The Van Alen Legacy Read Online Free PDF Page B

world, and what would become of them then? She wasn’t afraid so much for herself as for

Oliver. She feared what the vampires would do to a human Conduit of whom they

disapproved.
    Hopefully the crowd would

remain as oblivious as they looked, another bunch of pleasure-seeking socialites, as her coworker

had dismissed them. Just because they were immortal didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy the

trivial.
    Schuyler tried not to stare at

the women, most of whom looked even more fantastic than the boats. The female guests were dressed

variously as Japanese geishas, in full white powder makeup and gaily printed kimonos, or Chinese

empresses with tasseled pointy red-and-gold headdresses, or Persian princesses with real jewels

pasted on their foreheads.
    One famous German socialite

known for her outrageous wardrobe came dressed as a pagoda, a heavy metal costume that wouldn’t

allow her to walk or sit for the entire evening. Instead, she rolled out of the boat on a Segway . For a moment Schuyler forgot her nerves and tried not to laugh as the

archduchess almost mowed down a group of waiters carrying caviar and blinis .
    The men wore Russian officers’

uniforms, Fu Manchu mustaches, and turbans. It was all so politically incorrect and yet

stupendously fabulous and anachronistic. One guest, the head of Europe’s largest bank, was decked

out in a large sable hat and a plush wolf-fur-trimmed cape. It was August! He had to be

suffocating in the heat, and yet, like the lady in the pagoda who could not sit down, he was

suffering to make a statement. Schuyler hoped it was worth it.
    Human familiars were in

attendance as well, only the small, discreet scars at the base of the neck giving them away.

Otherwise they were just as festively attired and barely distinguishable from their vampire

masters. The night was balmy and clear. Sitar music wafted down from the rotunda, a distinctive

high-pitched wailing, and the line of junks waiting to disembark their fancifully dressed

passengers was growing.
    Several speedboats carrying

young European Blue Bloods cut the line. They were much more daring in costume than their Elders.

One of the girls, the daughter of the Russian finance minister, was wearing nothing but draped

metal ropes and a wisp of black chiffon. Another svelte nymph was dressed in see-through chain

mail. Of course, the boys were dressed as ninja assassins in black silk jumpsuits or as samurai

warriors, and carried decorative swords.
    When her tray was empty,

Schuyler headed back, walking past Oliver’s sight line from the second level. She glanced up and

saw him making a turquoise-colored cocktail adorned with sizzling firecrackers. She saw him nod,

and she knew he had seen her. She ditched her tray in a dark corner and walked swiftly into the

main hall, past cordoned-off areas of the residential wing.
    This is where she and Cordelia

had stayed on their visits. There was a bathroom to the right, behind the Sabine murals. It was

empty. She locked the door and took a deep breath. Phase one of the plan was complete. They had

succeeded in worming their way into the party. Now it was time for phase two.
    She shook out her ponytail and

slipped out of her catering uniform, peeling off the layers. She found the small rucksack she had

hidden underneath the sink earlier. She removed its contents and began to dress, putting on a

bejeweled sari, luscious pink silk encrusted with diamonds. Oliver had helped her pick it out at

the shop in Little Jaffna in the 10th arrondissement. He’d insisted on getting it even though it

had been prohibitively expensive.
    The silk draped elegantly over

her bare shoulders, and the dazzling pink made a nice contrast to her long blue-black hair. She

looked at herself in the mirror. She was thinner than she had ever been: lack of sleep and

security would do that to anyone. Her cheekbones, already sharp, were thrown into sharper