Masquerade (8 page)

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NOVEMBER 24, 1871
ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT FOLLOWS
DISAPPEARANCE OF FORMER FIANCÉE

English Lord to Marry Vanderbilt Heiress

The formal announcement of the engagement of Caroline Vanderbilt, the daughter of Admiral and Elizabeth Vanderbilt of 800 Fifth Avenue, to Alfred, Lord Burlington, of London and Devonshire, is the sequel to the mysterious disappearance of Lord Burlington’s former fiancée, Maggie Stanford, the daughter of Tiberius and Dorothea Stanford of Newport.

Maggie Stanford mysteriously disappeared on the night of the Patrician Ball held at Admiral and Elizabeth Vanderbilt’s home over a year ago upon the announcement of her engagement to Lord Burlington. The engagement was broken eight months ago while Maggie Stanford was still missing.

As yet, the wedding day of the couple has not been set.

L
ike many of the guests, when Bliss arrived at the after-party, she gasped in delight. The abandoned synagogue was lit by a thousand tea light candles, casting long and gloomy shadows on the walls. Mimi was right, it looked like a beautiful ruin, and there was something spooky and romantic about dancing only in firelight. The masks lent the evening an eerie glamour, since all the guests were still in their ball finery. The boys were so handsome in their tailcoats, and the girls gorgeous in their couture ball gowns, and everyone looked a little bit wicked with all those masks. Bliss fixed the feathered and jeweled mask on her face. It was a little hard to see everyone from behind it. She noticed Schuyler arrive. Good. Bliss had forwarded the message to Schuyler without Mimi knowing.

The DJ was spinning Bauhaus, a dark, violent tune, “Burning from the inside . . .”

A boy in white tie and tails walked up to Bliss, his face hidden underneath a sad Pierrot mask.

He motioned toward the dance floor.

Bliss nodded and followed him. He held out his hands and she stepped into his embrace.

“So you have survived,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear, so that she could feel his breath blow softly.

“Excuse me?”

“I would have hated to let you drown.” He chuckled.

“You . . .”

He put a finger to his lips, or rather to the lips of the Pierrot mask.

“I missed you . . .” Bliss said. Dylan. It had to be him. He had found her again. How clever to show up at a masquerade party, where he could appear without causing a fuss.

“I haven’t been gone for long,” he said earnestly.

“I know, but I was worried. . . .”

“Don’t be. Everything will be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Bliss danced joyfully. He had returned! He had returned to be with her. She was elated.

The song ended. The boy in the mask bowed low. “A pleasure.”

“Wait—” Bliss called, but already he had disappeared into the throng, and when she looked around, she saw a dozen boys dressed similarly in their black tails, but none were wearing a mask with a sad clown face, one tear glinting below the eye.

Schuyler walked despondently from room to room. She should have called Oliver after all, if only to have some company. This party didn’t seem to be as exclusive as the Four Hundred Ball. She noticed a few of her human classmates were there looking a bit nervous, as if they weren’t sure they were welcome. She could tell human from vampire: the vampires glowed in the dark—the gift of
Illuminata
made them recognizable to each other.

Deep in the shadows behind the columns, several couples were availing of the dark to neck—“necking” taking on quite a different meaning among the vampire teens. She could hear the deep, sucking sounds as vampires fed on their human familiars, the throbbing beat of blood and life force exchanged from one being to the next. Afterward, the vampires glowed even more, their features sharper and more distinct, while the humans looked vacant and listless.

One day, Schuyler knew, she would have to do the same. She would have to perform the Sacred Kiss with a human familiar. The thought both excited and terrified her. The Sacred Kiss was not a joke. It was a serious bond between vampire and human, one that was respected by the Blue Bloods. Human familiars were to be treated with affection and care for the service they provided.

The genteel atmosphere at the Four Hundred Ball had given way to a rowdier, more boisterous behavior. Several teens were dancing body-to-body to the hard beats of the house music the DJ was spinning, and a riotous, anything-goes atmosphere prevailed, as girls began dancing sexily with each other, or grinding their pelvises against their male partners. The party was soon packed with sweaty teens throwing their hands in the air and declaring they were getting megacrunked tonight. (Crazy-ass drunk—on blood.)

Schuyler remained at the fringes. She didn’t fit in with this crowd. She had no friends here.

She sighed. The Venetian mask she was wearing covered her entire face. She wished she could take it off; it was itchy and making her face hot.

She made her way to a small alcove hidden behind the speakers, so she could sit down while she debated her next move.

A boy followed her inside the room. How funny, Schuyler thought. How you knew who the girls were because they were wearing different dresses, whereas the boys were truly disguised since they all looked the same in their penguin suits. Just like this one, in his black silk mask that covered his eyes, nose, and hair, giving him a rakish air like an urban pirate.

“Don’t you like parties?” he asked, when he noticed her sitting by herself on a ruined stone bench.

Schuyler laughed. “I hate them, actually.”

“Me too.”

“I never know what to say, or what to do.”

“Well, it looks like dancing is involved. And drinking. Of all kinds.”

He was a vampire, then. Schuyler wondered who he was, and why he was bothering to speak to her.

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed.

“But you choose not to choose.”

“I’m a rebel,” she said sarcastically.

“I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You could have chosen not to come at all.”

He was right. She didn’t have to be there. She had come for the same reason she had chosen to attend the ball. For the chance to see Jack again. She had to face it: every time she saw Jack Force, something inside her quickened and came alive.

“To be honest, I came to see a boy,” she said.

“What boy?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It’s complicated.” Schuyler shrugged.

“Now, now.”

“It is. He’s . . . he’s not interested,” she said, thinking of Jack and Mimi, and the bond between them. Whatever she was feeling for him was irrelevant. He had made that clear at her grandmother’s funeral. He had responsibilities to his family. She couldn’t escape the image of the two of them holding their hands aloft.
Azrael and Abbadon
. The magnetic charge between them was electric. The whole ballroom had tingled with excitement at the announcement.
Two of our most powerful vampires. They have been revealed to us at last.
Who was she, Schuyler Van Alen, not even a pure-blood vampire, to come between them?

“How do you know he’s not interested?” he asked in a serious tone.

“I just do.”

“You might be surprised.”

Schuyler realized that the boy was standing close to her as he spoke. His eyes behind the mask—she could detect a hint of green. Her heart skipped a beat. The boy moved closer.

“Surprise me,” Schuyler whispered.

In response, the boy lifted her mask gently, so that her lips were exposed, and then he leaned down and brought his mouth to hers.

Schuyler closed her eyes. The only boy she had ever kissed was Jack Force, and this was like that—but different somehow. More urgent. More insistent. She inhaled his breath, felt his tongue in her mouth, rolling on top of hers, almost as if he wanted to devour her. It felt as if she could kiss him forever.

And then it stopped.

She opened her eyes, her mask askew from her face. What happened? Where had he gone?

“Hey!”

Schuyler turned. Mimi Force was standing in the foyer, wearing a dazzling Indian princess headdress, her “mask” expertly drawn on with makeup and face paint.

“Have you seen my brother anywhere?” Mimi had been upset at first to find her party overrun by human gatecrashers, but then she’d just chalked it up to her own irresistible popularity. So she wasn’t fazed to find Schuyler, another non-invitee, at the party as well.

Before Schuyler could answer, Jack Force materialized by his sister’s side. He was wearing an Indian headdress like his sister’s. And his mask too, was made of face paint.

“Here I am,” he said jovially. “Oh, hey, Schuyler. How was Venice?”

“Great,” Schuyler said, trying to keep her composure.

“Cool.”

“C’mon, Jack, the fireworks are about to start.” Mimi said, pulling on his sleeve.

“See ya,” Jack called.

Schuyler felt numb. She was so sure it was Jack she had been kissing. So sure it had been him behind that black mask. But his relaxed attitude, that casual friendliness, made her doubt her assumption. But if it wasn’t Jack she had just kissed, then who? Who was the boy behind the mask?

With a pang, she realized tomorrow was the start of the Christmas holidays, and she wouldn’t see Jack Force again for two whole weeks.

W
inter finally arrived in New York in earnest, unleashing several storms. The city was covered by a pristine blanket of snow for several days, until it turned to gray and yellow mush, creating impromptu snowbanks around the sidewalks and muddy puddles that hardy citizens either jumped across or grimly splashed through in salt-caked rubber boots. Schuyler was glad for the cold, as the weather reflected her current mood. The holidays were a typically quiet time for the Van Alens. In the past, she and Cordelia would attend services at St. Bartholomew’s across town, then have a modest repast at midnight on Christmas Eve. As she did every year, she spent this Christmas Day with her mother at the hospital. Julius and Hattie had the day off to be with their families, so she had taken the bus all the way uptown by herself. The hospital was practically abandoned when she arrived. There was one sleepy guard at the front desk and a skeletal crew of nurses anxious to finish their shifts. She noticed the staff had tried to infuse the place with some Christmas cheer. There were wreaths on each door, and a lone Charlie Brown–like Christmas tree with brown branches stood in the middle of the nurse’s station, along with a flickering menorah.

Her mother was asleep on the bed as usual. Nothing had changed. Schuyler placed another unopened gift by her mother’s bedside. Through the years, Schuyler’s presents collected more and more dust in her mother’s closet.

Dusting off the snow, she removed her coat, and stuffed her wool cap and gloves in its pockets. If Cordelia had been there she would have set out their Christmas lunch, removing turkey and stuffing, ham and hot rolls from Tupperware containers Hattie had prepared. Hattie had made up the same meal for Schuyler to bring, but eating it without Cordelia correcting her on her table manners or snapping at the nurses to bring her porcelain, not plastic, plates just wasn’t the same.

She turned on the television and settled in to eat her lonely lunch and watch another rerun of
It’s a Wonderful Life
. The movie never failed to make her more depressed, since there was no happy ending for Allegra that she could see.

Oliver had invited her to spend the day with his family, but she had declined. Whatever family she had left in the world was in this lonesome hospital room. This was where she belonged.

Across town on the Upper East Side, the great houses and lavish apartments were empty of their residents. The Forces had already left on their Gulfstream IV for their annual sojourn, shipping their beachwear via FedEx to their villa in St. Barths, where they would spent the first week of the break, and sending their ski gear to their Aspen cottage for the second half of their vacation. The Llewellyns were off to Texas to visit family for Christmas and were meeting up with the Forces in Aspen for New Year’s.

Even Oliver’s family had made plans for a beach getaway to the family compound in Tortola, but he had opted to stay in the city to be close to Schuyler.

He planned to visit the Van Alen town house the day after Christmas with an abundance of presents. They always spent Boxing Day together. Oliver liked to bring over a crusty baguette, French butter—the real kind, he stressed, nothing like the bland American versions—several jars of premium Russian caviar from Petrossian, as well as a magnum of champagne from his parents’ wine cellar for their post-Christmas feast.

But on the morning of the twenty-sixth, just as Oliver had packed the picnic basket with treats and was about to leave, he received a frantic call from Hattie, the Van Alen’s maid.

“Mr. Oliver, you come, you come right now,” she begged.

Oliver immediately jumped into a cab and arrived at the brownstone, to find Hattie frantic and incoherent, wringing her hands on her apron and close to tears. She led him up the stairs to Schuyler’s room.

“Miss didn’t come down for breakfast. I thought she was just sleeping in, until Beauty ran down the stairs and practically pulled me up here. Then I saw she was just lying there, and I couldn’t wake her up. God help me, she looks so much like Miss Allegra, and I was so worried because she wouldn’t move, didn’t even look like she was breathing, so I called you, Mr. Oliver.”

Beauty, Schuyler’s bloodhound, was whimpering at the foot of her bed. The dog jumped up and licked Oliver’s hands and face when he entered the room.

“You did well, Hattie,” Oliver said, patting Beauty and then shaking Schuyler and checking for her pulse. There was none, but that didn’t mean anything. His Conduit training had told him vampires could slow their heartbeat to a barely detectable rhythm to conserve their energy. Yet Schuyler was only fifteen years old and had only begun the transformation. It was too early for her to go into preservation mode. Unless . . .

Oliver suddenly had an awful thought: what if Schuyler had been attacked by a Silver Blood? His hands shook as he dialed his aunt, Dr. Pat, the human doctor who cared for Blue Bloods. Dr. Pat discouraged Oliver from waiting for an ambulance or taking her to a proper hospital. “They won’t know what to do with her. Just get her to my office now. I’ll meet you there.”

When Oliver arrived, holding Schuyler in his arms, Dr. Pat and her team were ready. They wheeled out a hospital bed, and Oliver gently laid his friend down.

“Tell me she’ll be all right,” Oliver pleaded.

Dr. Pat checked Schuyler’s neck. There were no marks. No sign of Abomination. “She should be. It doesn’t look like she’s been attacked. She should be fine. They
are
immortal. But we’ll see what’s going on.”

Oliver waited in Dr. Pat’s outer room on a particularly uncomfortable plastic chair. His aunt had always been enamored of modern furniture, and the office resembled the lobby of a trendy hotel rather than a clinic: all-white plastic furniture, white flokati rugs, white space-age lamps. After a few anxiety-ridden hours, Oliver’s aunt emerged from the inner office.

Dr. Pat looked tired and beat. “Come in,” she told her nephew. “She’s awake. I gave her a transfusion. That seems to have done the trick.”

Schuyler looked even smaller and more fragile in the hospital bed. She was wearing one of those gowns that tied in the back, and her face was paler than usual. He could see her blue veins through her transparent skin.

“Well hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Oliver cracked, trying to mask his concern.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my office, child,” Dr. Pat said solemnly. “You went into hibernation. It’s not something that usually happens until much, much later. It’s another word for prolonged sleep, something vampires do when they are weary of immortality at the close of a cycle.”

“My head feels weird. And my blood—it feels strange. Icky.”

“I had to give you a transfusion. You had very low blood cell counts. It’s going to feel strange for a little while as the new blood adjusts to the old.”

“Oh.” Schuyler shuddered.

“Oliver, can you excuse us?”

“Good to see you’re okay,” Oliver said, gripping Schuyler’s shoulder tightly. “I’ll just be outside.”

Once Oliver was gone, Dr. Pat shone a light into each of Schuyler’s pupils. She made a note on her chart, while Schuyler waited patiently for the diagnosis.

Dr. Pat examined Schuyler closely. “You are fifteen, yes?”

Schuyler nodded.

“Inducted into The Committee?”

“Yes.”

“Like I said, you had very low red-blood cell counts. Yet your blue-blood cell counts are off the charts. In some ways, you already have the blood levels of a full-fledged vampire, and yet your body went into hibernation, which means you aren’t producing the right levels of antigens.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the transformation is going a bit haywire with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“The transformation is a process in which your blue-blood cells—your vampire DNA—starts to take over. You grow your fangs, your body switches from needing nourishment from food to needing nourishment specifically from human blood. The memories start to come back, and your powers, whatever they are, begin to manifest.”

Schuyler nodded.

“Yet there’s something odd in your blood analysis. The vampire cells are taking over, but it’s not a normal, gradual process, wherein the human self is shed for the immortal— like a snake shedding its skin. I’m not sure, but it’s almost as if your human DNA is fighting the vampire one. Resisting it. And so to overcompensate, your vampire DNA is fighting back, hard—sending your human blood counts way below where they should be. The shock sent your body into hibernation. Did something happen? Sometimes it’s triggered by a traumatic event.”

Schuyler shook her head. The night before had been uneventful.

“Sometimes, it can be a delayed reaction,” Dr. Pat surmised. “It must be your mixed blood,” she added. Dr. Pat knew all about the circumstances of Schuyler’s birth. She had been Allegra’s obstetrician.

“No one has ever documented what happens when human DNA mixes with vampire blood. I’d like to put you under observation for a while.”