And that aura, that cool, allowed the party chatter to resume as if nothing had happened. The confrontation between Nicky and Kim shocked the entire ballroom into silence, but Nicky had brushed it off like it was nothing. She had given everyone else permission to move on with the night, and that’s exactly what they were doing. They were moving on because Nicky did, and in that way, Nicky was already inserting herself into their lives as a leader, as the sort of girl who could win Coronation.
Unlike Jill, whose father was a genuine power broker in DC and whose family had many Thorndike graduates in its past, Nicky Bloom was a total fabrication, an alias. Everything about Nicky, from her parents to her history to even her name, was a creation of the Network. The real girl that Jill knew as Nicky Bloom was born as someone else, had lived someone else’s life, had somehow involved herself with the Network at an early age and been groomed for espionage of this sort. Nicky Bloom’s “parents” were Network agents, also working undercover. Her extended family was a lie, aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, and childhood friends scattered throughout the country, all of them ready to play their part when necessary, all of them agents of the Network. Her house, a brand new mansion in Bethesda, was purchased by the Network with money they had moved through various money laundering operations and into the Bloom family bank account. Her entire life was a fabrication, sprung from the best minds of the resistance, all part of a master plan to turn the tide against the vampires once and for all.
The plan to create Nicky Bloom, to insert her into the Thorndike senior class, to have her wear black to Homecoming, and hopefully, to win the Coronation contest – all of it was aimed at a single end. In order to become immortal, the winner of the Coronation contest had to spend an evening with a vampire. An immensely important vampire named Sergio Alonzo.
Sergio was the reason they were here. Winning Coronation and getting that visit in the night from Sergio was the goal of this operation.
Long ago, the leaders of the Network had identified Sergio Alonzo as the key to everything that had gone so terribly wrong with the world. One of the oldest and most unusual vampires, Sergio was as powerful as he was elusive. Many vampire hunters had dedicated their lives to killing him. None had even come close.
It was Elliott Toffler, Abbot of the Brotherhood of St. Albert, whose brain had hatched the wild scheme in which Jill and Nicky now were players. Break an agent into Thorndike, have her enter the Coronation contest. Throw all the Network’s resources behind her. Do whatever it takes to make her win. And then, when the Coronation contest comes to an end and Sergio pays a nighttime visit to the winner, ambush him.
Nicky Bloom’s brand new mansion in Bethesda was more than a showpiece home suitable for a new student at Thorndike. It was a house that had been custom built to trap a vampire. The minute Sergio stepped inside, steel bars would fall over the windows and doors, and all the best vampire hunters in the world would emerge at once to kill him.
But all of that only came about if Nicky won, and a winning campaign started tonight. The Homecoming Masquerade would last for two more hours. When it was over, the senior class would leave the mansion in the many limousines that waited for them outside. They would take off their masks and reconvene in more comfortable attire at four separate after-parties, one for each entrant. They would pay more than a thousand dollars each to get into these parties. That money would become the opening balance in each entrant’s Coronation account.
Judging by the chatter, Kim’s after-party was where most of the class was headed. Kim’s father had scored the East Room of the White House, and was charging $10,000 at the door. Samantha and Mary’s parties, in contrast, would be small affairs at their homes, where family and close friends would gather and show their support, everybody donating whatever they could.
No one knew a thing about Nicky’s after-party yet. It was Jill’s job to change that. She had started with Annika Fleming and her little band of followers. She had laid the groundwork, telling them the cover story that a secret consortium of wealthy parents was behind Nicky’s entrance. That story would make Nicky a more credible candidate. That story played on the hatred almost everyone in the ballroom had for Kim and her family. Even though Jill had sworn the others to secrecy, she knew full well that Annika, Mattie, Jenny, and Jake would spread the story all over the ballroom. She expected that by intermission, the whole class would know that Nicky was the centerpiece of an attempted coup. People would speculate about which families were supporting her in secret. They would start to wonder if this new girl had a legitimate shot at winning the whole thing.
And then they would wonder if they should be supporting her rather than Kim.
“Hey Jill.”
It was Mattie, who had broken away from their little huddle and followed Jill to the bar.
“Yes?”
“I know you wanted to quit talking about this, so I’ll keep it short,” Mattie said. She was lowering her voice now as the two of them walked toward the bar together. “You said Nicky was having an after-party at the Hamilton. Do you know anyone else who’s going to be there?”
“I will,” said Jill. “And I predict by the end of the night, you will too. In fact, I’m betting that, by the time the masquerade is over, most of the class is going to Nicky’s party rather than Kim’s. Not only will they get a chance to support the eventual winner, but they’ll also be treated to a private concert by Jada Razor.”
“Seriously? Jada Razor is going to be at Nicky’s after-party?”
Jada Razor, the biggest pop star in the world, held secret sympathies for the resistance. Her sold-out concerts around the globe, where millions of dollars in small bills changed hands every night, were the Network’s most effective money laundering operation. When the Network asked her to interrupt her world tour for a special, private concert dedicated to the cause, she was more than happy to comply.
“That’s right,” said Jill. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”
“Yeah,” said Mattie. “Maybe you will.”
5
“Cabernet, please,” Nicky said. The bartender, a meek little guy with bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, gave the slightest of nods, a sophisticated, well-rehearsed motion, and retrieved a bottle of ’92 Amandi from the rack behind him. Nicky guessed this bartender was fifteen years old. Fifteen. Two years younger than the students he was serving tonight. Should have been a sophomore in high school somewhere. Should have been learning to drive, working a first job, playing video games.
Should have had parents who loved him, who looked out for him, who would die before letting him end up here.
The boy had black hair, buzzed short, and wore the same white jacket and black pants as the fifty-some other slaves in the mansion. Nicky watched him pour the wine into a crystal goblet, wondering what was in his mind as he did so. Did some part of him wish he were elsewhere? Was his conscious mind as enslaved as his subconscious?
Did he feel as miserable as he looked?
This was the third slave she had seen tonight. The first was in the driveway, coordinating all the limousine traffic. The second had opened the front door for her. Those two were both middle-aged men, the sorts of slaves an immortal kept around for continuity’s sake. The older slaves taught the younger ones what to do, a job that was continuous since younger slaves were constantly being replaced. Those older slaves were the exception. Most of the prisoners in Renata’s mansion were like this bartender. Kids. Brought in from the Farm to work until Renata decided they were ripe.
Nicky leaned against the bar and took a sip of the wine. Deep and dry, the wine was an absurd choice of drink for this crowd. Seniors at Thorndike were sure to become wine snobs one day, but on this night, they gulped down the expensive vintages like two-dollar tequila. Sure, these students liked to pretend they recognized “blueberry and tropical notes” or “hints of oak and chocolate”—the sort of claptrap their parents were teaching them to talk about—but it was all for show. The masquerade ball would last
only two hours, during which time everyone here had to be sophisticated and coy. Then everyone would hop in their limo and go to the after-parties, where they would get thoroughly wasted.
Nicky stood alone, her back to the party, her eyes looking down at the bar. As she listened to the chatter all around her, she wondered what sort of perversion allowed these people to party and play while so many suffered. She wondered how they justified it in their minds. The immortals used mind control to trap young people in their mansions, holding them as slaves until they smelled just right, at which point they ate them. All these students just looked away from this madness, choosing not to see it for the evil it was. They chose to ignore the evil because their families were a part of it. The immortals relied on the wealthy and powerful to hold the system together. The families of Thorndike Academy protected, defended, and enabled the immortals in exchange for their piece of the pie.
Nicky waited for the conversation to reach its peak, then she turned away from the bar and re-entered the party. Keeping her ears open for her own name, she heard someone talking about being in Nicky’s second period class but never noticing her. Someone else said, “Every time I saw that girl last week she was all dumpy clothes and glasses and shit,” which made Nicky smile. She had put together an understated look during those first days at school, but she hardly would have called her clothes “dumpy.”
She overheard Jill working a small crowd with her own script. Nicky Bloom made it all the way to Homecoming in a black dress and Kim Renwick never saw it coming. It sounded like she was doing well with it. In a way, Jill’s job tonight was more difficult than Nicky’s. Jill Wentworth was the best hacker in the Network, maybe in the world, but she wasn’t a great field operative, even if she fancied herself as one.
Nicky knew this because of the briefing book, a thousand-page document prepared by the Network for Nicky to study. The briefing book began with a history of the immortals and Thorndike, then went on to give descriptions of everyone and everything Nicky might encounter while on assignment. It was a collection of all the Network’s intel on every student, every family, every teacher…
The authors of the briefing book were uncredited, but for the most part, Nicky could tell which Network operatives had written which parts. The historical research was the work of Phillip and Helena Fischer, the wealthy benefactors from Colorado who were playing the roles of Nicky’s parents in this assignment. The section about the wider connections, the way the immortals and power players in Washington interacted with the larger world, was the work of Nicky’s mentor and trainer, Gia Rossi.
The student descriptions belonged to Jill, who was a master of keeping her ears open, both on campus and on the Internet. At times, these were the most informative parts of the book. At other times, they were downright useless.
A section about Art Tremblay, for instance, was spot on.
Eldest son of property magnate Merv Tremblay, Art has a chip on his shoulder that undoubtedly comes from being a disappointment to his macho father. He became a gym rat when he hit puberty, but even his big muscles can’t hide the truth about him. Art wants everyone to think he is the manly type, but the truth is he is about as macho as a goldfish.
The section about Ryan Jenson, in contrast, was a mess.
Listless and without a moral compass, Ryan Jenson is a true product of Washington. He can be kind and approachable, but it’s all fraudulent. Ryan has his own agenda and it’s only about him.
Ryan Jenson, the richest member of the senior class, was Nicky’s primary target in this assignment. She’d been working on him since the first day of school. In the first minutes of her first meeting with him, when she “accidentally” ran into him in the hallway, Nicky could tell that Jill’s description of Ryan was way off. Hardly the “listless product of Washington” Jill had called him, Ryan Jenson was the only student at Thorndike with a true sense of self. He was a kind, decent person, who understood right and wrong. He didn’t belong in Washington’s upper crust and he knew it. He was trying to find a way out.
When Nicky had pressed Jill for more about Ryan, Jill said, “He’s a flirt who likes to use people.”
That told Nicky all she needed to know. Jill, who’d had a thing with Ryan during their freshman year, was still hung up on this guy, and her feelings had found their way into the briefing book. They had disrupted Jill’s work, and they made Nicky wonder what other parts of the briefing book were inaccurate.
Still, for whatever shortcomings Jill had as an operative, she more than made up for them with her brilliant mind and her courageous spirit. And the things she could do with a computer bordered on the miraculous.
Nicky glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Five minutes before nine. People were already lining up for the first dance. Nicky needed to find a place. She took stock of the entire room once more, trying to place all three of her competitors, the other girls wearing black.
Samantha Kwan was in the far corner, talking to Josh Manson.
Kim and her minions were in the middle of the party, the largest clique in the ballroom.
Mary…well, Mary was just standing where everyone could see her, acting aloof and oblivious.
Was there anyone else? No, Nicky was the only surprise entrant this night. Everything was on schedule. The clock would chime in a few minutes. The dance would begin, and Nicky would get to work on the next part of the plan.
6
On the other side of the ballroom Kim Renwick watched as the new girl stepped away from the bar, a goblet of wine in her hand.
“What the hell is going on tonight?” Kim said.
She was surrounded by groupies who were more than eager to tell her everything she wanted to hear. But to this question, none of them had an answer. Pauline Wabash, Amy Thayer, Rosalyn Smith, and Andrea Peterson, four girls Kim allowed to hang on her like a cloud of dirt, four daughters of families who pledged their loyalty to Kim’s parents many years ago, and not a one of them knew what was going on.
Useless. All of them, useless. The girls, the lawyers, the consultants, the private investigators, the accountants, the stylists, the designers, the models, hell, even the student interns. More than a decade of planning to get Kim into the ballroom as one of three girls wearing black. Useless!
Not four girls wearing black. Kim was to be one of three, dammit. Kim, the winner. Mary, the girl who only wanted to come in second. Samantha, the girl so desperate for attention she’d enter the contest knowing she would probably die in the end.
And then she showed up. Nicky Bloom. The name rang in Kim’s ears and bounced off her tongue. She whispered it to herself over and over again, listening to the words clatter like a rumbling train. Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom Nicky Bloom. What in God’s name was Nicky Bloom doing? Who just walks into the Homecoming ball at Thorndike Academy, having been at school barely two weeks, knowing no one at all, and wears a black dress?
“Who does that?” Kim said. “Who does she think she is? Who does she know?”
“She doesn’t know anybody,” said Pauline. “Her family just moved to DC this summer.”
“She knows someone,” said Kim. “It’s a conspiracy. A goddamned conspiracy.”
“What a stupid bitch,” said Andrea.
The other girls giggled but Kim remained solemn. It would be a comfort to think that Nicky Bloom was some crazy renegade who didn’t know what she was doing, but that wasn’t the case. Kim could tell from that little confrontation in the center of the ballroom. Nicky had looked Kim in the eyes without any fear and said Fuck You. It was the way she said it—there was no bluff in her voice at all. She was inviting Kim to retaliate.
Nobody did that to Kim. Nobody did that to any of the Renwicks, which was precisely why Kim had lost her temper, making a fool of herself in the process.
Nicky Bloom totally played her. She caught Kim by surprise and made her look weak in front of everyone. Then she walked away, knowing full well there was nothing Kim
could do about it.
And the way she walked. She moved with the sort of regal confidence that the mothers of every girl at this party tried to teach their daughters. It was something you either had or you didn’t. You can train a girl to glide across the floor with a book on her head, but you can’t train her to move the way Nicky Bloom did. That girl walked like a winner, and people noticed.
Nicky was wearing a vintage Francesco dress, the sort that was all over the Paris runway in the late sixties. It was the kind of look Kim wanted for herself. Vintage. Classy.
The god-damned stylists had told her not to do it.
“You’re not a throwback, Honey,” her stylist had said. “You’re cutting edge.”
And while it was undeniable that Kim looked outstanding in her ultra-modern see-through print, she couldn’t help but wonder if the immortals would prefer the more classic style of Nicky’s outfit. Especially Sergio. Tonight was the only chance any of them got to be in front of Sergio. If anyone at the party sensed that Sergio had taken a liking to Nicky rather than Kim….forget it.
The more Kim looked at her, the angrier she became. Nicky had a weathered look about her that matched her style. Freckles on her arms, a cream-colored sheen to her legs, a hardness to her body.
Whereas Kim was the product of a daily regimen at the gym, Nicky looked more like a girl who liked to play outdoors. She looked rugged. She looked real.
No, Nicky Bloom wasn’t a stupid bitch at all. She was just as prepared for this contest as Kim. She’d been preparing for it for years, in secret. She was a ringer brought in specifically to ruin Kim’s night and her presence had changed everything.
The Homecoming Masquerade Page 3
