Chapter Four
THE LIbrARIANS MADE ONE FINAL ROUND of the reading room before closing.
Mihaela could hear them moving on the lower floors, talking in hushed voices between each other and the few remaining patrons.
She had come to the public library in search of a warm and quiet refuge, thinking that it would help her concentrate on her work.
Instead, the overwhelming silence of the building made her tune in the mortals’ thoughts, flitting from mind to mind like switching between the stations of a radio.
The pencil in her left hand traced restless patterns on the paper; the title of her thesis underlined so many times she had ripped through the page of the notebook.
“I really want to write about Kaloyan and how he was made emperor,” Nina had said one evening, as they were preparing to leave for the Christmas holidays. “But then I’ll also have to deal with Emeric of Hungary. And then that will get me into the crusades.”
“Wasn’t he the guy who kidnapped a bunch of Bulgarian bishops?”
Nina shrugged.
“Which crusade was that—the one with the children?” Mihaela asked.
“Fourth? Third?” Nina shrugged again. “They crowned Kaloyan here, you know.” She tilted her head towards the window. “In Tarnovo.”
Mihaela followed her roommate’s eyes, squinting at the window.
She could not make out much from the fog.
It was easier to close her eyes and imagine the city.
The meandering river, the old houses, the museums, the fortress and the church at the hilltop.
As a child, she had gone on many field trips to Tarnovo[8].
Her classmates would run around the ruins, daring one another to enter the Baldwin Tower, screeching and laughing when a tourist would shush them.
When it became time to choose a university Mihaela had stubbornly insisted on studying in Tarnovo.
What better place to delve into the annals of history than the old capital of the Bulgarian Empire?
The steep cobbled streets had welcomed her as a child, when she darted from shop to shop, begging her parents to buy her a hard sugar rooster on a stick.
Now as a university student she walked these same streets after class, coaxing a cat to follow her.
She would sit on the steps and meow at the creature, always telling herself to bring a piece of salami and always forgetting to do so.
With a faint puff of breath, Mihaela shook herself free of the memory and turned to the chaos of the papers scattered before her, forcing herself to think about the demands of the present.
She was supposed to be back in Sofia for the holidays, seeing old classmates or helping her parents at home.
Yet for the last four months she had avoided both friends and family, always citing some urgent assignment that could not wait.
Her excuses were vague, even contradictory.
She was known to sleep late so nobody questioned why she didn’t go out during the day.
Even with the sun setting early in winter, she still refused to venture out.
At the family Christmas dinner, she feigned a cold and left the table early.
Now she was faced with finding an excuse why she would not make it to the New Year’s dinner.
Khan Krum may have severed thieves’ hands as punishment for stealing but if Mihaela’s mother found out her daughter was a vampire…
Mihaela’s tongue nervously brushed over her teeth.
The khan’s laws paled in comparison to what Ophelia Dimitrova would do.
The other thing was not easier to explain either.
“One problem at a time,” Mihaela inhaled and began putting her books and notes in the bag.
When she stepped outside the library she was greeted by the biting wind and hollow stillness of the streets.
Sofia’s inhabitants tended to bleed out of the city whenever a string of holidays fell in succession.
People left for the countryside either to reunite with distant family or to enjoy a vacation from the hustle of the capital.
Cars stood motionless, covered in snow on the corners, traffic lights and Christmas decorations blinked on and off cheerfully.
It was still early and the trams and buses were running but Mihaela chose to walk home instead.
Her way stretched long and straight, from the library to the residential building where her parents lived.
If she was lucky by the time she got there they would have already left for the New Year’s dinner at her cousins’.
Her parents had kept Mihaela’s room immaculate; her clothes washed and ironed, neatly arranged in the wardrobe.
Her books and little knick-knacks still perched on the desk and shelves, untouched since the day she left for university.
There were two mirrors in the flat—a small mirror above the bathroom sink and a larger one in the hallway.
She was thankful that her room was bare of mirrors or glass surfaces; her only reflection hardly visible in the frosted windowpane.
She could not bear to look at her reflection; the face of a liar gazing back at her.
Astra had assured Mihaela that nothing in her physical appearance had changed.
True, her eyes held a sharper gleam, and when she smiled her wide toothy smile, her fangs peeked through.
But she was still a young woman of twenty-two with a tousled bob of dark blond hair always falling into her hazel eyes.
A willowy creature prone to frowning, chewing at her lower lip and fidgeting, unable to stay still for even a minute.
Her hands were always reaching to fiddle with something—her sleeves, her hair, if she was holding a pen she doodled, scribbled and scrawled.
And every time she lied, Mihaela would lift a finger and tap the tip of her nose, a smile forcing its way onto her lips. She tapped her nose, broken and mended at a crooked angle from the many times she had fallen off a tree as a child.
Turning into a vampire had not grounded Mihaela. From the first sip of blood her entire body had vibrated, ready to fling itself against the fabric of reality in hopes of tearing through. When Mihaela spoke or moved too fast, shaking off the costume of a mortal, Astra would reach out to anchor her.
“We can leave,” Astra had suggested. “Start somewhere brand new as someone else—as someone of your choice.”
Mihaela had refused. She did not like leaving things undone.
The history degree took four years, most of which she had already completed, and then a thesis defence.
Once written and leather-bound, her work would take its place among the countless volumes in the university archive.
It amused her to know that the author would outlive the work, instead of the other way around.
Maybe in a few decades she would come back, enrol once again in the history faculty and write a new thesis.
Fill the library with her work, examine everything her ancestors had built and fought for over the centuries.
She might even finance research, archaeological digs, preservations of icons and restoration of tattered tomes.
Mihaela did not know how a vampire would go about collecting and maintaining an immense fortune but vampires were rarely poor in the novels she used to read.
They were counts and countesses, warlords commanding armies of the dead, swarthy gentlemen in search of damsels.
“Ugh…!” Mihaela pulled a face and decided to stick with khan Krum for the time being.
At a traffic light she turned to look over her shoulder, expecting to see Astra walking behind her.
Her companion tended to sneak up on Mihaela, following her like a stray until Astra grew bored or cold and would embrace her for warmth.
Like vampires, demons were a curiosity Mihaela had yet to understand, and Astra rarely spoke about herself or her infernal nature.
Mihaela’s head began to throb like she was on the verge of a migraine, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling.
There it is again… She could not shake the feeling of being watched.
Something was trying to tug and urge her to veer in a different direction.
The few people she came across briefly met her gaze and hurried past in the night; their footsteps over the snow and sand sounded heavy and like an insistent drum to her heightened senses.
As far as she knew, vampirism did not come with the gift of premonition or a second sight.
In the myths of old, it was oracles—women chosen by the gods—who foretold the tides of war or a deity’s vengeance.
Mihaela was no oracle, she was not chosen by a god.
She felt helpless under the dread of something waiting to unfold.
Something wrong and out of my control. Again.
She had not felt this anxious and on edge since she was mortal. The uneasiness followed her throughout the night. It had been there—the day before; and the day before that.
Lost in her thoughts, Mihaela kept walking, wary of moving cars or figures, casting glances over her shoulder.
She read the minds of those around her. Once she had learned how, it was easy to peer into a person’s thoughts.
The real challenge was silencing the constant flow of ideas, fears and desires.
To have her internal monologue as the only rumbling in her head.
The only mind she could not read was Astra’s. No matter how much Mihaela had tried, she could not pierce through the veil covering her demon’s thoughts.
Without realizing it, she had reached the uphill path that led to her building. The streetlights were sparse here and the barking of a dog echoed in the distance. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Mihaela trudged the uncleared pavement; sand crunched under her boots.