My collection has expanded ten thousand times that of any modern curriculum. We have enough books to rival the Library of Congress. Our attention to detail surpasses other libraries, including that of King Marr, who could only attempt to harbor a fraction of the glory beheld in these shelves.
Matte stone columns separate nooks that host spellbound chairs and tables. Whatever walls exist are shelves. Carpets create paths of fabric that span over half the third story of the manor. An additional story sits just above, with chandeliers cutting the air space every ten feet or so. Balconies overlook the walkway and a few bridges slice between the chandeliers.
Alright, so perhaps itisn’tlike Alexandria. But one can only hope for such glory.
And I hope for it every time I step into this place.
My life’s work surrounds me.
I sniff the air. Something is off.
A presence undetected when I first stepped into the room.
I try not to smile too wide. They’re early. Technically, I’m late by their standards.
Vampires. Finicky as all hell. Truly remarkable spinsters of personal hells. I resist the urge to say so as I turn about to face a tall, lanky woman with sharp features, black eyes, and hair as crimson as blood itself. Pale peach skin hosts a riot of orange freckles that spatter her face.
“Morgana,” I greet with a brief bow. “It’s lovely to see you. Ravishing as always from all that ravishing.”
The smile that erupts would scare a nun to death. But to me, it’s just how Morgana looks.
She flicks her tongue over her left fang. “I wasn’t surprised in the least to see your application for the Historical Society sitting on my desk.” She bends and purses her lips.
I kiss her cheek. “I’m glad you reviewed it.”
“I won’t keep you. We’re here to talk about your research.” Upon saying so, three vampires file in from the rows of shelves surrounding the walkway. Cryptic—that’s just our style. “Do you remember my research team?”
“Velvet, Drake, and Belladonna—what a pleasure it is to see you all here. Drake especially.”
Drake steps forward to wrap me in a brotherly hug. It’s a customary greeting for us. He steps back to join the line, giving me a brief nod before going back into professional mode.
The three stand in the order I addressed them, each wearing their own contrasting fashions. While Velvet is done up in a black pleather catsuit, Drake sports ancient gold talismans around his neck that dangle amid tattered green robes. Belladonna runs her mahogany fingers over her beige pantsuit while Morgana shrugs her bare shoulders in her scarlet gown seemingly to fix the straps. Or perhaps draw my attention to them.
I gesture to the stairs. “Shall we go to the conference room?”
“No need. We came to inform you that we want to employ you,” Velvet responded with a voice to match her name. “Drake is most intrigued by how bloodbags can influence their feeders.”
Drake nods, tangling his midnight hand in the chains of his necklace. He procures an ankh to play with while his eyes narrow around the library. “And not just because we’re good friends. We knew bloodbags could give us lifeforce. But to the extent that influencesouremotions, wants, needs…” He thumbs the top of the ankh and then drops it, offering me a smile. “Well, your examples are few and far between, Darius. We’ll need more trials.”
“Trials?” I repeat the word as though it’s rich chocolate on my tongue. “You want me to test my theories.”
“What do you need?” Belladonna asks. “We have plenty of resources at our disposal. We’re happy to compensate you in addition to providing the tools required to complete the study. It would be a gorgeous addition to the supernatural studies under Drake’s care.”
Just as a smile threatens to break the surface, I flip around, leaning against one of the nearby bookcases. “Bloodbags, of course. Vampires willing to test their bonds.”
“What about your bloodbags?”
“They were destroyed during the last…” I face Morgana. I can’t lie to her. But the others? That’s fair game. “The last raid.”
It’s not a lie. Just not the entire truth either.
But the vampires are hardly interested in that. Belladonna is already tapping an iPad. I hate those things—I think they rot the brain, human and supernatural alike. It’s no wonder she’s got those bags under her eyes. She’s probably not feeding properly because she’s always got her nose in that thing.
“I can feel that Darius,” she mutters. Her desert eyes flutter across the screen. “Your judgment is duly noted.”
I bow my head. “My apologies.”
“Forgiven. I can collect volunteers from multiple kingdoms. We’ll be in touch.”