The inside had been a mix of state-of-the-art technology, modern art, and a splattering of contemporary architectural hodgepodge. Even though she hadn’t been inside since she was eight, she could still picture every single detail in her head, including the great escalators that festooned the library from top to bottom and the three-dimensional papier-mâché art hanging from the ceiling.
Her visit to memory lane was cut short as they descended toward the front entrance of the library. An angular and chiseled Asian undead met them, his black head of hair falling in unruly waves around his smiling, strangely likeable face. He wore no shirt despite the rain, showing off his slim yet muscular build as well as the massive dragon tattoo that covered his entire back.
The handsome man with full red lips grinned at Sainvire, his fangs showing.
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“Joseph,” Sainvire said, returning the medium-height vampire’s grin and clapping him on the shoulder. “How goes it this evening?”
“Just fine, Kaleb.” Joseph inclined his head then opened the door for the two. “Just the usual, you know.
Like, say, a couple dozen infuriated cops banging on the doors demanding a certain someone’s genitals.”
“Wonder who that unfortunate creature could be?”
Sainvire let Poe enter first. “I see you brought trouble with you,” Joseph dropped casually, his eyes scanning the girl’s exposed wounds.
The sight and smells of the oh-so-familiar foyer brought a stab of memories. The place still hinted of plaster, Pine-Sol, old books, and crayons. Only now, a strong antiseptic smell dominated. The corner where the information booth used to be now housed a vampire of South Asian descent clicking away at an old computer. The checkout booths seemed the same except for the intimidating looking group of black and Vietnamese undead futzing around behind the counter and giving her the once over.
I thought minority vamps are out of vogue unless they’re purty. Are those Latina humans handling firearms?
The little gift shop to her right displayed antique weaponry dating back from the French and Indian War to the American Civil War, no doubt pilfered from museums. Three middle-aged Latinas continued their conversation in Spanglish while cleaning and loading modern firearms. Their eyes never strayed from where she stood.
“Trench isn’t going to like this one bit,” she heard Joseph comment.
She looked over her shoulder and found the two speaking more quietly, obviously talking about her.
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“I wonder if those muskets still work,” she muttered to herself. “What I’d do to use them right now.”
Risking it, Poe hung right while the Sainvire and Joseph chatted. The walls, once bedecked by black and white city photographs and questionable kids’ art, now boasted Chagall, Christo, Kandinsky, Miro, Dali, Maholy-Nagy and other paintings she vaguely remembered seeing at museums like LACMA and the MOCA with her parents. There were at least fifty paintings on this floor alone.
Her reverie was interrupted by the low voice of the master vampire startlingly close to her ear.
“Have you an interest in art, Poe?”
Poe frowned. Her mother was a local artist. And what an incredibly stupid question from the man who single-handedly turned humans into heifer!
“Who doesn’t?” she answered snidely. Then she remembered complaining along with her siblings, Joe and Sirena, that they were tired of looking at weird, ugly paintings over and over again, and they wanted to go to the movies already.
“Hmm. Good point. Lousy ice-breaker I chose there.” He ignored Poe’s scowl. Instead his gaze lowered to the pool of water and blood collecting on the floor. “You need to dry up and get that glass out of your skin. The wound in your leg is hampering your steps.”
Hot from feeling like a dirty, dripping plebe with broccoli in her teeth, Poe intentionally shook her wet hair, splashing some of the precious paintings. She stomped on the pool of rain and sewer. “You’re right. I better be dry and clean before you drink me through a straw.”
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She just had to piss him off in some way. Deep down, however, she felt her parents’ disapproving scowl at her irreverence to the art they had so admired.
The vampire didn’t even blink an eye. He merely indicated that she follow him up the escalator.
“Um,” Poe began slowly, trying hard to speak clearly. “If you’re gonna drink my blood, you better axe my head. ’Cause if I turn vampire, I’ll make sure to return the favor. And if I end up as cattle, I might just snap out of my stupor one day and stab you in your sleep.”