Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“Ah,” he eventually says before turning his attention back to the book. “Then don’t let me keep you.”
I want to take the exit. I want to turn and disappear into the stacks or maybe just go straight back to the apartment after all. My pulse is quicksilver, the ends of my hair still standing up, and fuck it, can’t he tell that I’m scared?
And yet I stay. And it’s not because I am stubborn or that I really want to get this job done (though both are true), but because I am compelled to be by his side. The kicker is I can’t tell if it’s because he’s using his power to compel me or if it’s something else, like hormones gone wild.
So I step inside the room beside him, and one brow lifts as he eyes me. “Do you need any help?” I ask him, my gaze going to the stack of envelopes beside him, ripped open, and the books displayed beside them. “Are those all donations?”
He stares at me for a long moment—long enough to make my cheeks feel hot—then nods. “They are.”
“All anonymous?”
“All anonymous.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” I ask.
He pulls out a drawer from the edge of the table and removes a box of latex gloves, handing it to me. “Rich people are eccentric,” he says as I take the box. “Not all of them want to be associated with handing over relics, especially if they came across them in some, shall we say unscrupulous way. Besides, it wasn’t long ago that the tidal surge of the acqua alta flooded the library, ruining a lot of our most prized books, which led to a surge in donations. Who thought it was a good idea to have them housed on the ground floor in Venice is beyond me.”
“That explains why the library feels so new,” I tell him, slipping on the gloves. I stay on the end of the table, not wanting to get too close to him.
“Yes, they could have done a better job in moving it,” he comments dryly. “The lighting in here is atrocious. But at least the books are safe.”
He reaches over and hands a book to me, then puts a pen and a library card beside it. “I haven’t checked this one over. Just try to make some sense of it and write down the key characteristics on the card. It will help with cataloging it.”
I carefully flip the book open and I’m hit with the smell that’s been missing from here. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, Valtu is staring at me again and I’m suddenly aware I’ve been smiling.
“Do you know what causes the smell of old books?” he asks me.
I give him a smile that borders on triumphant. “Lignin. The breakdown of the wood in paper, plus the glue, ink and other chemicals.”
“So then you know,” he says, flipping through the book he’s holding before glancing at me again. “Are you able to read that?”
I peer at the musty pages. The ink has faded a bit but it’s in Italian and clear enough. I nod. “I read Italian better than I speak it.”
“I think you speak it just fine.”
I refuse to let him compliment me. “I sound terrible and you know it.”
He tries to hide a smile but his eyes are dancing. Good lord. He has a way of making me forget what he really is. “For an American, your accent is superb.”
“I’m Canadian.”
“Oh right. Then you’re really doing well. But your writing? Well, that remains to be seen.”
I don’t bother telling him my writing is even worse. Learning a language through witchcraft only does so much, especially on a short amount of time.
Don’t even think about that, I remind myself. What if he hears your thoughts?
But even though vampires can do that with some humans, my glamor is preventing him from doing that with me. At least I assume so. Otherwise he would have known my intentions from day one.
“Tell me,” he says thoughtfully, “why did you decide to come to school here?”
“I’ve always been charmed by Venice,” I tell him.
“But in class the other day, you said it was your first time here.”
“I mean, I’ve always been charmed by the idea of Venice.”
“I see. And has it charmed you yet?”
No, but its vampire is giving it a run for its money.
“I’m not easy to win over,” I tell him with a teasing smile.
“I can tell,” he says.
“Neither are you,” I add.
He frowns, looking me over curiously. “What makes you say that?”
“I invited you for a drink and you said no,” I say bluntly.
His brows shoot up. “And you think that didn’t win me over?”
“You said no,” I repeat.
“I had to say no,” he says with a scoff. “What kind of gentleman do you think I am?”