“Well, that may be the case, but you of all people should have been talking to me about it. I didn’t even know how many things I had wrong. I mean, I always just assumed everyone in the vampire world knew about the prophecy, and then you tell me they didn’t, that no one knew, and now Jason tells me he was studying Lilithian History at college and read the scroll, which he doesn’t believe is a prophecy at all, and”—I finally exhaled, throwing my hands up—“I’m really confused.”
Arthur turned back around. “Jason’s right. But he’s also wrong.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are many lies for us to sift through. Morgaine is not lying, and I’m not one hundred percent sure she’s aware of her misinterpretations, either.”
“So, you don’t think it’s deliberate?”
“She’s been by herself all these centuries, Amara. She’s been one of only twenty Lilithians allowed to walk the light, and any information she has come across that gave her hope for a better future she’s held onto like a precious stone.”
My shoulders dropped.
“She may have incorrectly interpreted the scrolls but look at all she has achieved because of that.” He stepped into me. “It was her knights who stormed Elysium and rescued you. It was her interpretation of the scrolls that saw hundreds of Vampires and Lilithians follow a young girl—possibly to their deaths. Of course I have not spoken with you of the correct interpretation, because everything good we have here is based on what Morgaine started. And that is more than enough to have brought freedom to many who were suffering.”
I didn’t realize I was standing on my toes until I relaxed back and felt shorter again. “Are you saying I shouldn’t meddle in this, because the lie works?”
“It’s not a lie, my lady. It’s a misconception, and that’s the truth. The problem with that is, no matter how many men read those scrolls, it is subject to the opinion of the interpreter.”
“Do you even think there is a prophecy?”
He hesitated. “I hope so.”
Mike came out from the east wing staircase and started toward us then. “Hey, Ara, what’s up?”
“Library,” Arthur said quietly, touching my arm. “Eight o’clock tonight.”
I nodded, and he disappeared. “Hey, Mike. What’re you doing?”
“Heading home for the night.”
“Home?”
“Yep.”
I noticed the duffle bag over his shoulder then. “Why?”
“Well, aside from the fact that I am clearly not needed here,” he said spitefully, but smiled at me after, “there’s a bit of a problem with Emily.”
“Is she okay?”
He shook his head. “She just screamed down the phone at me—told me to admit that I don’t love her.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Guess I’ve just been so busy I haven’t really had time to call her and tell her otherwise.”
“Mike,” I groaned. “You always do this.”
“Do what?” He followed me to the front door.
“You were great when you were with me, but before that, half those girls you dated ended up as sobbing piles of neglected waste. You… I don’t know, it’s like you want them there when you need them, and that’s it.”
“It’s not like that with Em.” He sighed and opened the door. “Okay, in truth, it might’ve been like that with the others because I didn’t love them, but I do love Emily.”
I shrugged, staying inside as he stepped onto the front landing. “It’s not me you need to convince.”
He leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see ya tomorrow. Oh, before I go”—he pulled out his phone and stood beside me, holding it up—“I gotta snap a recent pic for your mom and dad. I’ll drop by and tell them all about my holiday to Paris.”
I smiled for the photo, stepping away from Mike after. “Tell Dad I said hi, and give Sam a slap for me.”
“Will do.”
“And take your time, Mike. We’re okay here,” I said, leaning on the doorframe.
“No, I gotta be back tomorrow arvo for training.”
“Why? We can train without you.”
He grinned. “I know. But I’m sparring with your dead husband’s brother again.”
I shook my head, groaning, and slammed the door in his face. “Pig.” I couldn’t believe he’d rather get back here to kick Jason’s butt than stay and make sure his fiancé felt loved. That poor girl. A part of me started to wonder if maybe she deserved better than Mike.
“She does.” Jason popped up out of nowhere.
“God, don’t do that.” I pressed a hand to my heart.
“Sorry.” He walked alongside me toward the stairs. “Did you get Arthur on board?”
“Yup. Eight.”
“Okay.” He bounded off. “See you then.”
“Bye.” I waved.
* * *
After pressing send on a dad-appeasing email, I sat back and looked out the giant window in the library. My Upper House had kindly fitted a few desks with modern research tools—called computers—and were in the process of digitally cataloguing all the books. We’d even hired a librarian, who would arrive in about three days.
Beside me, a few neutrally-colored hardbacks gave off a stuffy, moldy kind of smell. I slipped my fingers under the one on top and dragged it down in front of me, swiping some of the dust from the cover before gently opening it. The pages were old and yellowing on the edges, kind of stuck together, so it took a bit of extra care and effort to part some without tearing them.
I read over the titles and text of historical events, looking for something of interest, and each time I flipped a page, the scent of ancient paper became stronger, almost reminding me of the way libraries smelled when I was a kid.
Halfway through the book, an image stared back at me, one I knew well from my studies at school: Vlad the Impaler, enjoying lunch around a forest of staked bodies.
“This is one of my favorite books,” Jase said, pointing to the page. “All these stories are the human versions of historical events, and here”—he flipped one page over—“are the original versions.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He smiled and sat down beside me. “Sorry, I probably should have said that first.”
I laughed to myself, studying the image again. “So you guys started the Vlad legend?”
“Yup. Drake did, actually.”
“How?”
His eyes flicked over the page a few times, a small smile on his lips, then he looked up. “That’s right, now I remember. Drake was fond of impaling as punishment, used it for offenses like infidelity or cruelty to one’s wives.”
“Really? Cruelty I can understand, but infidelity?”
“Yeah, and this picture”—he flipped the page back over to ‘Picnic Impalement’—“this is a depiction that Drake himself described to the original artists, so it could be published in a local news rag, showing what would be done to any who continued to break those bonds.”
“Bonds?”
“Marriage bonds. The promise to love, honor, protect and obey.”
“He’s big on promises?”
“Vows, yes.”
“Wow.” I ran my fingers over the page, studying the face of Vlad. “This looks nothing like Drake.”
“I know.” Jason stood up and wandered across the room. “It wasn’t supposed to.”
“Oh.”
“Hi, Ara.”
I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at Nate as he walked into the library—that confident human bounce still a part of his step. “Hey, Nate. What’s up?”
“Nommuch.” He leaned on the table beside me, his hands under his butt. “Bored. What you doin’?”
“Just looking at this. You might be interested in this book, actually,” I said, turning it around for him to see. “It’s all about stories that were made up by vampires.”
“Vlad the Impaler,” he read aloud, squinting at the page. “What’s impalin
g?”
I pointed to the image of men speared through their midsections on sticks rising up out of the ground. “He would sharpen the tips of stakes, oil them up so they slid in slowly. Then, the victim’s legs would be tied with ropes strapped to horses and other objects, and Vlad would have them lowered onto the point very, very slowly. It could sometimes take days for them to die.”
I didn’t know it was possible, but the vampire nearly turned green. “Yeah. Um, I think I’ll pass. Got any books on sports?”
I laughed out loud, my heart warming to the sound of Jason’s chuckle coming from across the room.
“What’s up, Nate?” Jase said, cupping hands with him then bumping shoulders. “Not feeling too good?”
“How can you guys talk about that stuff like it’s on topic at a Bible reading?” He shoved the book away, closing it.
“We’re used to it,” Jason said, massaging my shoulders gently.
“Well”—Nate looked up to the wall of books—“I think I’ll try the comedy section. Arthur says I should read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.”
“It’s on the second floor,” I said, smiling as Nate walked away. “He’s a sweet guy.”
“Yep. One of the better vampires in this community.”
I nodded, shuffling the papers on the desk. “I never knew him in life, but everyone said he was a good guy. Seems to be true.”
“You don’t… like him, do you?”
Sharp insult turned my lip. “Jason!”
“Sorry.” He stepped back, palms raised. “Just asking.”
“God, I don’t like every guy that walks in the room.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… you know, there’s a lot of guys around this place, and—”
“And there are a lot of girls, too.”
“Yeah, but you don’t talk to the girls.”
I huffed, folding my arms. “You wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because boys aren’t whiny and nosey and bitchy. I like video games and running around and joking about things of bad taste. The girls don’t. They’re boring. All they wanna do is shop and talk about boys, and judge each other for their hair styles or how loudly they laughed.” I held my hands up, maybe in defense or maybe to push my point home. “I’m sorry, I just don’t enjoy that sorta thing. I never have.”
“You’ve got a point.”
I slumped down lower in the chair, fingertips to my brow. “Why does everyone always think the worst of me?”
“I don’t, sweet girl.” He turned my chair and squatted down in front of me, a hand to my knee. “I just… you talk about the boys all the time. You laugh with them, joke with them, but it makes sense—you getting along better with boys. It all makes more sense now.”
“I know the lines, you know.” I looked into his warm green eyes. “I can think a guy is cute, I can want to give him a hug when he’s down, care about him, it doesn’t mean I’m falling for him.”
“I know.”
“No you don’t, Jase. I thought you were the one person who’d actually get me, and yet you just said that.” I aimed a hand at the desk to indicate his insulting question about Nate. “I’ve always been a touchy-feely person,” I explained. “I still held my mom’s hand when I was fourteen; laid in bed with Mike and cuddled him when we weren’t even together; touch people when I feel like they’re sad. It’s just how I am, and if that’s misconstrued then…” I shook my head, frustrated to tears. “I just…”
“It’s not you, Ara.” Jase hung his head. “If I’m honest. I was only being playful, but I guess the question was laced with a bit of jealousy.”
“For what? Nate?”
“Maybe for the fact that you can be so relaxed around him,” he confessed. “You can’t be that way with me, for obvious reasons.”
After a moment, I sighed. “I don’t blame you for saying that. I mean, I never really understood the lines before. I never knew the difference between what it felt like to love a friend and what it felt like to love someone more, which is maybe because I was in love with the only guy friend I was close with. But it’s clear now. And I think Nate is sweet and an absolute gem of a person, but I don’t have feelings for him other than a friend.”
He nodded, looking down at his hand on my leg. “I really am sorry, Ara.”
“Don’t be sorry, okay.” I stood up, agitation coming with me. “I kinda… I guess I just get sick of Mike always thinking I’m gonna cross lines with people, and then telling the guards to watch me for it.” I ushered a hand to Falcon, walking too casually past the door—again. “I’ve learned now that I give off the wrong signals by being playful and affectionate with people, and I’m more careful, but Mike can’t see that.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to see it.” Jason came up behind me, his fingers draping my shoulders.
“What do I have to do to prove to him that I’m not that confused, messed-up little girl I was when I left him at the altar?”
Jason’s fingers tightened comfortingly; he pressed his lips to the back of my head. “Give it time, sweet girl. He’ll see one day—he’s just gonna be the last, is all.”
I nodded, touching my hand to his.
The cuckoo clock chimed eight and, right on cue, Arthur walked in carrying a set of keys. He waltzed straight over to the middle of the room, shifted the oak table aside like it was plastic, and kicked the rug back, bending down.
“What are you doing?” I appeared beside him.
“Opening the scroll room hatch.”
“Hatch?”
“Yep, hatch.” Jason grabbed my arms gently and walked me backward as the ground sunk where I was standing.
Arthur pulled the giant key out from a dent in the stone and stepped back too. “Jason, go get a lantern, please.”
I leaned closer and peered into the cold musty-smelling space, coughing into my hand. “When was the last time anyone was down there?”
“A few weeks ago. Morgaine went down to make a copy of the scrolls.”
“Does she know we’re going in there tonight?”
Arthur hesitated. “No.”
“Hey, Nate?” Jason called out, passing a lantern to Arthur.
“Yerp?” Nate’s head popped over the railing on the next floor.
“Keep watch. Anyone comes, holler.”
“Sure thing.” He saluted and disappeared over the railing again.
* * *
“All right. Let me show you my theory,” Jason said, tweezing a corner of the scroll to flatten it.
I leaned in closer, holding the candle up to see the text. “That’s a lot of weird symbols.”
“Yup. So, I’ve interpreted these runes to the ancient language.” He pointed to a sheet of paper beside the scroll. “And here, I’ve translated the ancient language to English. Now, see the words in brackets here?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve underlined those words on this page. What that means is that there are a few different interpretations from the symbols to the spoken words, and even to English. We have several words that can mean what these do.” He pointed to the three underlined words.
“So, this symbol that looks like a fork with curly prongs can mean…” I tried to read the words in the ancient language on the next page, but couldn’t even begin to pronounce them, so I went straight to the English translation. “Pure one, noble or even clean?”
“Yep.”
I looked at Arthur. “Do you agree with that, Arthur?”
“I’ll look them over once you’re done,” he said from the armchair across the room, keeping his eyes on the few loose leaves he was reading.
Jason rolled his eyes when I looked back at him. “Anyway, as you can see, the English translation reads: A time will come for the Pure One to rise. In Her reign of light and hope, she will free the land of the fated curse and bear a child with great power.” He grabbed the other piece of paper and placed them side-by-side. “Here’s where it gets tricky. See, this line says something
along the lines of A child, possible only if conceived of pure”—he pointed to the English words—“but can also mean noble blood: knight. Not necessarily even knight with a capital K.”
“Then it could be any knight, any man of noble blood?”
“Right, and this word”—he pointed to another between the words ‘born as’ and ‘son’—“this symbol actually has no translation. It’s similar to a word meaning firstborn, but also to one meaning disguised.”
A line of question marks floated past my eyes. “That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
Arthur glanced up from his papers and watched us for a second. He looked like an old man, like he should be wearing a silk robe, smoking a pipe while drinking Scotch. I smiled at him; he didn’t smile back.
“Then it goes on, and this is the bit that always had me confused.” He showed the base of the original scroll. “This mark here is like a number from a filing system—it’s something you find on ancient Vampirian legal documents.”
“Legal documents?” My brow pinched, trying in vain to make sense of all the puzzle pieces. “But it’s a prophecy, isn’t it?”
“Precisely,” Jase said, folding his arms beneath a smug grin.
“Then… what does that mean?”
“I suspect”—he looked at Arthur—“that this isn’t actually a prophecy at all, but a contract.”
My frown deepened. Arthur sat taller.
“What do you mean, like, someone signed my child over to Drake?”
“Could even be that someone signed you over to him—promised you’d be born.”
“So the pureblood—the noble—could that be me?”
“No. I don’t think so. All we can say for certain is that it talks about a child with pure blood and, like I said, I think this symbol means it wasn’t a foretold child, but a promised one.”
“Do you think Drake made a deal with someone?” My eyes widened. “Maybe even Peter?”
“All right. That’s enough.” Arthur stood, dumping his pages on the lamp table. “Stop filling the girl’s head with your stories, son.”
“But, Uncle Arthur—”
“I said that’s enough.” Arthur grabbed the lantern and took me by the wrist. “If you have even half a brain, my dear, you will stop worrying about what these scrolls say and start worrying about an heir.”
Dark Secrets Box Set Page 184
