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"Unusual?" Schuyler paused. But it happened to Bliss all the time, so it couldn't be that uncommon. She relayed to her grandfather what Bliss had told her.
Lawrence digested the information. "Perhaps this crop of vampires has something new in their genetic makeup that causes it. I don't think it's anything to worry about, but let me know if it ever happens again." Then he sighed and put down his fork. "Now, I must tell you something."
Schuyler steeled herself for the news she had been dreading since the day her grandfather had returned.
"The judge has agreed to hear Charles's petition to adopt you. The hearing is in a month."
PATIENT RECORD
St. Dymphna Home for the Insane
Name: Margaret Stanford
Age: 16 Admitted: April 5, 1869
CAUSES:
Showing the probable causes of insanity in the patient admitted.
MORAL:
Religious excitement Love affairs
PHYSICAL:
Self-abuse
Accident or injury
Epilepsy
Suicidal. Patient found with wrists slashed a week prior to admittance by family member.
Delusional ravings
FAMILY HISTORY:
No sign of dementia or hysteria in any family member. Only child of both parents still living.
PREVIOUS HISTORY:
Epileptic fits. Patient complains of headaches, nightmares. Blackouts. Patient has no memory of certain actions. Love affair with inappropriate young man cited in hysteria. Patient was not pregnant upon admission, however.
PRESENT CONDITION:
Excerpt from admission interview with patient:"It seems so real. I cannot escape it. I wake up and I can feel it in my bones. It's coming, it says in my dreams. It knows my name. It says it is part of me. That's all I can remember. Help me doctor, help me. I need to get away. I need to get away from it."
The inspiration for the photo shoot was "Talitha Getty in Marrakesh." Lots of gauzy, linen djeballas, jeweled caftans, and the occasional turban oh, and the tiniest string bikinis possible. But somehow the fashion assistant in charge of travel had misunderstood and booked them to Montserrat instead, so the Caribbean island would have to stand in for the North African enclave.
Not that anyone seemed to mind--everyone loved a beach.
Bliss had gotten the call from Farnsworth Models on Thursday, she was on a plane on Friday, and had arrived at the beach at sundown. Schuyler had been chosen as well, after Chic's first choice of models two Russian beauties--had discovered that their visas had expired and they wouldn't be able to return to their country.
The fashion director of Chic, Patrice Wilcox, was a stern, no-nonsense woman dressed in head-to-toe black, even in the tropical heat. She welcomed the models and crew with a smile as thin as her figure. "This isn't a vacation, people. This is work. I expect everyone to be on set at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
However, even with Patrice's dire warnings, there was no denying it--the photo shoot was a vacation. While she was giving her lecture on punctuality, Jonas Jones, the famously incorrigible Blue Blood photographer, winked behind her back. "Margaritas at the bar in five minutes," he mouthed.
By midnight the entire crew, aside from the fashion direc- tor, including Jonas's two assistants--cute guys from the Rhode Island School of Design--a gaggle of models none of whom were over eighteen and Schuyler and Bliss were at the beachfront bar, knocking back shots.
