The Van Alen Legacy (27 page)

“Thank you,” he said. “I wish
you the same.”

Jack lingered on the stairway.
It looked as if he were going to say something else, but thought better of it. With a wave of his
hand, he was gone.

Schuyler forgot what she had
come to the library to find.

She blinked back tears and
felt her throat constrict. Soon her whole body was shaking as badly as it ever had, but this was
no transformation-related sickness. She was wrong. She was not strong. Her heart was breaking,
she could feel it,
nothing
would ever be the same. Her eyes watered, and she knew if
she did not stop herself, she would soon be sobbing on the staircase.

So this was how a love affair
ends: with a random meeting on a public staircase. A few polite words and nothing real said, even
though their world was ending. And so, with the most self-control she had ever managed, she dried
her tears, picked up her books, and continued up the stairs.

She would just have to
endure.

Coordinating a bonding was
easier than Mimi expected. Especially since the whole package,
st
.
John’s
Cathedral, the Met reception, the Boys Choir of Harlem, the Peter
Duchin
Orchestra, and a dozen other details, had all been decided upon a year ago.
It was simply a matter of securing a new date and rehiring vendors, most of whom were more than
happy to take her security deposit once again. The bonding was set for mid-October, the earliest
date that worked for everyone.

But Mimi wasn’t thinking of
her upcoming bonding as she sat in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental hotel, waiting for Kingsley
Martin to arrive that evening. It was the farthest thing from her mind, almost as if the whole
bonding scenario were simply a role she would step into at the right moment, like a glass slipper
that had to fit. But until then, she could do as she pleased.

The Repository aide who had
unearthed the tape recorder that was able to play the tapes from Charles’s study had advised her
to go easy on it; it was the only one they had left. He couldn’t even let her take it out of the
building.

“Venators don’t like to
upgrade,” he’d grumbled, handing her the bulky black object. “We’ve given them the attachments
for their phones, but they still use their old junk to turn stuff in. Someone gave us a report on
parchment the other day.
In longhand.
You know how hard that is to read? Let alone
retype?”

Mimi had murmured sympathies,
and then found an empty cubicle and some headphones. She started to listen.

She had spent almost the
entire night at the Repository, leaving only so she wouldn’t miss her first class.

When Kingsley finally walked
in, she wondered why it was that almost every time she was with him, she had been awake for more
than twenty four hours.

As he sauntered over, Mimi
noticed how everyone at the bar turned to gape at him. Talk about using the glamour.

“You’re late,” she said,
tapping at her watch.

“No, you’re just early.”
Kingsley smiled and slid in next to her on the banquette.

She inched away from him.
“Aren’t you staying at this hotel? You don’t even have an excuse. I’ve been waiting for over an
hour for you.”

And Mimi Force did not wait
for anyone. It was a new and frustrating experience. She’d read the looks of pity from the
cocktail waitress.

Kingsley yawned. “I know
you’re not here to talk about my inability to master time management. So what’s up?”

“Order first,” Mimi snarled,
as the waitress glided up to their table. Mimi noticed the girl was already making eyes at
Kingsley.

“
Macallan
.
Straight.
And whatever the
lady desires,” Kingsley said, winking at Mimi.

“I’ll have a dirty martini,”
Mimi said.

“And I’ll have to see your
ID,” the waitress said with a fake smile.

I have never been carded in my
life! Mimi wanted to scream. This is New York City! Do you even have any idea how old I am? But
before Mimi could say anything, or use the glom to her advantage, Kingsley reached over and
snagged her purse and plucked out Mimi’s driver’s license to hand to the waitress. The girl
didn’t even bother to look at it.

“Whiskey and a martini coming
right up.”

“Smooth. What did you do?
Change the date?” Mimi asked. Some vampires had the ability to transform inanimate objects. Mimi
would have loved that talent. Imagine all the knockoffs she could turn into real
Birkins
! She’d make a fortune.

“Nah.
No need.
She just wanted to mess with you. It’s my attention she was after.”

“You’re really something else,
aren’t you?”

Kingsley grinned. “I’ve missed
you, Force. You still mad at me from last time? I hope not.
No hard feelings,
yeah?”

She snorted, but it was hard
to stay mad at him when he was smiling at her like that.

Their drinks came with no
further flirtation from the waitress. Mimi took a sip of hers. Meanwhile, Kingsley had somehow
managed it so that she was practically sitting on his lap at their cozy table.

“Stop it,” she said, pushing
off. “I want to talk to you about something serious.”

“That sounds boring,” he
sighed. “I was hoping you wanted to talk about something else.”

“Listen. I found the tapes.
Your reports from two years ago.
They were in Charles’s office,” Mimi said, looking
him square in the eye.

“Spying on me now?” Kingsley
cocked an eyebrow and finished off his whiskey in one gulp. But he sat up straight and looked
alert. With his right hand he motioned for the check.

“I don’t understand?” she
whispered fiercely. “What were you doing for Charles? Why did you call the Silver Blood? What
were the two of you trying to do?”

“Do you really want to know?”
Kingsley asked. He returned her forthright stare, so she could look right into his dark eyes. She
could see the hint of silver at the edge of his pupils.

Mimi didn’t blink. “Yes. Tell
me. Tell me everything.”

The Prada sample sale, while
admittedly an exclusive experience (they checked two IDs against the guest list at the door) and
filled to the brim with last season’s must-haves, struck Bliss as completely anticlimactic. Where
were the hordes of fashion-mad women fighting over the last pair of six-inch embroidered
platforms? Was the lack of buzz because the economy was in a downturn, or maybe because sample
sales were inherently secretly lame? Filled with overstock of designs whose life expectancy rate
was the three months that
fashionistas
actually wore the stuff.

Because who needed a degrade
skirt when it was no longer in fashion? Or for that matter,
vertiginious
pumps in a
crocodile pattern that turned a foot into a
hoof .

Was it still fashion when it
was no longer fashionable?

Bliss wandered around the
shelves, pulling a bag to look at here and there. Four hundred dollars was still too much to pay
for a handbag, she thought. They called this a sample sale? A dress caught her eye, one of those
babydoll
dresses that had looked so cute in the advertising campaign.
Purple
with yellow flowers.
She picked it up.

When Schuyler walked in,
dressed in her various layers but looking as ethereal and beautiful as ever, Bliss could see the
envy from all the other insect-sized
fashionistas
, which made her feel proud and
happy. Seeing Schuyler reminded Bliss that she wasn’t some centuries-old freak, some cursed being
. . . that part of her was only sixteen years old and still innocent, and no one else, no one
else in this room, would understand what she was going through. . . .

Except for the girl in the
gray
trenchcoat
and black sweater.

“Bliss!
Oh my
god! Oh my god!
Oh my god?”
Schuyler cried, and soon they were embracing, hugging
each other tightly, tears flowing down their cheeks, making a bit of a commotion so that the
other shoppers turned away and tried to pretend they weren’t gawking.

“Do we have to stay here?”
Schuyler asked, looking curiously at Bliss. “Are you buying that dress?”

“I might . . . Why? Do you not
like it? But no, I mean yes,
it’s
better if we stay here . . . but I think there’s a
room where we can talk,” Bliss said, leading Schuyler outside to the hallway and into a little
anteroom on the side.

They sat side by side, still
clutching each other. Bliss noticed how thin Schuyler had gotten.

“When I heard you guys had to
run away, I was so worried. What happened?”

She listened while Schuyler
told her about the investigation and all that had happened afterward. As she did, she realized
more and more what a danger she was posing to Schuyler. Even without the title, Forsyth was
already leading the Conclave. Bliss could feel the Visitor behind it all. But why would he care
what happened to Schuyler Van Alen?

“I saw Oliver at school, but
we haven’t had a chance to get together,” Bliss said.

She’d had an awkward reunion
with him. They were friends-
inlaw
, Bliss thought. Without Schuyler, she and Oliver
didn’t have too much in common.

“It’s weird to see him without
you. You guys were always joined at the hip.”

“I know,” Schuyler said, and
twisted her thumbs. “It’s better this way. If the Conclave knew I was back . . .”

Bliss nodded. Forsyth had been
asking her if Schuyler had been in touch, which meant the Conclave was still interested in her
whereabouts. Bliss had told him nothing, of course. Schuyler was right to hide. But Bliss had a
feeling there was something other than just fear of the Conclave that was keeping Schuyler and
Oliver apart. She’d once hoped that Schuyler would find happiness with Oliver, but friendship was
one thing, and love was another. The Greeks were right about that.

“Have you seen Jack?” she
asked.

“Yes.” Schuyler hesitated.
“It’s fine. It’s . . . we’re . . .
it’s
over.”

She looked Bliss straight in
the eyes when she said it and held her head high.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bliss
said gently.

The Force twins were finally
going to be bonded, and she could imagine how much that had to hurt. Mimi had even asked Bliss to
be one of her
bondsmaids
, which was unexpected since they hardly spoke to each other
anymore. Bliss had said yes to be polite.

“And you? I . . . I’m sorry we
never got to talk about what happened to Dylan. I can only imagine how terrible . . .” Schuyler’s
voice trailed off and her eyes grew bright. “I’m really sorry I haven’t been there for you. I
didn’t want you to be alone after that, but we didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right. I
really missed you guys. It’s been . . . kind of crazy for me. . . .” she said. Inside Bliss’s
head a familiar voice said, Tell her I say hello, which made Bliss smile. “Anyway, sometimes I
feel like he’s still with me.”

“He’ll always be with you,”
Schuyler said, grasping for Bliss’s hand and squeezing it.

Bliss leaned over so they
could speak more intimately. She could feel the darkness coming, a sensation not unlike reaching
the precipice of a roller coaster.
Hanging over the abyss, right before the
drop.

“Listen, Sky, I need to tell
you something. There’s something wrong with me. I can’t talk about it too much, or whatever is
wrong with me will put you in a lot of danger. But I’m taking this class . . . Ancient
Civilizations . . . and I was reading about Rome . . . and I started to remember some stuff . . .
stuff that happened before, and I think it might-” she was going to say, “might be happening
again,” but she never had a chance because Schuyler’s
iPhone
began to
ring.

“Hold on. God, I’m so sorry.
Bliss, I have to take it. It’s my mother’s hospital,” Schuyler said, checking the number. She put
the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, this is Schuyler Van Alen. . . . What? Sorry? Yes . . . yes of
course . . . I’ll come right now.”

“What’s going on?” asked
Bliss.

“It’s - it’s my mother. She’s
awake! She’s asking for me. Bliss, I’m sorry, I have to go!”

Allegra?
Allegra’s awake?
Wait’schuyler
! Let me come with you?” But it was too late. Her
friend had gone so fast it was as if she had disappeared into thin air.

Outside the window the sun was
rising over the Hudson. Mimi shrugged on a robe, swinging her legs off the bed so she could take
a better look. Or so she just told him. She felt . . . confused. And she didn’t like it. She
patted the pockets of the robe for her cigarettes,
then
remembered she had quit
smoking. Somehow chewing gum wasn’t the same. She would have to console herself with a tapping of
her fingers on the glass. Outside, the sky was a brilliant red and orange, the purple darkness
and the yellow of the smog mixing with the horizon. But Mimi was bored with a picture of a pretty
sunrise, or even sunsets, for that matter: she found them clichéd, hokey, predictable. Anyone
could like a sunset. And she wasn’t anyone; she was Mimi Force.