Blood Ex Libris Read online

  “And this is Yiğit bey,” Sandu interrupted tonelessly, moving my attention along to the next of Mehmet’s posse. I was eager enough not to be interacting with Mehmet that I bowed overenthusiastically to a startled Yiğit, who returned the bow while murmuring a greeting that could have been English or any other language but which was too mumbled to make out.

  I exchanged nods with each member of the posse as they came through. They all had their variations on the themes of facial hair and too-sharp suits, and their names were all tongue-twisters I had to try to get right the first time: Demirkan, Ertuğrul, Oğuzhan, Cüneyt, Karadağ, Zeynel.

  Finally, there was no one left to meet, watch their nostrils wriggle, and attempt not to mangle their name. Sandu and I went back through the throng of am’r, who’d gathered in a rough crescent around Bagamil and the long table. Bagamil was standing at the head, not yet seated. Various am’r had already seated themselves in the available chairs. Everyone else crowded around, looking like they were totally fine with not being seated at the table. I wondered for how many this was true.

  Sandu took a seat to Bagamil’s right, with Neplach on his other side. I stood behind his tall-backed chair. In another life, I might have had an issue with standing behind a seated man. Today, there was no flame of feminism in my heart because not being directly in view of all these assembled am’r was totally fine with me. Hiding behind Sandu’s chair, to be painfully honest, seemed seriously the better part of valor, right at this moment.

  Bagamil did all the talking. It might be Sandu’s, um, underground castle—or lair, or even warren—but Bagamil was obviously the one in charge, and Sandu, in his function as the Notorious Vlad The Impaler, Infamous Am’r Of Story And Song, was obviously supposed to just sit there and look pretty.

  A nice turnaround. Pleasing.

  Bagamil laid out the background premise: the am’r were too isolated, so to take the best advantage of science and technology in this age, they needed to learn how to work together and share information.

  He’d avoided the dread buzzword “community,” which was undoubtedly wise on his part.

  Horrifyingly, at this point, he brought me into the picture, although no one made me come forward and do a PowerPoint or anything, explaining the idea for an am’r historical archive, and how they now had an “archivist and information scientist among our number.” Never had these titles been given such weight and importance. While my fellow librarians would never know about it, I swelled with pride for our whole profession: the science and the art!

  When Bagamil paused before his next line of reasoning, a voice came across the table. One I already knew and disliked: Mehmet’s.

  “If I may ask, ‘Bagamil,’” he said the name with obvious air quotes, “why do we need this ‘archive?’ What purpose does it serve? We know who and what we are, surely. There is nothing in old manuscripts to teach us how to be am’r—unless there is an am’r Kama Sutra, perhaps? I think I know all the ways to sup from,” here he looked knowingly and disgustingly at me, “a sweet girl…or a plump boy. Still, I would be willing to have a look and see if there is some thrilling technique the ancients could teach me.”

  There was an obliging chuckle from many throats.

  Well, crap, I might as well be in a frat house. A vampire frat house.

  It was the most disconcerting thought of all the disconcerting thoughts so far, in this whole mad adventure. Did centuries of life not raise one’s sense of humor above The Benny Hill Show?

  “A good question, my dear Fatih.” Bagamil was obviously prepared for hecklers in the crowd. “And it brings me to my next point, and the main reason I gathered us here this night. A number of am’r—I list not them all, but if it is not you yourself, it could well be one sitting next to you—have come to me with grave stories of being approached, and in some cases attacked, by other am’r recently. There seems to be a faction that has come to associate themselves with the myth of the jinn and seem to think they themselves have taken on the powers and characteristics of these ‘genie’ spirits from kee legend and fable.

  “These misguided young am’r are looking for a sense of belonging, for a powerful history, for pride in their culture and inheritance. Do they get that from the am’r as we are now? No. We have a proud heritage indeed, but we do not have any resources for them. And how many of you aojyshtaish would be willing to teach history classes or do seminars on the history of am’r culture which you have personally experienced? None? So I thought.

  “This is why building an archive is so vital for us now. And why we needed to gather together this day: so that we could plan a response to those deluded neophyte am’r. No penalty need apply, and none need come forward and reveal themselves or their intimates. No, we start simply with resources for them. They can educate themselves from their own computers and mobiles, and I myself, along with a number of aojyshtaish, are willing to share from our own long experience and rebuild—perhaps build for the first time—pride in our kind. In our history, and our unique qualities and abilities, and in ourselves. Not just as individual am’r, but in our undying heritage, which is as poetic and legendary as the one they have latched onto, and all the more so for being tangibly real.”

  The snarky tones of Mehmet’s otherwise beautifully accented voice insinuated themselves as soon as Bagamil had finished speaking. “Well, how nicely tied up, with a little ribbon. How lucky for us all that you have identified and solved it all by yourself, or at any rate, with your little group of sycophants and hangers-on. I cannot see why you felt the need to haul the rest of us in by crying emergency since you have single-handedly fixed this little problem. You, who are so fond of technology—why not just email us the minutes of this meeting, which we did not need to attend?”

  “I have not tied this problem up, as well you understand,” replied Bagamil lightly, as if Mehmet had not just abrasively mocked and otherwise verbally attacked him. “There are many aspects that need further dialogue from all of us to decide the best plans with which to move forward.”

  “‘Dialogue,’ is it? Or will it just be the great Bagamil telling us what to believe and what to do? Orders we can scurry to follow in our efforts to impress?” The venom now dripped from Mehmet’s voice. The am’r were looking from the one to the other like they were following a tennis match. Or like a bunch of kittens following a laser pointer with their furry little faces. The thought would have been funny except for the nasty undercurrent of storm-like tension building.

  “I have never asked for those things you insinuate, Fatih Mehmet.” Bagamil was unblinking, his voice still gentle, but with unyielding strength right under the surface. He was still Mister Sunshine, but one now saw that sun as the inescapable, scorching, midday-in-the-desert sort of thing. “If you have an issue with me, be open about it. Tell me what problems you are having, and we will resolve them here and now.”

  “Oh, you would like that, aojysht of aojyshtaish, wouldn’t you? You, powerful in your age, will put me in my place in front of all—another problem neatly tied up in a ribbon. But I do not intend to let you try to tie me up in your fastidious bonds.”

  Mehmet stood and swept an arm around to address all the am’r as he spoke. “And you would all do as well to think for yourselves and not just fall into line—fall into the pretty stories of our ‘great am’r heritage’ solving all problems, which Our Great Leader here would have you believe. There is more out there than just his point of view.

  “Go find it for yourselves! You are powerful creatures, with minds of your own. Will you naïvely follow this one who sets himself up as your leader, who gives you no respect, does not allow you the rewards which are surely due to such formidable beings as we? He would have you hiding in the shadowy corners of history, not reaching out and taking what the world owes the likes of such mighty immortals. Yet even he must fall back on the truth; must admit this to be all about power when he challenges me, as you saw just now.

  “Think for yourselves! Do not be mindless
puppets in his hands. Stand up and demand what should be yours!”

  Proclamation proclaimed, Mehmet made a dramatic, sweeping exit. The am’r did not exactly clear him a path, but there was somehow—conveniently—no one in his way as he exited.

  There was profound silence for a moment. The am’r would never do anything as sophomoric as to start whispering to each other, but there were plenty of silent reactions. Some gave meaningful glances to a friend or ally, some stared straight at Bagamil—or Sandu, I noticed—carefully looking in no other direction.

  The latter are the better poker players, one must assume.

  Sandu swept his glance over the am’r faces, doing his own count of who was looking where. Neplach was looking off into a middle distance of his own. I’d never presume I knew what was going on in his ancient head. As for Bagamil, he had a sad smile on his face, the look of a man who is not surprised by anything because he has seen it all before.

  His smile became more upbeat and spread across his face. “My am’r,” he said in a voice that carried across the room without his seeming to speak above normal conversational tones, “I agree with Mehmet.”

  There was a visible start on even the most blank-faced am’r. “You should think for yourselves. And I would never want any less, not from any of you. I am not asking you to follow me slavishly. I only stand here speaking because I am, as Mehmet said, the aojysht of aojyshtaish, the eldest among us, and it is our tradition that the most senior, the most powerful of us should do this.

  “We do believe in power since we are a powerful species, proud and singular. I expect nothing less than strong self-governance from each of you. If I was to try to control you as Mehmet suggests, would you stand for it a minute? No! We are not a people who allow ourselves to be controlled. If we are in any danger, it will be from clinging blindly to self-sufficiency, not from being herded like sheep.”

  I’d been under enough stress from all this vampire U.N. nonsense, and this struck me as hilarious. Vampire sheep! That would be baaad!

  I must have giggled a little too loudly or too long because Sandu let me know he was displeased. He didn’t say anything, or turn and look at me, or anything so vulgarly observable. A subtle shift in how he was sitting made me sober right up. What further sobered me was the idea I was connected strongly enough to someone to know what they were thinking, what they wanted from me, with only the barest hint of body-language. Sometimes I didn’t like this bond we had. It was lovely during sex and all, but the strength of it, the intensity of it, was disconcerting at the best of times and alarming all the rest of the time.

  Bagamil provided a timely distraction from such thoughts. Whatever relationship issues I might have, there were waaaay bigger issues immediately surrounding me. “Does anyone wish to criticize me further, or may I get on with sharing information with all of you?” No one spoke. Bagamil continued, “I will let Vlad tell the story, for it is his to tell.”

  Sandu rose and gave a small bow. “First, I tell you all: although Bagamil is my patar, and I owe him my respect and my devotion and my obedience,” I saw Bagamil from the corner of my eye make a miniscule, rapidly suppressed shift in his own body language and recognized it as stifled laughter, “he has never asked me to follow him blindly, never discouraged me from thinking for myself. And neither has he asked such a thing of any am’r, at any time. We follow him as much as we follow anyone because of his wisdom and his strength. I say he is indeed aojysht-of-aojyshtaish, and we could look to no one for better guidance at this time.

  “This is just my opinion, of course. But now, let me tell you now of what befell me in January of this year.” Hearing this, I felt shock course through my body, because I hadn’t realized anything had “befallen” him. I’d just assumed he had gotten distracted and blown me off for all those months.

  I didn’t wonder what had happened to him in the slightest, just had me the world’s biggest pity party. Shit.

  “I went in December to Bagamil’s citadel. It was in leaving after we had agreed I would bring back our new archivist and information scientist as one of us…” Here he gestured to me, and I wished for the mutant superpower of invisibility as all am’r eyes flickered over to me.

  Sandu’d said that going to check in with Bagamil was “one of” the reasons he was late in returning. Well, here come the other reasons!

  I had to force myself to stop thinking and focus on what Sandu was now saying.

  “—and it was arriving in Ashgabat where I was captured. I had stopped to feed, and all too late discovered my izchha had been dosed with maadak.” There was not a proper kee gasp or anything, but an almost noiseless intake of breath like a silent flapping of bat wings. While I had no idea what he was going on about, I knew it must be something shocking. “I woke up in a basement, which I later found to be in a small town outside Mashhad. I was kept there for months, given the choice of maadakyo izchhaish or starvation. Each time, after I fed, they tried to question me. The first time, they tried torture as well, but they did not, ei bine, did not have the experience with such things as I do.” Sandu’s voice was flat, emotionless. It gave me the shudders. I did not like the emptiness in his voice at all. “But they only tried that once. I believe they were told cease because their attitude was different the next time. They tried to pretend they were treating me with respect, and to trick the information they wanted out of me.”

  “And what information did they want?” A woman’s voice. I looked and saw Jiang Lili at the far left of the table. Her face was a polite, mildly curious mask, no more.

  “Information about Bagamil. And me. And many of you, your beautiful self included, Jiang fūrén.” He did a small bow to her, and she inclined her head slightly. “I am afraid I disappointed them. They did not get much useful information from me.” His voice was still quite hollow, but I could sense the pride in him. I could not pretend it was a surprise Vlad the Impaler would be used to torture and interrogation, nor that he also would proud of his experience at overcoming it. Indeed, if he’d gathered any particular skill set while he was mortal, “professionally experienced at torture, and knowledgeable in all related fields” would probably have place of pride on his CV. It was never going to be my favorite thing to contemplate, but it was something I most likely was going to have to get over.

  “Eventually, one izchha had obviously not drunk much of the maadak, for her vhoon was relatively free from the poison. I drank just enough to convince them I would be incapacitated again. In a stroke of luck, my captors became distracted, with turmoil from the kee world while they were waiting for the maadak to fully afflict me. I used the external confusion to aid my escape and made my way back to Bagamil to report the situation.”

  “Who were your captors? Why have they not been brought before us?” This was from Maxym, at the other end of the table. I still didn’t like him. He was not as dismissive as Mehmet, but he sounded dubious of the whole thing, and doubt oozed into your brain from his oily voice.

  “That was the only part of the plan that was ingenious. They were all newly am’r, of a patar I have never met—although I will know him when I do meet him.” It was perfectly clear Sandu was looking forward to this meeting, and this unknown am’r should not be. “I have not found their scents since, although I have not yet done a concerted search. It was deemed more important to assemble us all together first and to make known that some am’r, some unknown number of us, are planning something quite stupid, which we need to frustrate and terminate.”

  “What do you suggest is the next step?” This was from across the table, the anime-looking am’r.

  “A good question, Hisao-san.” Small bow. “I shall let Bagamil answer.” Sandu sat down. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, where it lay on the arm of the chair. He’d been tortured! Put in real danger because he’d gone to get permission to bring me home to meet the family, and I hadn’t known or cared! Just felt sorry for myself the whole damn time.

  However, I was pretty sure Sandu wou
ld not thank me since public gestures of comfort would be perceived as a sign of weakness among the am’r. I silently promised both Sandu and myself I’d more than make up for any lack of empathy later when we were out of the public vampiric eye.

  Bagamil stood, and he was relaxed, at ease as always. “My suggestions are manifold. First we shall send Sandu and a few he chooses out to find his temporary captors. We shall obtain more information from them than they received from my frithaputhra,” he added with a dark flash I was surprised to see from Mister Sunshine. “In the meantime, the rest of you should warn your associates, your companions, and frithaputhraish. Move any am’r-nafsh you may have to the safest locations. And keep careful yourselves! Do not feed from unknown izchhaish. We will share the information with you as we acquire it.”

  “How will you share the information with us?” Mahtab asked.

  Sandu responded, “This is where the new technology comes in. Our goal is to set up a private ‘intranet,’ into which you would ‘VPN.’ Anushka—Noosh and I will organize this and send you the information you need to connect into it. Sharing data after that will be trivial.”

  Bagamil brought things to a conclusion, “But these are all my suggestions. And I have one more: I suggest we recess for you to consider matters and to consult with one another. I will hear your suggestions for me when we reconvene in three hours. Aojasc’ am’ratv!”

  Three hours was the longest intermission or bathroom break I’d ever heard of. Of course, am’r didn’t go to the bathroom—obviously they needed all that time for gossip and machinations. I, however, did need to go to the bathroom and had no idea how to find my way back to the indoor outhouse up by Sandu’s suite.

  Sandu stood up and turned to me. “Dragă Noosh, again, there are many people I must speak with. I would appreciate having you at my side, although I fear this will be tiresome for you.”