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  Sandu replied, with anger clear in his voice, “And as my frithaputhra and am’r-nafsh, Noosh is very much under my protection and the protection of all my friends. Which of course you are, Maxym, da?”

  “Oh, da, da, of course I am. You can count me as Noosh’s bodyguard, friend Vlad. Oh, I will guard her body, most certainly.”

  I managed by sheer force of will to tear my eyes from Maxym’s. He covered his surprise with a second small bow, complete with an ironic flourish of his hand, as his exit.

  I was alarmed by all of this and pissed at Sandu because obviously, there was a vast amount of stuff I hadn’t been told that I didn’t even know where to start with the questions. Wait, yes, I did.

  “Why is my being an am’r-nafsh exciting so much comment, Sandu?” I hissed, making his name almost a swear word. “Or shall I go back to calling you ‘Vlad’ like everyone else? Or maybe...Voivode?”

  He turned me around to face him, and to my utter and complete surprise, gave me a hug. I didn’t know if PDAs were acceptable in am’r etiquette, but it was decidedly the right thing to do for me at that moment. He spoke softly in my ear, “Draga mea, please continue to call me Sandu. As I have told you, I am a different man now. We am’r take so many names over the years, it can become confusing what to call an old friend. Or old enemy. But this is not the moment for me to explain all. Please give me time to get us alone, dragă Noosh, and I will endeavor to make you happy with me again.”

  Well, I couldn’t argue the sense of that. This wasn’t the place to get into a lover’s quarrel, nor to demand detailed explanations. I nodded my head against his shoulder, and he kissed my ear, then my cheek, and followed with a quick peck on the lips. Were we scandalizing the am’r, I wondered? I had not seen anything much in the way of any physical contact. It was all bows or polite inclinations of the head from outside the boundary of generous personal space. Were am’r more puritanical than Anne Rice and so many other writers fantasized? I’d not have guessed it from my three days of kinky heaven with Sandu, but obviously, there was a great deal I had not and could not have begun to have guessed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The guests had thinned out, although there were still some small groups talking amongst themselves. All the Romanian gang was gathered around Neplach, the Latins were chatting with the Middle Easterners, and Vulferam and Dubhghall were huddled with Cyrus and Eben. Bagamil was bouncing around all of them, but all the others had gone, to transfer allegiances or shore up their support base or whatever shifty politicking needed doing. I might not have known what the hell was going on tonight, but I wasn’t stupid. That this had been the opening night of the Am’r U.N. was clear.

  What problem was causing the am’r to organize to “promote international cooperation?” Sandu seemed to know at least some of it, and he hadn’t seen fit to share any of it with me on the way over. But then again, at this point, the overarching am’r issues that had come up tonight were a pretty distant second to my own personal and immediate issues. Sandu was going to have to talk until his throat was sore to make me “happy” with him again.

  Sandu did a raised-hand half-salute-half-wave-thing to the remaining am’r, and led me out through a door opposite where we’d entered the room. We went down one corridor, turned left, went upstairs, turned left again, then right, and after that up some more stairs. I despaired of ever finding my way around this warren without an escort. Will I have to keep notes on how to get from point A to point B for the next few decades? Do they maybe have some kind of useful GPS device for newbies? Or even just a map?

  At the end of the last corridor was our destination. The door had a carved design centered in it: what I made out to be a dragon, curved into a circle, its tail coiled around its neck. Running the length of the dragon’s back was a cross, painted blood-red. Sandu opened the door, then swept a bow to usher me in. There were more of the gently glowing green lights, but these were tiny and ran about the room like fairy lights. The ceiling was much lower and the room was room-shaped, not a raw cave, although one couldn’t go so far as to call the walls square by any means. Most of the wall space was taken up by tapestries, except for one wall, which showcased a long, straight sword, in a black scabbard with a little worked metal at various points along it, particularly the tip. It obviously had the place of honor, but it seemed a plain, workaday sword, with a cross-guard with flared tips and hilt decorated solely with what I would have called a Maltese cross. Other bladed weapons fanned out around it, from swords to knives of many shapes, some with fancy pommels, et cetera, but they obviously were not as important. The furniture continued in the heavy medieval theme: thick dark wood with wrought iron both decorative and functional. There were fleeces strewn on the floor; it looked like an entire flock of black sheep had died in the name of underfoot comfort.

  But what made it clear the space was Sandu’s were the precious old tomes, hardcover classics, and cheap paperbacks piled willy-nilly on tables and floor.

  This was the receiving room of Sandu’s suite. It had a few chairs, side tables, and lots of tapestries. The next chamber was monopolized by a huge four-poster bed with heavy tapestry curtains, wardrobes, and more tapestries covering the surrounding walls. The third and obviously most private room had a huge, heavy desk, so covered with papers and other detritus as to be functionally useless.

  This room had no tapestries; large exhibition-quality photographs lined the walls. From the invention of the camera to obviously current artists, the common theme was decidedly “Romania: its landscapes and culture.” All rooms had one thing in common: books everywhere. Piles of books. Looming stacks of books. Even books on shelves, under the art in the office-room. It made me both fall a bit more in love with him and also want to smack him silly because of his lack of care for the inestimably valuable books he casually left on the floor or in unstable towers on the desk. I mean, a messy stack of paperbacks is one thing, and there were plenty of those around the place. But other books, as tantalizingly ancient and irreplaceable as the ones in his library back in Blackacre, were haphazardly shoved in those piles a well.

  Blackacre. Wow. The thought of my life back in Centerville hit me hard. It seemed a million years ago, and the life of some other person. But it had been days—mere days—since I’d left there.

  Sandu found me in his office, staring into space, quietly freaking out. “Before we talk, draga mea, give me your mobile.” It was an odd request, but I dug my phone out of my bag and handed it over. He plugged it in to charge, along with his phone, in a socket in the rock wall. I was bemused. “We have electricity down here?”

  “We have our own electric generator, and many of the private rooms have outlets where computers and phones can be charged. But we do not yet have antennae for mobile service. This is just to keep it charged—you cannot use the phone or its network down here. However, you can access the internet through the computer. You may use mine,” a sweep of the hand to indicate his laptop, now on the floor beside his desk, “or there is an extra cable for your laptop. But there will be time for such things later.”

  “Yeah. We have some stuff to talk about.” I said this kind of flatly. There was still more than a little annoyance pinging through me. I plunked myself down on a threadbare Persian rug. The only chair in this room was behind the desk, and was already taken up with a stack of what looked to be a leather-bound collection of Milton’s greatest hits admixed with battered mid-1900s crime novels. Thus I demonstrated, I hoped, that I wasn’t going anywhere until we had indeed talked about stuff.

  Sandu melted down into a comfortable squat beside me. “Dragă Noosh, let me start by apologizing to you. I have meant to impart numerous details to you, but somehow I never did. Matters have moved precipitously, and they needed to, and I wanted them to—but I did not expect, ei bine, the distractions to be quite as distracting. Since I have met you, time has rushed in such a way that I feel I cannot keep up, when for many years, it has moved so tediously. I am not used to the pace since
we came together.”

  Well, it was a good start. But Sandu still owed me some massive explanations, and I was not going to let him off the hook by telling him I knew exactly how he felt. “So. This am’r-nafsh thing. Why is everyone so damn shocked I am here? I thought being an am’r-nafsh was a natural part of the process?”

  “And it is, draga mea, it is. However, we am’r tend to keep our am’r-nafsh out of the am’r world. We hide them, one could say. Am’r do not tend to congregate, and certainly we seldom dwell together. It has been tried, and when it did not succeed, we did not try again, for it is not in our natures. We are best when we spread apart. Most especially when we have an am’r-nafsh in our protection, we stay away from the other am’r. Once a frithaputhra has crossed over into being full am’r, then, well, they eventually go their own way in life. Very few stay together as Eben and Cyrus have done. As I hope you and I will do.”

  “But why do you keep the am’r-nafsh apart?” I asked, frustration leaking into my voice.

  “Ei bine, as you know, am’r-nafsh do not have the full strength of am’r. They are vulnerable, almost as much as kee. But more than that. It is in love we make our frithaputhraish: for companionship and for saving them from their mortality. Well, you could say that our frithaputhraish are our main weakness, and while they are am’r-nafsh, they are almost our Achilles’ heel.

  “And then there is the vhoon-am’r-nafsh.” Sandu paused and seemed unwilling to start again. “It is...more fragrant, more delectable than any kee. It is more…more nourishing to an am’r than vhoon-kee. This makes the bond between patar and frithaputhra all the stronger and sweeter because each is giving the other a most special gift. The longer the am’r and the am’r-nafsh vhoon-share, the stronger they can both become. As I give you strength through my blood, the blood you give back to me, mixed kee and am’r, makes me stronger yet. And, as I have told you, strength is all with the am’r.

  “Thus, the am’r are surprised because I brought you here when this many of us are gathering. Some will reckon I have handed them my Achilles’ heel. They do not understand why I have endangered myself like this.”

  “I’m more concerned with why you have endangered me like this.”

  “Ah. But you do not see. You are not really in danger, not when I am here to protect you. And what is more, you are also under Bagamil’s protection. You have met more am’r tonight who will fight for you as well since many have given their allegiance to Bagamil and to me. We will not let any harm come to you. Those am’r who have, ah, issues about why I brought you do not think that through. I will make it even more clear tomorrow. They will all know you are not to be touched, that Bagamil will destroy anyone who threatens you—if I do not get there first—and that many strong am’r will also stand between you and any threat.”

  “And you knew Bagamil would approve of me? And your friends?”

  “Yes. Of course. That was one reason I was late in returning to you. Before I came back to you, I went to Bagamil and spoke with him. I told him I had found someone who could solve the problem of our lack of tangible history, of organizing our past and telling our story to the am’r alive today and those to come. And I told him that I loved you and that I wanted to bring you back as one of us.”

  “But…but how could you have known you loved me? I mean, we’d only had two dates, if you could go so far as to call them that. How could you have decided to make me your frithaputhra, with all you tell me that means, on the basis of two dates and one kiss?”

  “Have you never heard of love at first sight, micuţo?”

  “Well, of course, but I don’t believe in it!”

  “Ei bine, then I do not know how to answer you. I have loved you since I saw you reading to those children in your library: your voice, animated with the story and sharing the love of reading. The sight of you, with your unruly black hair and storm-gray eyes, and soft ivory skin. The scent of you reaching out, tantalizing me. You were mouthwatering to me before you became my am’r-nafsh, dragă Noosh. Now you are unbearably delectable.”

  “Well, thank you. I think.” I could understand things a little better from an am’r perspective now, but there was still an am’r tendency to mix the language of romance and the language of gastronomy, which still disconcerted me. Does he look at me as a human-shaped buffet or the love of his life? I guessed the answer was both, for the am’r, and I wasn’t sure when I’d get used to it. That made me realize I was all-over uncomfortable, and not at all sure when—or if—I’d ever be comfortable again. Too much had happened in too short a time, and I still hadn’t processed either the fact I was now not really human anymore, or that I’d somehow signed up for a relationship more intense than marriage.

  Never mind I was now on the other side of the world, underground somewhere in a cave-system full of vampires, an unknown number of which were of the opinion I was the tastiest treat since sliced bread and that they could use me to get back at Vlad Dracula for centuries’ worth of unspecified vengeance.

  And to top it all off, I’d taken a new job without even giving notice at the Haw-Fuck-My-Life.

  I felt tired, lost, and homesick. Being at Sandu’s place in Blackacre was at least recognizably familiar and near-enough to my home, but where I was now was wholly alien. Even with Sandu there beside me, I felt alone.

  There was a knock on the door, which made me start like a small, terrified woodland creature. Sandu, however, was expecting it, since he got up to answer it, saying, “Ah, finally.” I did not see who was outside, but Sandu said, “Mulțumesc,” and came back with a tray of food. “Pălincă, ciorbă de burtă, papricaş de peşte, mămăligă, sarmale, plăcintă cu mere, cafea.” He pointed out each item. “I cannot share these beloved dishes with you, but the aromas bring back such memories. Eat them, please. I am happy that this way of sharing my love of my country is yet open to you.”

  The food was hot, and all of it was delicious. The aromas Sandu spoke of had made me realize I was starving. I ate as he directed: first, a shot of strong plum brandy. A small bowl of sweet and sour soup was followed by an amazing fish stew, thick cornmeal bread, delicious stuffed cabbage leaves, a delectable apple pie, strong coffee, and more of the plum brandy. I kept going until my stomach hurt. I wondered about the catering facilities in a vampire den but decided I felt too good to care.

  “Are you feeling any better, dragă Noosh?” Sandu asked, and I heard the anxiety in his voice. “I have said I would care for you, but I keep forgetting to feed you. It is a habit—and a pleasure—I lost long ago.”

  “That’s OK,” I said and was surprised to find I meant it, that I’d not added it to my list of complaints. “I never feel hungry these days until I remember that food exists.”

  “But you still need to eat, and more often. You are not feeding just yourself, but your patar as well. Even when you take vhoon back from me—as I so relish you doing—still, my drinking drains you far deeper, and you need other fuel to replenish what you’ve lost. I must help you remember to eat. And you must remind me to remind you.”

  At this point, I yawned. I couldn’t help it. Blame the full belly. And maybe the killer brandy, even if alcohol wasn’t supposed to affect me anymore.

  “And now I remind you to sleep. It has been a long, wearying time for you. You needed sustenance. Now you need rest.”

  I couldn’t disagree with him. Still. “And then more answers.”

  “Da, draga mea,” he said as he pulled me into the bedroom. “As many answers as you like. A lifetime of answers. Many lifetimes of answers.”

  I looked at the bed, which was profoundly inviting. But first...“Um, do am’r digs include bathrooms?”

  “Always my practical Noosh! Yes. For all the fuss that has been made, this is not the first time an am’r-nafsh or even a kee has been on these premises. I have invited am’r and their frithaputhraish here before, just not when I have had so many other guests.”

  “You invited? Your guests? Is this place your…house or palace
? This is all yours?”

  Sandu laughed. I pretended it was not at me. “Yes. This is mine. It is a work in progress. A ‘fixer-upper’ you might call it. I started it when I was still am’r-nafsh. There were tunnels already in București when I got there. We have never stopped making them, to deal with the Turk, with terrorists through the ages. But these tunnels, this hidden stronghold—the urban cavers have not found us. The pitiable homeless Bucureștenii, crammed wretchedly into the city’s tunnels, have not found us. The scientists and television crews have not found us. They will not find us. I have spent the centuries since I built București into a capital, spent them down here, making it safe and secure. I do not need to sleep in my ‘native soil,’ but when I sleep here, I truly rest.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me I was in the real Dracula’s castle? That’s so cool!”

  Sandu looked at me. “There are times I feel I know you as I know my own soul, dragă Noosh...and there are times I feel I shall never understand you. Ei bine, you asked for the lavatory. Follow me.”

  We went back out of his rooms and down a corridor for a bit. There was a door in the right wall, which, when I poked my head in, turned out to be an extremely primitive privy: a cold stone seat over a long, long drop. “Well,” I said, disheartened, “this continues the medieval theme all too faithfully.”

  “I am sorry. There has not been much reason to update it. Now that you are here, we can of course renovate to suit you. I will see you back in the bedroom.”

  I cannot recommend medieval jakes. When I got back to the room, the traces of dinner had vanished, and Sandu was turning down the bedcovers. Dracula, my own personal ladies’ maid.