He flickers his eyes back toward Haruka, sulking. “Am I in some kind of trouble? Is that why you’re here?”
Haruka softens his expression, oddly wanting to put him at ease. “Not in trouble. May I sit?”
“Of course, please. Would you like a drink?”
“Merlot, please,” Haruka says, making himself comfortable atop the closest bar stool.
“No problem.” He turns away, then briskly turns back toward Haruka. For the first time, he offers a timid smile. “I’m Nino, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Nino runs his fingers through his hair again, hesitating before making himself busy behind the bar. He pulls a bottle from the illuminated shelf, then glasses and a handled corkscrew from underneath the bar. His movement is fluid now, like a fish swimming underwater.
“Nino, what is your full name?”
Nino abruptly pauses, his vivid eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
“Your full name,” Haruka repeats. “It is proper in new introductions like this.”
Nino works the cork, then twists and smoothly pulls it from the wine bottle. “It’s sorry—I mean, I’m sorry, for not…” He takes a deep breath. “My name is Nino Bianchi.”
“And what is your age?” Haruka asks.
“One hundred and twelve.” Nino focuses, pouring the burgundy liquid and generously filling both glasses. Haruka keeps his expression even, but he is surprised. Nino’s manner presents as fairly juvenile, like that of a vampire well below a century. Not only is he over a century, he’s older than Haruka by eleven years.
Nino carefully lifts the wine glass and places it in front of Haruka. “So… what’s your age? May I ask?”
“Of course.” Haruka gently wraps his fingers around the glass. “I am one hundred and one.”
Nino’s haunting eyes brighten, his smile open and genuine. “We’re pretty close. I’ve never met another purebred near my age before. Where I’m from they’re all old or scary.”
“Where are you from?” Haruka lifts his glass, taking a sip.
“Milan, Italy. My father’s clan still has firm control over the city, but everyone in my mother’s clan was killed during the First World War—starting at the Qingdao conflict.”
Haruka considers, scanning his memory like the pages of an old reference book in the expansive library of his mind. Qingdao had primarily been a conflict between Japan, Germany and the UK over a German port in China. To his knowledge, the Italian military had not been involved. “I am sorry for your loss… In what way was your mother’s clan entangled in the siege?”
“They were major players in the Japanese navy. My grandfather was the commanding officer on the Kawachi.”
Haruka blinks, processing the information. Nino finishes a long sip of his wine and smiles timidly. “You’re thinking I don’t look half-Japanese.”
“No.” Haruka stares into space. “I was having difficulty remembering when the Kawachi sank. Was it 1918?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m surprised you would know such an arbitrary fact right off the top of your head.”
“It is essentially my job to know many arbitrary facts.”
Nino leans with his elbows against the counter slightly off-center from Haruka. He makes himself comfortable and gently twists his wine glass with his fingers at the stem. “Historian?” he asks.
“Correct.”
“I knew it.” Nino beams in his open, genuine way once more. “My family specializes in roles related to business and social affairs, so I’ve never met a proper vampire Historian before… I always imagined them as these cultured, intelligent people. Looks like I was right.”
Haruka’s knotted aura independently shifts again, a distinct warmth gently bubbling up his spine. He discreetly stretches his lower back and sucks in a breath. What the hell is this?
“How many languages do you speak?” Nino asks. “You’re a polyglot, aren’t you?”
Distracted and tense from this abnormality of his aura suddenly having a mind of its own, Haruka picks up his glass. “What evidence do you have that warrants this assumption?”
“Am I wrong?”
Haruka pulls his glass to his lips, shifting his eyes sideways. “No…”
Nino laughs, the sound warm and bright and accentuating the energy rolling off of his delicately sculpted body. There is an undeniable wholesomeness—perhaps goodness—in his vampiric aura as he comfortably lets it rest outward. He is like a creature derived from the sun.
Haruka drains his glass. He can’t remember the last time he had a conversation with another high-level vampire that wasn’t centered around his physical appearance or bonding. It is a pleasant surprise, but he needs to cut to the chase. “Nino, have you been receiving the invitations to the confirmation ceremony next month?”
Standing up from the bar, the amber vampire straightens his spine. His posture stiff. “I knew I was in some kind of trouble.”
“It is not trouble,” Haruka assures him. “However, your presence has been formally requested, so it is proper for you to respond and attend. The requesting family wants us to officiate the ceremony… the admittedly archaic and invasive ceremony. Nonetheless, will you attend?”
Nino visibly exhales while shifting his eyes away. “Listen… to be honest with you, I don’t know anything about officiating a bonding ceremony. I would rather not be part of it, if possible.”
“How can you not know anything about it? You are a one-hundred-and-twelve-year-old purebred vampire—”
“I know how old I am, and what I am,” Nino says, watching Haruka. “But I’m not—It’s not something I want to do.”
Haruka pauses, dumbfounded. They are purebreds. Part of their station in life is doing things they don’t want to do. It is simply how their culture works—especially at the behest of lower-ranked vampires. The strong help the weak, the haves support the have nots.
