the House. Two stories of books, including the wrought iron balcony that ringed the upper floor. There were massive skylights, library tables on gleaming floors, and of course, the vampire librarian, who’d snuck me detective mysteries when I was younger. They’d come in every few weeks, a numbered series about an eleven-year-old detective with a pet finch, glasses, and a little leather satchel. I saved my allowance for a month to buy a matching bag and wore it until the straps wore through.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for here. But if I was going to face down Nicole directly, I knew I was going to need good, convincing arguments. Legal arguments. And vampire law was stored here. The Canon filled dozens of volumes that took up dozens of shelves, but I started with the Revised Canon of North American Vampires: Desk Reference, which felt heavy enough to contain most of the important rules. I carried it to a table, took a seat, and began scanning the table of contents.
Most of those contents were mind-numbingly boring: the rights and obligations of Houses; the accounting methods Houses were obliged to use; AAM committee structure. I skipped ahead to the criminal provisions, found the rule that I presumed the AAM was trying to use against me, even though no one had specifically mentioned it. Maybe not a big surprise, given we now knew details weren’t Clive’s strong suit.
The provision read, “The making of vampires is prohibited to any and all vampires who are not Masters.” That seemed, unfortunately, clear enough. I wasn’t a Master or a formal Rogue, so I was prohibited from making vampires. It seemed impossible that I was the only unaffiliated vampire who’d done so. Again, I was the example to be made.
I flipped forward a few pages to the list of penalties for vampires who engaged in prohibited acts. They were . . . remarkably specific. The guillotine and something called “iron pinning” had been taken out during the Canon’s revision when the AAM had been created. Staking, seclusion, and House repudiation remained in play, and there were options for vampires to appeal decisions they thought were unfair.
I was perusing those sections, which were filled with words like “appellee” and “respondent,” when I found something. Vampire crimes could be resolved through trials, just like in the human world. Or, according to one line at the very bottom of the list, vampires could instead choose something called the “Rule of Satisfaction.” Two vampires physically fighting to resolve a dispute; the person who won the fight, won the argument.
I’d read enough Jane Austen to recognize a duel when I saw one. So Uncle Malik and Alexei had been onto something.
I sat back, crossed my arms. I was no legal scholar, but it looked like if I’d violated the rule, either I had to rely on Nicole to decide not to enforce it—which would be great if I could come up with some leverage—or I had to shimmy my way out of the punishment.
Still, dueling was old-fashioned, and I wasn’t a Canon scholar. So I wrote down the language and moved through the stacks until I found the man I needed.
The Librarian stood in midrow, peering at boxes that held print copies of old magazines. He was on the shorter side, with pale skin and dark wavy hair and hands on his lean hips.
Slowly, he shifted his gaze and gave me the Official Librarian Death Stare.
“I don’t have any food or a beverage,” I said. “I only have a question.” I wiggled the paper.
His lips twitched. “Good to see you, too, Elisa. Doing a little research on the AAM?”
“Something like that. I have a question about interpretation of the Canon. But I need discretion.”
His brows lifted, disappeared into dark wavy hair. “Will it hurt Cadogan House?”
“Not at all.”
“What’s your question?”
I handed him the paper. He took it and read, lips pursed. “I see your handwriting hasn’t improved.”
“I don’t write many letters.”
He humphed, then looked up at me. “You’re wondering about Satisfaction.”
“I am. Is it still in use? Is it still something I can request?”
Frowning, but eyes alight with curiosity, he walked back to the Canon, selected a volume, then pulled out a little shelf extension and opened the book on it.
“I didn’t know they did that,” I said.
“Because you’d have used them for snack holders,” he said, turning pages until he found the one he wanted. Then he studied it with furrowed brow.
“As you may know, not all of the