“Now, now.”
“It is. He’s . . . he’s not interested,” she said, thinking of Jack and Mimi, and the bond between them. Whatever she was feeling for him was irrelevant. He had made that clear at her grandmother’s funeral. He had responsibilities to his family. She couldn’t escape the image of the two of them holding their hands aloft. Azrael and Abbadon. The magnetic charge between them was electric. The whole ballroom had tingled with excitement at the announcement. Two of our most powerful vampires. They have been revealed to us at last. Who was she, Schuyler Van Alen, not even a pure-blood vampire, to come between them?
“How do you know he’s not interested?” he asked in a serious tone.
“I just do.”
“You might be surprised.”
Schuyler realized that the boy was standing close to her as he spoke. His eyes behind the mask—she could detect a hint of green. Her heart skipped a beat. The boy moved closer.
“Surprise me,” Schuyler whispered.
In response, the boy lifted her mask gently, so that her lips were exposed, and then he leaned down and brought his mouth to hers.
Schuyler closed her eyes. The only boy she had ever kissed was Jack Force, and this was like that—but different somehow. More urgent. More insistent. She inhaled his breath, felt his tongue in her mouth, rolling on top of hers, almost as if he wanted to devour her. It felt as if she could kiss him forever.
And then it stopped.
She opened her eyes, her mask askew from her face. What happened? Where had he gone?
“Hey!”
Schuyler turned. Mimi Force was standing in the foyer, wearing a dazzling Indian princess headdress, her “mask” expertly drawn on with makeup and face paint.
“Have you seen my brother anywhere?” Mimi had been upset at first to find her party overrun by human gatecrashers, but then she’d just chalked it up to her own irresistible popularity. So she wasn’t fazed to find Schuyler, another non-invitee, at the party as well.
Before Schuyler could answer, Jack Force materialized by his sister’s side. He was wearing an Indian headdress like his sister’s. And his mask too, was made of face paint.
“Here I am,” he said jovially. “Oh, hey, Schuyler. How was Venice?”
“Great,” Schuyler said, trying to keep her composure.
“Cool.”
“C’mon, Jack, the fireworks are about to start.” Mimi said, pulling on his sleeve.
“See ya,” Jack called.
Schuyler felt numb. She was so sure it was Jack she had been kissing. So sure it had been him behind that black mask. But his relaxed attitude, that casual friendliness, made her doubt her assumption. But if it wasn’t Jack she had just kissed, then who? Who was the boy behind the mask?
With a pang, she realized tomorrow was the start of the Christmas holidays, and she wouldn’t see Jack Force again for two whole weeks.
SEVENTEEN
Winter finally arrived in New York in earnest, unleashing several storms. The city was covered by a pristine blanket of snow for several days, until it turned to gray and yellow mush, creating impromptu snowbanks around the sidewalks and muddy puddles that hardy citizens either jumped across or grimly splashed through in salt-caked rubber boots. Schuyler was glad for the cold, as the weather reflected her current mood. The holidays were a typically quiet time for the Van Alens. In the past, she and Cordelia would attend services at St. Bartholomew’s across town, then have a modest repast at midnight on Christmas Eve. As she did every year, she spent this Christmas Day with her mother at the hospital. Julius and Hattie had the day off to be with their families, so she had taken the bus all the way uptown by herself. The hospital was practically abandoned when she arrived. There was one sleepy guard at the front desk and a skeletal crew of nurses anxious to finish their shifts. She noticed the staff had tried to infuse the place with some Christmas cheer. There were wreaths on each door, and a lone Charlie Brown–like Christmas tree with brown branches stood in the middle of the nurse’s station, along with a flickering menorah.
Her mother was asleep on the bed as usual. Nothing had changed. Schuyler placed another unopened gift by her mother’s bedside. Through the years, Schuyler’s presents collected more and more dust in her mother’s closet.
Dusting off the snow, she removed her coat, and stuffed her wool cap and gloves in its pockets. If Cordelia had been there she would have set out their Christmas lunch, removing turkey and stuffing, ham and hot rolls from Tupperware containers Hattie had prepared. Hattie had made up the same meal for Schuyler to bring, but eating it without Cordelia correcting her on her table manners or snapping at the nurses to bring her porcelain, not plastic, plates just wasn’t the same.