Masquerade (5 page)

T
he next day was the beginning of finals week at Duchesne. Unlike at other schools, students at the exclusive institution actively looked forward to examinations since it meant a flexible schedule and marked the advent of the coming school holidays. Bliss consulted her chart as she hurried through the school’s double-height, gold-brass and glass doors. That day she had English and AP American History. The next day, German and Biology. She had a Social Justice test on Wednesday, no exams on Thursday, and only a French recitation on Friday. As she ran up the grand staircase to the third floor, she noticed that all around her, girls were dressed down in yoga pants, T-shirts, and worn Ugg boots, while the boys wore faded sweatshirts, holey jeans, and sneakers. What was going on? She herself was wearing her usual attire: pressed stovepipe jeans tucked into knee-high buckled pirate boots, and a Stella McCartney sweater over a ruffled Derek Lam blouse. Why did everyone else look as if they had stumbled out of bed and had gotten dressed in the dark?

“Hey, Bliss!” Mimi yelled as she sped out of the second-floor library.

Bliss was surprised to find Mimi in an outfit she would never be caught dead in otherwise. Mimi had pulled back her long blond hair into a garish red-and-blue bandanna and was wearing hardly any makeup (in fact, Bliss noted a small pimple on Mimi’s chin). An oversize Duchesne lacrosse T-shirt borrowed from her brother, Jack, hung on her skinny frame, and she completed the look with low-slung flannel pajamas and comfortable shearling slippers.

“Hey!” Bliss called.

“Can’t talk—late for my Chem final,” Mimi explained, hurrying downstairs, her slippers flip-flopping on the marble.

“Did you just get here?” Soos Kemble asked, following Mimi. She was wearing an oversize Oxford sweatshirt and saggy jersey leggings, her thin blond hair a frizz. This was the girl who arrived in school every day with her hair perfectly blow-dried, wearing designer outfits that cost in the five-figure range.

“Yeah.” Bliss shrugged. “Why?”

“Everyone else has been here since dawn.” Soos yawned. “It’s the only way to get the best cubicles in the lib during finals.”

Interesting, Bliss thought. She would never quite understand the unspoken rules at Duchesne, but apparently looking like a “grind” or a “nerd” was the height of fashion during exams. You had to appear like you were slaving away and totally serious about tests. Even the Blue Bloods, with their hyperintelligence, still needed to cram.

Tomorrow, Bliss promised herself, she would arrive at school in her oldest pajamas. She hated sticking out like a sore thumb. It was just another way to broadcast the fact that, unlike her classmates, she hadn’t been a student at Duchense since pre-pre-kindergarten. Would she always be an ignorant outsider? Bliss wondered if she should be annoyed that Mimi hadn’t told her about the casual dress code, but then realized Mimi probably had better things to worry about than advising Bliss on what to wear to finals.

When Bliss arrived at the History room, almost everyone in class was sitting down quietly and waiting for their professor to hand out the tests. Bliss took a seat in the back of the room, looking around to see if Schuyler or Oliver were there. She wanted to tell them her news of Dylan’s return. Surely they would believe her, even if Mimi did not.

No such luck.

Then she remembered the two of them had been given permission to take their exams early so they could travel to Venice for two weeks. Lucky bastards.

Bliss looked down at her blue composition notebook. The first question had concerned the
Mayflower
journey, Pilgrims, and the founding of the thirteen colonies. Since she had lived through it, all she’d had to do was close her eyes and she could see their desolate settlement. She was sure to pull top marks.

Bliss felt confident she had aced the exam as she stood up and handed in her paper. Jack Force was in her class, and he gave her a friendly smile as he turned in his paper after she did. He held the door open for her so they could walk out together.

“How are you?” he asked once they were in the hallway next to the grand staircase.

“Great,” she said. “I feel like a cheat, I mean . . . you know.”

He nodded. “I know what you mean. All we have to do is close our eyes, right?”

“It’s like we have an open textbook or something,” Bliss said.

“Well, it’s not as if we
have
to use it,” Jack mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Bliss asked.

“Nothing.” Jack shrugged. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Bliss wondered what was going on with him. She didn’t know him very well, although she hung out with him often enough since Mimi always liked to have him around.

“Good luck this week,” Jack said, slapping her on the back in a brotherly fashion.

“You too,” Bliss called. She looked at her watch. She had several hours before her next exam. Maybe she could grab a quick bite from a corner deli and then try to score one of those cubicles in the library—if there were any left.

As she walked down the stairs, a girl fell into step with her. Bliss raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

It was Ava Breton, a fellow sophomore—a Red Blood— and yet very popular. Almost all of Ava’s friends were Blue Bloods, although she didn’t know it. Bliss noticed there were telltale marks on her neck, which meant that Jaime Kip, her Blue Blood boyfriend, had made her a familiar. Interesting.

“Bliss, can I ask you something?” Ava asked, tucking a hair behind her ear. Ava was wearing a thin, long-sleeved American Apparel T-shirt over her boyfriend’s basketball shorts, and gray thermal underwear.

“Sure.”

“Do you know anything about this party that Mimi and Jack Force are throwing next week?”

Bliss shifted uncomfortably. “I . . .”

“It’s okay. I mean, Jaime is being really weird about it. I know he’s going to that ball at the St. Regis with his parents—seriously, how lame is that? But I thought it was weird he didn’t even invite me to the after-party.”

“I’m sorry.” Bliss said, feeling uncomfortable. She hated when people were left out of the fun. She remembered what her life had been like before Mimi had taken her under her wing. She didn’t have it in her heart to exclude people. It was so shallow and snobby, and so Mimi. It certainly wasn’t Bliss. Anyway, what was the harm? Maybe the Four Hundred Ball was exclusively for Blue Bloods, but the after-party was for teenagers. In Bliss’s opinion, the more the merrier. If someone wanted to join, what was the harm, really?

“I just—it’s just—I mean, I know everyone else will get an invite,” Ava said, biting her lip. “And what if I don’t . . .”

“It’s downtown at the Angel Orensanz Center at midnight,” Bliss blurted out. “And it’s a masquerade party. You’ll need a mask, some sort of disguise, to get in.”

A rapturous smile appeared on Ava’s face. “Thank you, Bliss. Thank you SO MUCH.”

Damn.

Now she’d gone and done it.

She’d invited a Red Blood to the party. Mimi was going to be seriously pissed.

H
opeless. Everything was hopeless now. Her grandfather had turned out to be useless: a scared old man with nothing to live for but his books, his cigars, and his port wine. What had she expected? A tutor, a guide, a patron . . . a father. Someone who would take the burden off her shoulders for a while. As she packed her bags in her hotel room the next morning, Schuyler remembered Lawrence’s parting words.

“I am sorry, Schuyler. Cordelia was wrong in sending you to me.”

He then began to pace in front of the fire. “The truth is, I no longer have any interest in Blue Blood affairs. I have washed my hands of their plight, ever since Roanoke. They chose to follow Michael then, as they have always done,” he said, meaning the coven leadership had reinstalled Michael as Regis when the crisis at Roanoke had been discovered and it looked as if the Silver Bloods had returned. “And if I’m not mistaken, they still choose to follow him today as Charles Force.” Lawrence shook his head. “When he turned his back on the family and renounced the Van Alen name, I vowed that I would never return to the coven.

“Alas, you have traveled to Venice in vain. I am an old man. I would prefer to live out my immortal life in peace. I have nothing to offer you.”

“But Cordelia said . . .”

“Cordelia placed too much faith in me, as always. The key to defeating the Silver Bloods lies with Charles and Allegra, not with me. Only the Uncorrupted can save Blue Bloods from the Silver Blood Abominations.

“I am sorry I cannot be of much help. I swore off the Blue Bloods forever when I went into exile.”

“Then Charles Force was right about you,” Schuyler said, her voice shaking.

“How do you mean?” Lawrence asked darkly.

“He said you weren’t half the man Cordelia wished you to be. That I would only find sorrow and confusion if I traveled to Venice.”

Lawrence stepped back as if he had received a physical blow. His face registered a myriad of emotions—shame, anger, pride—but he remained silent. In the end, he abruptly turned his back on her and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Well. That was that. Schuyler zipped up her carryall, lugged it over her shoulder, and walked out to the elevator, where Oliver was waiting. He didn’t say hello or good morning.

She knew that if she wanted to, she could catch a glimpse of his mind—his thoughts broadcast as if on satellite radio. But she always switched the signal. She didn’t feel it was right to pry. Besides, she didn’t need any of her special powers to figure out he was still annoyed with her for not calling him the night before.

Lawrence’s chauffeur had brought her back to the hotel late the previous evening, and Schuyler had found several frantic messages from her friend on her cell phone and hotel voice mail. She would have called him back, but it was so late she hadn’t wanted to wake him.

“I thought you were dead,” Oliver accused.

“If I was, you could have my iPod.”

“Ha. Yours sucks. It doesn’t even have video.”

Schuyler repressed a smile. She knew Oliver couldn’t stay mad at her for long.

“Anyway, you missed a hilarious European music awards show on TV. David Hasselhoff swept all the categories.”

“Sucks to be me.”

He grunted. “Dad’s gone, he took an earlier flight. Had to get back for some shareholders’ meeting.”

Schuyler glanced sideways at her friend. Oliver’s chestnut shag covered his forehead, and his warm hazel eyes, flecked with green and topaz, were filled with hurt and concern. Schuyler restrained herself from touching his neck, which looked so vulnerable and inviting. Lately she had been sensing a new desire in her blood to
feed
. The thirst was a low hum, like music in the back of your head that you didn’t even notice, but once in a while it would raise its voice, and there was no mistaking it. She found herself drawn to Oliver in a new way, and she blushed when she looked at him.

It occurred to Schuyler that her human father had been her vampire mother’s familiar, and Allegra had taken him as her husband—against vampire law. For the first time in the history of the Blue Bloods, the lines between the races had blurred, and the result had been Schuyler. Half human, half vampire.
Dimidium Cognatus.

Schuyler had been made aware of her ancestry only a few months ago, but now she understood that her blood was her destiny, formed in an intricate pattern of veins underneath her skin. Blood calling for blood. Oliver’s blood . . .

She’d never noticed how handsome her best friend was. How soft his skin looked. How much she wanted to reach out with her fingers and touch that spot below his Adam’s apple, and kiss him there, and then, maybe, to prick the skin with her teeth, to sink in her fangs . . . and
feed
. . . .

“Where were you, anyway?” Oliver asked, breaking her train of thought.

“It’s a long story,” Schuyler said. The elevator doors opened and they both stepped inside.

* * *

As they made their way in a rickety cab through the cobblestone streets to the tiny regional airport, Schuyler filled Oliver in on everything that had happened, and her friend listened attentively.

“It’s a goddamn shame,” Oliver said. “But maybe he’ll change his mind one day.”

Schuyler shrugged. She had pleaded her case, she had done as her grandmother had asked, but she had still been spurned. She really didn’t think there was anything she could do about it anymore.

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about it,” she sighed.

Their flight to Rome was delayed, so Schuyler and Oliver killed time by browsing the duty-free and souvenir shops. Oliver grinned as he showed Schuyler a racy Italian magazine.

Schuyler grabbed several magazines, a bottle of water, and gum to ease the air pressure in her ears during takeoff and landing. She was waiting on line for the cashier to ring her up when she noticed a stack of Venetian masks. The city was full of sidewalk vendors hawking them, even though Carnevale was still a few months away. She had hardly paid any attention to the cheap trifles, but one mask in particular in the airport display caught her eye.

It was a full-face mask with only holes for eyes, and was made of the finest porcelain, with gold-and-silver beading.

“Look,” she said, holding it up to show Oliver.

“What do you want that tacky thing for?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything to remind me of Venice. I’m getting it.”

Their flight to Rome was bumpy, and the flight to New York was even worse—so much turbulence that Schuyler thought she would go crazy from her teeth chattering against each other every time the plane bounced. But once she looked out the window and saw the New York skyline, she felt a rush of love for the city, tinged with sadness to know that there was no one waiting for her at home except two loyal servants who were now her legal guardians, as per Cordelia’s will. At least there was Beauty, her bloodhound, a true friend and protector. Beauty was another part of the transformation, a part of Cordelia’s soul that had transferred to the physical world to protect Schuyler until she was in full control of her powers. She had missed her dog.

They made their way to the concourse to retrieve their bags from the carousel, weary from their journey. After traveling for almost fifteen hours straight, both of them looked peaked, and it was dusk when they arrived in New York. They walked out to find a light dusting of snow. It was the first week of December, and winter had finally arrived.

Oliver found his family’s car and driver idling by the curb, and led Schuyler toward the black Mercedes Maybach. They settled inside the cozy leather interior, Schuyler thanking the gods for giving her Oliver. His family fortune (intact) definitely came in handy during times like these.

The two of them were quietly absorbed in their own thoughts as they rode back to the city. Traffic was light on the freeway for a change, and they made it to Manhattan in half an hour. The car drove over the George Washington Bridge and exited on 125th Street, making its way down Riverside to the Van Alen mansion on the corner of 101st and Riverside.

“Well, this is me,” Schuyler said. “Thanks again for everything, Ollie. I wish it had worked out with my grandfather.”

“Yeah, no worries. ‘Protect and serve,’ that’s my motto.”

Oliver leaned over to kiss her on the cheek like he always did, but at the last minute Schuyler turned her head so that their noses bumped into each other.

“Oops,” she said.

Oliver looked embarrassed, and they embraced awkwardly instead.

What was wrong with her? He was her best friend. Why was she acting so lame? She was about to open the car door when he cleared his throat. She turned to him. “Did you say something?”

“So, uh, I guess you’re going to that thing tonight, huh?” he asked, scratching his chin.

Schuyler blinked. “Thing?”

“That, uh, Four Hundred Ball,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes and making exaggerated scare quotes with his fingers. “The big bloodsuckers shindig.”

“Oh, right.” She had almost forgotten about that. Her presence would be required as part of The Committee. She was too young to be officially presented at the ball, unlike Mimi and Jack Force. Jack Force—for weeks now she had suppressed her feelings for him, but the thought of the Four Hundred Ball brought his image to the forefront of her mind. Tall, painfully handsome, the sun shining on his golden hair and skin, laughing with his piercing green eyes, showing his even, dazzlingly white teeth.

Jack had been the first to suspect there was more to the story of Aggie’s death than anyone on The Committee would have liked to believe. He was the one who had been determined to find out the truth. She had sought him out after she had been attacked, and after he had comforted her, they had kissed. The memory of his kiss was still pressed like an imprint on her lips. If she closed her eyes she could still smell him, clean and fresh like newly laundered linen, with a hint of woodsy aftershave.

Jack Force . . .

Who had turned his back on her when she had mistakenly accused his father of being a Silver Blood.

She wondered if Jack had a date for the ball, and if he did, who it was. She felt a bright flare of jealousy at the thought of another girl in his arms.

“Do you want to go with me?” She hadn’t even given any thought to a dress or a date until Oliver mentioned it.

Oliver blushed and looked pained. “It’s, um . . . vampires only. Kind of a rule. No human familiars or Conduits allowed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Schuyler said. “Maybe I won’t go.”

Oliver looked out the window, where snow had covered the rooftops and sidewalks with a glaze of white crystal.

“You should,” Oliver said quietly. “Cordelia would have wanted you to.”

Schuyler knew he was right. She was the remaining Van Alen in New York. She would have to represent the family. “All right, I’ll go. But I’ll leave early and maybe we can meet up later on?”

Oliver smiled wistfully. “Sure.”