The Van Alen Legacy (21 page)

“I’m sorry I keep waking you
up. It must be tiring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you not feel like
talking?”

“
mmm
. .
.”

Schuyler knew that Oliver was
upset. And she understood why he was being cool with his one-word answers. Something between them
had shifted after Paris. Something had changed their easy friendship; something had come into the
hermetic little world they had made.

Schuyler had believed Jack
Force was part of her past, that after she had left him in that apartment on 
Perry
Street 
, that
would be the end of
things. But seeing Jack again in Paris had not felt like the end.
Especially when they’d
kissed.
She didn’t know what to think. She felt so guilty about
it,
sometimes
she couldn’t even face Oliver. But sometimes when she remembered the kiss, she would find she
couldn’t stop smiling. It had felt like a beginning, like a promise of a brighter future, even as
that future had begun to dim. And so every night as she lay against Oliver’s back, when she
closed her eyes she would dream of a boy whose eyes were green and not hazel, and she hated
herself for it.

So what if Jack was still
free? So what if he was not bonded? She had made her choice. And she loved Oliver so
much,
the thought of being away from him would break her heart, shattering it into a
million pieces. She had to stop dreaming of Jack.
That kiss
. How did that song go in
that movie she and Oliver used to watch all the time? A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a
sigh. It was nothing. It meant nothing.

Maybe she was confused because
she was tired of waking up in a different city every three days. Maybe that was all it was. She
was so very tired of airports and train stations and hotels and bland, overpriced hotel food. She
missed New York so much it was like a physical ache.

She had tried to forget how
much she loved the city. How invigorated it had always made her feel, how much she belonged
there.

Outside the porthole window,
Schuler could see a view of Tokyo’s neon cityscape: endless blinking lights, skyscrapers lit up
like video games. Her eyes were closing, she was about to drift
off ,
when Oliver
suddenly spoke. “You know, when I sent you off with him in Paris, it was the hardest thing I’d
ever had to do.”

Schuyler knew he was talking
about when he had sent her off with Jack, not with the baron.

“I know,” she said, speaking
to her pillow.

“I thought you would run away
with him,” he said, addressing the wall.

“I know.”

She knew all this: she had
read it in his blood, but she understood he had to tell her.
Had to say the words
aloud.

“I thought I would never see
you again.” His voice was calm, but Schuyler felt his shoulders shake a little.

Oh, Oliver . . . Her heart
slid into her throat, and tears came to her eyes. He loves me so much, she thought. I can never
hurt him. I can’t. So in answer, Schuyler turned and slid her arm through his and intertwined
their fingers. She pressed her chest against his back, and her knees and legs rested against his
so they lay like two spoons. She had never done that before, and now she wondered why. It felt so
comfortable to rest against him. To put her mouth on his neck so that he could feel her breath on
his skin.

“Ollie, I would never leave
you,” she whispered, and she knew she was telling the truth. She would keep his heart
safe.

But he did not reply, and
neither did he turn around, even with the implied invitation in her embrace. He kept his back to
her all night, as he did every night.

She fell asleep to the steady
sound of his breathing.

To many people,
RockefellerCenter was New York.

The steel, concrete, and glass
compound in the middle of Midtown was home to a number of the city’s most famous and beloved
institutions. There was the Rainbow Room on the top floor, and the iconic ice-skating rink below.
The middle of the square was a favored place to show off new art exhibits, a giant puppy made of
blooming multicolored flowers, or an oversized mirror pointed to the sky. A popular television
show had even taken its address for its name. Mimi had always loved walking past the row of
brightly colored flags on her way to Saks across the street. But what many people did not know,
of course, was that RockefellerCenter had an even older history.

In vampire lore, it was
consecrated as the place where Michael had first taken the title of Regis when the Coven had
moved to the New World. The land was blessed with part of his spirit, which was probably why
RockefellerCenter had become so popular with the Red Bloods. Humans, as dense as they were, could
still feel the charged atmosphere that surrounded them, the electricity in the air from the
sacred ground. The sanctuary had stood right where the venerable Christie’s auction house was
today. It was nine thirty in the morning when Mimi walked through the glass doors of the front
entrance. The auction was to start at ten, but she wasn’t there to bid on a
collection.

She had arrived from Rio the
week before, and was missing the first day back at school to attend this ceremony. Duchesne would
just have to understand, she had responsibilities that went beyond the classroom. The school had
welcomed the Force twins back after their “sabbatical”, so they could start their senior year and
graduate from high school. The Committee had decreed that the young vampires finish their
education before joining another Venator mission, as they were still in a vulnerable time of
their transformation. Elders were forever trying to keep the young ones from growing up too fast,
Mimi thought. It didn’t even matter that she was a voting member of the Conclave! No. She had to
get her diploma.

She collected her paddle from
the guard and took the elevator to the public auction room. The auditorium was half empty when
she arrived.
A sign of the times, maybe?
Or of the many foreign buyers who bid
online or through agents sitting at the phone banks in the back of the room? Mimi wasn’t sure.
She did remember the auctions being a little more social in nature when her parents used to
attend. There would be a cocktail party in the anteroom, and the women would wear jewels as
precious as the ones they were bidding on.

She spotted a few of her
colleagues sprinkled around the area. The Conclave was down to seven, but seven was all they
needed for a quorum. Josiah Archibald was studying the art catalog closely. Alice Whitney was
clutching her pearls. Abe Tompkins tottered in and took a seat in the back. The auction would
begin promptly at ten, and so would the meeting of the Conclave.
For they had come to this
ancient spot to name their new leader.
Forsyth Llewellyn had called for a White
Vote.

The installation of a new
Regis was no trivial matter, and no one in the Coven could remember having so many new ones in
such quick succession. They had been led by Michael in his various incarnations since the dawn of
time, and just last year had put Lawrence Van Alen in his place. But now Lawrence was dead,
Charles Force was missing, and Forsyth was pressing his case for the position.

Mimi looked surprised when two
of the members, Minerva Morgan and Ambrose Barlow, entered the room and made a beeline in her
direction. Minerva and Ambrose were among the oldest living vampires of their cycle, and while
vampires, minds did not lose their sharpness, the flesh deteriorated on a human schedule without
the requisite maintenance. What did the two mottled old geezers want?

“Madeleine,” Minerva said,
taking a seat next to her, “Ambrose would like to show you something.”

Ambrose Barlow carefully
removed an envelope from his coat pocket. It was folded in quarters, and when Mimi opened it, the
note inside was creased, and the paper so thin, as if from endless re-reading. Beware of Forsyth
Llewellyn. He is not who you think he is.

It was signed “A friend.” Mimi
handed it back to Ambrose with distaste. Her father had told her never to put any stock in
anonymous notes.

“Do you think it’s real?”
Minerva asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t really
pay a lot of attention to those
kind
of things,” Mimi sniffed. “It’s probably just a
prank.”

“But why would someone send
it? Obviously it’s someone from in the Coven.
But who?
And why?
And why
send it to Ambrose? He’d been retired from the Conclave for at least fifty years. Plus, Forsyth
has no enemies, and he’s the only one keeping us together,” Minerva said, looking agitated.
“Don’t you think so, Ambrose?”

Ambrose Barlow nodded. “I
agree
,
anonymous notes are the work of cowards. But somehow I feel that we must pay
attention to this one. It is a strange time for us . . . and with so much change going on . .
.”

Mimi noticed that Forsyth
Llewellyn had slipped into the room, and the three of them stopped talking. The senator was
looking particularly robust and even more pompous than usual, considering what had happened to
his family not too long ago. He saw the three of them huddled together and took a seat next to
Ambrose.

“Hello, hello,” he greeted her
as Ambrose folded the note quickly back into his pocket.

“Hello, Forsyth. I was just
telling Madeleine that I still don’t understand why we have to do this so soon,” Minerva said.
“Charles is sure to return and to name a Regis while he is still alive. I don’t like it. After
what happened in Paris, I feel it is hasty of us.”

“Dear Minerva, I do hear your
concern, but my concern is that after what happened in Paris, time is now of the essence. We
cannot dawdle as we have” Forsyth said.

Minerva grunted, while Mimi
kept her face neutral. The Red Blood papers were filled with gory stories of the Paris disaster,
none of the vampires had been killed or harmed, but there had been a few human familiars who had
been trampled during the riot. The tragedy was blamed on the unlicensed Thai circus unable to
control its animals, and fire code violations due to overcrowding.

Jack had told Mimi the real
story when he had returned the other night, and how Charles had stopped the worst of it. But even
with Charles’s efforts, the H’tel Lambert had scarcely escaped being burned to the ground. The
new owners were incensed and threatened to pull their bid, but had been placated by the countess,
who had offered them some of the historical furnishings free of charge.

The twins decided they would
not share the news of Charles’s apparent demise with the Coven. Jack continued to believe that
regardless of the evidence to the contrary, their father lived, and Mimi agreed it would be best
if the community continued to think that Charles was deliberately keeping away. Best not to start
a panic; the Blue Bloods were edgy enough as it was.

Seymour Corrigan entered the
room, sending a look of apology for his almost-tardiness. They were all accounted for. Seven
wardens symbolizing the original seven families, as tradition dictated.

The auctioneer, a
sober-looking man in a blue blazer and a red tie, walked up to the podium. “Welcome, my good
ladies and gentlemen, to the Impressionist and Modern Art Sale,” he said. The audience clapped
politely, and a screen behind him displayed a portrait of Kurt Cobain, immortalized in vibrant,
jewel colors. Mimi thought it looked like one of those images from a prayer book.
Grunge
rocker as saint.
“First up, an Elizabeth Peyton.
The opening bid is five
hundred thousand dollars.”

They were in Sydney when it
happened. Right in Chinatown, in a little apothecary shop that sold the organic green tea that
Schuyler liked to drink in the morning. The trembling began in her legs, then her arms, then her
whole body was convulsing and she fell to the floor, dropping the tin she was holding as she
writhed and thrashed against the cold linoleum tile.

“Stay back
!,
it’s
okay’she’s
. . . she’s epileptic!” Oliver said, pushing everyone away. “Just give
her room to breathe! Please! It’ll pass.”

It was strange for Schuyler
not to be able to control her body, to find it was in revolt against her wishes, almost as if it
had been possessed by an evil spirit. She felt as if she were watching herself from a distant
place, as if this was not happening to her, but to another girl, who was lying down while her
arms and legs moved jerkily, and she frothed at the mouth.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she
whispered when it finally stopped. The shaking had ceased, but even if her limbs weren’t moving
anymore, her heart was still beating a mile a minute.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,”
Oliver said, gently helping her to her feet by giving her his shoulder to lean on.

“Here . . . water,” the
shopkeeper said, bringing a paper cup to her lips. Schuyler was glad for the kind eyes of the man
and of the other customers. She kept leaning on Oliver as they walked out of the shop and to the
bus stop, where a bus back to The Rocks was already waiting.