“Sorry for the delay. Got ripped up a bit.” I ease the door closed behind me and approach the big green chairs facing the desk.
“Understandable.” Wolent smiles, gesturing at them. “Please, sit and tell us what happened. Holden was not in any condition to speak.”
I sit. “How is he?”
“He will recover… eventually.” Wolent grimaces.
“We went to the bar where the exiles were supposed to be and found them there…” I proceed to explain everything important. Don’t really need to go into detail about them having Warhammer figurines. “… so, I’m assuming the strange purple light when they burned must be proof of them being Oblivare.”
Stefano, who sat through my story stone-faced, shifts to an expression of worried annoyance.
“The reliquary remained in the car?” Wolent raises one eyebrow.
I nod. “Yes. No way could any vampire have possibly gotten to it. The fire burned too intense. I had to toss the Oblivare from like twenty feet away not to burn myself.”
“Understood. Good job, Sarah.” Wolent smiles.
“Oblivare… here?” Stefano cuts his gaze to the boss. “This is not good.”
Wolent pats the armrest of his chair. “Ahh, Stefano. What would I do without you here to point out the obvious?”
Vanessa suppresses a laugh.
Amazingly, Stefano smiles.
“You sound surprised.” I squeeze my hands into fists, forcing myself not to fuss at the itchy scratches.
Wolent nods once. “The Oblivare generally dislike North America and prefer to remain in Europe.”
Heh. I chuckle. “Yeah, we’re kinda destroying society well enough on our own without their help.”
Stefano puffs air to the side, a little roll of the eyes conveying agreement. He’s a hardcore traditionalist, so he definitely thinks society is in flames. I imagine if any vampire existed as opposite as possible to the goals of the Oblivare, it would be him… and Paolo Cabrini. Of course, those two would bring back royal courts and a harsh division between nobility and commoners. Old school ‘society’ so to speak. They’re also not too big on women being much more than accessories a man wears on his arm, but at least he’s stopped saying crap like that out loud.
“Indeed.” Wolent chuckles in a ‘sad but true’ manner.
“Should we be worried about them?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t,” mutters Vanessa. “Those cretins have spent the last few thousand years trying to drag us back ten thousand years, and still haven’t managed to organize anything more destructive than a drunken Viking raid on a small fishing village.”
The men laugh.
“Ms. Prentice is correct.” Wolent leans back. “Their beliefs create their greatest flaw. They despise large groups, organization, anything even remotely resembling a system of leadership. It is unlikely there are more in the area, but we shouldn’t disregard the possibility. You saw six?”
“Yes. Holden shot the two we spoke with, then the four chased us. Four are dead, but the two in the bar might still be there. Holden only shot them in the head. They’re going to recover unless you send people to clean up.”
He steeples his fingertips, mulling. “You need worry no more about the issue. I’m proud of you. Handled things quite well tonight, given the unexpected nature of what happened.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wolent.”
“I can tell you’re looking forward to relaxing at home.” He gestures at me in a ‘be my guest’ manner. “Fly safe.”
“Thanks.” I stand and nod in gratitude to Vanessa. “I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can.”
“Keep it, dear. I have dozens.” She winks.
“Are you sure? It looks expensive.”
Vanessa waves dismissively. “It’s not as pricey as you think. Don’t feel guilty. However, I’d hope you don’t wear it to your next fight. It is too expensive to shred.”
“No problem. Not planning to dress fancy for my next near-death experience.” I face Stefano and offer a shallow but respectful bow of farewell. “Mr. Bianchi.”
He nods once at me. Wow. Okay, not gonna argue. The man no longer seems to despise me. There’s definitely no like there, but at least the hate’s gone. He’s not going to change too much of his opinion about me until I’m no longer living among mortals. Whatever. I can wait.
I head out, grab my purse from the foyer—so glad I decided to leave it here before getting in the car with Holden—and exit via the front door. After a brief ‘thanks again and see ya’ hug for Aziz, I’m in the air.
Wolent said not to worry.
Yeah, right. We killed four Oblivare, stole their reliquary, and two who saw me up close are still out there. I’m gonna be looking over my shoulder for at least a month. Good thing school’s almost done for the year. Feel much safer having a hellhound nearby.
Seriously, my life is weird.
6
The Tome of F-Something
Sophia didn’t feel out of place at all in the mystic’s library.
Sure, she sat on a chair too big for her in a room decorated like it belonged in the 1400s while wearing a Sailor Moon T-shirt and a frilly, multilayered pink skirt. The room smelled of dry papers, candle wax, and an unrecognizable milieu of blended arcane herbs. Klepto curled up asleep around a candlestick on the table beside the book, a fuzzy grey donut with ears. Her small MP3 player—loaded with anime soundtracks—also didn’t fit the scenery. Nor did the purple flip-flops on the floor beneath the chair. Good chance foam shoes didn’t exist in the days of King Arthur. She half expected to see a bunch of knights here, except for one significant problem: a rectangular, not round, table.
A second significant problem responsible for the lack of knights involved the modern era. Knights simply didn’t exist in large enough numbers anymore to congregate around randomly placed round tables.
She pondered making some out of illusions but didn’t want to startle any of the mystics. They had, after all, been gracious enough to welcome her here twice a month to help her learn. Not that she’d ever say so, but Sophia felt they ought to help since they happened to be responsible for her magic being usable. According to them, she’d always had untapped—inaccessible—potential. Due to the circumstances of the world, the gift following along her family line remained sealed in a mental vault, out of reach.
Today’s reading involved theories of magic and how the majority of the Earth’s population not believing magic really existed had a genuine effect on it. The book claimed magic had more power and became easier to perform when no one could see it except the person using it. Exceptions, of course, for other people who firmly believed magic worked. A spellcasting event big enough to be seen by everyone in an entire city would undoubtedly fail, as their collective disbelief would negate the energy. Further exceptions could happen if the effect of the magic covered a large area but worked in a way as to not be visible. If no one observed unusual phenomena, their resultant disbelief energy wouldn’t be triggered and tamp down the arcane forces.
The book didn’t read like something intended for an eleven-year-old, but Sophia had little difficulty keeping up. She tended to read novels aimed at teenagers or adults—as long as her parents approved the content.
Speaking of parents, Darren Anderson had evidently made a decent enough impression on Dad for him to trust leaving her here for the afternoon and running some Saturday errands. Much the same way he drove her to dance class sometimes or Sam to Taekwondo, he occasionally brought her to see the mystics. He stayed the whole four hours the first time, watching the lessons and chatting with Darren, Callum, and Landon.
She’d briefly met the fourth member of the lodge, a woman named Anastasia Grant. Between her mild English accent and hairstyle, she reminded Sophia of the ‘pleasant but demanding’ nanny an aristocratic couple living in a remote castle might hire to watch their two kids. The woman also happened to be the one who cast the spell to yank Sophia’s soul out of her body and borrow it to search the h
ouse for Coralie’s mummified remains. Anastasia gave off a sense of unease around her, probably expecting revenge of some form. However, the other mystics already explained Sophia’s ghostly self would have gone back where it belonged once the spell ended.
As long as no wandering random bad thing did something to her first.
Once she finished reading the stuff about collective consciousness having an effect on magic, she slipped out of the big chair, stepped into her flip-flops, and headed across the library. Klepto teleported onto her shoulder, clinging like a furry version of a parrot perched atop a pirate. Mr. Anderson asked her to go to the ‘fire room’ once she finished reading. This likely meant they intended to have her attempt using elemental magic. In the days of King Arthur, people like Merlin could summon actual fireballs and throw them or even call lightning down from the clouds. Since she’d thus far surprised them by learning magic so rapidly, the mystics wanted to see if Sophia could come close to doing anything so obvious.
Fireballs sounded neat, but Sophia didn’t like the idea of hurting anyone. However, Sam told her about Mel—another demon he’d made friends with—and how she destroyed a bad vampire in an instant using fire. As long as she could consider bad vampires to be ‘not people,’ she might be able to set aside her guilt.
Midway along the library wall on the left, nestled between a pair of ceiling-high shelves, a large book sat on a pedestal inside a wood-framed glass case. Curious, Sophia rounded past the end of another long table—it remained a mystery why a lodge of mystics with only four members needed a library big enough for fifty people—and approached the case.
She’d obviously seen the book in the background during previous visits, but it hadn’t piqued her curiosity. Also, today had been the first time the mystics left her alone here to read on her own. Something about this book felt special. It looked rather old, dusty but not too worn. Intricate gold inlay on a forest green cover contained no titles or words, merely a decorative pattern. It had to be at least six inches of gild-edged pages, and probably two feet tall. Despite it being a book, and rather obviously neither alive nor able to speak, she picked up a distinct sense it didn’t particularly care if she read it or not.
Sophia had never been ‘yeah, whatevered’ by a book before, so she continued staring at it.
“Mew,” said Klepto, the kitten’s mouth at her left ear.
“Yeah, I know. I feel it, too.” She gingerly brushed her fingers down the glass wall of the case.
Darren Anderson poked his head in the library door, spotted her, then rushed over while grimacing in an ‘I best get there before the child breaks something’ way. For no reason they had yet explained, the mystics adored wearing clothing from the late 1800s. Every time she came here, she felt like she strayed onto the set of yet another Sherlock Holmes re-imagining.
“Finished reading?” Darren sidled up on her right.
“Yes.” She clasped her hands behind her back and smiled up at him. “What is this?”
“It is, umm.” He grasped the lapels of his old-timey coat. “The Tome of F Knowledge.”
Sophia raised one eyebrow. “F knowledge? Like… all about the letter F?”
He chuckled. “No. We’re not entirely sure if it’s forbidden, forgotten, frivolous, fanciful, or something else like… oh, freakish. Damnable water stain on the records ruined the ink.”
“Doesn’t it say the title inside?” Sophia pointed at the case.
“I imagine it might, but we haven’t yet seen any reason to disturb it.”
“Disturb it?” Sophia blinked. “It’s alive?”
Darren pulled at the sad little goatee he’d been trying to grow. “Not alive, no. Certain magical tomes can be used as devices in which to seal powerful energies. It might be harmless, or it might be like a box of fleas that go everywhere once you open the lid.”
“Hmm.” She leaned as close as she could to the case without letting her nose touch glass. “It can’t be the Tome of Forgotten knowledge, because it’s in a book. As soon as you read it, it won’t be forgotten knowledge.”
“Whatever is in there, it’s highly advanced.” Darren nodded to the side in a ‘come on, let’s be off’ manner.
“Couldn’t help but overhear,” said Callum out of nowhere, making Darren jump and grab his chest.
Callum Bailey strolled out from behind a freestanding floor-to-ceiling bookshelf a short distance to the right. He wore a shimmery blue outfit sporting a ruffled collar. Totally looked like he belonged in a Renaissance painting, though he’d pulled his longish blond hair back into a style reminiscent of Colonial America.
Sophia glanced from Darren to Callum and back to the book. Great. Sherlock Holmes and Vampire Lestat. It baffled her why the mystics—except for Anastasia—liked dressing up in historical clothes. They, unlike vampires, couldn’t possibly have been alive long ago.
“You startled me.” Darren gave his coat a sharp tug of annoyance.
“Letting the book rattle you again?” asked Callum in an amused tone. “He believes it is dangerous. Legend says a mystic can use the tome to discover the answer to whatever is on their mind when they open it. Within reason, of course. I doubt it will provide an answer to questions like ‘why are we here’ or esoteric philosophy.”
“Hrmph.” Darren shook his head. “It is undoubtedly a repository of information associated to rituals of a decidedly unpleasant nature. Those rumors it contains answers to whatever one wishes to read about are fancy, nothing more. A trick to lure the unwary into temptation.”
Sophia continued sensing indifference from the book. Didn’t seem dangerous, evil, or even scary. “Let me guess… it’s a monkey’s paw?”
“Not as far as we know.” Callum flicked a bit of lint from his sleeve. “We don’t know much, though. My dear associate here refuses to open it.”
“With good reason.” Darren folded his arms.
“Really? No monkey paw? No horrible payment for whatever knowledge the book gives?” Sophia peered through her reflection at the innocent-seeming book. “So why is it locked in a case?”
Callum laughed. “To prevent anyone from stealing it. Or to ensure it doesn’t steal itself.”
Darren sighed.
“Steals itself?” asked Sophia.
“There are records indicating the book often changed location, apparently of its own accord… but always back to its preferred shelf.” Callum grinned as if teasing Darren with spooky stories. “Perhaps old man Crowley grew tired of people borrowing and not returning it, so he gave it an enchantment.”
“Pff.” Darren sighed louder. “You and I both know full well Crowley couldn’t have enchanted a light bulb to work when connected to electricity. I dare not mention where his interests lay in the company of our guest.”
Uh oh. Must be bad. Sophia cringed.
“Also, we haven’t figured out how to make it work.” Callum nudged Darren.
“Umm, it’s a book. They’re not difficult to operate.” Sophia put on an innocent face. “Can I look at it?”
Darren winced. “Perhaps in time. You are not near advanced enough for this tome.”
She lifted her arms and let them drop at her sides. “Oh, come on. No one spends this much time talking about an object unless it’s going to be pivotally important later on.”
The men blinked at her.
“I’m definitely going to end up reading this book at some point. Might as well skip the delay.” She smiled.
Darren laughed. “You may be right, but it shall not be this day. We’ve only two hours left for you to test the waters of elemental magic before your father returns to collect you.”
“Ugh. Okay.” Sophia turned away from the case and followed the men out of the library.
At the door, she peered back at the giant book. With the library lights off, the Tome of F Knowledge appeared to be shrouded in a faint golden glow.
Hope I don’t forget about it when it’s important.
7
The Magic of P
eaches & Cream
Completely underwater on a Saturday night.
Kinda sounds like the name of a concept album from one of those strange early Eighties bands Dad listens to, like the Talking Heads. Classic Hollywood loved to show vampires resting in coffins for some reason. The reality is closer to a tub full of opaque whitish-orange water. Not sure how many other vampires like to take hour-long soaks, but it can’t only be me. Full immersion solves a few minor nuisances. It keeps me warm all over and offers privacy in the event of a sibling invasion. My family also happened to get amazingly lucky by finding a house where the main bathtub is long enough so I don’t get stuck having to decide if my head, knees, or feet end up out of the water. Granted, most normal people leave their face above water intentionally. Breathing is important to mortals, after all.
Having another vampire go full Jackson Pollack on my chest and back with claws leaves me so tender I can’t wear a shirt comfortably. Even air blowing across the wounds is unpleasant, but fabric rubbing it? Ack. Thankfully, whatever they put in these P&C bath bombs is amazing. Not only does it make my skin silky smooth, it eases the sting from tainted undead claws. Got a feeling Bed Bath and Beyond isn’t going to use ‘soothes vampire wounds’ in their marketing campaign.
My thoughts go to weird places while I float here, hoping for the stinging to stop.
I forget who mentioned it, but at one of the soirees, someone told me ‘back in the day’ female vampires didn’t usually get involved in public violence. My daydreams play out a scenario of some woman vampire in a gown worthy of Aurélie getting into a claw fight, but the instant one of the hostile vamps shreds her dress, exposing her chest, all the men scream and avert their eyes as if they’d witnessed Medusa. You know, being gentlemen of the day and all.
The reason lady vampires didn’t fight back then is boobs gave them an unfair advantage.
It’s difficult to laugh underwater. Yeah, I know it’s silly and not at all true. If vampires got to the point they went claws out, it’s really unlikely they’d care much about decorum and avert their eyes from the bosom of the lady they tried to tear to pieces. Like, murdering her is just fine, but oh noes, don’t look at the bare skin. In those days, showing a little too much ankle could get a lady called unkind things in whispers.
Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances Page 5
