He grunted. “Dad’s gone, he took an earlier flight. Had to get back for some shareholders’ meeting.”
Schuyler glanced sideways at her friend. Oliver’s chestnut shag covered his forehead, and his warm hazel eyes, flecked with green and topaz, were filled with hurt and concern. Schuyler restrained herself from touching his neck, which looked so vulnerable and inviting. Lately she had been sensing a new desire in her blood to feed. The thirst was a low hum, like music in the back of your head that you didn’t even notice, but once in a while it would raise its voice, and there was no mistaking it. She found herself drawn to Oliver in a new way, and she blushed when she looked at him.
It occurred to Schuyler that her human father had been her vampire mother’s familiar, and Allegra had taken him as her husband—against vampire law. For the first time in the history of the Blue Bloods, the lines between the races had blurred, and the result had been Schuyler. Half human, half vampire. Dimidium Cognatus.
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.