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"I am sorry I cannot be of much help. I swore off the Blue Bloods forever when I went into exile."
"Then Charles Force was right about you," Schuyler said, her voice shaking.
"How do you mean?" Lawrence asked darkly.
"He said you weren't half the man Cordelia wished you to be. That I would only find sorrow and confusion if I traveled to Venice."
Lawrence stepped back as if he had received a physical blow. His face registered a myriad of emotions--shame, anger, pride--but he remained silent. In the end, he abruptly turned his back on her and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Well. That was that. Schuyler zipped up her carryall, lugged it over her shoulder, and walked out to the elevator, where Oliver was waiting. He didn't say hello or good morning.
She knew that if she wanted to, she could catch a glimpse of his mind--his thoughts broadcast as if on satellite radio. But she always switched the signal. She didn't feel it was right to pry. Besides, she didn't need any of her special powers to figure out he was still annoyed with her for not calling him the night before.
Lawrence's chauffeur had brought her back to the hotel late the previous evening, and Schuyler had found several frantic messages from her friend on her cell phone and hotel voice mail. She would have called him back, but it was so late she hadn't wanted to wake him.
"I thought you were dead," Oliver accused.
"If I was, you could have my iPod."
"Ha. Yours sucks. It doesn't even have video."
Schuyler repressed a smile. She knew Oliver couldn't stay mad at her for long.
"Anyway, you missed a hilarious European music awards show on TV. David Hasselhoff swept all the categories."
"Sucks to be me."
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 con- cern. 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."
