Мелисса де ла Круз - Masquerade

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.”

ELEVEN

The Forces had booked the four-bedroom presidential suite at the St. Regis. Almost all the rooms in the hotel were taken over by Blue Blood families. It was a tradition, since it meant a simple ride in the elevator to the ballroom and guaranteed less crinkling of the ladies' gowns.

Charles Force fastened his remaining cuff link. He was a tall, proud man with a handsome head of silver hair. He was wearing white tie and tails, as well as white gloves. The tailcoat was beautifully cut in the traditional fashion, with a two-button closure and a velvet stripe down the side of the trousers. He stood in the living room with his hands clasped behind him, waiting for the women in his family to finish dressing.

His son, Jack, was dressed similarly, and looked dashing in his tailcoat. Jack had chosen a pointed collar that lay flat on his dress shirt rather than the traditional butterfly collar that turned up against the chin.

Jack had been quiet all day, and suddenly he swung his legs off the couch and stood up.