‘. . . but, you see, to me, the deletion and reinstatement of Laws eleven, fourteen and nineteen is one of the key moments in all of vampire history!’
If I don’t do something, I’ll be stuck here all night, Ivy realised. And we won’t even get to the Twenty-First Law until dawn!
Finally, as Pierre paused to draw a breath, Ivy seized her chance. ‘What do you know about the Twenty-First Law of the Night?’ she blurted.
The Librarian did not hesitate. ‘A vampire must never taste earthstuff when the moon is full.’
Ivy shook her head blankly. ‘Um . . . what?’
Pierre smiled kindly as he translated: ‘Eating vegetables on a full moon.’
‘What?’ Ivy laughed. ‘You have got to be pranking me.’
‘Not at all, my dear.’ Pierre shook his head, twirling his fountain pen idly between his fingers. ‘The Law was introduced several hundred years ago, and has never been changed.’
‘So . . .’ Ivy could barely even say the words out loud. ‘What you’re telling me is that someone could be banished from their own hometown, for . . . eating a Caesar salad?’
‘Well,’ Pierre shrugged, his crimson scarf shifting stylishly against his shoulders. ‘Vampires are known to take their Laws very seriously, no matter how silly they may seem in retrospect.’ He sighed nostalgically and leaned against the desk. ‘You can’t have hindsight in the present, can you? If we could, I certainly would never have made that terrible mistake with the pirate and the . . .’
But Ivy didn’t hear the rest of his story. She was too stunned to take it in.
How could Brendan’s dad have gone along with that crazy rule when it meant kicking out his own sister? And more to the point, how many other vampires had been punished over the years for issues that were . . . well . . . silly?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, interrupting Pierre. ‘It was really great to meet you, but I have to talk to my dad. Now.’
‘Then I’ll wish you au revoir.’ Pierre straightened, sweeping his scarf dramatically over his shoulder. ‘But not goodbye. You are welcome to return to my library any time.’
Ivy nearly ran out of the echoing library. By the time she’d made it back to her dad’s display room, she was shaking with outrage.
Charles didn’t even notice as she stomped in. He was too busy lecturing Olivia, who looked glassy-eyed with hopelessness as her dad prattled on . . .
. . . and on.
‘. . . But of course the really fascinating thing about the history of the Triptychs is –’
Balling her fists and squaring her shoulders, Ivy marched inside. ‘Dad!’ Her voice rapped out, cutting off her father’s words. ‘I need to talk to you right now.’
‘Ivy!’ Still balancing a small, three-panelled painting in his gloved hands, Charles gave her his full attention. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Wow,’ Olivia whispered, in obvious awe. ‘I really need to work on my Stern Voice.’
Ivy crossed her arms, focusing on her father. ‘I met someone new recently,’ she said. ‘Someone who had a very interesting story to tell . . . about Carla Daniels.’
‘What?’ Charles gave a full-body start – and the triptych fell from his hands.
Without his vampire reflexes, it would have smashed on the marble floor. As it was, he caught it just in time. Then he walked over to the closest display case and placed it back inside with visibly trembling fingers.
‘Right,’ he said, turning back to his daughters. His pale face was tight, looking strained as he stripped off his gloves. He needed two attempts to get them off.
Ivy wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her father so nervous – this wasn’t helping her own nerves!
‘We’d better all go to the break room,’ he said, ‘for safety’s sake. I have a feeling that, if we’re not careful, this conversation could cost millions of dollars’ worth of damage.’
Even after they’d retreated to the staff’s upstairs break room, filled with ancient couches and tables, Charles still looked as stunned as if Ivy had hit him with one of his heaviest artefacts. He handed both of the girls glasses of blood-orange juice as he joined them at a small round table, but his hands were trembling so hard the glasses clinked dangerously against the table.
‘Dad?’ Ivy stared at him as she took her glass. ‘I don’t understand. Why is this such a big deal? I mean, come on – we are talking about vegetables, right?’
Charles sighed as he sank down on to his chair. ‘It sounds absurd now, I admit, but times were different then. Of course, I wasn’t even living in Franklin Grove when it all happened, but Marc told me the story after I came here.’