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sand like a group of ostriches, too fearful to accept the truth: the Silver Bloods, the demons of myth, their ancient foe, had returned.
    “We didn’t have any evidence until now.” Kingsley nodded. “But it looks as though Lawrence’s suspicions were correct.”
    “If Corcovado is compromised, I cannot stress how grave a danger we are in,”
    Lawrence said.
    “But there have been no … deaths?” asked Eliza Dupont in a timid voice.
    “None that we know of,” Kingsley confirmed. “One of the young, a Yana Riberio, has also been missing. But her mother thinks she has absconded with her boyfriend on an impromptu weekend in Punta del Este,” he said with a smirk.
    Mimi kept silent; she was the only member who had yet to contribute to the discussion. In New York, there had been no deaths or attacks since the night at the Repository. She felt frustrated that she couldn’t remember why Corcovado was so important—obviously everyone else on the Conclave knew why, but she didn’t. It was annoying not to have come into her full memories.
    The word meant absolutely nothing to her. And she would never ask anyone what it meant either—she had way too much pride. Maybe she could get Charles to illuminate her, although it seemed that ever since his resignation from the Conclave he had little interest in anything save sitting in his room, poring over old books and photographs, and listening to muffled recordings on an old eight-track.
    “As the attack on the Repository has shown, the Silver Bloods are no longer a myth we can choose to ignore. We must act quickly. Corcovado must hold,” Lawrence declared.
    What on earth was Lawrence talking about? Mimi wished she knew.
    “So. What is the plan?” Edmund inquired. The atmosphere had shifted. Distress at Kingsley’s presence had transformed into distress at the news he had brought.
    Kingsley shuffled the papers in front of him. “I’ll be joining my team in the capital.
    Sao Paolo is a rats’ nest. It will make a good hiding place. Then we’ll make for Rio on foot, check out the situation in Corcovado, talk to some of the families.”
    Lawrence nodded. Mimi thought he was going to dismiss the meeting, but he didn’t.
    Instead he removed a cigar from his shirt pocket. Kingsley leaned forward with a lit match, and Lawrence inhaled deeply. Smoke filled the air. Mimi wanted to wave her hands and remind Lawrence of the Committee’s no-smoking rule, but she didn’t dare.
    The Regis regarded the table with a stern eye. “I am aware that some of you are wondering why Kingsley is here today,” Lawrence said, finally addressing the question burning in everyone’s mind.
    He took another puff from his cigar. “Especially concerning the evidence shown at the blood trial. However, I have since learned that the Martins, and Kingsley in particular, are innocent. Their actions were justified by the mission they were given by the former Regis.
    For the protection of the Coven, I cannot disclose any more information about this.”
    Her father! Charles had something to do with it—but why wouldn’t Lawrence tell them what it was?
    “What mission?” Edmund demanded. “Why was the Conclave kept in the dark about this?”
    “It is not our place to question the Regis,” Forsyth Llewellyn reminded sharply.
    Nan Cutler nodded. “It is not our way.”
    Mimi could see the table was neatly divided in two: half the members were indignant and anxious, while the other half were prepared to accept Lawrence’s statement with no question. Not that it mattered. The Conclave was not a democracy; the Regis was an undisputed leader whose word was law. Mimi trembled with barely suppressed rage. What happened to the Conclave that had condemned her to burn just a few months ago? It wasn’t fair! How could they trust a “reformed” Silver Blood?
    “Would anyone care to formerly lodge a dissent?” Lawrence asked casually.
    “Edmund? Dashiell?”
    Dashiell bowed his head. “No. We have put