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.
THREE