Bloody Valentine

  “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?”