could still smell the smoke of the scribe’s oil lamp. Her eyes still on the clay tablet, she whispered, “Where did she get this?”
“From…a vampire. A very old one.”
“And where did he get it?”
“Probably from the person who carved it.”
Lucy swung her eyes toward his, felt them widen.
“He calls himself Damien now,” James explained. “But that’s not his real name. He had to change it. But when he was human, he was known as Gilgamesh.”
She searched his face and without a word called him a liar. It couldn’t be.
“It’s true.”
“The Gilgamesh?” she whispered. “King Gilgamesh, of Ancient Sumer, is…a vampire?”
“The first vampire, as a matter of fact.” Sighing, James pulled out a chair for her. She only stared at it, her head spinning. “We have a history as old as yours…or nearly so,” he told her. “And it begins in Sumer. I want to tell it to you, and believe me, Lucy, that’s a big deal, because there are very few living mortals who know any of this, and even fewer who know it all. I would very much like for you to be one of those few. In fact, I need you to be one of them.”
But Lucy was hardly listening, too busy searching the databases inside her mind for anything remotely like this in all her years of study, and she was finding almost nothing.
“There is no vampire lore in Sumerian legend,” she said, though that wasn’t entirely true. There was Lilith, but she was just the baby-killing demon invented to explain Sudden Infant Death Syndrome to a primitive people who equated every illness, death and stroke of bad luck to a supernatural being or demon of one sort or another. Lilith had only evolved into a vampire in far later tales, and then, later still, into Adam’s first wife. The one who’d refused to submit.
“There is if you know where to look. I’ll tell you, if you’ll let me.” Again he nodded at the chair he’d pulled out for her.
She stared at the chair. She wanted to argue with him, to refuse to listen or help or do anything at all to involve herself in a mess that was not her own. And yet…this was her area. Her passion. Ancient Sumer, the history, the archaeology, of it, its written language. This was what she did. Hell, it was her life. It had been her parents’ lives before her. And their deaths, as well.
For just a moment she imagined her dad, with his sun-worn face, like old, old leather, and that ever-present fedora that was worn almost threadbare. She wondered what he would say if he were here, and she knew immediately that he would jump in with both feet. He would not hesitate out of something as trivial and meaningless as fear. He would dive into this, if only to find out more.
Knowledge was a drug to him. As it was to her, she was forced to admit.
And so she nodded and sank into the chair James offered, grateful to have something to distract her from her bitter disappointment in the man she had, for a few brief moments, thought of as some kind of hero. “All right,” she said softly. “You have my attention. I’m listening. Tell me your story.”
“You already know a lot of it. The tale of Utanapishtim, for example.” He pulled out a chair and sat facing her. “Tell me what you know about him.”
She frowned, tilting her head to one side, and fell into the comfort of the familiar. She began recounting the tale she’d told to countless groups of students. “Utanapishtim, also known as Ziasudra, a great king, was a righteous and wise man, beloved of the gods. And so, when it was decided to send the great flood down to wipe out mankind, he alone was chosen to receive mercy. He was instructed by the gods to build a massive ship, and because he obeyed, he and his family survived the great flood. As a reward for his faithfulness, the ancient one was given the secret to immortality.”
When she looked up from her story, it was to see others gathering around her. Rhiannon was there, along with the cloaked stranger, who was dark and handsome and wearing a formal suit beneath the cape, as if he were embracing his own cliché. The black panther sat upright, its body pressed to Rhiannon’s leg. Brigit was there, too, holding a bowl of fruit and a tall glass of water, which she placed