We came around the corner of a bookshelf into a sectioned-off area at the far end of the library. A massive fireplace was roaring merrily with a fire (as it should, being a fireplace). In front of this was a trio of white sofas with tall backs and plush pillows. A man and woman, looking to be in their early thirties, were perched elegantly on the right couch.
The woman, whom I assumed was Adrian’s sister, Mariana, had bright, bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair in a chin-length bob. She wore an ivory cashmere sweater and black leggings, feet tucked under her as she pored through a leather-bound book and sipped on a glass of white wine. Her husband, Dominic—Adrian’s brother-in-law, I think—had brown eyes and sandy hair that looked effortlessly tousled in a way that most people found impossible to achieve without the help of trained professionals. He, too, was reading a book and sipping on a glass of wine, although his was red.
My stomach dropped. I thought it was red wine. But maybe it was—
“Caitlin,” Mariana said in a soft voice that had a hint of a French accent. She set her book and wineglass down on the coffee table to shake my hand. Dominic stood, too, and put his arm around her waist.
“Welcome,” he said, voice sounding solidly American. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Have a seat.” Mariana gestured at the couch opposite theirs. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
My stomach did another little somersault as I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Adrian and I sat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucian climb over the back of the other sofa and roll down until he was sitting with his legs crossed, goggled face staring blankly into the fire.
“To begin, please rest assured that your family is safe,” Mariana said. Her voice was charming, smooth and light, and it reminded me, for some strange reason, of those old preparatory schools that used to teach etiquette and diction.
“We have informed the Council of our father’s return to this dimension,” she continued, “and either myself, Dominic, or Adrian will be scanning your house at all times to make sure nothing is—out of place.”
I cast a quizzical look at Adrian.
“Sort of like emotional sonar,” he explained. “We send out a wave and see what emotions bounce back. If anything unusual is going on, we’ll know.”
I nodded, then looked at the couple across from me. “I don’t remember Adrian mentioning anything about a Council.”
Dominic took another sip of wine, then set it down carefully, glancing at his wife before turning to me. “The Council is our governing body, founded several millennia ago by a woman named Adataneses. She was only human,” he said, as if it was a bit of an embarrassment. “A midwife, actually—but she knew what we were. She was the first to take infant vampires from their dying mothers and raise them as her own. In those days, children who weren’t retrieved by demons immediately after birth were often decapitated and burned alive by humans, thought to be demons themselves, or any of a number of other monsters. Adataneses began to save them. She created our entire society, the rules by which we live peacefully with the rest of the world. The children she rescued became the Council, and the Council continues to govern us to this day.”
I guess he and Mariana were of the faithful variety—they spoke like all this was fact, not myth. I raised an eyebrow. “So—your dads are all demons. Like, holy water, Dante’s Inferno demons?”
Adrian moved imperceptibly closer to me on the couch. For some reason, it felt like a warning.
Mariana smiled faintly, but it was not a friendly smile. “More or less.”
I leaned back, shaking my head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but do you expect me to believe all this? That there are demons out there?”
Mariana’s gaze was ice-cold. “You should believe in evil, Ms. Holte. Call it what you will.”
“However,” she continued, “we are not concerned with your disbelief. We are concerned with the threat that has been placed against you.”
Figuring I didn’t have much to lose but a few pints of blood, I stared right back at her.
“Why am I so special, exactly? Adrian was a little vague on that point.”
Mariana and Dominic exchanged a look. He stood, went over to the shelf, and pulled out a thin, embellished book.
“This,” he said, handing it to me carefully, “is a copy of the Matris Libri—the Book of Mothers. The original is, of course, in the Council vault. Even so, please handle it with care.”
I opened the leather cover slowly. The first half of the book was filled with faded charcoal sketches of women that had clearly lived centuries ago. The closer I got to the end, the more modern the women became. I reached the last page and Adrian pointed at the bottom right picture. “That was Lucian’s mother.” He pointed to the photo on the left. “And that was my mother.”