Books are magical, not just for the worlds within their pages, but for the way they transport a reader to places where anything's possible.

The last of the sunset faded and darkness fell over Rotterburgh's Library like a mourner's veil.  Statues of winged angels and bats stood guard at the entrance, but not even their blessed stone could've protected the vampire librarian that night.

Sinclair Thorn sipped delicious B positive fae blood from a bat-shaped mug while he read the Midnight Ledger at the front desk. Coffin Snatchers Strike Again embellished the front page of the newspaper, detailing how another vampire was snatched right out of his home during the daylight hours while he rested, never to be seen or heard from again.

Paranoia had gripped Sinclair by the throat with each new case, every victim closer to him.  He'd strengthened his wards like never before, even daring to visit a witch's shop for protective charms to hang on his coffin like morbid Nightfall eve ornaments.

While he had faith the library would protect him from anything wicked that tried to drag him out of his coffin by his ankles, all the articles of missing vampires had him on tenterhooks. The vampire over on Fangcrest Street was the twelfth to vanish, and Sinclair hated to think of his own sorry fangs being the unlucky thirteenth vamp to disappear into the morning fog.

A gust of wind caught Sinclair's attention as a weary traveler entered through the frosted front door. The fae man was wrapped in a thick, black velvet cloak that shimmered like the starry night sky, adorned with the Night Court emblem of a sword with dragon wings. Snowflakes melted on his cloak as he stomped off remnants of snow on the mat, his golden eyes glowing in the dim lantern light. 

"Terribly cold out tonight, isn't it?" Rhett Meadowlark shivered and tugged his hood down. His reddened, long pointy tipped ears poked out from his well-coiffed raven-hued hair. Striking swirls of black ink peeked out from beneath his collar and traveled over the smooth curve of his neck. "Might I light us some more candles?"

"Sure. Be my guest." Sinclair shrugged. 

Fiery embers sparked on the Night Court faerie's fingertips, and with a sweeping gesture, flames ignited on the wicks of the unlit candles in the library. Rhett had shown up one day in search of a grimoire that had once belonged to the previous Winter Queen, but alas, it was nowhere stowed away in Rotterburgh's library.   However, that had not stopped Rhett from visiting each night since. 

"I brought some pastries from Caldron's Cakeshop." Rhett pulled out a paper sack decorated in fake spiders with party hats surrounding a caldron. "Midnight munchies, you know?  I hope you don't mind because I know eating in the library goes against the oh-so sacred rules, but I'm sure you'll make an exception for me." Before he could say a word, Rhett pulled out a freshly sealed vial of blood and passed it across his desk with a wink.  "Figured bribery wouldn't hurt either."

"Don't worry, I won't tell the secret librarian society of your crimes." Sinclair eyed the vial of blood like he expected it to magically poof into a snake and bite him.  "You do know I'm capable of feeding myself, right?  There are plenty of blood banks and other unsavory places for me to find fresh blood."

"Do I really taste that rancid?" Rhett asked, feigning a pained look. "I've never had a vampire once tell me to keep my blood to myself until I met you."

"Fae blood is addictive to my kind, you know that." Sinclair frowned.  "It's dangerous to barter your blood away so freely as you do.  If you encounter the wrong vampire, they won't hold back and drain you dry.  It won't matter how much control you think you have until you're under their fangs."

"Sounds like you're starting to care about me, Sin."

"Poppycock." Sinclair scoffed.  "I just don't want those other vampires hunting you down to my library.  That would be such a mess to clean up."

"Not like it's any of your business who I give my blood away to." Rhett opened his sack and plucked out a gooey spiderwebbed cupcake with a chocolate spider centered on top.  "But you're the only vampire I've ever willingly given it to."

Chocolate crumbs fell on his desk as Rhett peeled the wrapper off his cupcake and nibbled on the frosting, but Sinclair ignored the mess.  Who were those vampires that took his blood by force?  Sinclair wanted to ask, but thought better of prying.

"I read your latest article." Sinclair held up his newspaper.  "Another vampire vanished from his coffin."

Rhett nodded as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin.  "Very concerning, isn't it?  You visited Madam Minerva's emporium for those protection charms I told you about, right?"

"Yes, I did." Color bloomed in the tips of Sinclair's ears as he thought of all the charms on his coffin.  "Though I doubt they'll do much.  Besides, I have faith in the library to protect me."

"You can never be too careful." Rhett took another bite of his cupcake.  "Rumors have swept the Night Court about monsters and ghouls, but I think it's an old vampire hunting group rising up.  I just wonder what they're doing with the remains.  No bodies have resurfaced yet."

"That's a frightening thought."  One that Sinclair had pondered many cold mornings curled up in his coffin.

"Vampire parts go for quite a pretty penny these days for stews and broths.  Many witches believe vampire stew will make them more youthful and healthy." Rhett gave him an apologetic look at the disgust plainly written across his face.   "I've never eaten any, if you're worried about that," he added softly.

"Good to know." 

They had fallen into a familiar pattern, where Rhett worked on his latest stories for the Midnight Ledger and Sinclair tidied up around the library.  Rhett moved over to a table with his pad of paper and quill, head leaned over as he drifted into a world of his own as he wrote.  Embers of smoky black swirled around his fingertips as Sinclair tried not to make it too obvious how much he paid attention to the journalist. 

Why in the name of the devil Rhett desired to do his work in Rotterburgh's library was beyond him because the Night Court had their own prestigious library full of spellbooks Sinclair could only imagine ever reading.  He suspected Rhett stuck around in hopes of finding that grimoire he wanted and thought buttering him up with his blood would help.

Sinclair carefully shelved a few returned spellbooks, their well-worn spines floating through silver embers to the towering bookcases that reached up toward the vaulted ceiling. The bittersweet aroma of leather and old parchment enveloped him as he enchanted two cleaning brooms to glide across the linoleum floor, sweeping away all the dust motes.

Shadows stretched across the shelves like spindly fingers out to snatch him away. Surely a mere trick of the lighting. Sinclair shrugged it off as a tightness grew in the pit of his chest, sparing a glance at Rhett, who hadn't noticed the shadows so deep in his work.

The wind wailed outside like a tormented spirit, followed by the sound of shattered glass erupting from the back of the library. In the forbidden section.

"What in the hells was that?" Rhett rose from his chair, turning back with a frown.

"I don't know." Sinclair cautioned a step forward just as Rhett moved in front of him with the speed of a viper about to strike its prey. 

Heavy footsteps plodded through the shelves around them, the smell of ink flooding Sinclair's nostrils as he braced himself for the worst.  Monstrous moans pierced his sensitive ears, their sharp points instinctively curving inward.  Two enormous beasts lumbered into view, their builds akin to mountain bears with black dragon scales.  Patches of parchment clung to their bodies from spellbooks some magic wielder had desecrated. 

Rhett examined the ink monsters far too calmly, as if he'd witnessed such horrid creatures often. Perhaps in the Night Court they truly did have beasts like those roam their streets.  "New pets of yours, Sinclair?  Very creepy."

"No, you fool!" Sinclair hissed. 

The monsters set their sights on Sinclair with another ear-splintering screech that shook the tables and chairs.  Vampires had a very keen sense of sound, and it was clear those beasts were weaponizing it against him.  His ears rang like the morning church bells, head pounding as he tried to focus his energy into a defensive shield around them. 

In his moment of weakness, one of the ink monsters sprung toward him like a hellish creature of the damned, striking him down to the ground.  Had Sinclair needed air to breathe, it would've forced it out of his lungs.  The ink monster pressed a wet clawed hand to his neck with every intent of ripping his throat out as he desperately slashed at the blobs with his own sharp claws, fangs bared as he desperately bit the thing in hopes of it unlatching him. 

Ink filled his mouth in a foul tang that had him gagging as the monster shrieked.  Mist swirled above him like ghosts, forming into thunderous clouds as sulfur singed his nose, followed by the conglomerate of ink and burnt cranberry pie.  The creature scurried off him, enough where he could raise himself up on one elbow to see it soar across the room with a loud thud against the front entrance. 

It stained the glass with giant smudges of ink.  Despite the agony in Sinclair's most likely broken ribs, he dreaded the thought of cleaning that from the glass later.  The second ink monster emerged from the bookshelf with less confidence, not daring to come anywhere near Sinclair. 

Realization clicked into gear when he followed the monster's downturned head.  A pentagram pulsed with potent magic at his feet, created with Rhett's own blood and lifeforce.  His incantations scorched the air around him in powerful gusts that had him flinching back from the mere impact in spite of the protective shield cast around him. 

Sinclair wanted to help fight.  It wasn't fair of him to let Rhett do all the battling for him. 

"Keep your fangs behind that pentagram!" Rhett whirled around with a pained croak in his voice. His arms flung outward as he released his wings, his body so rigid with tension, he was surprised he could even flap them to soar above the last monster. "I mean it, Sin."

It was difficult not to argue or just ignore him, but as Rhett channeled his magic into the lumbering monster, he did as he was told.  Ink rained down on him as the monster's body shrank, the black scales scabbing off its slimy skin, until all that remained of the monsters were two thick spellbook spines and a couple hundred shreds of parchment.  And puddles of black ink everywhere.

Blood roared in Sinclair's ears as he blinked through the waves of dizziness.  It took a moment to realize someone was touching him.  Warm hands cradled his face, gentle words reassuring him that everything was okay. It left an ache deep within his body, yearning for so much more. Dark spots crept into his vision as the sweet smell of fresh blood had him aching to bite the delicious meal presented to him. 

Soft skin pressed against his lips.  He felt Rhett's finger probe the inside of his mouth, nicking it on his fang so warm nectar dripped on his tongue and made him crave more.  Sinclair sunk his fangs deep into Rhett's arm, savoring the delicious blood that rushed down his throat and filled his body with a numb sense of pleasure. 

When a vampire was starved, they acted on pure instinct.  To feed. 

Sinclair admittedly hadn't kept himself as well fed as he could, but he was nowhere near starved.  Yet when Rhett loosened the tie that held Sinclair's crimson hair in a bun and combed his fingers through it, all logic soared up into the night sky as he purred against his touch.

"I won't let anything hurt you, Sin.  I promise."