The Van Alen Legacy by Melissa de La Cruz Read Free Book Online Page A

Persuasion.
    She thought she heard a noise.

Whether it was from inside or out, she did not know. Close the blinds. Close your eyes, she

thought frantically. Close them before he comes back.
    She closed them.
    Nothing. She was

still alone.
    She waited for a long time.

Then she opened her eyes again. Nothing. She really was alone. She had to take

advantage of this. Bliss had had a plan ever since she’d noticed his prolonged absences. She had

to do something more than just look around. Dare she?
    Her body felt sluggish and

heavy. So heavy. This was going to be impossible. What if he came back?
    What then? She had to try, she

told herself. She had to do something. She couldn’t just live like an invalid, in limbo, in

paralysis. If I can open my eyes, I can do something else. I’m still Bliss Llewellyn, aren’t

I?
    I’ve won tennis tournaments

and run marathons. I can do this.
    Move your hand. Move your

hand.
    Can’t. Too

heavy. Where is my hand? I have a hand? What is a hand? There. I can feel my five fingers,

but they feel so far away, as if behind glass, or submerged underwater. She remembered seeing a

magician on the Today show who had attempted to live underwater for several days. How immobilized

and swollen he had looked.
    She was no magician, but there

was no reason to remain trapped underneath her own fear either. Move it. Move. Your. Hand. Oh God. It weighs three thousand pounds. I can’t do it. I can’t, I can’t. But

I have to.
    Do it!
    She remembered how hard it had

been to learn the four-base pyramid scorpion, one of the most difficult moves in cheerleading. It

required acute coordination and the skill of a trapeze artist. Bliss was the only cheerleader on

the team who could do it. She remembered how scared she had been the first time. If she didn’t

connect with the base’s hands on the way up, she would fall; if she missed the back spotter on

the extension, she would fall; if she didn’t balance correctly on her left foot, she would

fall.
    But she would connect with the

base, hit her mark, stand with her right leg bent back above her head, and hold the pose until

she was thrown upward in a triple-somersault pop-flick to land on her feet.
    Too bad Duchesne didn’t have a

squad. Bliss had tried to start one, but no one was interested. Snobs! They didn’t know what they

were missing. The feeling of the night of a big game. The anticipation of the

crowd. The thrill of running out on the field, pom-poms bouncing, the roar from the

stands, the jealousy and the admiration. On Fridays, cheerleaders were allowed to wear

their uniforms to class. It was akin to wearing a crown. The scorpion.
    She’d nailed it.
    If I could do that, I can do

this, she told herself.
    Move. Your. Hand!

She could feel her bangs in her face. The Visitor had not bothered with haircuts, or manicures

either. Bliss was annoyed. All that work to look cute gone down the drain. Her hair was wild and

untamed, rough to the touch. She had to do something about it.
    There. Urrrgh !

Her hand jerked away, moving like a marionette, like a puppet on strings. But she’d done it. Her

hand awkwardly brushed her hair, moved it away from her eyes.
    So.
    I can do it.
    I can take control of my body.

It’s going to be difficult and painful and slow, but I can do it. I’m not out of the game

yet.
    Now all she had to do was

learn how to walk again.

The Conduit

    For almost seventy years,

Christopher Anderson had served as faithful human Conduit to Lawrence Van Alen. He was the one

who had brought Schuyler to the hospital to have her arm properly looked at after they’d returned

from Corcovado with the news of his master’s passing. The spry, gracious gentleman had never

struck Schuyler as being particularly elderly, but since Lawrence’s death it looked as if age had

finally caught up with him. He was frail now and walked with a cane.
    Anderson visited her that