Masquerade (12 page)

T
heir meeting in the Repository had been purely accidental. Schuyler was there to read as many books as possible on Lawrence’s instructions and had been pleasantly surprised to find Jack studying at one of the desks. “Oh, hey.” He grinned, raking a hand through his hair and motioning for her to take the seat across from him. “What are you reading?
The Trial
?” he asked, showing her his copy. She nodded. They had been assigned the Kafka tome in their AP English class. It was one of the several books she had in her stack. “Silly love story, don’t you think?” he asked, paging through the yellowed leaves in his book, which Schuyler noticed was well worn and dog-eared. “Love story?” She made a face. “Isn’t the book about the tyranny of justice? The absurd nature of bureaucracy? We never know what he’s on trial for, after all.”

“I disagree. And since Kafka never wanted the book to be published, who’s to say what it’s really about?” Jack asked in a slightly teasing tone. “I read that it’s about his failed courtship and engagement to Felice Bauer. Which means it’s not about the law at all, but about a man who’s frustrated in love. . . .”

“Oh, Jack . . .” Schuyler sighed. She wasn’t sure if he was pulling her leg or not, but she was enjoying their banter. It hadn’t been clear until then whether they would ever be able to mend the budding friendship, or whatever it was that had started between them and then ended so abruptly last semester. But it looked as if Jack might not be too put off from trying again. Not that it meant anything. He was still Mimi Force’s brother.

“Maybe my book has something yours doesn’t,” Jack said, pushing his copy over. “Here, let me take yours.” He said. “Yours has a better cover anyway.”

Schuyler picked up his book, inhaling its mildewy scent. She found the page where she had left off and began to read.

Boring old place, Mimi thought, as she followed Kingsley down the stairs into the Repository of History, The Committee’s headquarters and the coven’s main library located underneath Block 122, the superexclusive nightclub open to Blue Bloods and their guests only.

Kingsley had become a friend, someone who shared Mimi’s sense of wickedness. The incident with the boy on the balcony had been the start of their alliance. Kingsley represented everything Mimi admired in a vampire—the desire to use power. Privately, she agreed with Kingsley: The Committee was much too cautious, and she chafed against its stringent rules. Why not use their strength to dominate humans? What good was reading someone’s mind if you couldn’t use it for material or emotional gain? Why not feed on more than one familiar at a time? Why not flaunt their superior status instead of trying to blend in with the mortal world?

He had asked her to come with him to the Repository so he could show her something cool, and he had disappeared into the stacks to find it.

She looked around the cavernous old room. Several pathetic humans, former Conduits no longer attached to vampire families, were working diligently in their carrels.

Mimi took a seat at one of the large reading tables in the middle of the room, drumming her fingers impatiently.

The soft sound of conversation drifted to her ears from behind a row of books.

“There’s nothing about love in here, Jack,” a girl was saying. “Maybe you’re the one being absurd.”

“Are you sure? You should look harder, maybe you’re not reading it closely enough,” he countered.

Mimi gritted her teeth. That was the Van Alen mouse again, talking to her brother. She stood up and cleared her throat, peering over the low shelves at the two of them.

Jack and Schuyler immediately moved away from each other.

“I’ll, uh, see you later,” Schuyler said, taking her books and walking over to a different desk, not realizing she still had his copy.

“Oh, hi,” Jack said, turning in his seat to smile at his sister. “I didn’t even know you knew the way to this place.”

“Don’t you underestimate me, Benjamin Force. For your information, I’m a huge reader,” Mimi sniffed.

Jack grinned.
Liar
, he sent.

You’re the liar
, she sent back.

He made a conciliatory gesture.
Forgive me.

Always.
Mimi’s face softened.

I’m off. I’ll see you at home.

Bye.

Mimi watched him leave, but even with his gentle thoughts imprinted on her mind, she couldn’t help but feel troubled. Why was Schuyler still a factor? There was something about that girl that was keeping her brother off balance, she could feel it. She could sense his desire to commit himself to their bond, but it was almost as if he were convincing himself to fall in love with her against his will. Why? It had never been like this before. In every cycle, the two of them had reaffirmed their bond without any complications.

For a moment, the supreme, smug self-confidence left Mimi’s face, and she looked like a lost and scared little girl. What if he leaves me? What if he doesn’t renew our bond when the time comes? What will happen to us?

Mimi shuddered as she thought of Allegra Van Alen, lying in her hospital bed, practically dead to the world.

She could not let that happen, to either of them.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Kingsley said, setting a thick book in front of Mimi.

Mimi flashed him her most disarming smile. “I wish.” She looked down at the leather-bound tome.

“What is that?”

“It’s something we shouldn’t be looking at. It’s an old reference book of forbidden spells. You’ve heard about this Croatan thing, right—the Silver Bloods?” Kingsley asked.

“Yeah,” Mimi said warily. “But they’re not supposed to exist.”

“Right,” Kingsley smirked. “Only because they’re not so obedient anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Silver Bloods used to be the Blue Bloods’ slaves. When we were doomed to spend our immortal lives on earth, those who still followed Lucifer were subdued by Michael and Gabrielle, for a time. We controlled them, but they rose up against us and stopped doing our bidding. They hunted us, we hunted them, the war raged on for centuries. Now supposedly they’re gone. But there is a way to bring them back.”

“What do you mean?” Mimi asked, thinking Kingsley was being way too cavalier about this sort of thing. The Silver Bloods weren’t some kind of joke, after all. Most Blue Bloods couldn’t even talk about it.

“Call one from the Dark. You know. Make it do whatever you want,” Kingsley said.

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Mimi said, shuddering. “Too serious for me.”

“C’mon, I think it would be fun,” Kingsley said. Kingsley used “fun” to describe all manner of mischief. It was apparent that to him, a dark and dangerous old spell was equal to driving a Ferrari at two hundred and fifty miles an hour: probably not a great idea, but one that had to be undertaken just to say you had done it.

“Nah.” Mimi shook her head. But even if she wasn’t interested in that, there might be something else she could find in the book that might prove useful.

Materia acerbus.
Dark matter.

She turned to the first page and began to read.

A
llegra Van Alen was awake. She was sitting up in bed, her fine blond hair cascading over her shoulders and hospital gown. Her green eyes open, wide and bright. In a low, haunted voice she spoke. “Beware, Schuyler. Beware.”

Schuyler woke with a start. She found herself in her mother’s hospital room at Columbia Presbyterian, but she had no recollection of how she had gotten there. It was past midnight, and the last thing she remembered was falling asleep while reading a book. She had no memory of leaving her bedroom, taking the bus up to 168th Street, and arriving at the hospital. She must have been sleepwalking, or had blacked out—just as Bliss had described.

She looked down at her mother. Allegra was sleeping underneath the covers, silent and peaceful as ever. Was it just a dream? But it seemed so real. Her mother was awake, was speaking to her. She had told her to beware. Beware of what?

“Mother,” Schuyler said, stroking Allegra’s cold cheek. The pain of missing her never quite went away. Schuyler kissed her mother’s forehead and left the room, turning out the lights.

At dinner the next evening, Lawrence invited Schuyler to dine with him at his old club. The Adventurers Club was an elite organization founded by the Blue Bloods in the early part of the eighteenth century as a meeting place of like-minded globe-trotters who were eager to document and share their research and theories on natural and geographic phenomenon. It was located in a well-appointed town house on Fifth Avenue, across from the Knickerbocker Club and minutes from the Metropolitan Museum—two Blue Blood associations that had to effect a more inclusive policy in recent years and accommodate Red Bloods into their ranks.

But the Adventurers Club was still a vampire stronghold, if only because humans didn’t seem to be as interested in environmental issues as social ones, and there was no cachet to be had by joining the stodgy old Adventurers circle.

The dining room was filled with members of the old families: the Carondolets were there, as well as the Lorillards and the Seligmans, whom, like the Van Alens, had more illustrious histories rather than present-day fortunes.

Lawrence was welcomed by the maître d’ and walked around the room, shaking hands and chatting before he and Schuyler were finally able to sit down.

The menu at the Adventurers hadn’t changed since the nineteenth century. Sole
meunière
. Steak Diane. Roasted rabbit.

Schuyler ordered the sole, Lawrence opted for the steak.

Their food arrived underneath silver covers.

“Voilà,”
the waiter said, uncovering both at the same time.
“Bon appétit.”

As she cut into her fish, Schuyler told Lawrence what had happened the night before. “I had a blackout . . . I woke up and I was at the hospital, in Mom’s room,” she confessed.

“Blackouts? How do you mean?” Lawrence asked, chewing on his steak.

“You know, when you slip out of time and then you wake up and you don’t know how you got there.”

Lawrence put down his fork. “I know memory flashbacks. But vampires are always in control when they relive their memories.”

“Really?” Schuyler asked.

Lawrence nodded. “What you’re describing is highly unusual.”

“Unusual?” Schuyler paused. But it happened to Bliss all the time, so it couldn’t be that uncommon. She relayed to her grandfather what Bliss had told her.

Lawrence digested the information. “Perhaps this crop of vampires has something new in their genetic makeup that causes it. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but let me know if it ever happens again.” Then he sighed and put down his fork. “Now, I must tell you something.”

Schuyler steeled herself for the news she had been dreading since the day her grandfather had returned.

“The judge has agreed to hear Charles’s petition to adopt you. The hearing is in a month.”

PATIENT RECORD
St. Dymphna Home for the Insane

Name:
Margaret Stanford
     
Age:
16
                                 
Admitted:
April 5, 1869
       

CAUSES:

Showing the probable causes of insanity in the patient admitted.

MORAL:

Religious excitement

Love affairs

PHYSICAL:

Self-abuse

Accident or injury

Epilepsy

Suicidal. Patient found with wrists slashed a week prior to admittance by family member.

Delusional ravings

FAMILY HISTORY:

No sign of dementia or hysteria in any family member. Only child of both parents still living.

PREVIOUS HISTORY:

Epileptic fits. Patient complains of headaches, nightmares. Blackouts. Patient has no memory of certain actions. Love affair with inappropriate young man cited in hysteria. Patient was not pregnant upon admission, however.

PRESENT CONDITION:

Excerpt from admission interview with patient:

“It seems so real. I cannot escape it. I wake up and I can feel it in my bones. It’s coming, it says in my dreams. It knows my name. It says it is part of me. That’s all I can remember. Help me doctor, help me. I need to get away. I need to get away from it.”

T
he inspiration for the photo shoot was “Talitha Getty in Marrakesh.” Lots of gauzy, linen djeballas, jeweled caftans, and the occasional turban—oh, and the tiniest string bikinis possible. But somehow the fashion assistant in charge of travel had misunderstood and booked them to Montserrat instead, so the Caribbean island would have to stand in for the North African enclave. Not that anyone seemed to mind—everyone loved a beach. Bliss had gotten the call from Farnsworth Models on Thursday, she was on a plane on Friday, and had arrived at the beach at sundown. Schuyler had been chosen as well, after
Chic
’s first choice of models—two Russian beauties— had discovered that their visas had expired and they wouldn’t be able to return to their country. The fashion director of
Chic
, Patrice Wilcox, was a stern, no-nonsense woman dressed in head-to-toe black, even in the tropical heat. She welcomed the models and crew with a smile as thin as her figure. “This isn’t a vacation, people. This is work. I expect everyone to be on set at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

However, even with Patrice’s dire warnings, there was no denying it—the photo shoot was a vacation. While she was giving her lecture on punctuality, Jonas Jones, the famously incorrigible Blue Blood photographer, winked behind her back. “Margaritas at the bar in five minutes,” he mouthed.

By midnight the entire crew, aside from the fashion director, including Jonas’s two assistants—cute guys from the Rhode Island School of Design—a gaggle of models—none of whom were over eighteen—and Schuyler and Bliss were at the beachfront bar, knocking back shots.

Bliss and Schuyler impressed the Red Bloods among the gang with their ability to drink everyone under the table. Vampire genes, natch.

Schuyler looked out at the dark beach, the full moon shining over the long shoreline, and the gentle rumbling of the surf. It was gorgeous. She had arrived early, half expecting to be greeted by Jack Force. But he was not among the male models, and she felt a pit of disappointment at his absence.

But as she wished him there, she felt a soft nudge on her elbow, and there was Jack standing at the stool next to hers.

“What are you drinking?” he asked. “Nothing too absurd, I hope,” he said, as if it had been just yesterday that they had spoken in the Repository.

“It’s a pretty awful concoction. Some kind of coconut rum and pineapple juice, but it isn’t a piña colada. Taste?” she offered, handing him her glass.

Jack took a sip and made a face. “It’s awful.”

“Told you.”

“I’ll have one,” he told the bartender.

“Brave man,” she said, saluting him with her glass.

Jack stirred his drink. “How’s Lawrence?”

“He’s well.” Schuyler wondered if Jack knew about his father wanting to adopt her. She didn’t want to bring up such an awkward subject.

“Do you still believe they’ve returned?” Jack asked, meaning the Silver Bloods.

“I have to,” Schuyler said simply. “It’s the only explanation for Dylan—for what happened to Cordelia.”

Jack looked down at his glass and shook it so the ice cubes clattered. “The Committee doesn’t believe it. The crisis in Rome was abated, Lucifer was destroyed by Michael himself. There’s no way they could come back.”

“I know.” She looked down at the dregs of her drink. “But I think The Committee is wrong.”

Jack looked as if he was about to reply, but a hoarse voice called from the other side of the bar, where a raucous drinking game was underway.

“Schuyler! Jack! We need two more oars for Viking Master, c’mon!”

The next day, the whole team trekked to a hidden nature reserve on an isolated side of the island. The crew had set up makeup tents to shield the models from the heat. Bliss emerged from her cabana wearing a zebra-striped bikini with cowrie shells on its string ties, a transparent silk caftan, and jeweled thong sandals.

“Where’re the parrots?” Jonas asked behind the camera.

The shot called for Bliss to hold two large, brilliantly plumed Scarlet Macaws on each arm, in homage to the ones Talitha had owned.

The animal trainer released the birds, but neither cooperated with any of his commands. One perched on Bliss’s head while the other flew around her, squawking loudly.

The trainer was finally able to free Bliss from the bird’s clutches, and Jonas compromised by staging the shot with Bliss underneath a tree, next to the birds.

“Thank God that’s over with,” Bliss groused as she walked carefully in the tall grass back to the haven of the makeup tent.

Schuyler was called next. She was wearing a black Gucci maillot, a one-piece that could only be described as two strips of fabric down the front, culminating in a tiny
V
at the bottom. The stylist had taped the fabric to her chest, but she still couldn’t help but feel way too naked.

“I’m going for a Blue Lagoon type of thing here,” Jonas explained. “I want hot. Smoldering. Sexy. But innocent.”

Schuyler eased into the cold pool underneath the waterfall.

“Ready?” Jack Force asked from the other side of the pond.

She nodded. She had known they were going to be partnered for the photo, but the sight of Jack’s toned, athletic body, in his low-waisted Vilbrequin board shorts, was making her blush.

Especially when Jonas admonished them to stand closer together. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s Blue Lagoon! You’re obsessed with each other! Try to show it! Jack, put your hand on her thigh. Schuyler, arch your back, move so that your body is next to his. There. That’s more like it.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, as he drew Schuyler closer.

“All part of a hard day’s work, I guess,” Schuyler said, trying not to let him know how much his presence affected her.

The camera snapped.

“Next!” Jonas yelled.

That night, when Jonas took out the entire crew for dinner at an outdoor restaurant, Bliss found herself seated next to Morgan, the seriously cute photo assistant. Morgan had been paying her a lot of attention all weekend. He was a sophomore at RISD, nineteen, and had an arsenal of bad jokes that kept Bliss giggling despite herself. He poured her drink after drink, not realizing that Bliss was immune to alcohol’s effects.

Bliss leaned back on her wicker chair and draped her feet over his lap. After months of winter in New York, she felt free here, with the cool ocean breeze blowing through her hair, no parents to nag her, and even better—no nightmares since she’d arrived on the island.

“Wanna take a walk?” he suggested.

Bliss nodded. A “walk on the beach” sounded pretty suspicious. Wasn’t that just a nice way to say “Wanna hook up?”

They walked hand in hand on the beach, Bliss dipping her feet into the rolling waves and feeling the cold water over her skin.

The lights of the hotel grew fainter and fainter.

“Morgan’s a girl’s name,” she teased.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, hugging her and pulling her to the ground.

Bliss pretended to struggle as he pinned her arms down.

“You’re not getting away from me,” he said.

“No?”

The boy began to kiss her, and Bliss kissed him back. This was different from kissing Dylan, or from kissing Kingsley, she thought. This was a human. A Red Blood. She could feel his heart thumping in his chest, smell his ripe human scent. And suddenly, she knew what she was about to do.

He lifted up his shirt and tossed it to the side. Bliss helped him unbutton her blouse. Her whole body tingled as he slipped a hand underneath her bikini top and untied the strings. He was moving so fast . . . but then, so was she.

She rolled him over so that she was straddling him, her knees pressed on the sand on either side of his hips.

“Nice,” he said, ever the frat boy, admiring Bliss sitting astride, topless in the moonlight.

“You think?” she asked coyly. Then she bent her head down, kissing upward from the dark line of his torso, up to his chest, then to his neck, to the warm spot underneath his chin. She kissed him slowly with her tongue.

He sighed and held her head with his hands, pressing her closer to him.

And that’s when she bit him with her fangs and began to feed. . . .