Bloody Valentine

ONE Patient Zero

When Allegra Van Alen woke up, her head hurt and it took her a moment to recognize her surroundings. She was wearing a hospital gown, but she knew she was still at Endicott, since the view outside her room showed the white clapboard chapel in the distance. She must be in the student clinic then, which was confirmed by the appearance of the school nurse holding a tray of cookies.

Mrs. Anderson was a universally beloved caregiver who watched over the students with a motherly eye and always made sure there was fresh fruit in the refectory. She walked in with a concerned smile. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“I guess I’ll survive,” Allegra said ruefully. “What happened?”

“Accident on the field. They said you got hit by the ball.”

“Ouch.” She grimaced, scratching the bandage around her forehead.

“You’re lucky; doctor said it would have taken out a Red Blood.”

“How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours.”

“Any chance I can get out of here today? I have a Latin test tomorrow, and I have to study.” Allegra groaned. Like the rest of the school, the clinic was comfortable enough. It was housed in a cozy New England cottage, with white wicker furniture and bright floral curtains. But right then she wanted nothing more than to be in the refuge of her own room, with its black-and-white Cure posters, old-fashioned rolltop secretary desk, and newly purchased Walkman, so she could be alone and listen to Depeche Mode. Even in the clinic, she could hear strains of a Bob Dylan song wafting from the open windows. Everyone else at school listened to the same music from twenty years ago, as if prep-school life was stuck in a sixties time warp. Allegra had nothing against Dylan, but she didn’t see the need for all the angst.

Mrs. Anderson shook her head as she fluffed Allegra’s pillows and set her patient back against the feathery plumpness. “Not just yet. Dr. Perry’s coming in from New York to check on you in a bit. Your mother insisted.”

Allegra sighed. Of course Cordelia would insist. Her mother watched over her like a hawk, with more than the usual maternal concern. Cordelia approached motherhood as if it were akin to guarding a precious Ming vase. She treated her daughter with kid gloves, and always acted as if Allegra was one nervous breakdown away from being sent to the nuthouse, even though anyone could see that Allegra was the very picture of health. She was popular, cheerful, athletic, and spirited.

Life under Cordelia’s care was suffocating, to say the least. It was why Allegra could not wait until she turned eighteen and got out of the house for good. Her mother’s all-consuming anxiety over her well-being was one of the reasons she had campaigned to transfer out of Duchesne and enroll at Endicott. In New York, Cordelia’s influence was inescapable. More than anything, Allegra just wanted to be free.

Mrs. Anderson finished taking her temperature and put away the thermometer. “You have a few visitors waiting outside. Shall I send them in?”

“Sure.” Allegra nodded. Her head was starting to feel a little better—either from the melted chocolate in Mrs. Anderson’s famous cookies or from the massive painkillers, she wasn’t sure.

“All right, team, you can come in. But don’t tire her. I can’t have her relapse now. Gentle, gentle.” With a last smile, the friendly nurse left the room. In a moment, Allegra’s hospital bed was surrounded by the entire girls’ field hockey team. They crowded around, breathless and windswept, still wearing their uniforms: green plaid kilts, white polo shirts, and green knee-high socks.

“Oh my god!” “Are you okay?” “Dude, that thing careened off your head!” “We’re gonna get that bitch from Northfield Mount Hermon next time!” “Don’t worry, they got flagged!” “Oh my god, you totally blacked out! We were sure we couldn’t see you till tomorrow!”

The cheerful cacophony filled the room, and Allegra grinned. “It’s all right. I got free cookies; you guys want some?” she asked, pointing to the platter by the windowsill. The girls fell on the cookies like a hungry mob.

“Wait—you guys haven’t told me! Did we win?” Allegra asked.

“What do you think? We kicked ass, Captain.” Birdie Belmont, Allegra’s best friend and roommate, gave her a mock salute that would have been more impressive if she hadn’t been holding a giant chocolate chip cookie in her right hand.

The girls gossiped conspiratorially when a male voice interrupted from the other side of the curtain that divided the room in two. “Hey, you guys have cookies over there? Aren’t you going to share?”

The team giggled. “Your neighbor,” Birdie whispered. “I think he’s hungry.”

“Excuse me?” Allegra called. She hadn’t even noticed that she was sharing a room until now. Maybe she had suffered a pretty hard blow to the head and not just a run-of-the-mill field injury.

Rory Antonini, a talented midfielder with the best scoring percentage in the league, pulled back the curtain that separated the room. “Hey, Bendix,” the girls chorused.

Bendix Chase was the most popular boy in their class. It wasn’t hard to figure out why: at six feet three, he looked a bit like a young blond giant, with his broad shoulders and powerful build. His face resembled that of a Greek god’s: with a fine brow, a perfect nose, and cut-glass cheekbones. He had a dimple on each cheek, and his clear, cornflower-blue eyes twinkled with fun. He was lying on a hospital bed with his right leg in a cast. He waved cheerfully.

“When are you getting out?” asked Darcy Sedrik, their goaltender, as she handed him the almost empty plate of cookies.

“Today. Cast is finally coming off. Thank god—I’m tired of hopping to class,” Bendix said, nodding his gratitude for the cookie. “What happened to you?” he asked Allegra.

“Merely a flesh wound,” she said, pointing to her gauze turban and affecting a British accent.

“At least you still have your arms,” Bendix mused with a smile at the Monty Python quote.

Allegra tried not to seem overly charmed that he had picked up the reference so quickly.

She didn’t want to appear as just another of his googly-eyed fan club, as the entire field hockey team had now migrated over to his side of the room to sign his cast with heart-shaped dots over their i’s and innumerable X’s and O’s.

“Visiting hours are over, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Anderson declared, reappearing in her starched white uniform. There was another chorus of “Aww” as she shooed the girls out. She was about to close the curtain that separated her two patients when Bendix asked if they could keep it open.

“I hope you don’t mind. It gets a bit claustrophobic. And your side has the TV,” he said.

“Sure.” Allegra shrugged. She and Bendix knew each other, of course, as Stuart Endicott Academy, like the Duchesne School, was a small and tight-knit community of the breathtakingly advantaged children of the elite. However, unlike the rest of the female population, she did not swoon in his presence. She found his all-American good looks a bit too obvious, too Hollywood movie star, too universally admired. Bendix looked like the jock from The Breakfast Club, except even more handsome. And Bendix wasn’t just good looking and athletic and adored, he was also, shockingly, for a boy of his privilege and status—kind. Allegra noticed that far from being an arrogant snob who stalked the halls with his massive ego, Bendix was genuinely nice to everyone, even her brother Charles, which was saying something.

Still, even if the most gorgeous boy at Endicott was sitting mere feet away, watching music videos with her (why on earth was Eddie Murphy singing? And what was up with that striped shirt he was wearing?), Allegra paid him no more thought.

TWO The Van Alen Twins

When Dr. Perry arrived from New York, he pronounced Allegra well as ever, and she was back in her dormitory the next day. She was running between classes when she saw her brother walking purposefully across the quadrangle toward her.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Charles Van Alen said, taking her elbow gently. “Who did it? Are you sure you’re all right? Cordelia is beside herself….”

Allegra rolled her eyes. Her twin brother was such a dork sometimes. Not only because he insisted on calling their mother by her first name, but also because of his whole big-protector act. Especially since she was taller than him by two inches. “I’m fine, Charlie, really.” She knew he hated being called by his childhood nickname, but she couldn’t help it. He was the last person she wanted to see right then.

Unlike Allegra, Charles Van Alen was short for his age. The twins could not have looked less alike, as he had dark hair and cold gray eyes. Unlike his casually dressed peers, Charles wore an ascot to class and carried a leather briefcase. He wasn’t very popular at Endicott, not because of his pretensions (although they were many) but mainly because he complained about the school constantly and let everyone know he wouldn’t be there if his sister hadn’t insisted they transfer. Most of the students thought he was an annoying, pompous windbag, and in return he acted as though they were all beneath him.

Allegra understood that most of his insecurity came from his small stature. If only he would relax—the doctors had agreed he had yet to hit his growth spurt, and there was no question he would be handsome. His face was just a little off right now. In a few years he would grow into his nose, and his features—those intense eyes, that deep forehead—would settle into regal symmetry. But for now, Charlie Van Alen was just another nerdy short guy on the debate team.

He had been in Washington, D.C., for the Elocution Finals over the weekend, for which Allegra was glad. Otherwise she knew he would have made a huge fuss at the clinic, and would have probably insisted they transfer her to a better care facility at Mass General or something. Charlie was as bad as Cordelia when it came to looking after Allegra. Between the two of them, she felt like a Dresden doll: precious, fragile, and unable to help herself. It drove her insane.

“Here, let me…” he said, taking her bag.

“I can carry my backpack. Let go. Don’t be weird,” she snapped. She tried not to feel guilty about the shocked, sad look that appeared on his face.

This wasn’t any way to speak to her bondmate, but she couldn’t help it. Because Charlie was Michael, of course. After what had happened in Florence, there was no question about it now—they had been born as twins in every cycle since then. The House of Records insisted on the practice, so that what had happened back then would never happen again. So that from the beginning, there would be no doubts, no questions, no more mistakes.

Still, every incarnation since had been worse than the last. Allegra couldn’t put a finger on it, but over the years she had begun to feel a distance from him. Not only because of what had happened back then—Oh, who was she kidding—it had everything to do with what had happened in Florence. She could never forgive herself. Never. It was all her fault. And the fact that he still loved her—would always love her—forever and ever and ever—through all the years and the centuries—made her feel more resentful than grateful. His love was a burden. After what had come between them, in every cycle she came closer to believing she did not deserve his love, and with the resentment came the guilt and the anger. She didn’t know why, but it had become harder and harder to feel for him what he still felt for her.

It was ironic, really. She had been in the wrong, and yet he was the one being punished. It was depressing to think about, and on that bright fall afternoon, she felt as far away from him as she ever had.

“No—let me,” he insisted, pulling on the strap.

“Charlie, please!” she yelled, and yanked with all her strength so that her backpack flew out of his hands, and he slipped and fell on the grass.

He glowered at her as he picked himself up and dusted off his pants. “What is wrong with you?” he hissed.

“Just—leave me alone, can’t you?” She raised her hands and raked through her long blond hair in frustration.

“But I—I…”

I KNOW. You love me. You’ve always loved me. You’ll ALWAYS love me. I know, Michael. I can hear you loud and clear.

“Gabrielle!”

“My name is Allegra!” she almost screamed. Why did he have to call her by that name all the time? Why did he have to act like people didn’t notice how obsessed he was with her? Sure, none of the Blue Bloods kids thought it was weird, since they knew who they were even if they still hadn’t had their coming-out yet; but the Red Bloods didn’t know their history or what they meant to each other, and it bothered her. This wasn’t ancient Egypt anymore; this was the twentieth century. Times had changed. And yet the Conclave was always so slow to react.

Sometimes Allegra just wanted to experience life as it happened, without the burden of her entire immortal history on her shoulders—she was only sixteen years old—at least, in this lifetime. Give her a break. In 1985, in Endicott, Massachusetts, your twin brother’s having a crush on you was simply gross and disgusting; and Allegra was beginning to agree with the Red Bloods.

“This guy bothering you, Legs?” Bendix Chase asked, happening upon them as the third bell rang.

“Did this guy just call you ‘Legs’?” Charles gaped.

“It’s all right,” Allegra said, sighing. “Bendix Chase, I don’t think you know my brother, Charlie.”

“Freshman?” Bendix asked, pumping Charles’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

“No. We’re twins,” Charles replied icily. “And I’m in your Shakespeare seminar.”

“Sure you guys are related?” Bendix winked. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

Charles turned red. “Of course we’re sure. Now, if you’d excuse us,” he said, turning away and pulling Allegra toward him.

“Hey, hey—there’s no need to be rude,” Bendix said mildly. “You dropped your book.” He handed Charles back a textbook that had slipped from his hold when he’d fallen to the ground. Charles neglected to thank him.

“There really isn’t, Charlie,” Allegra agreed. She moved away from him to stand next to Bendix, who swung an arm around her shoulders.

“I believe we have a Latin midterm today, my dear,” Bendix said. “Shall we?”

Allegra allowed the popular jock to lead her away. She would never have done so except that Charles had been so irritating. Served him right. She left her twin, who continued to stare at them, alone in the quadrangle.

THREE The Only Subject Vampires Aren’t Good At

Allegra was a top-notch student, but she was horrible at Latin. She found it difficult to differentiate the bastard Red Blood rendition of the Sacred Language from the real thing, and was constantly messing up. Latin had declensions and three genders, which just didn’t make sense to her. She could never keep the real language of the immortals straight from its human, quotidian version.

She stared at the angry red D– circled on the top of her test paper. That sucked. If she didn’t keep up her grades, Cordelia would pull her out of Endicott and put her back in Duchesne. She would be right where she started: a virtual prisoner of her mother’s grand expectations for her future and her future contributions to their race. Seriously, Cordelia spoke like a World War II demagogue sometimes. Not that Allegra had been in cycle then, but she read the Repository reports.

“Phew, that’s ugly,” Bendix remarked, upon stealing a look at her paper.

“What’d you get?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He waved his A+ in her direction with a smug smile.

Ugh. Why did he have to be so annoyingly perfect? There was nothing Allegra despised more than the word “perfect,” other than the people who personified it. She hated when people called her perfect, when they couldn’t see past her looks, past the waves of lustrous blond hair and the sun-kissed tan and the body. Why anyone could make such a big deal of such superficial things, she would never understand. She thought everyone was beautiful—and not just in some ridiculously saintly way wherein she believed everyone had a beautiful soul. No. Allegra truly believed most of the people she met were beautiful to look at—who cared about a few pounds here or there, or a crooked nose or a weird mole? She loved looking at people. She thought they were gorgeous.

She was just as bad as Bendix when it came down to it, wasn’t she? She was perfect to look at, and on top of that, she liked everybody. Sometimes she was so tired of being herself.

“I can help you with Latin, if you’d like,” Bendix offered as they gathered their things and began to make their way out of the classroom.

“You’re offering to tutor me?” That was new. A Red Blood offering to teach an immortal vampire new tricks. Charlie would sneer. Allegra shook her head. “I think I’ll be okay, thanks. Just have to bone up on my nouns.”

“Up to you. But you might not be aware, since you just transferred here, that if you don’t keep up a decent average you can kiss the field hockey team—and the division cham-pionships—good-bye,” Bendix said, holding the door open for her.

The man had a point.

Over the next few weeks, Allegra met Bendix at the main library for Latin lessons every other night. What started out as a sincere effort between the two of them to help Allegra learn the language, slowly turned into long and far-reaching discussions about anything and everything: the quality of the food served in the refectory (atrocious), their thoughts on the Palestinian crisis, whether “Abracadabra” by the Steve Miller Band was the worst or best song ever written (Bendix was for best, Allegra voted worst).

One evening, Bendix leaned over the Latin textbook and sighed. His blond bangs fell in his eyes, and Allegra stifled a desire to reach over and push them off his forehead. “Your folks coming up for Parents’ Day next week?” he asked. “You’re from New York, right?”

Allegra nodded and shook her head at the same time. “Mother is coming, of course. She’d never miss it. My dad…is away.” That seemed the easiest way to explain Lawrence’s absence. “You?”

“Nah. My mom has this board meeting, so she has to stay in San Francisco. Dad can’t be bothered. Wouldn’t want to interrupt his art.”

“Your dad’s an artist?”

“He makes found sculptures. So far he hasn’t sold one, probably because they look like trash. But don’t tell him that.”

“It doesn’t sound like you like either of them very much,” Allegra said, feeling sympathetic. She was very fond of both Lawrence and Cordelia. It was just that she hadn’t seen Lawrence in years, and Cordelia had morphed into a shrill, nervous old lady.

“That’s the thing of it. I do like my parents quite a bit, but they’ve never had a lot of time for me. Oops, did I say that? I hate when I get self-pitying.”

Allegra smiled. She opened her Latin textbook. “If you want, I’ll share Cordelia with you. She just loves meeting my friends. But I can’t speak for Charlie.”

“What does your brother have against me, by the way? I never did anything to the guy,” he said, looking concerned.

“Oh…he’ll…get over it,” Allegra said. She coughed. “Anyway…back to Latin?”

“So, are you guys dating or what?” Birdie asked, when Allegra came home to their shared bedroom that evening shortly after midnight.

“Dating? Who? What are you talking about?” Allegra asked, blushing slightly as she put her books away. They never did get to declensions. Instead they had spent the evening talking about the merits of growing up in San Francisco versus New York. Allegra, a lifelong Manhattanite, had argued that “the city” was infinitely superior in every way—in cultural offerings, museums, restaurants—while Bendix defended the city by the bay for its foggy weather, inherent beauty, and liberal politics. Neither of them had been able to convince the other.

“You mean me and Ben?” she asked Birdie. “You think we’re a couple?”

“Oh, it’s ‘Ben’ now. Soon you’ll be calling him Benny,” her friend teased, rolling an herbal cigarette. It was the latest fashion. Allegra didn’t mind, except that it stank up the room, and Birdie tended to spray too much air freshener to cover it up during inspection. As a result, their room always smelled like a toilet.

Allegra grimaced. “Ew. Not a chance. We’re friends.”

Her roommate blew a huge smoke ring. “Please, everyone sees how you guys act around each other.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“Besides, you guys look ridiculously perfect together,” Birdie said with a grin. She had heard Allegra’s rants against the “p-word.”

“Good lord!” Allegra shuddered. She just did not see Ben in that way. She liked having someone to talk to, and enjoyed his company. Besides, they could never be together—she could never have feelings for him, not in that way. Birdie was a Red Blood; she didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Seriously? Worse things could happen than to date him. His family just sold their company for like, two billion dollars. Did you see the paper today?” Birdie asked, throwing the Wall Street Journal toward Allegra.

Allegra read the front-page announcement detailing Allied Corporation’s acquisition of the family-run Bendix group of companies and marveled at Ben’s modesty. His mother had a “business meeting,” which was why she couldn’t make it to Parents’ Day. More like a major shareholders’ conference.

“They are seriously loaded. No wonder he was named after his mom’s side of the family. They have all the dough.”

“Birdie, don’t be crass,” Allegra chided. Even at Endicott, it was considered bad form to be too aware of each other’s provenance. But after reading the news, she could not help but like Ben even more. Not because she found out he was wealthy—she never cared too much about money, even though she had never lived without it—but because, given the extreme affluence of his background, he was humble and down-to-earth.

And she had gotten the feeling, after talking to him that evening, that Bendix Chase wouldn’t have minded having a little less of the stuff people cared too much about, if it meant he could have just a little more of the things that really mattered.

FOUR The Society of Poets and Adventurers

Later that week, Allegra was already asleep when she heard a noise outside her window. She blinked, confused. It was a light, clattering sound. Pebbles. Followed by the sound of giggles. She walked toward the window and opened it. “What’s going on?” she asked, slightly annoyed.

A group of hooded strangers stood underneath her window. In an ominous voice, the tallest one intoned darkly, “Allegra Van Alen, your future awaits you.”

Oh, right. She had forgotten, although Birdie had warned her the other week. It was Tap Night. The night that Endicott’s most prestigious secret society, the Peithologians, inducted its new members. She noticed her roommate’s bed was empty, which meant Birdie was already participating in the night’s festivities since she was of course a member.

Allegra called, “I’ll be right down,” just as another group of hooded students entered her room and put a hood over her head. She was now officially kidnapped.

When her hood was removed, Allegra noticed she was in a clearing in the woods. There was a bonfire raging, and she was kneeling with a group of new initiates.

The hooded leader offered her a golden chalice, filled with a reddish libation. “Drink from the cup of knowledge,” he directed. Their fingers brushed as he handed her the goblet, and Allegra tried not to giggle as she took a sip. Vodka and 7-Up. Not bad.

“You look silly in that robe,” she whispered, for she had recognized his voice the moment he had called her from her window.

“Shhh!” Bendix replied, trying not to laugh as well.

She passed the goblet to the person next to her, wondering who else had been chosen. When all the new members had drunk from the cup, Bendix raised a toast with the glass. “They have consumed the fire of Enlightenment! Welcome to the Peithologians, new Poets and Adventurers! Let us now dance in the woods like the nymphs of Bacchus!” Somewhere in the back, someone banged a gong, and it echoed through the forest.

“The nymphs of Bacchus?” she asked skeptically.

“It’s a Greek thing….” He shrugged. The members had removed their hoods, although most were still wearing their robes. More plastic goblets filled with vodka and 7-Up were passed around the group.

“Is this what happens when you become a Peithologian?” Allegra asked, looking around at the merry, drunken crew. “You cut curfew and dance around a fire?”

“Don’t forget the cheap cocktails. Very important,” Ben-dix said, nodding.

“This is it? This is what all the fuss is about?” She laughed. The Peithologians had a stellar, jealously guarded reputation at school.

“Pretty much. Oh, and every quarter we have a formal. One is clothing-optional, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And later we’ll have the annual Bad Poetry Contest.”

“So it’s mostly just…silliness?” Allegra asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Why? What do you guys do that’s so important in that Committee of yours?”

He knew she was in the Committee. Of course they had one at Endicott, since the school had a sizable group of Blue Blood students. She looked around at the new recruits and felt disappointed not to find her brother among the flushed faces. She knew Charlie would never have been picked, but she felt bad all the same. The Peithologians were one of the reasons her twin hated the school so much. At Endicott, no one thought much of the Committee. Everyone wanted to be part of the Peithologians.

“We do the same things….” Allegra shrugged.

“Yeah, I thought so. Someone should really bring back some old-school stuff. You know. Coffins. Murder. The peddling of influence.” He wagged his eyebrows and took a big sip from his oversized goblet. “Oh, here comes Texas. Forsyth. A word! Excuse me,” he told her. Bendix walked over to speak to Forsyth Llewellyn, who served as faculty adviser to the society.

Allegra raised her glass to Forsyth, who gave her a courtly nod of his head. He taught freshman English, and she’d seen him around campus. She remembered him, of course. She would never forget those who had been in cycle in Florence.

The party went on for a good hour or so until Bendix raised his voice. “Excuse me, excuse me, ahem.”

The crowd quieted, and he waited until he had their full attention. “It is time now to pay tribute and say the words of our founder.”

The veteran society members raised their glasses to the sky and, as one, recited the following poem: “‘The Bird.’ By Killington Jones. ‘I think that I have never heard/ A song as lovely as a bird’s/With feathers light and beak bright red/The nests he builds to lay his head/Only the Lord can make a bird/But even I can write a turd.’ ”

“Right!” Bendix beamed. “Let the Bad Poetry Contest begin!”

Allegra listened, bemused, as a succession of wannabe poets recited a slew of truly terrible verse to the hooting crowd. Bendix brought the house down with his entry, “The Last Song of the Ice Fisherman on the Floes of Dear Old Norway.” It was tragically, comically awful, and he won first place.

When it was over, he walked over to her side. “Congratulations. You’re funny,” she said, poking him in the chest.

He caught her hand, and held her gaze.

“Ben—stop.” She smiled. “Let go,” she said, even though she liked the feel of his strong hand around hers. She liked Ben—and it was Ben now—Bendix was so serious and unlike his goofy character—and she didn’t mind that he called her Legs—she liked it. It was unserious. It was unlike her. He saw a side of her that no one had really seen yet. To the Blue Bloods, she would always be Gabrielle, the Virtuous, the Responsible, their Queen, their Mother, their Savior. But to Bendix Chase, she was not even Allegra Van Alen, she was Legs. It made her feel young, dangerous, and reckless. Qualities that did not apply to Gabrielle.

Plus, he was so very, very cute.

“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him close, tugging on that silly costume robe he was wearing.

“Huh?”

She pulled him closer, and when he saw what she wanted, his eyes became soft. He had the kindest blue eyes that she had ever seen. He was so beautiful, this boy, the most beautiful boy in the world—and when she lifted up her face to his, he bent down to meet her halfway, his arms encircling her waist, holding her tightly.

It was just a kiss, but already she knew there would be more.

Ben murmured. “Took you long enough to come around, Legs.”

“Mmm…” she agreed. She had wanted to take it slow. But what was the harm? He was only human. It was only a flirtation; at most he would end up her familiar. She had had many of those in her immortal lifetimes.

Allegra was still glowing from Ben’s kiss when she returned to her dormitory, only to run into her brother.

“Where have you been?” Charles demanded. “I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at the Committee meeting tonight.”

“Oh? Was that tonight? I forgot. I was busy.”

“With what? Don’t tell me you became a member of that asinine society of theirs?” he sneered.

“It’s not stupid, Charlie. I mean, of course it’s silly, but it’s not stupid. There’s a difference,” she retorted.

“It’s just a sad human copy of the Committee. We were here first.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But they throw much better parties.”

“What’s happened to you?” Charles implored.

For a moment Allegra pitied him. “Nothing. Charlie. Please. Not here.” She shook her head again.

“Allegra, we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. What’s there to talk about?”

“Cordelia…she’s coming for Parents’ Day on Sunday.”

“Then tell Mother I said hello.” With that, Allegra vanished into the dormitory without another word. The night had held so much promise. For a while there, joking around with the Peithologians, kissing Bendix, she had been able to believe that she was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. But one conversation with Charles dispelled any remaining delusions that she might actually be able to have some fun in this lifetime.

FIVE His Mother’s Son

The only thing Charles Van Alen liked about his mother, his cycle mother, really, was that Cordelia was the only one in his life who did not call him by that stupid nickname.

“Charles, I was under the impression that your sister would be joining us today,” she said as she poured him tea. It was Parents’ Day, and the campus was empty, as the sponsors of the entire enterprise—those who paid the exorbitant tuition—came to visit their progeny and treat them to a meal at the town’s more expensive dining establishments. Cordelia had arrived in a town car earlier that afternoon and taken Charles straight to high tea at the most prestigious hotel.

He leaned back in his uncomfortable chair. Why was it women insisted on this ridiculous practice? “I left her a note the other night to remind her. But she’s been…preoccupied lately.”

“Is that so?” Cordelia pursed her lips. She was small and birdlike, but her tongue was sharp; and even though she had diminished status in the Conclave, she still wielded enough power to have been assigned to foster him for this cycle. “Do tell, with what is our Allegra so distracted?”

Charles glowered. “She has a new boyfriend…one she might make a familiar.” He would never admit to feeling jealousy over a Red Blood, but he couldn’t take much more. First, her cool indifference. Now the unmistakable distaste. Allegra was slipping away from him, and he did not know why. He desperately wanted to hold on to her. It was the only thing he ever wanted.

But it seemed Allegra wanted the total opposite. Leave me alone. Not here. Go away. Those were the only words she ever said to him now. He couldn’t stand it. It was as if she hated him. Why? What had he done? Nothing but love her. He did not want to admit to Cordelia that he did not know where she was spending the weekend, that he did not know where she was, and he was damned if he was going to sink to the level of using the glom to try to find out. Allegra was his heart. She should come to him. She should want to be with him. And yet she did not. She made that all too clear.

“It’s a mere infatuation. Just the bloodlust. Nothing to worry about,” Cordelia assured. “You should let her be. She’s had a hard time of it.”

Charles knew what his mother meant—that Gabrielle needed time to heal. Even though Florence was but a distant memory, the pain from it—the ghastly action he had taken—of course, Lawrence was to blame, too—still lingered. It had been almost five hundred years already. Would she never be the same? She didn’t even know the whole truth of it.

“The more you squeeze, the more she will squirm. It is best to let her make her own choice. She will choose you.”

“There’s something different about it this time,” he said doubtfully, stirring his tea. “I fear that…she might actually love this one.”

“Nonsense. He’s human. It’s nothing. You know that,” Cordelia argued. “It’s just a bit of fun. She’ll come back to you. She always does. Trust me on this one, Charles. You must let it run its course. Do not interfere; it will only lead to more estrangement between the two of you. Allegra needs her freedom right now.”

“I hope you’re right, Mother,” Charles said darkly. “I shall stand aside for now. But if you’re wrong about this, I shall never forgive you.”

SIX The Familiar’s Kiss

Girls were not allowed in the boys’ dorms after hours, and Allegra had to sneak in through the fire exit. It was easy enough to jump from the ladder to the ledge and knock on the windowsill.

“How’d you get up here?” Bendix asked, helping her inside. “That’s not an easy climb.”

She smiled. It was easy enough for a vampire, but of course he could not know that. She looked around his room, which was a tornado as usual. Boys. “Where’s your roommate?”

“I sent him out. I had a feeling you were coming to visit.” He smiled, walking over to the stereo to put on some music. None of that Grateful Dead stuff or Van Morrison, thank goodness. It was Miles Davis. Bitches Brew.

Allegra sat on his bed, feeling shy suddenly. Even though they had kissed enough times over the course of a month that her mouth regularly felt bruised as a fruit, she still felt nervous about what she was about to do. So instead of looking at him, she investigated his bookshelves. There was a print on his wall. Not a poster. A lithograph. “You like Basquiat?”

“He’s bit overhyped right now, but yeah.”

“Didn’t take you for a collector.”

“I guess you just don’t know me that well,” he said, sitting on the office chair at his desk. He was wearing a white lacrosse T-shirt and boxer shorts, and his hair was wet from a shower.

“What are you doing way over there?” she asked, patting the empty space next to her.

He moved to sit next to her, and they snuggled together; and she pulled him close so she could smell the wonderful, boyish smell of him, of laundry detergent and Ivory soap and just a hint of aftershave.

“Hey,” Ben said, hovering over her. He removed his T-shirt, tossing it to the side of the room. His chest was broad, hard to the touch, sculpted and defined. Allegra thrilled to run her hands over his skin.

She was about to remove her top when he stopped her. He took her hands and gently pushed them away, and then with his teeth he unbuttoned each of her pajama buttons. She laughed when he looked surprised to see a camisole underneath.

“Tricky.”

“I thought it shouldn’t be too easy, right?”

“Hmmm.”

He pushed off the straps of the camisole and then his head was on her chest, and she tugged him forward so that her hand was on the waistband of his shorts. She kissed his neck and his chest and felt the entire length of his body press against hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Neither of them spoke, and then Allegra whispered, “There’s something you don’t know about me.”

“What’s that?” he asked huskily.

This was it. It was time. This was what she had come to his room to do. She lifted up his chin so that he could see her clearly. Then she bared her fangs.

He looked at them in wonder but without fear. “You’re a…”

“Vampire. Yes. You’re not afraid?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should be, but I feel like…I’m looking at the real you. Like I’m seeing who you really are, for the first time. And you’re beautiful. More beautiful, if that’s even possible.”

“When a vampire takes first blood, she marks her human as her familiar. You would be…mine,” she explained. God, she wanted him so much. She could smell his blood underneath his skin, could already tell that it was going to be delicious and full of life—full of his unique and vital life force. She wanted him to be part of her, she wanted to be inside him and of him. She wanted him now.

“Legs, are you asking me to go steady?” he joked.

“It’s more than that,” she said gently. “You would be mine your entire life. You would never love another.” Why was she telling him all the secrets of the Sacred Kiss? Just bite him and get it over with. And yet she wanted to—she wanted to give him a chance. A chance to choose his own destiny. “It’s not going to hurt,” she said.

“Oh, but I kind of want it to,” he said, gazing up at her. “Hurt me, please.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ben. Do you really want me to…?”

He nodded. He had chosen. “I’m up for it. Whatever it is. As long as it means I’ll always be with you.”

She kissed the base of his neck. She paused for a moment and let her fangs tease him, pricking his skin. She felt his excitement build, and at the right moment, she bit him as hard as she could. He clenched underneath and pulled her closer, his hands on her waist and their bodies joined together.

She drank his blood.

It was wonderful, more wonderful than she had imagined. It was glorious and she saw his every memory, learned his every secret—not that he had too many—he was an open book—filled with light and love—

Then something terrible happened.

Everything was wrong. The blood—what was in his blood? Dear God—what was this? Poison? Had he already been marked by another vampire? It could not be—she hadn’t seen any of the signs, nothing to indicate that…

No. It wasn’t poison.

It was a vision from the glom.

She saw…

She was holding a baby girl in her hands. It was her daughter…. She caught a glimpse of her name…Schuyler? Where had she heard that name before? She was filled with joy and light and happiness…she had never felt happier in her life, or more alive, and next to her, she looked up and Ben was holding her hand and smiling, but then…

There was a second image…a few years later….

She was lying in a hospital bed. She was comatose, the doctor was saying. There was no chance of recovery. Next to her, Charlie was sobbing. His hair was black, with silver streaks. No chance of recovery? But why? What had happened? What was happening? And where was Ben?

Why was she lying on the hospital bed? What was wrong with her? Was she dead? But vampires did not die. So what then—what had happened? And that terrible anguish on her brother’s face. She had never seen him look so wretched.

And where was her baby? Where was her beautiful black-haired baby? The baby with Charles’s dark hair and Ben’s blue eyes. Where was her beautiful daughter? Where was her husband?

What was this?

What was she seeing?

Her future?

She wrenched away. Back to the boys’ dormitory, where she was straddling her first familiar.

“Don’t stop….” Bendix looked at her through a dreamy haze. He was already feeling the soporific effects of the Caerimonia Osculor. “Why did you stop…?” he whispered. Then he was asleep.

Allegra put her clothes back on and gathered her things. What had she seen? What had just happened? All she knew was she had to get out of there as quickly as possible.

SEVEN Love Sick

For two weeks, Allegra would not leave her bed, nor would she accept any visitors. She refused to eat, she refused to go to class, and rebuffed every entreaty—from her teachers, her resident adviser, her roommate, her teammates. The field hockey championships came and went without Allegra’s involvement (Endicott lost, 4–2). She did not want to see anybody. Especially Ben, who had sent dozens and dozens of roses and left countless messages on the answering machine. Instead, she spent the hours lying huddled underneath her flowered comforter, alone and in despair. She had no idea what had come over her, only that she could not face her life. She could not face Ben. She did not want to think about anything. She just wanted to sleep. Or lie awake in the dark.

Finally, she allowed one visitor into her chamber.

Charles sat on the butterfly chair across from the bed and regarded his sister with a wary eye. He remained silent for a long time, taking in her matted hair, the dark circles under her eyes, the bluish color on her lips that meant she was dehydrated. The sangre azul was keeping her alive, but just barely.

“You did this to me,” Allegra rasped. “This is your fault.” It had to be the only explanation. Only Charles was powerful enough to have done it. There had to be a reason for what happened. It had to be Charles.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said, leaning forward. “Allegra. Look at you. What’s happened?”

“You poisoned his blood!” she accused him.

“I did no such thing. And if his blood was marked, you would be in the hospital, not here.” He stood up and opened the curtains to let light into the room. Allegra cowered from the sudden brightness. “Is that what happened? You took the human as a familiar?” He clenched his fists, and she could see the effort it took for him to say those words.

“Swear you had nothing to do with it,” she said. “Promise me.”

Charles shook his head. He looked sadder than she had ever seen him. “I would never harm anyone whom you cared for, and I would never stand in the way of your…happiness. I only wish you did not think so little of me.”

She closed her eyes and shuddered. He was telling the truth. And if Charles was telling the truth, then she had to face the truth. That her vision was a warning.

“What did you see, Allegra?”

She turned toward the wall and away from him. She couldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t. It was too horrible.

“What is scaring you so much?” he asked tenderly. Charles knelt by her bedside and clasped his hands.

Allegra closed her eyes and saw the terrifying vision again. She knew now what it meant. In the dream, she was not dead. She was asleep. She would sleep for years. A decade and more. She would wither and sleep, and her daughter would grow up without a mother. Her daughter would grow up alone, an orphan, another ward taken under Cordelia’s care.

As for Ben—what had happened to him? What did it mean that he was not in her second vision? Because she was sure he was the father of her child. Her baby had his kind blue eyes. He was there at the birth. Allegra’s heart was certain even if her head screamed at the impossibility. She would bring their child into the world. A Half-Blood. Abomination. A sin against the Code of the Vampires. A code she had helped establish and enforce. The vampires were not given the gift of creating life; that blessing was reserved to the human children of the Almighty. And yet it had happened…but how?

Somewhere in the depths of her soul and her blood, she knew the answer. It lay somewhere in her past…in a past life that she could not bear to remember.

What would happen to Ben? Would Charles kill him? Where was he? Why was he missing in the second vision?

She had never seen anything like this before. She did not have the gift of sight, like the Watcher.

Charles reached for her hand. “Whatever it is, whatever happened, whatever you saw, there is nothing to fear. You have nothing to fear from me. Ever,” he whispered. “You know that….”

“Charlie…” she sighed, opening her eyes.

“Charles.”

“Charles.” She looked at him, at his blue-gray eyes, shaded by his thick black hair. Finally, she told him what she believed, what she had felt for so long, and had kept bottled up inside. “I don’t deserve your love. Not anymore. Not since…”

He shook his head slowly. “Of course you do. You have been mine since time eternal. We belong together.” He tightened his grip on her hand, but it was a gentle strength, not a possessive one.

Then Allegra finally understood. There was a way to stop this. To stop the downward spiral she had witnessed. To stop the terrible future from happening. To keep Bendix alive. For in the second vision, she knew, she knew he was dead. She had to stop the tragedy that was sure to unfold if she continued to love her human familiar. For it was love she felt for Bendix, she knew that now, had recognized it for what it was. Not the mere bloodlust that kept a vampire connected to her familiar, but love. Her own blood, the immortal blue blood in her veins, had tried to stop her from feeling this way. Had conjured up a vision of the future, to show her what would happen, should this love hold.

Her love would ruin her. Would ruin everything. Would take his life and hers and leave their daughter alone and defenseless in the world.

She did not have to love Bendix. She did not have to end up comatose and useless. Her daughter—she felt a piercing sadness, as if she were missing a daughter who had yet to be born—her daughter would never exist. It would never happen.

There was a way out of it. She could bond with Charles. She could take her rightful place at his side as his Gabrielle once more. In that moment, she accepted it, the weight of it—their history, the safety of the Coven, their legacy; she was their Queen and their Savior. She felt, for a moment, like her old self again. She had been running so fast in the other direction, she had forgotten there was nowhere in the universe she could run to that could keep her from what she had to do. Her duty.

She decided right then she would never see Bendix again. To protect him, to protect herself, she had to say good-bye. It was over. She would always love him, but she would do nothing to act on this love. In time, she would forget. She had all the time in the world.

Charles was still holding her hand.

She had been wrong to dismiss Charles, to push him away, to cringe at his touch. She saw that now. His eternal love was not a burden, it was a gift. She owned his heart. It was a responsibility she could live up to. She would keep it safe.

She touched his cheek tenderly. Michael.

It was all she had to send, and he understood.