One who didn't question the motives or actions of The Committee. One whose only problem was what to wear to the Four Hundred Ball at the St. Regis.
She blew out her bangs and looked beseechingly across the table at her best friend. Oliver had been a faithful supporter. He had been right by her side throughout the whole ordeal, and during the chaotic days right after her grandmother's funeral.
"I know he's here, I can feel it," Schuyler said. "I wish we didn't have to leave so soon."
She put the bottle, completely stripped of its label, back on the table.
The waiter arrived with the check, and Oliver quickly slipped his credit card in the leather tablet before Schuyler could protest.
They decided to hitch a ride on a gondola for one last tour of the ancient city. Oliver helped Schuyler into the boat, and the two of them leaned back on the plush cushion at the same time, so that their forearms pressed against each other. Schuyler inched away just a tiny little bit, feeling slightly embarrassed at their physical proximity. This was new. She had always felt comfortable with Oliver in the past. They had grown up together—skinny-dipping in the pond behind her grandmother's house on Nantucket, spending sleepovers curled up next to each other in the same double-wide sleeping bag. They were as close as siblings, but lately she had found that she was reacting to his presence with a newfound self-consciousness she couldn't explain. It was as if she had woken up one day and discovered her best friend was also a boy and a very goodlooking one at that.
The gondolier pushed off from the dock, and they began their slow voyage. Oliver took pictures, and Schuyler tried to enjoy the view. But as beautiful as the city was, she couldn't help but feel a wave of distress and helplessness. If she didn't find her grandfather, what would she do then? Aside from Oliver, she was alone in the world. Defenseless. What would happen to her?
The Silver Blood—if it had been a Silver Blood—had almost taken her twice already. She pressed a hand to her neck as if to shield herself from the past attack. Who knew if or when it would come back? And would the slaughter stop, as The Committee hoped or would it continue, as she suspected, until all of them were taken?
Schuyler shivered, even though there was no chill in the air, looked across the canal, and saw a woman walking out of a building.
A woman who looked eerily familiar.
It can't be, Schuyler thought. It's impossible. Her mother was in a coma, in a hospital room in New York City. There was no way she could be in Italy. Or could she? Was there something about Allegra that Schuyler did not know?
Almost as if she had heard her, the woman looked straight into Schuyler's eyes.
It was her mother. She was sure of it. The woman had Allegra's fine blond hair, thin aristocratic nose, the same knife-blade cheekbones, the same lissome figure, the same bright green eyes.
"Oliver—it's—oh my God!" Schuyler exclaimed, pulling on her friend's coat. She pointed frantically across the canal. Oliver turned. "Huh?”
"That woman…I think it's my…my mother! There!" Schuyler said, pointing toward a figure running swiftly, disappearing into a crowd of people leaving the Ducal Palace.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Oliver asked, scanning the sidewalk where Schuyler was pointing. "That woman? Are you serious? Sky, are you out of your mind? Your mother's in a hospital in New York. And she's catatonic," Oliver said angrily.
"I know, I know, but…" Schuyler said. "Look, there she is again—it's her, I swear to God, it's her.”
"Where do you think you're going?" Oliver demanded, as Schuyler scrambled to her feet.
"What's gotten into you? Hold on! Sky, sit down!" Underneath his breath he muttered, "This is a huge waste of time.”
She turned around and glared at him. "You didn't have to come with me, you know.”
Oliver sighed. "Right. As if you would have gone all the way to Venice on your own?
You've never even been to Brooklyn.”
She exhaled loudly, keeping her eyes focused on the blond woman, itching to be out of the slow-moving boat. He was right: she owed him big-time for accompanying her to Venice, and it annoyed her that she was so dependent on him. She told him so.
"You're supposed to be dependent on me," Oliver explained patiently. "I'm your human Conduit. I'm supposed to help you navigate the human world. I didn't realize that would mean being your travel agent, but hey.”
"Then help me," Schuyler snapped. "I need to go…." she said frantically. She made up her mind and jumped from the gondola to the sidewalk in one graceful leap—a leap no human would have been able to execute, since they were a good thirty feet away from the nearest marciapiede.
"Wait! Schuyler!" Oliver yelled, scrambling to keep up. “Andiamo! Segua quella ragazza!" he said, urging the gondolier to follow Schuyler, but not quite sure that the man-powered boat would be the best way to chase a fast-moving vampire.
Schuyler felt her vision focus and her senses heighten. She knew she was moving fastso quickly that it felt as though everyone else around her were standing still. Yet the woman was moving just as fast, if not faster, soaring across the narrow channels that wormed through the city, dodging speedboats and flying toward the other side of the river. But Schuyler was right at her heels, the two of them a blur of motion across the cityscape. Schuyler found herself unexpectedly exhilarated by the pursuit, as if she were stretching muscles she didn't know she had.
"Mother!" She finally felt desperate enough to call out as she watched the woman leap gracefully from a balcony to a hidden entryway.
But the woman didn't turn back, and quickly disappeared inside the door of a nearby palazzo.
Schuyler jumped to the same landing, caught her breath, and followed the woman inside, more intent than ever to discover the mysterious stranger's true identity.
TWO
Mimi Force surveyed the industrious scene inside the Jefferson Room at the Duchesne School and sighed happily. It was late on a Monday afternoon, the school day was over, and the weekly Committee meeting was well underway. Diligent Blue Bloods were gathered in small groups at the round table, discussing last-minute details for the party of the year: the annual Four Hundred Ball.
Blond, green-eyed Mimi and her twin brother, Jack, were among the young vampires who were going to be presented at the ball this year. It was a tradition that reached back centuries. Induction into The Committee, a secret and vastly powerful group of vampires that ran New York, had been only the first step. The public presentation of young Committee members to the entire Blue Blood society was a bigger one. It was an acknowledgment of one's past history and future responsibilities. Because Blue Bloods returned in different physical shells, under new names in every cycle—what vampires called the length of a human lifetime—their presentation or "coming-out" was highly important in the recognition process.
Mimi Force didn't need a herald with a trumpet to tell her who she was, or whom she had been. She was Mimi Force the most beautiful girl in the history of New York City and the only daughter of Charles Force, the Regis, a.k.a. head of the coven and superior badass, known to the world as a merciless media magnate whose Force News Network spanned the globe from Singapore to Addis Ababa. Mimi Force the girl with hair the color of woven flax, skin like fresh buttercream, full pouty lips that rivaled Angelina Jolie's. She was the underage sexpot with a reputation for cutting a reckless swath through the city's most eligible young heirs: hot red-blooded boyfriends otherwise known as her human familiars.
But her heart had always been, and always would be, much, much closer to home, Mimi thought as she looked across the room at her brother, Jack.
So far, Mimi was satisfied. Everything was shaping up to be picture-perfect for the night at the St. Regis Hotel. This was the biggest party of the year. Unlike that tacky little circus they called the Oscars, with its sniveling actresses and corporate shilling, the Four Hundred Ball was a strictly old-fashioned affair—about class, status, beauty, power, money, and blood. Bloodlines, that is, and more specifically, Blue Bloodlines. It was a vampire-only ball: the most exclusive event in New York, if not the world.
Absolutely no Red Bloods allowed.
All the flowers had been ordered. White American Beauty roses. Twenty thousand of them, specially flown in from South America for the occasion. There would be ten thousand roses in the garland entrance alone, the rest scattered among the centerpieces. The most expensive event planner in the city, who had turned The Metropolitan Museum into a Russian wonderland straight out of Dr. Zhivago for the Costume Institute's Russian exhibit, was also planning to hand-make ten thousand silk roses for the napkin rings. And to top it all off, the entire ballroom would be scented by gallons of rosewater perfume pumped into the air vents.
Around Mimi, The Committee conferred on last-minute issues. While the junior members, high school kids like herself, were occupied with busywork filing RSVP cards, checking off guest lists, confirming logistics for the two fifty-piece orchestras' stage requirements and lighting the senior coven, led by Priscilla DuPont, a well-known Manhattan socialite whose regal visage graced the weekly social columns, was involved with more delicate matters. Mrs. DuPont was surrounded by a group of similarly thin, polished, and well-coifed women, whose tireless work on behalf of The Committee had led to the preservation of some of New York's most important landmarks and funded the existence of the city's most prestigious cultural institutions. Mimi's extra-sensitive hearing picked up on the conversation.
"Now we come to the question of Sloane and Cushing Carondolet," Priscilla said gravely, picking up one of the ivory linen place cards scattered in front of her. The cards were embossed with the name of each guest, and would be placed at the front reception with a designated table number.
There was a murmur of disapproval among the well-heeled crowd. The Carondolets' growing insubordination was hard to ignore. After they had lost their daughter Aggie a few months ago, the family had shown signs of being distinctly anti-Committee. Rumor had it they were even threatening to call for an impeachment of Mimi's father.
"Sloane can't be with us today," Priscilla continued, "but she has sent in their yearly donation. It's not as big as it has been in the past, but it is still substantial—unlike some other families I won't mention.”
Donations to the Four Hundred Ball benefited the New York Blood Bank Committee, The Committee's public name, which was organized ostensibly to raise money for blood research.
The money it brought in was also used in part to fight AIDS and hemophilia.
Every family was expected to make a magnanimous donation to its coffers. The combined offerings fueled The Committee's multimillion-dollar budget for the entire year. Some, like the Forces, gave above and beyond the call of duty, while others, like the Van Alens, a pitiful branch of a once-powerful clan, had struggled for years to come up with the requisite amount for their tithe. Now that Cordelia was gone, Mimi wasn't even sure if Schuyler knew what was expected of her.
"The question is," Trinity Burden Force, Mimi's mother, said in her lilting voice, "is it appropriate for them to sit at the head table as they usually do, knowing what they have said about Charles?" Trinity posed the question in a way that let the rest of The Committee know that she and Charles would rather dine on ashes than dine with the Carondolets.
"I say shaft them at the back table with all the other fringe families!" BobiAnne Llewellyn declared with her forceful Texan bray. She made a joking slash across her neck, if only to display the thirty-carat diamond on her ring finger. BobiAnne Llewellyn was the second and much younger wife of Forsyth Llewellyn, who currently served as junior senator for New York.
Several ladies seated around Priscilla DuPont shuddered ever so slightly at the suggestion, even if they privately agreed with it. BobiAnne's crass way of putting it was distinctly not the Blue Blood way of doing things.
Mimi noticed her friend Bliss Llewellyn look up at the sound of her stepmother's grating voice. Bliss was one of The Committee's newest members, and her face had turned as red as her curls when she'd heard BobiAnne's guttural laugh boom across the room.