David sighed, setting down his fork. “Yes, you did warn me.” He looked up from his plate. “My point is, I cannot recall precisely when your premonition came to pass.”
Libraean sipped at his teacup. He set it down, folding his weathered hands above his now empty plate as he gazed at him. “You really don’t remember?”
“I would not ask if I did.”
Libraean rose from his seat, scooping David’s empty plate under his own and tossing it into a nearby basin of soapy water before shuffling from the kitchen into his living space. David followed, admiring as he often did, how flawlessly Libraean had transformed the Lardone vaults into a place fit for habitation.
The creature struggled to reach the top shelf of one of his numerous bookcases, but David knew better than to ask him if he needed assistance. With an audible grunt, the tips of his fingers clasped the spine of a wilted, red leather volume, sending it downwards towards the floor. A generous bit of dust came along with it, settling around the crumpled tome. He picked it up with another grunt before falling into one of the upholstered couches, the furniture creaking with his weight. He dropped the book on his sofa table with a thud, snapping his fingers to light a nearby candle.
David blinked, surprised. “All these years and you never once used your powers in my presence.”
Libraean looked flustered, realizing his mistake. “I generally avoid their use. But my body is not as nimble as it once was, and sometimes the thought of using them to ease my growing discomfort is too strong a temptation for me to fight.”
“Understandable,” David offered, magnanimously. “I see you have the Manibus Ignem like Lucius.”
Libraean nodded, opening the book carefully. “I did not lie to you when I said he created me in his image, even passing on to me the hands of fire.” The pages crackled as he gingerly leafed through them, the parchment heavy with ink.
“To think, at one point my compendium was written on papyrus,” David remarked.
Libraean nodded. “The oldest blood drinker that ever was. And still is.” He paused at a page. “Ah. Here you are. Hopefully this will refresh your memory.”
He spun the book around so David could read it. Bold letters at the top spelled out the date:
Jerusalem, 36 Anno Domini.
David closed his eyes as the memories flew back to him. “To think I’d forgotten,” he said, softly.
Libraean was quiet, closing the book tenderly. “After you avenged Gaia’s death, your transition occurred slowly, like the crocodiles evolving out of Egypt’s Nile. But on this day, you were notably changed forever.”
“Thank you, Libraean,” David murmured, his voice brimming with emotion.
The creature cleared his throat as if to stifle any of his own emotions from surfacing. He turned his back to David as he replaced the book on the shelf. “I’ll see you again soon, then?”
David rose to his feet, understanding the familiar cue. Although their bond had strengthened over time, the only two creatures left in the world, both cherished their respective solitude. “Yes, I will call again soon. Enjoy your evening, Libraean.”
“You do the same.”
David retrieved his cloak, wrapping it around his frame as he moved through the succession of vaults and back up the stony crypt steps.
The rain had resumed, quickening the pace by which he resecured the mausoleum door and ventured home. Jacob greeted him at the entrance, appearing well rested and groomed. “Good evening, sir. Your friend is awake. She requested Irish whiskey, but I instead brought her bourbon with lemon and honey for her cough.”
David smiled at the old man’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Jacob. I’m on my way to check on her now. I’ll call if she will be needing to return to her residence.”
Old Man Jacob nodded, neutrally.
David moved past the staircase to enter the parlor, which was already warm and bright. His companion was seated comfortably on her couch beneath a fresh stack of blankets. Her face brightened upon sight of him. “There is my handsome abductor,” she grinned.
“I do believe you came willingly,” David pointed out, though his tone was pleasant.
“I only jest,” she assured him.
“I assume Jacob has taken good care of you?” he asked.
“He has been most hospitable.” She gestured to the remnants of a toast and jam breakfast next to a short glass half-filled with bourbon.
“Wonderful. I presume you’d like to return home to your residence soon?”
She frowned. “I dozed off after you described the creation of Morgana. Surely that was not the end of your tale.”
“I’m afraid you are correct. There is still much more left to tell.”
Her lips turned upwards, satisfied with his response. “Then I have to stay for the Second Act.”
“Of course. But I must jump ahead in time, for my evolution into the creature you see before you now was a tedious ascension...or descension, depending on whom you’re talking to.” David walked towards a mahogany bookcase, crammed with uneven volumes and columns of old papers tied with string. Towards the top were rolls of parchment, situated between stacks of scrolls so old they were flattened behind panes of protective glass. The oldest piece was not within view, but as his fingers lingered nearby, he could recall it clearly, singed edges lost forever to the flames which had nearly destroyed it. He closed his eyes, picturing Lucius’s narrow silhouette erected amongst walls of fire, palms turned upwards as his rage pulled the old library down around him. He could almost hear his own screams.
He sighed, carefully removing the piece of rolled up parchment that had been laid beside it. He delicately unwound the frayed piece of ribbon that held it together, unrolling it on top of the piano. He smoothed out its creases, securing the top and bottom with candelabras that had been stationed nearby.
“As I changed, so did Lucius,” he began, “leaving behind the scholarly creature intrigued by the minds of men, and becoming something quite different. He grew bitter, frustrated by the devolution of the world around us, which grew less intriguing to him as time passed. He never had the patience for the fine art that is stalking one’s prey, but had always enjoyed the physicality of combat, and as the cultured intellect fell away, the volatile beast inside him grew stronger. He was inexplicably drawn to the wars of men, the complexity of his mind sated as he arranged them like pawns on a chessboard, his participation in battle doing its part to satisfy his bloodlust.
“I originally assumed his renewed love of warfare was heavily influenced by Morgana, for never once did he cease in his longing for her. But his transition was much deeper than that, I’m afraid.” David looked back wistfully at the stacks of ancient texts he’d painstakingly preserved.
“I remember clearly the moment I realized I’d lost him forever,” he continued. “We had journeyed to Egypt upon his request, to the depreciating city of Alexandria. He had spoken so highly of the city, an intricate maze of architectural splendor established by Alexander the Great long before my human birth. He regaled us with his recollections of its breathtaking temples, a magnificent lighthouse, and a library boasting over 700,000 scrolls written by true geniuses of men.
“What we discovered upon our arrival was a much different story. Religious wars had destroyed the city, its glorious temples either torn down or hastily converted into Christian churches. What looked to be a once impressive lighthouse was now in desperate need of repair, abandoned, rotting ships cluttering its docks, swinging lifelessly with the waves. Lucius was silent, staring blankly at the crucifix laden buildings and the crumbling watchtower, the faces of the Greek gods it once boasted thoughtlessly removed.
“We hunted separately that evening, Morgana and I eager to abandon the destitute city and the scrutinous eyes of its citizens as soon as we were able. This was after my taste for humans had dwindled, so I waited until she’d abandoned my side before I found sustenance in the bounty absconded from fishing nets near the harbor.
“Covertly maneuvering my way back into town, I noticed a building that had once been quite striking, stretching two stories high and surrounded by coupled marble columns. It seemed to have suffered the same defacement of its statues; inside, busts that could have been either been pagan gods or Roman patriarchs had been disfigured beyond recognition.
