"Last call, guys," the waitress informed them "Another Campari?" she asked Oliver.

He rattled the ice cubes and emptied his cocktail glass in one gulp. "Sure."

"Anything for you?"

Schuyler considered another glass of Johnnie Walker Black. She used to hate the taste of whiskey but lately had developed a liking for it. It was fiery and sweet and succulent - the closest thing you could get to the taste of blood. Oliver had once asked her to describe what it tasted like, since he didn't see the appeal. To him, blood tasted metallic and faintly sweet. Schuyler explained that vampires tasted blood with a different sense - it was like drinking fire.

Hence, her newfound love of whiskey.

"Sure, why not," she told the waitress. It wasn't like it was going to get her drunk. Although Oliver looked like he was well on his way. He'd come into the habit of fortifying himself with alcohol whenever they got together. Sure, he wasn't drunk when they were together at school - but those abrupt reunions were so brief it didn't matter. But she noticed whenever they spent a substantial amount of time together, he was always a little buzzed.

The waitress returned with two cocktail glasses filled to the brim. It was way past midnight, and the only people left in the place were groggy-eyed clubkids getting breakfast after a late night spent at velvet-rope champagnalias, or groggy-eyed clubkids getting breakfast before an early-morning stint at after-hours lounges where no alcohol was served and the clientele preferred their highs to be chemical ones.

Oliver sipped his cocktail through a red straw. She found it endearing how he liked sweet things. Oliver hated beer and all the usual trappings of what he called "el jocko-Americano." Somehow the girly drinks made him more manly, in Schuyler's eyes. He wasn't afraid to be himself.

It was so nice to finally hang out with Oliver in public. She couldn't very well sink her fangs into him with other people around. Lately, whenever they were alone, it hovered in the air, an expectation on his part, and Schuyler had missed their easy friendship. She relaxed in his company.

"Why do you drink so much around me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

"I'm offended. You think I'm a lush?"

"A little."

"I don't know." He looked up at the ceiling instead of looking at her directly. "Dude, you scare me sometimes."

Schuyler wanted to laugh. "I scare you?"

"Yeah, you're all - vampire superwoman. You could have really done some damage to him, you know." Oliver grinned, although Schuyler knew he was more troubled than he let on.

"He's fine," she snapped. She didn't really want to dwell on what could have happened back there. She had had Dylan in her grasp. She had felt his mind bowing to hers. Had felt all his memories screaming to be let free. And she had wanted nothing more than to crush all of them - silence all their voices. She'd had it in her power to do so. It was a sobering thought, so she took another sip of her drink.

"He's not fine," Oliver said. "You know we have to tell Lawrence about him, don't you? They'll have to do something about it. He's showing classic signs of corruption. Delusions, hysteria, mania."

A busboy cleared their table and gave them the eye. Schuyler knew they should leave, the staff was ready to go home. But she wanted to linger with Oliver just a while longer. "How do you know all this?"

"I did my reading. You know, the stuff Lawrence told us to look up?"

Right. Schuyler felt guilty. She had been remiss on her vampire lessons. Lawrence had been using Oliver to keep her abreast on her studies. She should be concentrating on refining her strengths, on sharpening her skills, but instead she'd been distracted. The Perry Street apartment...

"Do you think Dylan was lying to us?" she asked.

"No, I think he thought he was telling us the truth, as much as he knew. But he's obviously been manipulated." Oliver cracked ice cubes in his mouth. "I don't know if I believe he ever really got away from them. I think they let him go."

Schuyler became silent. They had let him go so that he could finish the job he'd failed at before. Dylan had attacked her - twice - before he'd suddenly disappeared. They'd chosen him because he was close to her, was one of her best friends. She couldn't deny it: someone wanted her killed. She wanted to share this realization with Oliver, but kept it to herself. He worried about her enough.

Oliver glanced at the bill and put down his credit card. "So, how are things over at the Death Star?"

"The same." Schuyler smiled, although she felt sick enough to throw up. It was hard to see Oliver and not hate herself because of what she was doing to him.

"So..." Oliver sighed. Schuyler knew where this was going and wished once again that she hadn't made him her familiar.

"So?"

The waitress returned with the credit-card slip and hinted that if they stayed any longer they'd have to leave through the back entrance.

Oliver pocketed his card and tried to take another gulp of his already empty drink. "I was on my way to meet you at the Mercer when Bliss called. She said you were down here, on Perry Street. I thought that was kind of odd, since we'd agreed we'd meet at the Mercer, as usual, but she said she was positive you'd be there. What were you doing in that building anyway?"

Schuyler wouldn't look him in the eye. "Modeling thing. Linda Farnsworth has a place for the models to crash there. Bliss and I go there sometimes to hang out with a couple other girls. I didn't realize the time. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"Well, um, since we didn't get to meet like we'd planned, do you want to..."

It was easier to rebuff him this time, since she'd already made her decision earlier. Schuyler shook her head. "No, I've got to be back for the curfew. I'm late enough as it is, and if Charles finds out - "

"Fuck Charles." Oliver flicked a toothpick across the table so it landed on the floor. "I mean, God, sometimes I'm so tired of all this shit."

"Ollie - "

"I just want us to be together," he said, looking at the ceiling again. "I mean, I know it's not possible. But why not? Why should we follow the old laws? Why should anyone care anyway?" he railed. "Don't you want us to be together?" he challenged, an edge to his voice.

Schuyler was moved to take his hand in hers. "I do, Ollie, you know I do." He was her ally, her partner-in-crime, her conscience and her comfort.

Oliver's face transformed into a look of utmost happiness and satisfaction. He smiled at her then, and Schuyler hoped with all her heart that he would never find out the truth.