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He studies me for a moment. “And you’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I snap, annoyed that he’d even suggest I wasn’t thorough. “Don’t forget the book was made by witches. Sure, they say a vampire was involved in it as well, but in the end the magic came from a witch and I’m sure they’ll do anything to protect their own.”
“Actually, no one really knows where the book came from,” Solon muses. “Not even the witches. We only assume it favors them.”
“Well it doesn’t matter because what you’re looking for doesn’t exist. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not yet?”
“It doesn’t show its hand all at once. It slowly reveals itself to me. Most of the pages in there are blank. It’s impossible to predict when a spell might finally appear.”
He has a taste of his wine, still studying me closely. “Back when we asked you to help, you didn’t even know that about the book. And yet you didn’t even try. You know this isn’t just about getting Leif back. It’s about vengeance. Justice for Dahlia.”
I swallow hard, hating the sickly pit of dread that forms in my stomach whenever I think of what I did to her. Thank god that will all be gone soon.
“There is no justice,” I say quietly.
“You know you have to forgive yourself,” he says.
I give him a sad smile. “I can’t forgive myself.”
“But you can’t live like this forever. Shut away here. We’ve called so many times over the years. You never answer. I know that you barely have anything to do with the Red Room these days, that you’re turning into a recluse, that you don’t have time for your friends anymore.”
“I’m not living like this forever,” I tell him. “Actually, today was my last day at the school. Tomorrow I’m leaving Venice for good.”
He blinks at me in surprise, straightening up. “What? Where?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him. “Somewhere cold and dark and hidden, so I suppose I’ll still be a recluse after all. Anyway, if you know anyone who wants a villa in Venice,” I gesture around me, “it’s available. Well, Bitrus is moving in but I’m sure he’ll share. He’s taking over the Red Room for me.” Outside of vampires, Bitrus has always kept to himself, so it will be much longer before the human population of Venice thinks anything is amiss with his lack of aging.
“Why?”
I give him a hard look. “Because I want a new life, Absolon. Surely you can understand that.”
“I do. And I know firsthand you can’t run away from your problems. Surely you know that too,” he points out.
A sly smirk tugs across my lips, a feeling of elation at having found a loophole.
“Ah, but you see, Icanrun away from my problems. I can make them never exist in the first place.”
His brows come together into a hard black line. “What do you mean?”
“Come with me,” I say and take my wine around the corner to the living room. The room is mostly dark except for the roaring fire and the narrow shaft of light coming in through the closed velvet curtains. I take a seat on the sofa, facing the book on the coffee table, and gesture for Solon to do the same.
But he is frozen in the doorway, staring with wide eyes into the shadows of the room. “What the hell is that?” he whispers.
I don’t need to turn my head to know what he’s referring to. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it’s here so that others like yourself don’t try and take off with the book.”
He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away from the demon, and then sits down beside me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But when he looks at the book, I can see he’s thinking of it a little. His eyes get this glow to it, the same glow I noticed in Poveglia. It’s a look I’m sure I have in my eyes when I’m flipping through its storied pages late at night. Total enrapturement.
I reach for the book and it meets me halfway, lifting out of the air and flipping through the pages by itself, the pages flashing blank and full of ink alternatively, clearly showing Solon what I meant about the way it reveals itself.
Then it settles back down on the table, page flipped open toTabula Rasa. Lots of detailed text, ingredients, and then a picture of a crudely drawn vial of liquid.
“What is this?” Solon says, attempting to read it. “It’s Latin but…it’s jumbled. Tabula Rasa is all I can understand. A blank slate…”
The book suddenly shuts itself, the show over.
