Fet, his hand still on his own sword grip, said, “You again.”
“What the hell is this?” said Eph, apparently the last one to this party.
Gus tossed Eph’s sword back at him, harder than was necessary. “You should remember Mr. Quinlan,” said Gus. “The Ancients’ top hunter. And currently the baddest man in the whole damn town.” Gus then turned back to Mr. Quinlan. “A friend of ours got herself thrown into a blood camp. We want her back.”
Mr. Quinlan regarded Eph with eyes informed by centuries of existence. His voice, when it entered Eph’s mind, was a smooth, measured baritone.
Dr. Goodweather, I presume.
Eph locked eyes with him. Barely nodded. Mr. Quinlan looked at Fet:
I’m here in the hopes that we can reach an arrangement.
Low Memorial Library, Columbia University
INSIDE THE COLUMBIA University library, in a research room off the cavernous rotunda—once, and still, the largest all-granite dome in the country—Mr. Quinlan sat at a reading table across from Fet.
“You help us break into the camp—you get to read the book,” said Fet. “There is no further negotiation …”
I will do that. But you know that you will be vastly outnumbered by both strigoi and human guards?
“We know,” said Fet. “Will you help us in? That’s the price.”
I will.
The burly exterminator unzipped a hidden pocket in his backpack and pulled out a large bundle of rags.
You had it on you? asked the Born, incredulous.
“Can’t think of a safer place,” said Fet, smiling. “Hidden in plain sight. You want the book, you go through me.”
A daunting task, to be sure.
Fet shrugged. “Daunting enough.” He unwrapped a volume lying within the rags. “The Lumen,” said Fet.
Quinlan felt a wave of cold travel up his neck. A rare sensation in one so old. He studied the book as Fet turned to face him. The cover was ragged leather and fabric.
“I pulled off the silver cover. Ruined the spine a little bit, but too bad. It looks humble and unimportant, doesn’t it?”
Where’s the silver cover?
“I have it socked away. Easy to retrieve.”
Quinlan looked at him. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, exterminator?
Felt shrugged off the compliment.
The old man chose well, Mr. Fet. Your heart is uncomplicated. It knows what it knows and acts accordingly. Greater wisdom is hard to find.
The Born sat with his black cotton hood sloughed off his immaculately smooth, white head. Before him, open to one of the illuminated pages, lay the Occido Lumen. Because its silver edging was repellent to his vampiric nature, he carefully turned the pages using the eraser top of a pencil. Now, at once, he touched the interior of the page with his fingertip, almost in the way a blind man would search a lo
ved one’s face.
This document was holy. It contained the creation and history of the world’s vampire race, and as such included several references to Borns. Imagine a human allowed access to a book outlining human creation and answers to most if not all of life’s mysteries. Mr. Quinlan’s deeply red eyes scanned the pages with intense interest.
The reading is slow. The language is dense.
Fet said, “You’re telling me.”