The Van Alen Legacy(34)
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.
CHAPTER 47
Mimi
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.»
CHAPTER 48
Bliss
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.