Masquerade (9 page)

A
week later, Schuyler still felt a bit woozy after the “episode,” which is what she and Oliver were calling her emergency visit to Dr. Pat’s office. Oliver had offered to pick her up in his car to take her to the first day back at school. Schuyler, who would usually resist such a gesture since she lived across town and out of the way, had meekly agreed to such an arrangement. Oliver was her Conduit—he was supposed to take care of her, and for once, she was going to let him. The spring semester at Duschene was officially opened by an assembly, in which the Headmistress welcomed all the students back for another exciting term, followed by a tea of currant scones and hot chocolate in the belvedere. Oliver and Schuyler found their usual seats in the back pew of the chapel with the other sophomores. There was a lot of cheerful greeting and exchanging of vacation stories all around. Most of the girls looked tan and rested, trading cell phones to show pictures of themselves in bikinis on the beaches of the Bahamas, St. Thomas, or Maui. Schuyler saw Bliss Llewellyn walk in with Mimi Force, the two of them with their arms linked around each other’s waists as if they were the closest of friends.

Mimi’s hair had been made even lighter by the sun, and Bliss sported a few copper highlights of her own. Jack Force walked slowly behind them, hands jammed in the pockets of his Duckhead chinos. He had a bit of a ski-mask tan around his eyes, which only made him look more adorable.

Oliver noticed where Schuyler was looking and didn’t comment. She knew how he felt about her crush on Jack Force.

Sensing her friend’s pique, Schuyler leaned down and rested her head affectionately on his shoulder. If it hadn’t been for Oliver . . . she might have . . . what? Passed out forever? Joined her mother in the comatose room uptown? She was still having trouble understanding everything. What did it mean that her vampire cells were fighting her human cells? Would she always be torn in two directions?

The hunger she had felt in Venice had abated somewhat with the transfusion. Maybe that was all it was. She had needed blood. Maybe she could just get transfusions instead of having to feed. She would have to ask Dr. Pat if that was a viable alternative. It was just too weird to always look at Oliver and think he’d taste delicious. He was her best friend, not a snack.

Bliss Llewellyn looked around and met Schuyler’s eye. The two girls waved shyly to each other. Bliss had been meaning to tell Schuyler about Dylan’s return, to have the conversation she had started at the ball, but somehow the opportunity never seemed to come up.

The holidays had been an anxious time for Bliss. The blackouts and nightmares had returned in full force. Christmas Eve had been the worst night yet. She had woken up with a pain in her chest so excruciating that she couldn’t breathe. She was drenched in sweat and the bedsheets were so wet they were pasted together. Gross.

Even more terrifying, the beast of her nightmares had begun to speak to her in her sleep.

Blissssss . . .

Blissssss . . .

Blissssss . . .

It only said her name, and yet it sent shivers down her spine. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. There was no beast who could hurt her. It was just part of the transformation. Her memories waking up and talking to her, that’s what The Committee said. Her former selves, her past lives.

She clenched her jaw and sat up straighter in her seat.

* * *

Next to her, Mimi Force yawned into her delicate palm. For Mimi, the two weeks off had been nothing short of heaven. She had picked up not one but two yummy human familiars on the trip, had had her fill of them, and felt like she could conquer the world. She was eager to start the new semester. A new season always meant another excuse to go shopping. Like Bliss, Mimi was anxious, too. Anxious to get to Barneys today before it closed.

Bliss forced herself to pay attention to the Headmistress’s semiannual pep talk—
Another semester of excellence awaits you in the halls of Duchesne, blah blah blah
—when the chapel doors flew open with a bang.

Heads swiveled to look at what had caused the commotion.

A boy stood at the threshold.

A very, very handsome boy.

“Oh, er, sorry. Didn’t mean to do that. Slip of the fingers, eh?” he asked.

“No, no, it’s okay. Come on in, Kingsley. You can have a seat up here in front,” the Headmistress said, waving him forward.

The boy grinned. He swaggered down the aisle, his walk a rolling, slouching gait. His black hair gleaming, a forelock saucily slanting over his left eye, he exuded a cocky confidence to go along with his model-perfect good looks. He wore a loose white oxford shirt and tight black jeans, as if he had just stepped off of a CD cover.

Like all of the girls assembled, Bliss couldn’t take her eyes off him.

As though he could feel her stare, he turned around and looked at her directly in the eye.

And winked.

H
is name was Kingsley Martin, and he was a junior. The female populace at Duchesne agreed: even his name was sexy. The minute he appeared, it was as if a wildfire had spread among the girls. Within a week, his accomplishments were legendary. Already, he had been tapped to start on the school’s lacrosse, soccer, and crew teams. Just as impressive, he was an academic sharpshooter. He had slain the crusty AP English teacher with his presentation on Dante’s
Inferno
, titled “Taco Hell,” where he had compared the circles of hell to common fast-food establishments. In AP Calculus, he had solved a complicated problem set in record time. It didn’t hurt that he was what the girls called a knee-trembler. He was devastatingly handsome. The kind of handsome that combined Hollywood glamour with dapper European sophistication and a trace of mischief. The new boy looked
fun
.

And just like that, Jack Force became old news. The girls had all gone to school with Jack Force since preschool. Kingsley presented a new, dashing, and mysterious alternative.

Mimi Force gave Bliss the rest of the scoop after lunch while they reapplied lip gloss in the girls’ bathroom.

“He’s a Blue Blood,” Mimi said, making an O shape with her mouth as she slathered on the shine.

“No kidding,” Bliss replied. Of course he was a vampire—she knew that the minute she laid eyes on him. She’d never met another vampire who flaunted his Blue Blood status so publicly. It was a surprise he hadn’t bared his fangs in front of the whole school.

“I met him at the Four Hundred Ball,” Mimi said. “His family just moved here from London, but he grew up everywhere: Hong Kong, New York, Capetown. They’re like, related to royalty or something. He has some sort of title but he doesn’t use it.”

“Should we curtsy?” Bliss joked.

Mimi frowned. “It’s not a joke. They’re like,
major
. Landed estates, advisers to the Queen, the whole shebang.”

Bliss refrained from rolling her eyes. Sometimes Mimi was so stubborn about her snobbery, it squeezed all the fun out of life.

They exited the bathroom and bumped into the object of their discussion. Kingsley was walking out of the boys’ locker room, carrying a thick, leather-bound book. He looked rakish and wickedly charming. His eyes danced when he saw them.

“Ladies,” he said, bowing.

Mimi smirked. “We were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he said, looking directly at Bliss.

“This is my friend Bliss. Her dad’s a senator,” Mimi said, elbowing Bliss roughly.

“I know,” Kingsley said, his smile deepening. Bliss tried hard to keep her composure. When he looked at her that way, it felt as if she was standing there with no clothes on.

The second bell rang, which meant they had five minutes to get to their next class.

“Gotta go. Korgan’s senile but he can be an asshole,” Mimi said, heading for the stairs.

“Ah, just make him shut up,” Kingsley said. “Don’t you know how to do that yet?”

“What are you talking about?” Bliss asked.

Mimi laughed nervously. “He’s talking about using the glom on teachers. You know, mind control. Kingsley, you joker, you know we’re not supposed to do that. It’s against the Code. If the Wardens ever found out . . .”

Blue Blood teens were expressly forbidden from using their powers or showing off their superhuman strengths until they had reached adulthood. And even then, the Code of the Vampires was very clear on that policy: humans were not to be toyed with. They were to be respected. The Blue Bloods were supposed to bring peace and beauty and light to the world, not use their superior powers to dominate and rule.

“Wardens Shmardens,” Kingsley joked with a dismissive wave. “They never know what’s going on. Or do you still believe they can read your mind?” he teased.

“You’re funny. We’ll talk later,” Mimi said, heading out.

“I should go too,” Bliss said nervously.

“Wait.”

Bliss raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kingsley said simply. It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact. He shifted the book he was carrying to his other hip. Bliss glanced at it quickly. It didn’t look like a textbook. It looked similar to one of those old reference books from the Repository that Oliver had used in their research on the Croatan.

“What are you talking about? I just met you.”

“Have you forgotten already?” Kingsley asked.

“Forgotten what?”

Kingsley sized Bliss up and down, from her new Chloe ballerina flats to her highlighted hair. “I liked the green gown. And the necklace, of course. A perfect touch. But I think I liked you better wet and soaking. Helpless.”

“You were the boy at the park,” Bliss gasped. The boy who had rescued her had been Kingsley, not Dylan. Kingsley? How? Which meant, she thought with an ache in her heart, that Dylan was truly dead?

“You made a very pretty Lady of the Lake,” Kingsley said.

Bliss’s mind raced. So that meant she had danced with Kingsley at the after-party as well. He was the boy in the Pierrot mask.

“What happened to Dylan?” Bliss whispered, a dread creeping into her heart. She had been so sure Dylan was alive. But if he hadn’t been the one who had rescued her in the lake, or who had danced with her at the party . . . then she had to face it. She was holding on to a dream. He was gone forever, and he wasn’t coming back.

“Who’s Dylan?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bliss said, as she tried to process this new reality and absorb the information. “What did you mean, then, the night of the party, when you said you hadn’t been gone for long. Do we—do we know each other?” she asked.

Kingsley looked serious for once. “Ah. I am sorry. You lot
are
a bit delayed here, yes? You do not recognize me yet. I truly am sorry. I had thought you knew me when we were dancing. But I was mistaken.”

“Who are you?” Bliss asked.

Kingsley put his mouth to Bliss’s ear and whispered softly, “I am the same as you.”

The final bell rang. Kingsley wagged his eyebrows and grinned. “I’ll see you around, Bliss.”

Bliss slumped against the wall, her knees shaking, her heart galloping in her chest. He had stood so close to her, she could still feel his breath on her cheek. Who was he really? What was he talking about? And would she ever discover what had truly happened to Dylan?

T
he minute Schuyler walked down to breakfast on Friday morning, she noticed something different about the living room—sunlight. The room was bright with sun,
drowned
in sun. The canvas covers on the furniture were removed, and the ray of sunshine through the windows was so strong it was blinding. Lawrence Van Alen stood in the middle of the room, examining an old portrait that hung over the fireplace. There were old-fashioned steamer trunks stacked in the hallway, along with a large, battered Louis Vuitton footlocker. Hattie and Julius stood around him, clasping their hands. Hattie saw Schuyler first. “Miss Schuyler! I couldn’t stop him—he had a key. He said he owned this house, and he began to open the curtains and demanded we remove the drop cloths. He said he’s your grandfather. But Mrs. Cordelia was a widow since l’ve known her.”

“It’s all right, Hattie. It’s fine. Julius, I’ll handle this,” Schuyler said, soothing the staff. The maid and chauffeur looked doubtfully at the interloper, but they heeded Schuyler’s words and excused themselves from the room.

“What are you doing here?” Schuyler demanded. “I thought you were keeping out of it.” She tried to feel anger, but all she felt was elation. Her grandfather! Had he changed his mind?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lawrence asked. “I’ve returned. Your words wounded me deeply, Schuyler. I could not live with myself knowing how cowardly I had acted. Forgive me, it has been a long time since Cordelia and I had made the pact. I never expected anyone would come looking for me.”

He walked over to the picture window overlooking the frozen Hudson River. Schuyler had forgotten that their living room had such a marvelous view. Cordelia had kept the curtains drawn for years.

“I could not let you go back to your old life, alone. I have been in exile long enough. It is time for New York to remember the power and the glory of the Van Alen name. And I have come to raise you. You are, after all, my granddaughter.”

In answer, Schuyler buried herself in her grandfather’s arms and hugged him tight. “Cordelia was right about you. I knew she would be.”

But before she could say anything more, the doorbell chimed loudly several times, as if someone were pressing it in a highly agitated manner.

Schuyler looked at her grandfather. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Not at the moment. Anderson is joining me in a week, after he has closed up my homes in Venice.” He looked grave. “It appears my return to the city was not as secret as I had hoped.”

Hattie moved to answer the door, but Lawrence waved her away. “I’ll handle this,” he said as he opened the door. Charles Force and several Wardens from The Committee stood on the doorstep, looking grim and determined.

“Ah, Lawrence.” Charles Force smiled thinly. “You have honored us with your presence once again.”

“Charles.” Lawrence nodded.

“May we come in?”

“By all means,” Lawrence said graciously. “Schuyler, I believe you know everybody. Charles, Priscilla, Forsyth, Edmund, this is my granddaughter, Schuyler.”

“Yeah, um. Hi,” Schuyler said, wondering why her grandfather was acting as if the Wardens had simply dropped in for a friendly visit.

They ignored Schuyler.

“Lawrence, I’m sorry about this,” Priscilla Dupont said in her gentle, mellifluous voice. “I was overruled.”

“It’s quite all right, my dear. I must say, it delights me to see you so well. It has been a long time since Newport.”

“Too long,” Priscilla agreed.

“Enough of this,” Charles interrupted irritably.

“Lawrence, I do not recall your exile being revoked. You must appear before the Conclave to formally testify. If you will come with us, please.”

“What’s happening?” Schuyler cried, as two Wardens took a hold of Lawrence’s arms on either side. “Where are they taking you?”

“Do not fear, granddaughter,” Lawrence said. “If I do not have a choice, I shall go willingly. Charles, you will find no contest from me. Schuyler, I should be back soon.”

Charles Force snorted. “We shall see about that.”

Schuyler watched as they led her grandfather out the door and inside one of the black cars in front of the building. She felt like crying. Just when she thought help had finally arrived, it was taken away as quickly as it had come.

“Has he gone?” Hattie asked, storming in from the kitchen. “Thank the Lord.”

“He’ll be back,” Schuyler said. She walked over to the portrait Lawrence had been studying. It was a painting of a wedding, hidden underneath an acid-free cloth for years, dating from the early eighteenth century. There was Cordelia in her wedding dress, looking comely and prim. The man standing beside her, wearing a crisp morning suit and ascot, had the unmistakable, hawkish features of a young Lawrence Van Alen.