The Van Alen Legacy

Schuyler was familiar with the horror stories of American public education: the overcrowded classrooms, the violent students, the indifferent teachers. She had no idea what to expect: graffiti-ridden walls? Metal detectors? Roving gangs slashing innocent victims in the hallways?

It was early October, and as she walked into the school, a nondescript building on 22nd Street, she tried not to look too surprised. It was orderly. The metal detectors were built into the entrance, so students wouldn’t feel like they were walking into a prison. You had to walk through a metal detector to get into the Met, right? Not that this was anything like the Met, but it wasn’t something out of Jonathan Kozol either. She had even managed to get in to the few AP and honors classes offered. She had a locker, a homeroom, and a pretty good English teacher.

But even though she was relieved that Hamilton High exceeded her expectations, as she walked through the hallways that always smelled slightly of Pine-Oil cleaner, she realized with a pang how much she had loved Duchesne. Especially now that she could never go back.

At least she would be seeing Bliss tomorrow. Schuyler decided enough was enough. There were some people she could trust in this world and Bliss was one of them. She was keen on seeing her friend, and wondered why it had taken Bliss so long to get back to her. Maybe she was mad at her for deserting her—Schuyler hoped not—she had to make Bliss understand, they’d had no choice but to leave. Oliver said that at school Bliss was friendly but uninterested, acting as if they were mere acquaintances and nothing more.

It hurt to think of everyone back at Duchesne without her. She didn’t know what the future held, but she had a feeling it would not bring SAT prep classes and early admissions letters. She was here to follow her grandfather’s advice: to learn how to move in human society without giving away her vampire ancestry.

One thing Hamilton lacked was a proper library. Oh, it had a tiny library, a room the size of a closet displaying old S. E. Hinton paperbacks, with a bank of computer terminals where everyone checked their e-mails. Studying at home had always made Schuyler feel itchy, and one of the things she loved about her new neighborhood was that she wasn’t too far from the New York Public Library.

She liked the reading room on the second floor, where the writers worked—the ones with the library fellowships. It was always quiet there. She was walking up the grand staircase one afternoon after a long day of classes when who should be walking down but Jack Force.

He didn’t look too surprised to see her back in New York. “I’m glad to see you took my advice finally,” he said by way of greeting. He did not smile. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be back,” she said, trying to appear as nonchalant as he was. Jack had let his hair grow out a little since they had seen each other last, now that he wasn’t a Venator anymore. It curled behind his ears and over his shirt collar. “What are you doing here anyway?” Duchesne had a wonderful library—on the top floor, with a view of Central Park. And whatever could not be found in the Duchesne library could be found in the vampire Repository.

“Trinity’s on the board for the Library Lions,” Jack said. “Since she’s been in D.C., she asked me if I could fill in during the meeting.”

Schuyler nodded. She had come back to New York, but had come back too late. When she’d spied the invitation the other evening, her heart had not thumped wildly in her chest, her mouth had not turned dry, her eyes had not threatened to water. She had almost expected it, somehow. She was resigned to the news by now.

“About the Conclave,” she started. “Are they . . . ?”

“Don’t worry about them. You are safe for now. Oliver did a fine job with his story of your estrangement.

Thankfully there’s no one on the Conclave who knows the two of you well. Because if they did they would realize there’s absolutely no truth to it,” he said. “He is a good friend to you.”

She knew it took an effort for him to say it, and she thought she would return the gesture. “So . . . I hear . . . congratulations are in order. You and Mimi.”

“Ah. Yes.” He appeared pleased.

Schuyler understood they would not talk about what had happened between them in Paris. The kiss. It was as if Jack were standing behind a block of ice. He was unreachable. His face set in stone. Already he was shutting her out. He had tried so hard so many times, and she had always rejected him. On Perry Street. In Paris. He would not give her another chance, she knew.

She had come too late. She had followed her heart and had come too late, as usual. In two weeks he would be lost to her forever. He would be bonded to Mimi, but at least he would be safe. It’s all she ever wanted for him. “I’m happy for you,” she said brightly. “Really. I mean . . . I know what it’s like to be alone in the world, and I wouldn’t want that for you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I wish you the same.”

Jack lingered on the stairway. It looked as if he were going to say something else, but thought better of it. With a wave of his hand, he was gone.