When Schuyler woke up, she was lying in an enormous king-size bed in the middle of a vast room furnished in what can only be described as Early Medieval Royalty. An immense and foreboding tapestry depicting the death of a unicorn decorated the far wall, a gargantuan gold chandelier lit with a hundred dripping candles hung from the ceiling, and the bed itself was piled with all manner of thick and woolly animal pelts. The whole place conveyed a brutal, primitive elegance.

She blinked her eyes and her hands went flying up to her neck. But there were no bite marks. She was safe from that, at least.

"Ah, you are awake."

Schuyler turned to the sound of the voice. A uni- formed maidservant in a black dress with a white apron curtsied. "If you please, follow me, Miss Van Alen," she said. "I am supposed to take you downstairs."

How did she know my name?

"Where am I?" Schuyler asked, kicking off the covers and stuffing her feet back into her motorcycle boots that she found on the floor.

"The Ducal Palace," the maid answered, leading Schuyler out of the room and toward a winding stairway lit by hanging torches.

The Palazzo Ducale, or the Doge's Palace, was the seat of the Venetian government for centuries and housed its administrative and legislative arms, as well as council rooms and the doge's private residence. Tourists were welcome to visit the grand halls and galleries. Schuyler herself had already seen the palace on the officially sanctioned tour.

She realized she was in one of the private residences, the roped-off section of the palace that was not open to the public.

The maid motioned for her to follow, and Schuyler walked down the stairway to a long hall. At the end of it was an immense oak portal, carved with assorted hieroglyphics and pagan symbols.

"You will find him here," the maid said as she opened the door. Schuyler walked inside and found a roomy library of baronial splendor. Red velvet curtains were draped over the double-height windows. Walnut shelves were lined with leather- bound books. Animal rugs and trophies abounded.

A stooped, gray-haired gentleman in Harris tweeds sat in a massive leather chair in front of a roaring fire.

"Come forward," he ordered.

Next to him was the handsome young Italian boy from the Biennale. He nodded at Schuyler and motioned to the chair in front of them.

"You put a spell on me," Schuyler accused.

The boy acknowledged this was so. "It was the only way to make sure of your identity and your true intentions. Do not worry, you were not harmed."

"And? So are you satisfied?"

"Yes," the boy said gravely. "You are Schuyler Van Alen. You are staying at the Hotel Danieli with Oliver Hazard-Perry Senior and his son, Oliver. You are on a quest of some kind. Allow me to bring you some excellent news. Your quest is over."

"How so?" Schuyler asked warily.

"This is the Professore," the boy said.

"You have been looking for me, I hear," the Professor said jovially. "I am not so popular these days with American students. A long time ago, I had many little pilgrims come to see me lecture. But not anymore. Tell me, why have you come?"

"Cordelia Van Alen sent me," Schuyler said.

At the mention of her name, the Professor and the boy exchanged a meaningful glance. The warmth of the hearth brought heat to Schuyler's cheeks, but it wasn't just the blaze that brought a red blush to her pale skin. Saying Cordelia's name so boldly made her feel vulnerable. Who were these strange men? Why had they taken her here? Had she been right in invoking Cordelia's call for help?

"Tell me more," the Professor encouraged, leaning forward and assessing Schuyler keenly.

"Cordelia was my grandmother..." Schuyler said. Even if these were enemies, there was no backing out of it now. She scanned the room for exit points: she noticed a hidden door built into one of the library walls. Maybe she could escape through there, or else she could stun both the old man and the boy with a spell of her own and fly out through the window.

"Was?" the boy asked.

"She has expired in this cycle. She was attacked," Schuyler inhaled sharply. "By a Silver Blood. Croatan."

"How can you be sure?" the boy demanded. "The Silver Bloods have not been heard of since the seventeenth century. Their existence has been legislated out of Blue Blood history."

"She told me herself."

"But she was not taken?" the boy asked in a hoarse voice.

"No. Thankfully. The attack did not drain her of all her blood and memory. She will live to return in the next cycle."

The boy leaned back in his chair. Schuyler noticed he was fiddling with the car keys in his left hand, and his right knee was moving up and down in impatience to hear the rest of her story.

"Continue," the Professor urged.

"Cordelia said that the key to defeating the Silver Bloods lay in finding her husband, Lawrence Van Alen, who has been in hiding. She thought if she sent me--if she sent me to Venice I might find him. Have I?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps you have." "Grandfather, I come to you for help. Cordelia said it was imperative that..."

There was a throat-clearing noise from the boy. Schuyler turned to him.

"I am Lawrence Van Alen," the boy said, leaning forward. The boy's features shifted not so much melted, but phased out-- changed, so that he appeared to be an older gentleman. But this was not the stoop-shouldered, white-haired grandfather of Schuyler's imagination. This was a tall, thin man with the same leonine hair as the boy's, except it was flecked with silver, and still there was the aristocratic, hawkish nose and the arrogant chin.

It was as if the room shrank in his presence. He was a commanding figure, and the sharpness of his gaze was intimidating. Here was a man who would be a worthy rival to Charles Force, Schuyler thought.

"You are a shapeshifter," Schuyler said admiringly. "Is this your real form?"

"As much as any form can be real," Lawrence replied. "Anderson, you may excuse us."

The elderly gentleman winked at Schuyler and exited the room, closing the creaky wooden door with a hush.

Schuyler settled in her chair, noticing the faded Aubusson rugs on the hard stone floor. They were similar to the ones in Cordelia's library on 101st Street.

"Your Conduit?"

Lawrence nodded. He stood up and walked over to the recessed bar across from the fireplace, opened a lower cabinet, and removed a bottle of port wine. He poured two glasses of the scarlet liquid and handed Schuyler a glass.

"I had a feeling," she said, accepting the drink. She sipped it slowly. It was sweet without being cloying, full-bodied and delicious. Alcohol had no effect on vampires, but most of them still enjoyed the taste.

"I thought you might. You almost turned to address me, but caught yourself. How did you know?"

"The lord of the manor typically seats on the left, where you were, while he was seated on your right," Schuyler said. It was a law of medieval etiquette she had learned from Cordelia's endless lessons on Blue Blood history. The king was always seated on the left, while his queen, or any lesser personage was seated on the right.

"Ah, very observant. I forgot. I am getting old."

"I'm sorry Cordelia couldn't be here," Schuyler said softly.

Lawrence sighed. "It is all right. We have been separated now for more than a century. One gets used to solitude. Perhaps one day it will be safe for us to be together again."

He leaned back on his chair and removed a cigar from his front pocket. "So, you are Allegra's daughter." He said, breaking off the corner of the cigar with a silver cigar cutter. "I have been watching you. I knew you were looking for me the minute you arrived in Venice. I sensed something in the air--I thought it was your mother but it was a different energy. You saw me."

"You were the woman on the street that I saw today. You had taken Allegra's form," Schuyler realized aloud. It all made sense now. Lawrence nodded.

"I do sometimes. If only because I have missed her for a very long time." He took a quick puff from the cigar and exhaled. "I was wary of coming out to you until I was certain of your identity. I have many enemies, Schuyler. They have been hunting me for centuries. You could have been one of them."

Schuyler sat up suddenly, almost spilling her drink. "The lady at the pensione? That was you as well. At least at first."

Lawrence chuckled. "Yes. Of course."

"So that was why she said she had never seen us before when we came down the stairs. She was telling the truth." Schuyler set her empty glass on the small side table across from her chair, taking care to place it on one of the gold-plated coasters.

"Marie is an honest landlady, I'll give her that." Lawrence smiled.

"Why did you show us your room?"

"I didn't mean to, but you were chasing me and I had to seek shelter in one of my secret hiding places around the city. I have many addresses, you know. One needs them if one is going to hide successfully. Marie was telling you the truth; the room was locked. But it opened for you. I took that as a good sign. I thought I would give you a clue see if you would be able to find me in the Biennale. You did well. You were drawn to the Olafur Eliasson as was I."

"But why did you run away from me again? I was chasing you."

"And you almost got me. My God, the speed of you--you are unbelievably strong. It took all of my energy just to stay ahead of you. I was still unsure of your intentions or your identity. You surprised me by finding me in front of the Colonial building. I'm sorry I had to use that sleep spell on you."

"Why do you choose to trust me now?" Schuyler asked.

"Because only Allegra's daughter would know the correct Advoco Adiuvo, the invocation you used. Cordelia and I had agreed that if we ever went looking for each other, our emissaries would use those words from the Sacred Language. Without the Advoco, you would never have found me in a thousand years, regardless of your powers. But I had to put you to sleep to stall for time while I made sure you had not been corrupted. I had to take you somewhere safe, where we would not be observed."

Schuyler nodded. She had guessed as much.

"So now you have found me, what do you want?" Lawrence asked, looking at Schuyler through a haze of smoke.

"I want to know about the Silver Bloods. I want to know everything."

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