Bloody Valentine (4 page)

W
hen 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.

A
llegra 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.