Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 34
She must have been distracted, indeed, for she hadn’t noticed the unexpected presence in the room until it gave a croak of annoyance. A beetle-eyed raven was reposing on a perch by the door, a large, formidable bird with a disconcerting black gaze. Really quite the most peculiar pet anyone ever owned, Emma was sure. How had she missed the creature?
It ruffled its coat of iridescent black feathers and continued glaring like an old dowager disturbed from her slumber. Emma was struck by an absurd impulse to make a deep obeisance and apologize for the intrusion. Instead, she endeavored to ignore the occupant and set about exploring the shelves and stiff leather bindings and the stacks of vellum protected behind glass cabinets. She might very well have spent the rest of her life in this room with these wonderful old tomes if permitted.
The first book she paged through was a hefty grimoire with faded gold tooling on the spine, a panel-stamped binding, and untrimmed edges. Encyclopedia of Occultism was etched in similarly faded gold on the front board.
There came a niggling thought that no good Christian woman would avail herself of this strange collection, nor should she be intrigued enough to leaf through these ancient-looking manuscripts. But she could not bring herself to leave. Not just yet. What harm could looking do? It was not as if she really believed any of this nonsense.
Thus Emma stayed in that private little section of the De Grigori collection where no one ventured to disturb her, not even time itself. She paged through one treatise, written in German, that claimed to be the ultimate authority on demonology. She told herself it was ridiculous, yet she read it avidly, soaking in such words as might have scandalized even the most jaded cynic. Incubi and succubi, were two amongst them. A premonitory warmth fluttered along her nape like a kiss, evoking the black eyes and forbidden caresses of her phantom lover. “It was not real,” she told herself, closing the book abruptly. She had not been ravished by a specter in the night!
Desiring escape from her ‘memories’, she chose another book and pored over all sorts of fantastic pages, discarding those that were in languages she would never master—Czech, Arabic or Aramaic. Instead, she chose texts that were writ predominantly in Latin, German, or French. Those she was adequately proficient in. She now had a pile of books crowding the little desk she’d availed herself of, paging through one and then another at hazard.
“Malefica.” Although she’d only whispered the word, it seemed to reverberate off the walls and disturb the very motes, so quiet was the room. Witch. Next she came across an interesting codex that made mention of one creature that she had not thought to read about here: Wampyre—blutsaugende todten. The bloodsucking dead. Similar passages in other volumes caught her notice, until she was only reading texts that dealt specifically with les revenans et vampires.
“Sanguisuga,” she said, so disturbed by her own voice that she looked up, alarmed. It was a Latin word commonly used to refer to a leech, and until this moment had never meant more to her. The very idea of a creature drinking the blood of another to survive, slipping each night from the earth, and blighting the living till dawn was nonsense.
Yet the author of this particular book had recorded these weird cases of miracula mortuorum, or vampirism, with a tone of such faithful honesty that she was hard pressed to maintain her incredulity.
Unexpectedly, a scrap of folded paper fell out of the book as she was turning a page. It was discovered to be an old Austrian newspaper clipping, which, by what she could make out of the faded date along a crease, looked to be no older than fifty years.
It recounted the tale of a shepherd of Blov, in the Kingdom of Bohemia, who had died then arisen from his grave and menaced his neighbors. He was staked, but when that did not cease his mischief he was disinterred and burned, and thereby was his reign of terror ended.
Why had she never heard of these reports and investigations from Serbia, Moravia, Hungry, Transylvania, etc? The superstitions had been so rampant that the Holy Roman Empress herself, Maria Theresa had, therefore, passed laws against the exhumation and desecration of corpses.
“My God,” she said, rubbing at her eyes with a grim sigh. How sheltered she had been her whole life. How small her sphere. She was momentarily struck by the frightening apprehension of her own insignificance.
These ruminations were dispelled by the sound of approaching heels clacking against the flags—the death knell to her timeless solitude in this surreal and cloistered section of the world that she had inhabited for these few hours. Hours?! Yes, her repeater confirmed the late hour. The poor coachman had, till now, been forgotten and was likely still waiting outside, wondering at her whereabouts.
Before she could wonder at her own audacity, Emma replaced the newspaper clipping and then snatched one of the unread volumes up from the writing desk and buried it under her wool mantle. The very next instant the door opened and Emma glanced up as Mina stepped into view.
“It is late,” she said.
“Heavens! I quite forgot the time.” Emma hastily began gathering her notes and tidying up, but Mina, who seemed impatient for her to leave, assured Emma that she would see to the task of returning the books to the shelves. “I am terribly sorry,” said Emma, “to have trespassed so long on yours and Monsieur De Grigori’s time.”
Mina picked up one of the tomes scattered on the little table, an eyebrow arching over the title. “My brother offers his regrets, for he