Drawn to the Vampire (Blood and Absinthe, Book 4) (3 page)

“That’s not a very civilized noise to make, Luke. Hardly human.”

“As it happens, Merton—”

“Yes, yes, yes. A figure of speech. What have you got there, anyway, that provoked such an outburst?”

“An essay. The eighth essay I’ve read tonight that begins, ‘So and so was born in such and such a place—’”

Luke broke off, shaking his head. “Is it just me, or are the students getting less imaginative and less inspired with every passing year?”

The Vice-Chancellor looked judicious. “Keep in mind that your standards were set in a more exacting age. Historical biography is an art.”

“All I know is that if I read one more essay beginning ‘Sir Thomas More was born’ I’m going to throw myself off a cliff. A serious threat considering we’re actually on a cliff.”

Merton waved a hand towards the door.

“Take the night off, then. Drink some of that whiskey you’re so fond off. Just stay away from the female—”

“From the female students?” Luke raised an eyebrow. “Did you honestly think that little rule had slipped my mind? It’s not like you to be so untrusting. Haven’t I managed to be a good boy for—well, for an awfully long time?”

“Perhaps. I’m just reminding you that if you need to find amusement, you should go to one of the towns—Harlech or Dolgellau or Machynlleth. There will be more…scope for your activities.”

Now Luke raised both eyebrows. “You make it sound like I spend every night engaged in nameless debaucheries. When, in fact, I spend most of my evenings at home with a good book and a bottle of beer.”

“Indeed. Isn’t it curious, then, that every year in this part of the country a small number of women will visit their local health clinics or hospitals presenting with the same symptoms, which resemble, oddly enough, mild anemia.”

Luke grinned. “Keeping tabs, are you? Well, I’ll answer for it that those women are all perfectly fine after a week or two. And have any of them ever accused me of anything, or so much as mentioned my name to local authorities?”

“Not as yet, no. But some of them do seem to continue a certain romantic interest in you long after you’ve, shall we say, moved on? And they manifest that interest by coming to my university and making a nuisance of themselves.”

“Not much of a nuisance. The porter always stops them at the gatehouse.”

“Still, it does look a little odd—”

“You’ve been making hay off of my oddities for a while now. I’m the reason half your female students are here, including this year’s Templeton Scholar. Which is rather ironic, considering that I’m never more than politely distant with any of them. Still, you never hesitate to make use of my personality as a recruiting tool, so why are you suddenly concerned with my so-called ‘oddities’? What’s changed since the last time we spoke privately, which was, I believe, a mere three days ago?”

The other man shivered suddenly and pulled his chair closer to the fire.

Luke frowned. “All right, Merton. What’s wrong? It’s not like you to worry and fuss like this.”

“Of course it is. I’m the Vice-Chancellor. It’s my job to worry.”

“You know what I mean. What’s going on, man?”

Merton shook his head without looking up. “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve received intimations, but nothing specific. The warnings are vague, cryptic…but there’s something about a woman. A stranger. Whatever it is, it relates to you, Luke. That I’m sure of. You remember the prophecy—”

“That prophecy will never come to pass.”

Merton sighed. “Just be careful, will you? Humor an old man. We’ve got a good thing going here, you know.”

“And you think I don’t know that? I’m not likely to upset the apple cart at this stage of the game. Don’t worry, old friend, I’m not going anywhere tonight. I’ll retire to my rooms, drink a mild-mannered Guinness, and read Boswell’s
Life of Johnson
. It’ll comfort me after all these wretched essays. All right?”

The Vice-Chancellor nodded. “All right.”

* * *

Funny, Luke thought as he strode through the courtyard to the north side of the main quadrangle. It wasn’t like Merton to get so spooked without any real information. And it wasn’t as if any threat could cross the boundary of Snowdon. The protections around this place were too strong.

Luke shook his head. Maybe the Vice-Chancellor was finally starting to feel his age, which God knew was long overdue. Regardless, Merton’s “intimations” were the least of his worries. No. What was troubling him now was something much closer to home: namely, his own growing boredom and restlessness.

When he first came to Snowdon University he thought he’d found the perfect place to stay until he could succeed in his quest. The quest that no one, not even Merton, knew anything about.

But years had gone by since then and he was no closer to his goal. His heart’s desire was as far out of reach as ever, and he was starting to believe it always would be. And he was still here at Snowdon, spending his nights grading undergraduate essays.

Luke’s long strides soon brought him to the tower that housed his rooms and his personal library. He’d bequeathed the library, which included several priceless volumes, to the university on condition that it be placed here, on the bottom floors, and that he be given rooms in the same tower.

Luke ducked his head to pass through the low doorway and began to climb the spiral staircase. The thud of his booted feet on the stone steps echoed dully in the hollow space, and the dim light cast by the sconces sent his shadow dancing crazily on the walls. He climbed quickly past the three library floors and went straight to the very top: the big round room under the witch’s hat roof.

The windows in here were mere slits—perfect for his needs, of course. He’d had them shuttered from the inside so he could keep out the sun during the day, but also so he could open them at night to let in starlight and moonlight.

He opened them now, even though the moon and stars were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. It had, in fact, been so dismally gray today that he’d been able to walk outside with only his thick hooded cloak for protection. On sunny days he used a network of tunnels beneath the university to move from place to place.

Until recently, Luke had been able to tolerate sunlight. Vampires were nocturnal, but sunlight wasn’t normally deadly to them.

But thanks to his journey to the underworld—and an encounter he’d had there—the sun would now affect him the way human myths about vampires had always depicted. A few seconds of direct sunlight would burn him; minutes would destroy him.

With Merton’s help he’d adapted to the change as best he could. The students and professors of Snowdon believed he suffered from a form of porphyria—which, of course, only added to his mystique.

Luke paused to drop his leather jacket over a chair and to light a fire in the hearth. Despite his avowed intention of settling down with a book and a beer—which really were his most frequent evening companions—he found himself prowling restlessly around the room.

Every object his eye fell on seemed to increase his discontent. There was the Gem of Fanor, displayed in a glass case now that he had no other use for it. The jewel had been obtained on that same journey to the underworld, at great cost as well as tremendous personal risk, and had been offered to Demeter in one of his many attempts to fulfill his quest.

Offered…and refused.

Nothing seemed good enough for that wretched woman—sorry,
goddess
. What did she want from him? What would she finally accept as sufficient payment for his request? What did it bloody
take
? And why couldn’t she just tell him what it was so he could get it the hell over with?

Just like a woman, really. Couldn’t make things simple. Had to turn everything into a big sodding mystery.

His frustration rose with every step until he thought he might have to hurl something against the wall just to break the tension. He’d gone as far as picking up a glass paperweight when there came, of all annoying things, a knock at his door.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, gripping the paperweight.

He knew he should calm down before he answered. It was either a student or a colleague, and even though it was late for a visit, he had a reputation as a cultured and civilized professor to maintain.

“Come in, damn you!” he shouted.

To hell with his reputation.

* * *

Kit paused outside the heavy oak door, her hand resting on the cold metal handle. “Come in, damn you,” wasn’t exactly a warm invitation, but she hadn’t expected to enjoy meeting Luke Cadris, had she?

The day already seemed a million years long. She’d landed in London early that morning, exhausted from a red eye flight on which she’d gotten no sleep at all, only to risk life and limb on the wrong side of the road in an impossibly tiny rental car. She’d expected to be killed every moment on the busy highways and relaxed only slightly when she crossed the border into Wales.

Several miles past the border, she’d been forced to stop in a narrow country lane. A herd of sheep was blocking the road. The light was fading fast, on its way to leaving her alone in the darkness of a rural night.

Alone with a million sheep. Well, maybe not a million, but more sheep than Kit had ever seen in one place. More sheep than she ever wanted to see again.

Honking the horn had absolutely no effect on them.

What a horrible country this is
, Kit had thought with sudden violence. She felt in that moment that she hated Wales with every fiber of her being.

The hedges on either side left her little room to maneuver. She could see more sheep coming through a gate up ahead, filling the road in front of her. Several had squeezed past her car and were blocking the way back.

Now they were at an impasse. The sheep blinked at her with mild, stupid eyes in mild, stupid faces, and Kit looked back helplessly.

It might have been funny if she hadn’t been so determined to reach her goal.

“Screw it,” she muttered finally, opening her car door and stepping out into the raw December air. She hadn’t come this far to be stymied by a bunch of sheep. She only had twenty more miles to go on this miserable journey, and she was damned if she was going to let a herd of animals stop her now.

“Okay,” she said out loud, trying to sound reasonable and commanding at the same time. How the heck did you talk to sheep, anyway? “It’s obvious you guys are flying solo, since we’ve been sitting here for a while and nobody’s shown up to tell you what to do. It’s cold, it looks like it’s going to rain or snow any second, and it’s going to be dark in less than an hour. Don’t tell me there’s not a cozy barn or sheepfold or something you’d rather be in right now. Forward, backward, I don’t care, just
move
!”

Nothing doing. The sheep directly in front of her was looking particularly unintelligent, which was really saying something. Kit tried a gentle push to encourage him. He didn’t budge an inch. She pushed a little harder. No movement at all. Maybe if she picked up each and every one of them and carried them back through the gate? There had to be at least a hundred sheep here. Kit’s heart sank.

“All right, then, you wooly morons, I’ll drive right through you!” Kit heard herself shouting. “You think I won’t? I’m getting back in that car and I’m going to run you all down. I mean it. Get a move on or I’ll—”

“I don’t believe that’s a very good plan,” said a female voice.

For a moment Kit thought one of the sheep had spoken and she wondered if she’d finally snapped under the strain. Then she saw a young woman several yards away, leaning back against the gate the sheep had come out of. A small black and white dog stood at her side.

“Why not?” Kit asked. “Too many of them?”

The other girl shook her head. “Your eyes are too kind. You’d never deliberately hurt an animal.”

The light, or what little there was on this cold, damp afternoon, was rapidly fading into dusk. Kit could see that the other girl wore corduroys and a pea coat, but she couldn’t make out her hair color or read her facial expression. She found it hard to believe that kindness or anything else could be discerned in her eyes at this distance and in the lengthening shadows.

“Thanks for the compliment,” she said dryly. “But—” and suddenly she heard her own voice harden and tighten “— to get where I need to go tonight, I’ll leave a trail of dead sheep behind me if I have to. So if you’ve got anything to do with these ridiculous animals, I’d appreciate it if you could get them out of my way.”

The young woman didn’t answer her directly, but she said something in a low voice to the dog beside her, who went to work immediately. By a mysterious process involving a few staccato barks and some businesslike trotting amid the sea of wool, he actually got them moving down the lane past her car.

Kit began to relax.

“So where are you off to, then, in such a terrible hurry?” the shepherd girl asked curiously, coming closer as she followed the flow of sheep.

“Snowdon University,” Kit said.

She heard the girl’s sharp intake of breath. “But…why? I mean—you’re American. Americans don’t usually go to university here.”

Kit looked around her. The mountains in the distance seemed grim and lonely, and the yew trees that grew along the lane had an unfriendly look. The air was clear and fresh but it was cold, and Kit shivered.

“I can see why. Sorry. That sounds insulting, since you live here and probably like it…but to answer your question, no, I’m not a student. I’m going to see a professor at Snowdon. Professor Cadris. It’s a matter of life and death, actually, so I really appreciate your help with the sheep. Thank you.”

The last of them passed by her as she spoke, and Kit was reaching for her door handle when the other girl covered the last few steps between them and grabbed her arm. Her movement was so sudden that Kit gasped.

“You’re going to see Luke? Oh, you mustn’t! Please…just turn around right now and go back where you came from.”

Kit stared at her in surprise and the young woman bit her lip. “There’s something about Luke—Professor Cadris—that you don’t know. You’re not safe with him unless you’re a student. He made some kind of bargain with the Vice-Chancellor about that. But you…oh, I can’t possibly explain, but you—he—”