At exactly five minutes to midnight, Mimi and Jack Force entered the Armory to a torrent of flashbulbs. Mimi leaned on Jack's shoulder, pulling her fluffy zebra-striped sable coat closer and hiding behind a pair of extra-large sunglasses, as if the excess of photography could harm her.
"Watch it," Jack said sharply to an overeager paparazzo who came a little too close and jostled Mimi.
"Mimi! Right here," a young publicist wearing a headset said, sweeping them into the main room and leading them quickly through the fashionista sea to the very first row. "We're a minute to go-time. You're here next to Brannon."
The room buzzed with excitement, every seat in the house was full, every celebrity was accounted for (Mimi was one of the last), and even the aisles were full of the black T-shirt-wearing volunteers who crept out from backstage and into the main room to watch the action. Onstage, the band thundered through a raucous alt-rock anthem.
Mimi preened for the cameras, shrugging off her fur coat and flexing her calves so that her legs would look thinner. She had no envy for the models; they would only be photographed for the clothes on their backs. Whereas the dizzying crowd surrounding her and yelling her name were taking her picture because they were interested in her.
"You're really enjoying this," Jack teased.
"Mmmm." For the past week she had concealed her rage so well she thought she deserved an Oscar. But she couldn't even bear to look at her twin. That liar, that traitor. He was risking everything for a dalliance with the half-blood mongrel. She could see through his solicitousness and realized how well he had snowed her for so long. The bastard was only pretending to be in love with her, while he concealed his real feelings.
The worst part of it all was that she couldn't even hate him. She loved him too much and understood his flaws too well. Hating Jack would be akin to hating herself, and Mimi had too much self-esteem to wallow in that particular misery.
"Mimi! Darling!" Randy Morgan, the designer's wife, suddenly swooped down upon them and effusively kissed her on both cheeks. "You must come backstage and wish Rolf good luck!"
Mimi allowed herself to be led to the traditional bow-and-scrape with the designer. The designer, of course, would be the one doing the bowing and scraping. Mimi was one of his biggest clients.
She left Jack and picked her way through the crowd. Rolf greeted her with a bear hug and a shower of compliments. Mimi accepted the homage and generously wished him a good show. She said hello to several other Blue Bloods from her social circle: Piper Crandall in an atrocious yellow dress, and Soos Kemble, who complained about being relegated to the second row. Mimi spied a few uppity Red Bloods as well. Lucy Forbes cooed over Mimi's new Rolf Morgan ensemble that the designer had messengered over just that morning for her to wear to his show. Then she spied the object of her hatred across the room.
Schuyler was letting her dressers fuss over her outfit: a ruffled blouse and a slim-cut riding jacket, velveteen riding pants and high boots. Mimi thought to herself she would buy the outfit if Schuyler weren't the one wearing it.
Without hesitation she walked over to Schuyler. Maybe she could nip this thing in the bud; maybe there was still hope that nothing would come of Jack's stupid little flirtation.
"Schuyler, you have a second?" she asked.
Schuyler sent her handlers away, and the two of them drifted over to a quiet corner. "What's up?"
Mimi decided to get right to the point. "I know what's going on between you and my brother."
"What do you mean?" Schuyler tried to look calm, but Mimi could sense her alarm. She was right. Goddamnit she was right. The wretch didn't even try to deny it. The two of them were together. How far had it gone? Mimi's heart dropped. She had told herself she would never feel jealous of the annoying little mutt. But Schuyler's defiant face made her feel otherwise.
Schuyler didn't look chastened, or weak, or embarrassed. Gone was the whimpering half-blood who jumped when you said "Boo!" Gone was the girl with the unrequited crush on the great Jack Force. Mimi saw Schuyler very clearly. She looked like a girl who was confident in love. A girl who knew she held his heart in her hands. For a moment Mimi intensely wished the Silver Blood had dragged Schuyler facedown into hell.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to Jack?"
"What are you talking about?"
Mimi clutched Schuyler's upper arm tightly. "Think of your mother. Why do you think Allegra's in a coma? Why do you think she's immortal but won't die? She is useless and destroyed. Do you want that for him?"
"Don't bring my mother into this," Schuyler warned, shaking Mimi off. "You don't know anything about my mother."
"Oh, but I do. I have lived much longer than you." Mimi's face changed, and for a moment, Schuyler saw flashes of all the women in history Mimi had been: the Egyptian queen, the French noblewoman, the hardy Pilgrim, the Newport hostess - all breathtakingly beautiful, all with the same cold green eyes.
"You don't understand the bond," Mimi whispered, as around them the designer and his team were making final corrections on all the clothes. "Jack and I are one and the same. Taking him away from me would be like ripping off his skin. He needs me. If he renews the bond, he will grow stronger, his memories will be whole. He will flourish."
"And if not?" Schuyler challenged.
"You might as well reserve a spot for him in that hospital my father keeps visiting. This is not some silly high school game, you stupid girl." This is life and death. Angels and demons. The bond is law. We are made from the same dark matter, Mimi thought but didn't say. She saw that Schuyler could not, or would not, understand. Schuyler was a newborn. She had no comprehension of the rigors of immortality. The harsh and absolute ways of their kind.
"I don't believe you."
"I didn't expect you to." Mimi looked exhausted. "But if you do love him, leave him, Schuyler. Release him. Tell him you don't want him anymore. It's the only way he'll let go."
Schuyler shook her head. Around her, the models were lining up, and Rolf was pinning a hem here, tucking in a pleat there. Outside, the lights had gone black and the show was about to start. She let one of her dressers snip an errant thread from the sleeve of her riding jacket. "I can't do that. I can't lie."
Mimi took a sip from Schuyler's glass of champagne without asking. "Then Jack is lost."