Blood Ex Libris Page 13

  “We have been thus for as long as I remember, which is far longer than you can imagine: isolated, secluded, and self-contained. We would have continued to go on this way for as long again, perhaps, except there seems to be a—well, let us call it a force—gathering together like a gang or faction, but with far too much power and growing influence. I do not like the direction in which this is going, and neither does your patar, nor others of our kind. It seems we must also gather to counter this threat.”

  Listening to this, my imagination had pretty well failed in the face of a vastly weirder reality. “What do you need me for, then? I mean, I can’t imagine I bring much to the party.”

  “Ah, do not doubt yourself! We have no one trained as you have been, and, as Sandu has told me, with the passion you bring to your art. As you may imagine, we have many documents: histories, monographia, philosophical works, which deal with the am’r and how we began, how we have evolved, and who we are as a race. We need all of this collected, sorted, safely stored, and made digitally available to all the am’r, so we can move forward with correct thought and right order. It seems to me you are uniquely perfect for this task. Thus, you bring much to the party. We also would receive the benefit of your new points of view. You could shake us up where we are stuck in old ways.”

  He paused, and smiled but asked seriously, “That said, frithaputhra-of-my-frithaputhra, will you consider sharing with us your skills and your knowledge and your youthful freshness? Will you help us fight chaos with order?”

  How could I refuse? It was nothing more than the goal of my life, the organizational and methodological idealism that is the keystone of every librarian’s soul. How often outside a librarian’s wildest fantasies are we called in like superheroes to save the day? Indeed, part of our job, part of our very selves, is our thankless toil, quietly saving culture and society from the barbarians at our doors. Although nowadays, “barbarians” are lowest-common-denominator shows and social media influencers, a society in which educating kids comes dead last in priorities and science is seen as the enemy, and whacked-out ideologists and fanatics want to ban knowledge and burn books. We are the invisible organizers who quietly save the stacks of human knowledge while the past, present, and future Romes burn. We do not get capes or costumes of spandex. We do not find ourselves starring in the sorts of novels we usually shelve in the romantic fiction section.

  So I could not say no as a librarian, nor could I say no as plain old me. I mean, if a bunch of vampires comes along and says, “Oh, our hero, save us!” whose ego is such that they could wave a hand and say, “Oh, ‘fraid not, sorry. I’m too busy with more important stuff just now. Good luck, buh-bye!” Whoever that person might be, well, it was not me.

  But then again, I’d already made one huge life choice without any input except from my hindbrain, as it were. I was still caught up in ridiculous consequences of that decision, so maybe this next one warranted a moment’s consideration?

  But when I thought about it, what they were offering me was just the sort of promotion I had been longing for—and telling myself I was not longing for, no, not even a little—back at the Helen Abigail Winstringham-Fenstermacher Memorial Library. It was not like I was going to go out and fight bad guys on the front line or whatever. I was going to simply be sorting scrolls and copying codexes, scanning and cataloging, in some back room.

  Or back cavern, if current surroundings are anything to go by, so at least temperature and light wouldn’t a problem, and conditions would be stable, but I was going to have to insist on getting in hardcore measures to deal with humidity and air quality, and immediately dealing with deteriorating leather, never mind papyrus, parchment, wood, and silk, with red rot, and with pest management.

  Once I started thinking about the details, I felt better. I could do triage and set up the right preservation environment, then scan or otherwise transfer to digital each item as I cataloged it. I could figure out the organizational system as I went along, seeing what we had, and work up the digital archive based on that. Of course, while it all took but a moment to list, I’d be needing my new longer life—existence, whatever—if I was to see such a job through to completion.

  So, really, what was the difference to my life—except now it seemed I’d be doing it all underground? And what was the difference between a cave and the basement of some of the library buildings I’d worked in? Not much. If I was to be stuck in front of a computer for endless hours day in and day out, it didn’t matter if I was above or belowground.

  I wasn’t disappointed. Sure, I’d chosen to be the New Noosh™. But hey, I was in another country, surrounded by vampires, and all this alarming, high-speed reality had knocked some sense into me. It seemed that despite my impetuous choice, I’d be landing on my feet and doing the job I’d trained to do, not starring in some crazy novel after all. I was relieved, to be honest. And of course, I’d be around Sandu, which meant plenty of amazing sex and other luxuries to which I’d like to become accustomed. It looked like I might well be able to have my cake and eat it, too. I’d never wanted to leave the world of books, just the world of boring.

  This was an adventure perfectly made to fit me: not too big, not too small. Just right.

  I looked up and saw Bagamil watching me. Sandu was hovering over his shoulder, looking more anxious and uncertain than I’d ever seen him. It didn’t look right on him. I wanted to wipe that worried look off his face and never see it again, so I smiled at both of them and said, “All right, boys, I’m on board! Show me to the books!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Of course, it’s never that easy. I didn’t get to see my new charges that night, or day, or whatever it was aboveground. First, Sandu had to schmooze with old friends. Random am’r wandered over to us in singles or groups. All in all, it was a bit like any cocktail party I’d ever attended, only without the cocktails.

  The first ones up were what I could only think of as “Vlad’s Romanian Crew.” They came over in a group of six, Haralamb and Dragomir having joined the party in the intervening time. I got to meet Daciana, my first female am’r. I looked her over carefully, which was fine since she was doing the same to me. As with the other am’r I’d met, she took a long sniff, and I wondered if that was a standard thing. She had gorgeous wavy chocolate-brown hair and green eyes that were shockingly beautiful in her pale, heart-shaped face. I liked her right away and hoped she’d like me.

  “Hello,” she said, her thick Romanian accent shaping the English words in a velvety way. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you…Noosh?”

  “Yes, ‘Noosh’ is right! It is a pleasure to meet you, as well,” I tried to say her name just as Sandu had said it, “Dah-chyahn-ah.”

  “I am sure you must have many questions,” she said to me. “I would be happy to answer any you would like to ask.”

  “Oh, yes!” I said, embarrassingly gushing eagerness and gratitude. “I’d like that very much, please!” But I didn’t get to ask her anything because Cătălin and Atanase and Răzvan were all introducing themselves with the stereotypical eagerness of a guy’s male buddies to meet the new girlfriend, and Haralamb and Dragomir were acting cool because they already knew me. It made meeting everyone much easier because it was just like any other human gathering.

  And since I am not particularly socially ept at the best of times, I’d take all the help I could get.

  I liked all the Romanian am’r. They were approachable, with real smiles that showed as much in their eyes as the curves of their lips, and they all welcomed with me enthusiastically and congratulated Sandu—some called him “Voivode” and some were on a first-name basis—as if he and I had gotten married. Well, I guess we had, in the am’r way, although it was something I still wasn’t letting myself contemplate too deeply.

  Next up was Neplach, who, in black robes, with a shaved head and a long beard, managed to look much like a monk or something, and to whom Sandu was warm and genuinely respectful. I figured he must be an aojysht or whatever t
he word was. He was politely formal in return and greeted me with a deep bow.

  Gilles followed, with whom Sandu was cool and careful. I was almost anxious about what correct greeting I should give him, but he just sniffed a bit, then bowed a bare inch in my direction and said, “Enchanté, ma belle mad’moiselle.” He turned to Sandu and spoke low in rapid French, ignoring me. I was fine with that.

  A beautiful woman came up next. Her skin was a warm dark brown, perfect to the point of looking photoshopped. She wore her hair in thick fishtail braids, and two narrower ones came forward and around her forehead like a thin band, wrapping back to overlay the ends of the other braids at the back of her head. The remainder whooshed out into a cloud of blackness that caught the light in strange and fascinating ways. Her features were delicate and her face heart-shaped, her eyes perfect almonds lined dramatically with kohl. Sandu introduced her as Melesse, and her greetings were made in a flowingly accented soft voice and with a graceful bow. There was a burning confidence in her dark eyes that contrasted with the soft speech and elegant manners. She was subtle with her sniffing, but I could sense her curiosity about me.

  There was no time to consider that because a trio of variously Hispanic and Latin sorts came up. Apolinar, whose flowing black hair made him look like a hidalgo of old, and Serapio, the quintessential Eurotrash, more fashionable than I would ever be, made much of me, sketching elaborate bows. It was fun. Tecla was tall and sturdily built, wearing battered old motorcycle leathers and boots. She had hair that was dark and curly with bleached streaks on top and shaved sides. She managed to bow to me while thoroughly checking me out with her eyes and nose the whole time. It didn’t feel skeezy like it would have if a man had done it, but I did find myself blushing and even shyer.

  Next up was a tall am’r with café au lait skin and a marvelously beaky nose. His shiny black hair, which would have curled if it had not been cut so short, was outdone only by his eyes, which were an even shinier black. Anoub was gravely polite to me, with a serious and precise incline of his head and barely a twitch of his nostrils. He somberly asked Sandu if he could speak with him later. Sandu gravely replied in the affirmative.

  Next up was an odd duo. Vulferam was one of those huge Germans with thick reddish-blond hair and icy blue eyes. Dubhghall was slimmer and shorter, with black hair and friendlier blue eyes. Both had the air of the barbarian about them and laughed loudly and frequently. Sandu was honestly pleased to see them. Both bowed formally to me but grinned widely and informally as they did it. They made no bones about sniffing my scent appreciatively, either. “So you’re the wee lass who has at last woken Sandu up from his long dry spell,” Dubhghall teased, “When was the last quine to drive ye bampot, Vladie? The Victorian era?”

  Sandu faked boxing him on the ear. “I will not have you telling tales about me, Pict.”

  Vulferam joined in. “What was her name? Minnie? Wilma? Such a fool you made of yourself over her. But this one, she is vakker. And smart, too! Frøken Noosha, you are a perfect distraction for a man! Thank you for making our brother so happy. He was a sour old man, and we were tired of him! Now he is young again, thanks to you!”

  I side-eyed Sandu and he hustled his troublemaker friends along. I would have to ask him about “Minnie from the Victorian era.” I could have sworn he’d said he was not in England at that time.

  Two other am’r came up to us, and Sandu turned to them with evident relief. “Eben. Cyrus. So good to see you both here. Noosh, here you have some fellow countrymen.”

  “Good t’meet an American lady abroad,” said Eben in what sounded to me like an English accent. He bowed with easy grace and inhaled very politely. The second accent I recognized as Cyrus dipped his head, sniffed quickly, then chimed in, “It sure is a pleasure, Miz Noosh. How you findin’ things? It was a real shock for me comin’ here the first time. If I hadn’ta had Eben here, I don’t know what I’d’a done.”

  Sandu chimed in, “You will find this quite romantic, draga mea. Eben is from the North, from around the time of your War of Independence. Cyrus is a Southerner from the start of the twentieth century, nu, Cyrus?”

  “Yessir. I became am’r thanks to Eben in 1906, and I stuck ’round him ever since. He just can’t get rid of me, po’ man.” Eben smiled warmly at his frithaputhra, and Cyrus slid an arm around his patar. Eben had gray eyes like mine, a sculpted patrician face, and chestnut hair pulled back in a short ponytail. And sideburns. No, more than sideburns—full, luxurious muttonchops. That made me realize how few am’r I’d seen with any facial hair. So far, only Neplach had a beard, and Mister Sunshine sported the Freddie-stache. He lacked only a white wig to look like he was back in his birth century. Cyrus had sepia-toned skin and huge, liquid brown eyes behind ridiculously long eyelashes. A low, wide nose, and his smile flashed brilliantly from lush, full lips. I could see why Eben wouldn’t ever want to be parted from him.

  I wondered if the percentage of gay people in am’r relationships was similar to the kee world. Or maybe, as Anne Rice imagined, most of the am’r I’d met tonight were queerer than three-dollar bills? Am’r show tune sing-alongs later tonight? This cavernous space would make a great place for a rave. I had to stop myself from giggling.

  Sadly, Eben and Cyrus moved on, and Mahtab and Azar were next in line. They bowed with warm formality, and both were ridiculously handsome, with liquid dark-brown eyes, lightest olive skin, and thick, wavy black-brown hair. They greeted me with gentility and kindness and a certain amount of nostril gymnastics but subtly maneuvered it such that Sandu ended up turned aside, talking with them in low, urgent tones. Two more am’r joined them—Chausiku and Nthanda, who made silent bows to me during perfunctory introductions and immediately stepped into the hushed confab. With nothing left to do, I admired them. One was so richly dark that the greenish light became purplish on his skin, and his dark eyes flashed intriguingly. The other had more mocha skin, with a fascinating flattened face that seemed like it was composed of rounded planes. His smile, when he’d smiled at me, was amazing and infectious, but his face was terribly serious as he murmured with the others. I was left out and was all too painfully aware of looking like brainless arm-candy who was good for bringing to a social event but not up to engaging in grown-up talk with the big boys.

  This gave another female am’r a chance to come over and bow to me sinuously, as if her spine had extra vertebra. “Shalom! Is it ‘Noosh?’” she asked. She was shorter than most of the other am’r but had glorious honey-warm skin. Her thick, curling hair was practically the same color, with hypnotically warm golden-brown eyes. She was deliciously voluptuous and wore a black dress that demonstrated she knew how to work those curves.

  “Yes, just ‘Noosh.’ Really.”

  “I am called Astryiah. Welcome to the am’r. This must be overwhelming for you, and you are doing very well. I remember my introduction many, many years ago. I am glad never to have to go through it again!”

  “You are too kind, Astryiah. It is pretty intense, to be honest. But as you see,” and here I gestured to Sandu and the absorbed knot, “not too much is expected of me.”

  “Do not be too certain of that, Noosh. You are being observed. Our kind look for weakness in prey, as any predator does. They contrast your strengths with their strengths. They sniff out your emotions and fears.” As if this were not disconcerting enough, she was very obviously sniffing me, her nostrils moving minutely but appreciably. She saw me notice this and said quickly, “Excuse me, but it is rare to meet another’s am’r-nafsh. Even rarer, I would say, to meet Vlad’s. You give off a most exotic perfume, so there will be many sniffing around you. I mean this figuratively and literally.”

  “Why would you not often, um, sniff am’r-nafsh?” I asked, perplexed. “Don’t they normally live with the am’r?”

  “You do not know?” Amazement was on her face and in her voice. “Can he have not told you?”

  “Shalom, Astryiah,” Sandu interjected. “It is excellent to see you again. It ha
s been a very long time, has it not?”

  “Indeed, Vlad. Perhaps we shall have time to speak together and catch up some of those years?” Sandu inclined his head to her, she inclined hers to him and to me, and moved off with that unworldly am’r grace.

  I wanted time to speak with Sandu rather urgently myself. What had he neglected to tell me this time? But Hisao—gorgeous in his own way, with pearl-like skin and beautifully upturned dark eyes—introduced himself to me. His straight black hair was cut like an anime character’s. He bowed to us both with knife-like precision. “Konbanwa, Dracula-san. We meet at an interesting time.”

  “Indeed, Hisao-san. I am pleased you were able to make it. There will be much for us to discuss.”

  “And perhaps time for us to...reminisce together, as old friends?”

  “Certainly. The onsen is still in good order. I will make time for hadaka no tsukiai. Tomorrow?”

  They nodded at each other, and Hisao wandered away without saying another word. I had always thought courtly intrigue—all this whispering and planning in obscure ways could be nothing but intrigue—would be exciting, but it was just tedious. Maybe it was more exciting if you had some idea of what was going on and were not being kept on the sidelines. I was going to have to talk to Sandu about catching me up and involving me, at least to the extent to which I could be helpful. I wasn’t going to just stand around gormlessly.

  Next up was a somewhat slimy-looking am’r. I disliked him on sight. While his black hair was greased back, that feeling of unctuousness came from the deviousness oozing from his pores. His black eyes squinted. The rest of his face was classically handsome, but I couldn’t find him attractive. Sandu was tense again. “Maxym. Dobryj vyechyer.”

  “Vlad.” He lowered his head a fraction and turned to me, “And Vlad’s frithaputhra.” His bow to me kept an intense eye-contact that was physically nauseating. “And she is still only am’r-nafsh. How, ah, refreshing.” His nose quivered. I had not known you could use the movement of nostrils both offensively and threateningly, but Maxym did with his pointed intake of air. Also, he still possessed my eyes in that slimy, uncomfortable contact. He was trying to fascinate me, to see if he could get me under his control.