“You don’t have a maiden aunt,” I said as I handed over the box of Godiva chocolates.
“Thank you for reminding me that my entire family is dead. And that I have no one on this earth who loves me.” She delivered these lines deadpan, but unfortunately these were also her truths. Dove didn’t have family. Except for me. Not that I would ever admit to the little shit that she was like my sister. I understood the loneliness that lived inside her because it lived in me, too. When my grandfather died, I had no one left, either.
Dove and I were orphans. It was one of the aspects of our lives that bonded us.
Not that we’d ever gone on Dr. Phil and discussed it, or anything.
Dove lifted the lid to the box to ensure that no chocolates had been pilfered. She sniffed. “I am appeased. You will have your show.”
“Excellent.”
She leaned down and tapped the atrocious vampire book. “Chapter twelve,” she said. “Read it.”
“Sure. Right after I finish War and Peace.”
“You are an idiot.” She clutched the chocolates to her chest and spun on her heel. Then she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later. Don’t wear that black lace thing. It’s awful.”
“I love that dress.”
“Which is why you wear it to every function. Burn it, and then explore all those designer clothes in your closet. You’re a fucking billionaire. Act like it.” She swept out of the office and shut the door behind her.
Well, shit. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples. I wasn’t really looking forward to getting dolled up and prancing around at this party. Despite my grumbling about the politics involved with running of a college, I had a deep respect for the institution. I had always enjoyed learning, and teaching as well. But what I really loved was getting hip-deep in sand and uncovering the past one tiny piece at a time. Archaeology required devotion, passion, and infinite patience. I didn’t want to seek treasure; I wanted to seek truth. I wanted to understand the past, to find a window into the lives of people who’d lived three thousand years ago, those stalwart souls who had loved, and fought, and cleaned houses, raised children, written stories, built pyramids. Yes, answering the questions about those lives lived so long ago was what I sought. Connections, I supposed.
I glanced at the clock on my desk, and heaved a tormented sigh. The countdown to gala time had begun, and I didn’t want to go home and sort through my closet. After Dove’s crack about my black lace dress—which was modest and pretty, FYI—the hell if I would wear it now.
I looked down at the book. A pink Post-it note stuck out of the top. No doubt Dove had marked the location of chapter 12. Well, it was either explore the theory of ancient Egyptian vampires or start Operation Beautify. Winner: procrastinating with the undead.
When I opened the book, I noticed that Dove had made notations in the margins and had even highlighted portions of text. Say what you wanted about her attitude and style, the girl was smart and studious. And had no respect for the sanctity of the printed page.
As I started to read the chapter’s introductory paragraph, my academic arrogance deflated. The tone was crisp, informative, and wry with humor. Theodora Monroe wrote seriously about her topic while also acknowledging the absurdity associated with it.
I was three pages in, fascinated despite my initial reluctance, when I stumbled across another of Dove’s highlighted portions:
From what I’ve pieced together, there were seven original Ancient vampires. The lines, and powers, of our fanged friends rely heavily on their original maker. The theory is, of course, that if the originator of the vampire line is killed, then so, too, are all the vampires associated with the Family. I believe this may be because the magic of the first vampire connects him, or her, to all their—for lack of a better term—children. Magical strings, as it were, and if those lines are instantly cut . . . ah, I suppose you understand.
The greatest mystery associated with the Ancients is the loss of Amahté. Some three thousand years ago, he disappeared. Some vampires “go to ground,” which means they go into hiding in an underground location for an unspecified time. Some do it to heal from grievous wounds, others to sleep through time, or to mourn quietly the loss of their mortal friends and lovers. I speculate that Amahté has gone to ground the longest. And he must still live if his vampiric children still walk the earth. But who is to know for certain?
Alas, I have not met any vampires who can give me answers to my many questions. My research has been pieced together through numerous source materials (listed at the back of this book), eyewitness accounts, and laborious field research. Evidence is always difficult to gain, no doubt because vampires prefer to remain in the dark (for obvious reasons).