tell the story of Schuyler and Jack’s first meeting at the Perry Street apartment. So I thought I would write it, since I wanted to see it for myself.





THERE’S A FIRST (OR FOURTH) TIME FOR EVERYTHING, OR “MR. DARCY REQUESTS”

Schuyler’s Story


When Schuyler awoke that morning, she found that a book had been slipped underneath her door. It was wedged tightly in the narrow space, and she had to pull it out carefully so it wouldn’t bend or catch. The Plague by Albert Camus. She held it up and flipped through the yellowed pages. Inside the book was an envelope, and inside the envelope was a key. There was nothing else—no note, no address, nothing. Schuyler had no idea what the key was for, but she had an inkling that she should not ask Mimi about it.

She retrieved an old pair of Doc Martens from her trunk and removed one of the frayed shoelaces. She looped one end of the shoelace through the key and tied it around her neck so that it hung underneath her shirt collar, hidden. The book she put away in her backpack. She had read The Plague for class the year before and had not liked it very much; had found it depressing and severe. Why had he chosen to give her a copy? Because, of course, the moment she picked it up, she knew who had given her the book—there was no one else in the Force town house that even cared that she lived there now.

She tried to remember the story of The Plague: a terrible epidemic strikes a small town, which is then quarantined from the rest of the world. One of the main characters is separated from his wife—whom he longs for throughout the novel. He struggles to hold on, fighting despair only because he so desperately wants to see her again. Schuyler’s heart began to beat a little too fast. Was it possible that she was reading too much into this? Certainly. She tried to remember what she had learned in Mr. Orion’s English class. Wasn’t Camus’s story one of social breakdown and the futility of the human condition? The Plague was a story about rats and disease, wasn’t it? But what had he argued . . . Oh, she remembered now . . . He had argued that the story was about longing and exile . . . and love.

So what? Schuyler thought, running a hairbrush through her dark hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. So what if he’d given her a book and key? She was still miserable. She was still living with them and not her grandfather. Ever since she’d arrived, she had been made to feel as welcome as Jane Eyre at Gateshead with her rich cousins. She was lucky that Mimi hadn’t locked her in the closet yet.

And so what if he’d kissed her the day before? His kisses meant nothing. He had kissed her and run off three times now—the first at a party, the second at the masquerade ball, and the third in her bedroom yesterday. It was just yesterday. She tried to shake off the memory, pulled on her coat and headed downstairs. She wanted to leave while the house was still quiet; she didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone, wanted the chance to slip away as quietly as possible without anyone noticing.