CHAPTER 43

Schuyler

It had been a few days since Schuyler had visited Dr. Pat's clinic, and her new life in New York was finally starting to take shape. That afternoon she and Oliver stopped by the real estate office that was holding the keys to the small studio apartment in Hell's Kitchen, which Oliver had secured for her, paying a year's rent in cash. To obscure her identity, Schuyler would pretend to be the only daughter of a single mom: an ex-hippie folk singer who was usually on tour with her band. With Schuyler's ability to transform her facial features, she could even pretend to be the mom on occasions that demanded it. Mutatio was easier now that she felt like herself again.

They took the subway across town and ended up in a bustling section of Ninth Avenue, a neighborhood that was a mixture of corporate dormitories for Wall Street newbies as well as shabbier walk-up buildings next to strip clubs and triple-X video stores. But there was a grocery store not too far away, and Schuyler and Oliver loaded up on a week's worth of food: organic vegetables, a loaf of raisin bread from Sullivan Street Bakery, cans of beans. Oliver pushed her to splurge on the Spanish ham and a block of French double- cream cheese. The clean, wide aisles of the supermarket gladdened her heart; it was good to be back in America again, where everything was so easy and convenient.

The studio was located in one of the shabbier buildings, as Schuyler had wanted, and it was very small: if she stood in the middle of the room, she could almost touch all four walls with her fingertips. The apartment came furnished with a hot plate, a microwave, and a futon that rolled into a corner. The lone window opened up to a view of the light shaft. Still, it was better than living in a hotel. It was New York. It was home.

"Are you sure about this?" Oliver asked.

Schuyler had entered the building wearing the hippie-mom mask, and she felt her features relax back into her own as soon as he had closed the door.

"You don't have to stay here, you know. My dad has a place downtown, for when he works late. You could stay there," he told her.

"I know it's not as nice as your house. Or even my old one," Schuyler said, looking through the empty cupboards and finding little black plastic roach motels in the corners. "But I don't think we should be seen together at all. We can't jeopardize your status in the Coven."

The house on Riverside Drive was a mere cab ride away. Hattie would be there with her homemade pot roasts, and Julius to show her card tricks. But she could not go back. Not yet. She knew the minute she stepped through the doorway, the Conclave would know. She had no idea how she knew this, but she felt it instinctively and knew she was right. She had to keep away. They might not be interested in her right now, but she had a feeling that would change.

She felt safer in the studio already. Already she felt she was Skye Hope, not Schuyler Van Alen. She and Oliver had decided it was a name a former flower child would give her offspring. Plus, if people called her by a name she was used to answering to, there was less of a chance Schuyler would slip up.

Alexander Hamilton High was the local public school, and they had accepted Schuyler's last-minute registration with no questions or complaint. Oliver had pushed for one of the other private schools: Nightingale, Spence, Brearley. But even he had to agree it was too dangerous. Those institutions were crawling with Blue Bloods. At Hamilton High, there would be little chance of anyone from the Conclave finding out she was there. The elite might give lip service (and donor money) to their commitment to public education but never went so far as to actually send their children there. For the Conclave to believe the story of Schuyler and Oliver's estrangement, Oliver would have to return to Duchesne without her.

But she would have to continue her education somehow. What had Lawrence always said? School was more than academics; an education prepared you for the humdrum of real life: working with others, tempering one's personality to assimilate with the group but without losing your individual identity, understanding the factors of logic, reasoning, and debate. For a person, vampire or human to succeed in the world, unlocking the mysteries of the universe was insufficient. One would also need to grasp the mysteries of human nature.

"Are you sure there isn't another reason I should be here with you?" Oliver asked.

But she didn't want to answer him right then. She was still sorting out her feelings, starting to wonder if maybe her mother could be right. If maybe love was something you had to fight for, no matter what the cost. She didn't want to hurt Oliver. She would rather die herself than see him suffer. But she needed time to think. Alone.

"I'll be okay; I'm in New York, see, the shaking, it's gone,"

Schuyler said, raising her hands to her face in wonder. Had she simply been homesick, as Dr. Pat had said? That her blood had called to her own kind? Was that all it was? Truly? That she was close to a coven once again?

"Good," Oliver said. "Well. You have my cell. You can call me anytime. You know that."

"I'll miss you," Schuyler said. "I already miss you."

But they had to do this, to keep the other safe.

"Well. Have fun," he said reluctantly, and with one final hug, he was out the door.

As she unpacked the groceries, she noticed Oliver had left his mail among the stack of papers for Schuyler's new apartment.

There was a thick white envelope stuck in the middle of the bills and magazines. It didn't have a stamp, which meant it had come directly from someone in the Conclave. They always hand-delivered their correspondences.

It was an invitation to a bonding, Schuyler saw, and without having to check, she knew that the address embossed on the back would be the Force town house.

CHAPTER 44

Mimi

The Starbucks at the corner of Fifth and Ninety fifth had closed, so Mimi had to walk a few more blocks to EuroMill, a fancy new coffee "boutique" that had recently opened. The EuroMill had taken the gourmet coffee culture to a new level. They had a fat binder where a customer could choose the bean, the roasting, even the way the flavor was "extracted" (hand-drip, siphon, French press, or "solo"). The place resembled an art gallery: white walls with square blackboards, the coffee grinders and espresso machines polished to a gleam, mirroring the artwork on display.

"How can I help you?" the nose-ringed barista asked.

"La Montana, slow clover," Mimi said, meaning she wanted a cup of the El Salvador roast through the no-sediment French press. "two of them. To go. Oh, and one of those," she said, pointing to a chocolate croissant behind the glass display.

A sharp whistle drew her attention. At one of the middle tables, among the writers typing on laptops and the private-school crowd angling for their breakfast lattes, sat the rest of her former Venator team.

"Hey, guys," Mimi said with a smile. Had it only been a month since the four of them had battled Brazilian drug gangs and Silver Bloods in the jungle?

She was gifted with a rare grin from the Lennox boys, who soon took their leave. Ted slapped her on the back, even.

"Force." Kingsley nodded. He kicked the chair next to him away from the table so she could sit down.

"Let me guess. Caf¨¦ con leche? Four sugars?" Mimi smirked as she tried to still the butterflies in her stomach.

They hadn't seen each other since landing in New York. What happened in Rio stayed in Rio, wasn't that how the saying went? If she'd thought Kingsley would seek her out afterward, she'd been wrong. What did she care anyway? It hadn't mattered back then, and it sure didn't matter now.

Kingsley raised his cup to hers. "Back to school, I take it? Senior year?" He teased. "You know, it's a funny thing... I never did go to high school. I mean, not in any real sense. The first time I went was when I got assigned to the Duchesne case."

"Don't tell me you miss it," she joked. She wondered how old Kingsley was. Silver Bloods were like Enmortals, they were free of the cycles. They didn't age, almost as if they were frozen in time. She knew a little about Kingsley's history: he had been corrupted by a Silver Blood in Rome, but had been forgiven by Michael himself and welcomed back into the Blue Blood community.

"Maybe a little. The little announcements at the start of the day. All that peer counseling. Very self-actualizing." He grinned to let her know he was making fun, but not making fun of her.

The barista yelled from the counter. 'Two clovers?"

"That's mine" Mimi said, collecting her order. Some things didn't change: even if this was no Starbucks, the coffee still came in a cup the size of a pitcher. "I should go or I'll be late," she told Kingsley.

She picked up her satchel and swung it over her shoulder, holding the two drinks in a cardboard carrier.

"I heard about the bonding," Kingsley said quietly. He put down his coffee cup and signaled to the waitress for another.

"Forsyth told you."

"Indeed. He explained that since Charles is still MIA, he's giving you away."

"So? What of it?" she challenged.

Kingsley smiled sweetly. "Nothing. I just wanted to congratulate you. You'll make a beautiful bride."

Now it was Mimi's turn to blush uncharacteristically. She didn't know what she had expected. Him to plead with her? To ask her not to bond with Jack? Ridiculous. Impossible. Kingsley was exactly like her: selfish, dangerous, unable to follow rules. Had she wanted him to feel something for her when she felt nothing for him?

She stared at him, her cheeks slowly burning. He returned her gaze steadily.

"Dude, I don't know why I even bother," Mimi said, and she left, storming out of the caf¨¦.

A year ago, when Mimi had returned from Rio to New York, there had been no time to even think about the bonding. Everything had been canceled immediately. It wasn't the right time, and after what had happened, she and Jack were too shell-shocked to think of it. Deposits were lost, her gown taken to storage. A week later she had confronted him about his little affair with the half-blood, and they had reconciled. In any case, Schuyler had ceased to be a problem: the little wench had left New York and Jack. She was following in the footsteps of her mother, headed to some sad tragic end, Mimi hoped.

But instead of Schuyler's absence leading to a deeper relationship, the two of them being alone together at last had caused an estrangement between them. But this time it was Mimi who had withdrawn. She didn't want to be second choice. She didn't want Jack to be with her only because he couldn't be with the person he truly loved.

Jack in her arms was nothing but a Pyrrhic victory. Mimi wanted him to love her and to mean it. But every day, it appeared he was doing the same thing he always did: paying lip service to their bond, placating her fears with lies, while his eyes betrayed the deeper truth: that his heart still belonged to another.

And so she had escaped. She had joined up with the Venators. She had left him. See how well he would do without her. She wanted him to miss her. She wanted him to miss her so desperately he would understand exactly how much she meant to him. She thought that if she left, he would realize the error of his ways, and discover the deep bond between them. She might as well have stayed home.

Nothing had changed. Jack had gone his way and she had gone hers. When she had told him about Forsyth's request, he had accepted the new date of their bonding without comment. He would bond with her. But he would find no joy in the process: the groom as dead man walking. She was tired of it.

She found Jack standing at the corner, his messenger bag slung across his broad shoulders. He really needed a haircut, she thought.

"Here you go." She handed her twin his coffee.

"Thanks."

They walked to school, their steps easily matching the other's. Even after a year away, they fell in line together. In a weird way, they would always be bonded even without the official ceremony.

"Here's your croissant. Probably not as good compared to Paris, right?" Mimi asked.

Jack took a bite. "It's okay." He shrugged.

When she'd mentioned Paris, his lips twitched, like they did whenever he was upset.

But for the first time in a very long time, Mimi couldn't care less about what was bothering him.