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“Thank you,” I said as we started walking back towards the elevator.
She nodded and gave me a tight smile. We passed through the gate and got into the elevator. She cleared her throat twice and said, “I’m sorry for attacking you. It was my mistake. You see, I’m a born vampire, like the Scholar, but not nearly so old. Usually the instincts aren’t as difficult to control, but sometimes they’re five times worse, and I haven’t had to practice as much as I should, which isn’t an excuse, but I am sorry for frightening you.”
I wanted to take a step away from her, because she was talking when she should be silent, particularly about the Scholar, who certainly wasn’t comfortable with his inner circle of vampires talking to strangers about him, even if he was interested in getting to know me better. As he said, some things can’t be rushed. Then again, when else would I find someone willing to talk about him who knew him so well?
I smiled back at her. “Forget about it. I shouldn’t have thrown crayons at you, but it’s one of my reflexes, apparently. The other night, I was with the Scholar, and another vampire interrupted us. The Marshall of Song. Have you heard of him? He seemed to know the Scholar by reputation, but not personally. I hope that they aren’t going to go to war or anything. Nothing rips up a city like a vampire war.”
“He’s awakened?” Her face went pained. She had so much expression for a vampire, but maybe it was the ‘born’ part that made a difference.
“That’s what he said, but who trusts crazy old vampires? You mentioned being born, but I don’t know what that means.”
“My father was a vampire, and my mother was a human. She died a few years ago, but I didn’t get to live with her, sadly enough. Because she was completely insane. That’s where he found her, at a mental hospital. She saw things that weren’t there, things even scarier than vampires, so he was her great emotional support at a time when she had no one else.”
“A vampire being a mental hospital patient’s great emotional support? How… sweet. The Scholar is your father?”
She shook her head, dark hair whipping wildly. “Oh, no. He’s a friend of my father’s. He wasn’t sure what to do with me, because I’m so different from a usual turned vampire, starting as a baby and growing older until I hit my prime, and then…” She gave a small laugh, showing cute fangs. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry, it’s just that once I get started, I can’t stop.”
“It’s fine. The Scholar is also a born vampire? His mother was human and his father’s a vampire?”
“Oh, not like that. He isn’t human, just half vampire and half?—”
“This way, if you please,” the vampire who had opened the door yesterday said as he opened the elevator gate, cutting her off and giving her a look that made her flinch. No, she shouldn’t be spilling all of the Scholar’s secrets, but it really was interesting. What else was he? Half ogre? Half werewolf? The possibilities were terrifying.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping off the elevator and following him down a hall, then down a set of long steps, until we reached a room that had to be a morgue with corpse cupboards and everything.
Horace was laid out on a table, with the Scholar wearing a doctor’s coat standing to the side, his hand on Horace’s throat as though checking for a pulse. The Scholar looked terrible, gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, and bruised arms as he studied the corpse for signs of life, well, as terrible as he could look and still be devastatingly handsome. Was I really obsessed with vampires? No way. Hate was not an easy replacement for obsession.
“Sit here,” my escort vampire said, gesturing to the chair, the one from the Scholar’s office, draped with a down comforter that made me realize for the first time how cold it was in there. I sank into the down and Kristina wrapped me tight in the blanket with a cheerful smile that didn’t quite go with her red eyes.
The Scholar said, “Miss Morell, this process will take some time, but I believe it will be helpful if you could recount your time with him. A familiar voice from his life will help him hold on to his memories, even in undeath.” His voice was so powerful, making me shiver even more than the cold room could.
I licked my lips. “You’d like me to talk to him or to you about him?” This was awkward.
“Whatever you prefer, Miss Morell.”
My name on his lips made my stomach clench before I pulled out my notes. I might as well do something productive, such as catch the Scholar up on what he’d wanted to study before the Horace thing went down, or up as the case may be.
“Heavenly fyre, the holy flame of god, found in the hearts of the pure and righteous, burns in heaven, a flame that keeps all the unholy from entering. When heavenly fyre is brought to another plane, it reacts with the elements of that place and changes slightly in nature and appearance. For instance, on earth’s plane, when…” I continued reading my notes, realizing how dry and basic they were as I went, but no one told me to stop, and it was a rough translation that I’d already apologized for, so I’d pretend that it was magnificent and keep going.
I was halfway through my notes on the first text, only a few ever-so-tiny changes from the usual dry reports on eternal fire, when Horace sat up, throwing the Scholar across the room, then fixed his red burning eyes on me. After that, everything went blurry. There were buzzing black specks, then a pain ripping through my neck and shoulder, then Horace struggling in the grasp of four large monsters, his fangs bared, dripping my blood down his pale chin as they dragged him towards the door.
“Chain him,” the Scholar said, kneeling next to me and pressing his palm against my neck. I reached up, covering his hand with mine, but he wasn’t going to move so I could check the damage.
“Wait, isn’t he supposed to talk?” I asked, turning my head so I was nose-to-nose with the Scholar. I wrinkled my forehead while I tried to process through the pain and sudden shock of blood loss. “He didn’t seem in the mood for talking.”
He smiled a crooked smile. “You noticed that? I’m afraid your topic of conversation may have been too stimulating for him. Miss Morell, your blood is pooling beneath my palm, but I don’t believe that he cut you deeply. I would like to spread a great healing agent on it, but it might seem forward of me, since it would be applied by my tongue.”
I frowned at him while my head wobbled. How much of my neck had Horace taken out? “You want to spread your tongue on my neck?”
“In a matter of speaking, yes, Miss Morell. Do you object? Doctors are coming. A sorcerer who is very competent will be here in a few minutes, but until then, we have to use what’s on hand.”
“Your tongue? That reminds me of the kissing. I can’t possibly have a relationship with you when your fangs would prevent any kind of really good connection. I’m not going to cut my lips on your fangs every time I want to kiss you. I have standards.”
His brow rose. “Indeed, Miss Morell. I am not going to kiss you, just spread my tongue on you. Do you mind?”
I blinked while the world faded in and out of focus. “That should be fine. No fangs. I’ve had enough fangs today. Why did Horace go right for my throat, and why didn’t I throw a death spell at him, not that it wouldn’t be a horrible waste of time considering how much effort you put into…”
His mouth was on my neck instead of his hand, and then everything else was negligible. I was so cozy in his chair, with the nice warm blanket, and his arm draped over my lap, his strong hand supporting my head while he licked me from shoulder to chin. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the magical properties of vampire saliva, the pleasure, the contentment, the connection as manufactured as aspirin, but far more effective.
