Oliver, how can I ever thank you," Schuyler said, buckling her seat belt. She looked at the armed bodyguards. "Don't you think you've overdone it on the muscle?"
He shrugged, "One can never be too careful."
Schuyler nodded. "Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
"Let's not talk about it right now. We're here for Lawrence, right?"
"Right."
"Did you know the whole Conclave is here?" he asked. "I saw Warden Oelrich on my flight. And the Duponts and the Carondolets are in my hotel."
"I know. Bliss told me Warden Cutler called an emergency session and brought them here. Have they found Lawrence?"
"That's the thing. No one's talking about Lawrence at all. They're all getting ready for a big dinner at some Brazilian Blue Blood's house tonight," he said, as the car drove into the downtown proper, and the landscape became even more scenic: lush greenery, gorgeous beaches, and equally gorgeous people sunbathing upon them.
"Where are you staying?" Schuyler asked.
"The Fasano. The new Philippe Starck hotel. Bliss is there too. I would have gotten you your own room, but they didn't have any more. Do you think you'll be okay sharing with me?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, trying not to look uncomfortable. "Listen...about what happened the other night."
"Let's not talk about it right now," Oliver said lightly. "I mean, I was being a bit dramatic, wasn't I? Him or me. Whatever."
"So you didn't mean it?" Schuyler asked hopefully.
"I don't know. Let's just...let's just deal with Lawrence first and talk about it later. Is that okay?"
"Sure." Oliver was right. They didn't have time to dwell on that now. They had to find Lawrence.
Her grandfather's continued silence worried her. What if he had been trapped, or restrained, or worse? Had it been wise for him to come to Rio alone? Or to meet with Kingsley's team? Kingsley who was now unreachable as well, according to Bliss. Schuyler still didn't understand why Kingsley, who'd been shown to be a Silver Blood - albeit reformed - had been allowed to come back as a Venator. Her grandfather wasn't a gullible person, and he must have had good reason to trust Kingsley again, especially after what happened in Venice.
But still...
She worried.
She closed her eyes and thought of her grandfather. Pictured his leonine hair, his aristocratic bearing.
The sending was returned immediately.
What are you doing here? Lawrence demanded crossly. He was obviously very annoyed, and worse, sounded perfectly fine.
Saving you? Schuyler sent tentatively.
There was a sound like a telepathic snort.
Meet me at the Palace bar. In an hour.
Lawrence was dressed in his usual tweeds and heavy woolens when they met him at the bar at the Copacabana Palace. His face was red, and sweat was dribbling down his forehead. Schuyler thought maybe he wouldn't complain so much about the weather if he were dressed for it.
"You were supposed to remain in New York," Lawrence said sternly as a greeting. They took seats at the bar and Lawrence ordered a round of drinks. A Bellini for himself and virgin pi§⟠coladas for his granddaughter and her Conduit. Even if alcohol didn't affect the vampires, Lawrence liked to abide by Red Blood rules and frowned upon "underage" drinking.
"But grandfather ... I heard you were in trouble." She squirmed in her seat. She felt relieved that Lawrence was all right, but her grandfather's steely gaze made her recent actions feel impulsive and foolish. More and more it appeared her trip was unnecessary and unnecessarily dramatic.
"That's news to me," Lawrence said, bringing out his pipe.
"But why haven't you returned my sendings then?" Schuyler asked. "I've been worried."
Lawrence sucked on his pipe before replying. "I didn't hear them. I've heard nothing from you until today," he said, blowing smoke into the air.
The waitress returned with their drinks, and the three of them clinked glasses. "There's no smoking here, sir," she told him.
"Of course not." Lawrence winked as he continued to smoke, conjuring a silver ashtray on the table.
The waitress looked confused and walked away, just another victim of the glom. Lawrence turned to Schuyler. "Did you do the exercise as I taught you? Concentrate on locating my spirit?"
"Yes, of course," Schuyler said a bit impatiently.
Oliver piped in. "Telepathic messages are encrypted, right? Could someone have - I dunno - subverted them? Or erased them somehow?"
"That's not how it works," Schuyler said. "They're not like e-mails sent to a network. Using the glom is a direct line to someone's consciousness. It can't be ... messed with. Right, Grandfather?"
"I'm not sure. You may have a point, young man," Lawrence said thoughtfully as he sipped his drink. "Using telepathy depends on a vampire's ability to tap into the 'otherworld,' what the humans call the paranormal. The source of our power comes from the great divide, the place where the usual boundaries between the material and spiritual worlds fall away."
"And that's Corcovado; the crossing is here," Schuyler said.
"Yes," her grandfather said, his frown lines deepening.
"And Kingsley? Have you seen him?" Schuyler asked.
"We're in touch."
"So he hasn't disappeared either."
Her grandfather looked puzzled. "No he hasn't. We've been in contact the entire time."