t occurred to Schuyler that the last time she was at the Odeon, she had been with Oliver and Dylan. It was just over a year ago - Dylan had recently transferred to Duchesne, and Oliver's driver had taken them downtown. They had wandered the streets, in and out of shops and bookstores and record stores, poking in apothecary jars and getting their palms read by a gypsy woman on the sidewalk. Then at the end of the day, they'd trooped into the restaurant, into one of the comfortable, cracked-leather red booths and had eaten moules frites while Dylan ordered beers with his fake ID and told them stories about being kicked out of every prep school in the northeast corridor.

Dylan was telling them a new story now, Bliss sitting quietly by his side.

He was telling them about what had happened to him.

Now that he wasn't trying to kill her, Dylan didn't seem so scary, so ... crazy and unfocused. Now he just looked too thin, like a cat left out in the rain while its owners were on vacation. His eyes were hooded, and there were black bruises on his cheeks. His skin looked jaundiced and he had cuts - little cuts everywhere on his forearms, as if he'd walked through glass. Maybe he had.

Oliver put an arm around Schuyler. After what just happened, he had gone beyond caring who would see them together. And for once Schuyler agreed. She liked his hand there. Liked feeling protected. Her mind drifted to the empty apartment on Perry Street. But she made herself focus on Dylan.

"I don't remember much, really. I ran away, you know. I went to the old Ward House, on Shelter Island ... I took some refuge there. But the beast caught up with me eventually. I don't remember much of what happened, but I managed to get away again, and this time I got some help.

"Venators," he continued in an awed tone. "You know about them, right?"

They nodded. They also knew that one had been sent to Duchesne. Bliss told them about how Kingsley Martin was back. Her father had been at the Conclave meeting that afternoon. But Schuyler didn't pay attention to the news; she wanted to know what had happened to Dylan.

"Anyway, they let me stay with them, they took care of me while I was recuperating. One of the SB's got me pretty bad in the neck. But the Venators said it was all right, that I hadn't been 'corrupted,' you know...'turned' into one of them. Anyway" - he looked at Schuyler warily - "I overheard their conversations...how the Conclave had finally discovered who was the Silver Blood among us, and they said - "

"They said it was me, didn't they?" Schuyler asked, taking a french fry off Oliver's plate.

Dylan didn't deny it. "They said it was you, that you were the one. The night at The Bank. The last thing I remember was hanging out with you, Schuyler, and they said you were the one who'd attacked me."

"Do you believe that?" she asked.

"I don't know what to believe."

"Do you even know who she is?" Oliver demanded. "I mean, I'm glad you're back and all, man, but you're talking smack. Schuyler is... Her mom is..." Oliver was so angry he couldn't finish.

"Do you know the story of Gabrielle?" Schuyler asked.

"A little," Dylan admitted. "Gabrielle, the Uncorrupted, who was bonded to Michael, Pure of Heart. The only vampires who didn't sin against the almighty. In this cycle, Michael's name is Charles Force. So what?"

"Gabrielle is my mother," she told him.

"Show him," Bliss urged.

Schuyler pushed the large man's watch she wore on her right wrist. Pushed it up the same way she'd seen Charles do it the night she had accused him of being the Silver Blood. How funny that now she had to resort to clearing her name in exactly the same way.

Etched in her skin, just like on Charles's, was the mark. It was raised, as if burned there, a sigil. A sword piercing clouds.

"What is it?" Dylan asked.

"The mark of the Archangel," Oliver explained. "She's a Daughter of the Light. There is no way she's a Silver Blood. She's the opposite. She's what they fear."

Schuyler touched the mark. It had always been there, since she was born. She'd thought it simply an odd birthmark, until Lawrence had pointed it out.

Dylan stared at the mark. It shone. He crossed himself. He looked down at his plate of steak frites. "Then who were they - the Venators who helped me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Oliver smiled thinly. He tapped the table in front of his friend. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No."

"I know exactly who they were. They were the Silver Bloods."

AUDIO RECORDINGS ARCHIVE:

Repository of History

CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT:

Altithronus Clearance Only

Transcript of Venator report filed 2/15

DYLAN WARD UPDATE: Subject has been interrogated and released.

Transcript of interrogation destroyed in accordance with Regis Mandate 1011.