“Gotta go. Korgan’s senile but he can be an asshole,” Mimi said, heading for the stairs.
“Ah, just make him shut up,” Kingsley said. “Don’t you know how to do that yet?”
“What are you talking about?” Bliss asked.
Mimi laughed nervously. “He’s talking about using the glom on teachers. You know, mind control. Kingsley, you joker, you know we’re not supposed to do that. It’s against the Code. If the Wardens ever found out . . .”
Blue Blood teens were expressly forbidden from using their powers or showing off their superhuman strengths until they had reached adulthood. And even then, the Code of the Vampires was very clear on that policy: humans were not to be toyed with. They were to be respected. The Blue Bloods were supposed to bring peace and beauty and light to the world, not use their superior powers to dominate and rule.
“Wardens Shmardens,” Kingsley joked with a dismissive wave. “They never know what’s going on. Or do you still believe they can read your mind?” he teased.
“You’re funny. We’ll talk later,” Mimi said, heading out.
“I should go too,” Bliss said nervously.
“Wait.”
Bliss raised her eyebrows.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kingsley said simply. It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact. He shifted the book he was carrying to his other hip. Bliss glanced at it quickly. It didn’t look like a textbook. It looked similar to one of those old reference books from the Repository that Oliver had used in their research on the Croatan.
“What are you talking about? I just met you.”
“Have you forgotten already?” Kingsley asked.
“Forgotten what?”
Kingsley sized Bliss up and down, from her new Chloe ballerina flats to her highlighted hair. “I liked the green gown. And the necklace, of course. A perfect touch. But I think I liked you better wet and soaking. Helpless.”
“You were the boy at the park,” Bliss gasped. The boy who had rescued her had been Kingsley, not Dylan. Kingsley? How? Which meant, she thought with an ache in her heart, that Dylan was truly dead?
“You made a very pretty Lady of the Lake,” Kingsley said.
Bliss’s mind raced. So that meant she had danced with Kingsley at the after-party as well. He was the boy in the Pierrot mask.
“What happened to Dylan?” Bliss whispered, a dread creeping into her heart. She had been so sure Dylan was alive. But if he hadn’t been the one who had rescued her in the lake, or who had danced with her at the party . . . then she had to face it. She was holding on to a dream. He was gone forever, and he wasn’t coming back.
“Who’s Dylan?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bliss said, as she tried to process this new reality and absorb the information. “What did you mean, then, the night of the party, when you said you hadn’t been gone for long. Do we—do we know each other?” she asked.
Kingsley looked serious for once. “Ah. I am sorry. You lot are a bit delayed here, yes? You do not recognize me yet. I truly am sorry. I had thought you knew me when we were dancing. But I was mistaken.”
“Who are you?” Bliss asked.
Kingsley put his mouth to Bliss’s ear and whispered softly, “I am the same as you.”
The final bell rang. Kingsley wagged his eyebrows and grinned. “I’ll see you around, Bliss.”
Bliss slumped against the wall, her knees shaking, her heart galloping in her chest. He had stood so close to her, she could still feel his breath on her cheek. Who was he really? What was he talking about? And would she ever discover what had truly happened to Dylan?
TWENTY
The minute Schuyler walked down to breakfast on Friday morning, she noticed something different about the living room—sunlight. The room was bright with sun, drowned in sun. The canvas covers on the furniture were removed, and the ray of sunshine through the windows was so strong it was blinding. Lawrence Van Alen stood in the middle of the room, examining an old portrait that hung over the fireplace. There were old-fashioned steamer trunks stacked in the hallway, along with a large, battered Louis Vuitton footlocker. Hattie and Julius stood around him, clasping their hands. Hattie saw Schuyler first. “Miss Schuyler! I couldn’t stop him—he had a key. He said he owned this house, and he began to open the curtains and demanded we remove the drop cloths. He said he’s your grandfather. But Mrs. Cordelia was a widow since l’ve known her.”
“It’s all right, Hattie. It’s fine. Julius, I’ll handle this,” Schuyler said, soothing the staff. The maid and chauffeur looked doubtfully at the interloper, but they heeded Schuyler’s words and excused themselves from the room.