The Van Alen Legacy Read online

Chapter 35~36

 

  CHAPTER 35

  Schuyler

  "Sky, wake up! Wake up! You're having a nightmare! Wake up?" Schuyler opened her eyes. She was sitting up, the bed a messy hurricane of blankets and sheets. Oliver sat next to her, a hand on her shoulder. "You were dreaming," he said. "that dream again?"

  She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chin. "the same one. Always. " Ever since she had escaped from Leviathan that night in Paris, Schuyler had had the same dream, the very same one every night, as if her subconscious were stuck on one channel, repeating the same eerie television show.

  She could never remember what it was about, only that in the dream she was filled with the deepest, most agonizing despair. For days she had woken up crying.

  "You okay?" Oliver asked. His eyes were puffy from sleep, his hair tousled and messy, a little part of it in the back sticking straight up, as soft as a baby duck's down. He was wearing a Duchesne sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms, his usual bedtime attire. Schuyler had teased him once about his surprising school spirit. Oliver had never worn anything branded with the school name in the daytime in his life, as far as she had known.

  "I'm okay," she said. "Go back to bed. "

  They were in a capsule hotel in Tokyo. It had been a week since they'd left Paris. They had spent three days in Berlin first. Tokyo seemed like a safe place to go, as far away from France as possible.

  When they'd arrived in Japan, Schuyler had been drained, with no energy even to perform the ritual that would invigorate her. She was beyond exhausted, but after seeing Jack again, and having all the old feelings stirred up, it felt disloyal to rely on Oliver so much. So she had restrained herself from performing the Sacred Kiss.

  For once she wished that she had taken a docile stranger as her human familiar instead of her friend, but it felt like a betrayal to even think it. That night in Tokyo, Oliver lay back down, his head on the pillow, facing away from her as he curled up on his side, the way he always did. This was how they slept, how they had always slept ever since their journey had begun, in one bed, yet back to back, facing outward to their enemies, having each other's back, literally. This was the way Oliver had been taught. This was the way the Conduits had protected their vampires for centuries during times of war. In the middle of the night when Schuyler woke up, she was always comforted by the feeling of warmth from Oliver's back pressing against her own.

  A year of sleeping back to back, never once turning to each other, not even for the Caerimonia. In bed, it would have been too intimate. . . too much like the other thing that they had resisted so far, an unspoken agreement to wait for the right time. Because what else did they have but time? They would be together always. That much they knew.

  "Are you awake?" Schuyler asked. Their room was approximately the size of a small coffin. She could only just sit up. The pods were little boxes stacked on top of each other, with a fiberglass door and a curtain for privacy, and one window. The capsules were popular with Japanese businessmen who were too drunk to go home. It was the cheapest accommodation Schuyler and Oliver could find. They had stored their packs in a locker in the lobby.

  "Uh-huh. "

  "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.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mimi

  To many people, Rockefeller Center 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 Rockefeller Center 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 Rockefeller Center 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 wa
sn'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. "