by Eva Alton
I scanned the other side of the road, looking for Clarence. He had waited under a flickering street light, and his black hair and white skin made him resemble a ghost emerging from a flash of lighting. I looked both ways and crossed the street, looking forward to going back to Katie and Iris, although not so sure about sleep―sleep meant nightmares, and I didn’t feel like dealing with them tonight.
“Just tell me if I have to go drain someone’s blood,” Clarence said, smirking grimly.
I shook my head and put on a tense smile.
“Everything’s under control,” I lied casually, slouching thankfully against his firm arm. “Let’s just go back.”
SLEEP WAS AS AWFUL as expected, sprinkled with nightmares about my own death. I spent half of the night tossing and turning, squeezed by two little girls who knew nothing about sharing. By sunrise, I had already given up fighting the slaps and kicks of their tiny limbs and ended up dozing off on the armchair, mindlessly reading the news on my phone.
Francesca’s soft rattling on the door woke me up, bringing me back to the reality of a sore neck. Katie and Iris lay in a skein of legs and twisted sheets in the middle of the bed, and they stirred sweetly at the sound of Francesca’s musical voice.
“Good morning,” she said, ignoring my disheveled appearance. She looked fresh like a rose, her complexion just as serene and flawless as the previous day. “We have a big day ahead, children. And your mother too, of course.” Francesca was carrying a stack of books topped by a platter full of food. All things combined seemed to be as heavy as herself, although there were no signs of strain on her face whatsoever. She left everything carefully on the bureau desk and started to pour orange juice into two delicate Bohemian crystal glasses―not my first choice of tableware for preschoolers, but hopefully she knew what she was doing. “You will find Jean-Pierre in the library. Do you know how to get there?”
I grumbled something, trying to dissipate the haze from my brain. “I need a shower first. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
I made my way to what had once been Julia’s bathroom. The space was a strange, minuscule cabinet including an avocado green bathtub with matching toilet bowl and a cracked porcelain sink. All fixtures, tiling and furniture felt like an unexpected foray into the sixties: who said time-travel was out of reach?
After a brief inspection of the installations, I found out that running water was coming from a rain deposit hidden in a mausoleum over our heads, which meant it was much colder than desirable. Taking a shower in The Cloister was going to be a wild exercise in self-control, fit for a samurai training. As I opened the tap, chilly water dripped down my back and I stifled a scream.
When I thought things couldn’t get worse, a piece of rotten graveyard moss got stuck to my hair, making me feel like Emberbury’s main sewer canal had just been poured over my naked body. I cursed under my breath. That bathroom was a health hazard and in dire need of a revamp. And how were we going to survive the winter without a drop of warm water? Even worse, I had serious doubts about the efficiency of the water-deposit system once the temperatures fell below freezing point.
My engineer brain went immediately into overdrive. I started to envision a water heater, filters, pipes and insulation... a blob of something green and slimy fell on my nose and took me out of my reverie, and I decided it was about time to abandon that bathtub-shaped torture chamber and get dressed.
As I stepped out, I observed something which had escaped me last night as I had tiptoed into the room, all jumpy after the phone call with Mark: there was no mirror over the sink. Brushing my teeth while staring at a bare wall was a peculiar―and highly unpleasant―experience. I ended up looking at my picture on the front camera of my cell phone. It wasn’t exactly great, but at least I managed to comb my hair back into a ponytail and step outside without glaring stains of toothpaste on my chin.
Meanwhile, Francesca had served breakfast for the girls. She was kind enough to offer me some bread and jam, too. I wondered where she had got all of that, because I had seen no kitchen in The Cloister, let alone a refrigerator or a stove.
“Francesca...?” I asked, unable to keep the question to myself. “Are there any mirrors in The Cloister?”
She shook her head, a weak smile adorning her face. “I thought you knew,” she said. “No, Elizabeth doesn’t allow any mirrors here. It’s one of the five rules. But you’ll get used to it. I can do my hair perfectly without them.”
Yes, and so could I when I was nineteen, or whatever age her awe-inspiring figure had got frozen at. It also might help that she had centuries of practice, and I didn’t.
“Do you think she’d allow me to have at least one in my bathroom?” I said, suddenly hating Elizabeth for issuing such a ludicrous―and useless―decree.
Francesca shrugged. “You can try. But don’t get your hopes up. She’s likely to say no.”
“What kind of strange rule is that?”
“I suppose mirrors remind her of her true nature, and she’s not fond of that,” Francesca answered with a shrug.
“What are the other rules?”
“Oh, nothing fancy. It’s all mostly about keeping everything secret and trying not to kill people if we don’t really have to.”
The way she said it, she could have been talking about her favorite fruit spreads.
“Does she also have rules about electrical outlets?” I was still disappointed that there was nowhere to plug in my phone or hair dryer, and I had started to see shimmering mirages of coffee-machines.
Francesca seemed to give her answer a thought, making me wonder whether Elizabeth was truly crazy enough to forbid appliances, then shook her head as she wiped some butter off Katie’s chin with a lace handkerchief.
“No, I don’t think so. But you will never get her to allow electricians in here. You will have to find another way to satisfy your needs.”
Yes. Like exchanging my computer for an abacus, for starters.
“Okay,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes at her indifference, “I’ll see what I can do. I’m leaving now for the library. I’ll be there if you need anything.”
A VAMPIRE CLAN’S LIBRARY. Just the thought conjured all kinds of fantasies, a mixture of my own imagination and all the novels I had read during my teenage years.
Clarence, true to his habit, was waiting for me at the door, holding it open well before I arrived. I still hadn’t found out how he did it―I wasn’t sure whether he was able to hear my steps from afar or he simply stood there, holding door handles for hours, until I made my appearance. I somehow leaned towards the first option, but I wasn’t entirely sure.
“Good morning, Mrs. Andersson,” he greeted me with a smile and a light head bow. He had changed back into his Regency attire, which this morning consisted of a tight frock coat to his calves, the color of pine needles, gray trousers and an exquisite paisley waistcoat in silk. I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was walking around in a costume; but he looked awesome, nonetheless.
“Are we back to last names this morning?” I asked, studying him with my eyes half-closed and wondering what had happened to last night’s familiarity.
“I could also call you witch, if you prefer,” he said in a teasing tone.
“What about my real name, Mr. Auberon?” I replied in exasperation.
“What makes you so moody this morning, my lady?”
“Coffee. Or rather, lack thereof.”
“I can’t provide any warm beverages at the moment, but Brother Mercier has set up to brightening up your morning with his bibliophilia.”
“With his what?”
“Just come in already,” Clarence said, softly taking my hand and dragging me inside. “I feel like I’ve been holding this door open for fifteen minutes.” His cold touch spread up my arm like tiny ants marching up to my elbow. “Welcome to our humble library.”
I couldn’t help but gasp as I stepped into the underground Gothic marvel which opened in front of my eyes. The frontal area wa
s occupied by a set of brocade armchairs which must have been shipped directly from a Parisian chateau. Behind it, rows and rows of carved wood shelves and ornate cupboards held hundreds of ancient-looking books. The room seemed to branch into several aisles to each side, two of them longer and deeper, and all of them covered by pointed vaults, just like the rest of the main spaces in The Cloister. The floor plan of the library reminded me of a miniature version of Cologne Cathedral, and the man sitting at the wide table in the middle of it was just missing a belted tunic to complete the ecclesiastic look.
“Are your morning prayers over, Brother Mercier?” Clarence asked with a smirk, holding me as I almost tripped with my own feet out of sheer stupefaction.
The man chuckled from behind his enormous pile of books and stood up to greet me. He must have become a vampire later in life. Most of his hair was snow-white and extended into a short boxed beard and mustache, both carefully trimmed and very orderly looking. His clothes were similar to Clarence’s, with the only difference that he was wearing black from head to toe.
“Nice to meet you, Madame Lumin,” he said in a French accent. “My name is Jean-Pierre, and I am... the librarian, I suppose,” he said, as he kissed both of my cheeks lightly and took a good sniff of my neck in the interim. Clarence cleared his throat and pulled at my arm nervously, steering me towards a nearby shelf and away from the neck-whiffing librarian.
“What became of your chastity vows, Mercier?” Clarence muttered, crossing his arms.
“Ah, gone with the French Revolution, just like Feudalism,” the older man answered amiably. “You Anglo-Saxons can be so stiff sometimes.”
Both men exchanged amused glances, revealing a camaraderie which might have dated back to a couple hundreds of years.
“You have such a rare surname, Madame Lumin,” Jean-Pierre commented, abducting me from Clarence’s side and waltzing me to the back of the library, as the Englishman followed us with an exaggerated frown.
“My actual surname is Andersson,” I said. “Well, that’s my husband’s, um... ex-husband’s name, actually. Lumin is my grandmother’s, although everyone here seems to enjoy calling me that. I think her family came originally from Portugal.”
“Such a beautiful country,” Jean-Pierre said wistfully, “have you ever been there?”
“I have, yes. We used to move very often when I was a child. My father was a diplomat. I actually spent half of my childhood in Porto, before we moved to England, then later Croatia and Germany.”
“Fascinating. And how on earth did a worldly lady like you manage to end up in a place like Emberbury?”
“I could ask the same question, I guess. You sound French.”
He laughed. “Touché,” he said. “As for me, I presume I was persuaded by Mr. Auberon’s silver tongue, as is often the case.”
“Oh, shut up, Mercier!” Clarence said, rolling his eyes.
I smiled. It was the first time I had felt so relaxed since... since as far as I could remember. I allowed myself to soak in the almost magical aura of the library: it was like all those books sitting on the stacks had leaked their stories into the thick air of the cross-shaped enclosed space, and I could just take in all those unspoken words just by breathing under the dimly lit vaults of The Cloister’s archives. I felt oddly safe and at ease.
“Please, tell us your story,” Jean-Pierre said, dusting a pile of books. “I love listening to a good story.”
“It’s not too exciting, to tell the truth,” I warned him. “My parents were originally from Boston, but my grandmother used to live here in Emberbury. I came back from Germany at eighteen and attended college, while staying in her house. Then I met my husband at a party, and I suppose he found me... interesting. He likes novelties, and I had many stories to tell about my years abroad―not that he listened to them, but his friends did, and he liked that. Sadly, the exoticism wore off after a short while.” I shrugged. “So, here I am, starting a new life, I suppose.”
“New starts are good,” Jean-Pierre said approvingly. “What about the older Mrs. Lumin?” he asked. I noticed how incredibly white his hair was―almost reflective.
“She was a good woman. She died five years ago.”
“And was she a witch, too?”
“Not that I knew,” I laughed. “Although she loved ghost stories. And herbs, if that counts.”
“Such a pity we didn’t get to know her. She might have been good friends with our Julia,” Jean-Pierre said, climbing gracefully up a ladder and swinging from the side rail with just one hand, which made him resemble a bearded cabaret dancer. “Speaking of which, I suppose you are here because of Julia’s books, aren’t you?”
I nodded, pressing my eyes together as he skipped to the next rung with only one foot, and I anticipated his fall. Of course, he was as swift as the next vampire, and he just laughed at my concerned expression, taking a couple of hardback volumes from a higher shelf and throwing them into my hands like a basketball. I hardly caught them before they crashed to the floor, which would have been a true misfortune.
“Memoirs of Viorel the Mage and The Dark Arts of Magic, by Catalina Kodrinova,” I read from the spines, blinking in disbelief. “Wow. Are these... real witchcraft books?”
“I don’t know,” Jean-Pierre said, jumping off the top of the ladder and landing on the stone floor without a single sound. “I seem to remember that Julia wasn’t entirely pleased with them, but... who knows. Maybe you’ll be able to see something she missed.”
“Well, thank you so much,” I said, hugging the books against my chest and fighting the urge to embrace the librarian in appreciation. I really didn’t need to fight much, because he presented me with the edge of his cheek and tapped it with his index finger, just like my grandpa used to do.
“Merci, Mercier,” he said to himself, and I pressed my lips lightly against his coarse beard, suppressing a chuckle. “Very good,” he said then, “I think you earned the last piece of the puzzle.”
“Mercier?” barked Clarence, who was sitting on one of the armchairs ankle-on-knee, knocking the palm of his hand with his cane and looking remarkably anxious as he watched my playful exchange with the librarian.
“Oui?” the Frenchman said, seeming extremely entertained by Clarence’s attitude.
“Find that papyrus already, will you? We have real work to do, and you know I’m not into dueling right after daybreak.”
“Excuse my friend. He’s not much of a morning person,” Jean-Pierre chuckled, then winked at me. “Nobody here is, really.”
The librarian walked from one side of the library to the other, opening and closing drawers and closet doors, and after a while, he started to scratch his chin in disconcertment.
“It’s strange,” he said after a while. “I saw that document just a couple of weeks ago. I must have misplaced it. But don’t worry, Madame Andersson, I promise I will find it for you” He smiled and lots of tiny wrinkles formed around his watery blue eyes. “You have enough reading material for a couple of weeks, anyway.” Then, he took my hand and kissed it, holding Clarence’s gaze mischievously as he said, “A bientôt, belle Alba, et bon courage.”
Goodbye, beautiful Alba, and I wish you luck and courage.
“Thank you, Monsieur Jean-Pierre,” I said, and Clarence put his arm around my waist, hauling me out of the room. As we left the library and Clarence let out an audible sigh of relief, I couldn’t help but smile and feel utterly happy under the weight of my new books, which smelled of unveiled mysteries and an exciting new life ahead.
Chapter 14
Alba
I spent the rest of the morning listening to Elizabeth talk about creative ways of obtaining counterfeit birth and death certificates for the members of her clan, and also managing bank deposits, investing in the stock market, and many other things which I had never done before or didn’t even know existed up to that moment. Mention of magic was again conspicuous by its absence from our debate―I was starting to think that she just wanted a
witch in The Cloister because the smell was much less tempting than that of an ordinary human. Not eating her assistants seemed like an almost surefire way of keeping them for a longer time.
In the meantime, I kept caressing Julia’s books surreptitiously whenever Elizabeth wasn’t looking, dreaming about the secrets which may be hiding in those yellowed pages.
Clarence sat on the other side of the table, underlining important words, handing me papers to put in my ever growing binder and―the most worrisome of all―throwing long and blinkless glances at me with those hypnotic, merlot wine eyes of his. He did it so often that I started wondering whether I still had any leftover blobs of green slime on my hair, courtesy of The Cloister’s luxurious plumbing system.
When I was finally dismissed to my room, my head was spinning, and I had added a three-ring binder to the weight of the two magic books Jean-Pierre had lent me.
The first thing I noticed was that Francesca had turned Julia’s bedroom into a playroom of sorts during my absence. She had brought a fringed Persian rug with elaborate tree patterns and even an antique bookcase, which she had filled with antique children’s books, haunted-looking porcelain dolls―including a pram worthy of a horror-movie―and a couple of board games, together with a luxurious chess set which seemed to be made of pure onyx and gold-veined lapis lazuli.
“Mommy!” Katie shouted, jumping into my arms with a huge smile. “Francesca read us a cool story today!”
“Oh, really?” I smiled at Francesca, who was looking as immaculate as usual in her period nanny costume, even after babysitting two kids for more than five hours. None of the mortal Harpers and Hoppers of my world would have been able to achieve such a feat. I thought silently that 24/7 indoor childcare was a niche where vampire nannies would excel hands down―if only they weren’t inclined to eat their pupils. The girls were literally beaming after the time spent with her.