Dawn found me lying with Ari tucked up at my side, curled into a ball against my chest. Usually, he got too warm at night to sleep so near, and although we might fall asleep in one another's arms, we rarely awoke that way.

After a moment of enjoyment, the memory of the previous night's excursion returned, although it wasn't clear. It was vague and dreamlike, and I wasn't sure how much of what I remembered had been real.

"Ari?" I shook him gently, and he made a sleepy sound before letting out a sigh.

"What?" he asked, sounding a little grumpier than usual.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright."

He was definitely grumpy.

"Are you sure?" I asked, and then winced. I knew he didn't like it when I fussed.

He remained still a moment, and then he sat up.

"Soren, it's six am. I just managed to fall back asleep thirty minutes ago, and before that, I'd been up since midnight. And before that, I had a very uncomfortable experience with your father in his basement."

He paused.

"You know what I mean."

"Actually...I'm not sure I'm remembering the whole thing quite clearly," I admitted. "What happened, exactly?"

He sighed again, scrunching his fingers in his curls and making them stand up in even crazier ways than usual. I badly wanted to touch, but I restrained myself.

The vibe he was giving off did not say 'please touch my hair.'

"I...I wanted to confront all the traumatic shit that happened here," he said, his voice sounding more strained with every word. "I thought if I went down there—to the caverns—and saw for myself that it was fine, that there was nothing to fear, that I could learn to love this place again. Instead, I trespassed where I had no business, almost got myself killed, and frightened your father half to death. I wouldn't be surprised if he looks more like Gary Oldman at the beginning of Bram Stoker's Dracula this morning instead of his usual blond Hannibal guy."

As usual, I had no idea what he was referencing, but I got the gist.

"Ari...why didn't you tell me this before? I would have gone with you."

"I know you would have," he said, voice softening. "It was a stupid thing to do on my own, even if your father didn't have some sort of rabid new-blood locked down there."

"Speaking of my father," I said, rising reluctantly, "we ought to hear what he has to say on that matter as soon as possible. I hope he hasn't gotten himself into trouble of some sort."

"Trouble?" Ari asked, rising also and heading for the bathing room.

I followed. "Yes. He said he 'found' the new-blood. I don't see how that's possible."

"I don't understand," Ari said as he shaved in front of the large mirror. "Is it like, bad manners or something to leave a new-blood lying around?"

"You could say that," I said, leaning against the wall and watching him complete his morning routines. I hadn't needed to shave very often since I'd turned, once or twice a week at most, and the regularity of the ritual was something I missed. I'd taken to watching Ari, deriving satisfaction vicariously through observation. He seemed not to mind. "It takes skill to turn a human," I said. "Skill, and power. Even if the subject survives the ordeal, the result is often...unfortunate. I don't know if I could manage it yet, myself."

"So, not all vamps can make other vamps?"

"Yes. Typically, only the masters. It's a matter of honor to take responsibility for the result, one way or the other."

"Meaning?"

"If the new-blood is...unfit, it's the blood-father's, or blood-mother's, duty to put an end to it. It's only merciful."

"I see."

Ari finished the rest of his routine in silence, wrangling his hair into something like order, and then dressing in slacks and a pale, rose-pink shirt I'd selected for him once. In our day-to-day life he tended to have a...casual...sense of fashion, but it was difficult not to feel underdressed around my father.

I readied myself as well, and then, together, we went downstairs.

As usual, when he had human guests, my father was in the kitchen. This morning he presented Ari with freshly baked pop-over muffins, with soft yellow butter and strawberry jam. He'd also made freshly pressed coffee and scrambled eggs whipped with sour cream and topped with a sprinkling of dill. It looked and smelled delicious, but like him, I was unable to partake, and could only watch as Ari enjoyed the fare.

While he ate, we talked of mundane things; or my father talked, to be precise, and we listened. He talked about Matt, mostly, and I kept casting Ari apologetic glances, although he seemed quite all right with the whole...whatever it was that was going on between my father, Matt, and Ben. He'd told me to think of my father's feelings for Matt as an extremely close kind of friendship—a deep love without physical desire.

I just smiled and told him I would do my best. It wasn't that I didn't believe such love existed; I just wasn't convinced it was in my father's repertoire.

Once Ari was done eating, we retired to the library. It was a spacious room, filled with books on magick and the occult, on history, philosophy, religion, mythology, and any other topic my father (and in later years, I) had deemed relevant to his (now our) work. There were other things as well: shelves of mystical objects, crystals, and alchemical ingredients; a variety of ancient skulls; a wall of ritual knives and a rack of swords engraved with runes.

There were also less useful things that my father simply enjoyed collecting: an entire case filled with dead butterflies (lepidoptery being among his numerous hobbies), a variety of antique scientific apparatuses, and an array of outdated maps and globes.

It was a collection that had taken centuries to build, and that my father continued to curate even now. Ari said it was both fascinating and a little creepy—like a fantastical serial killer's lair.

I'd refrained from pointing out that, to a certain extent, that's exactly what it was. My father might prefer to avoid unnecessary violence, but his hands were not bloodless, by any means.

Neither were mine.

There were things I'd done under the direction of the Custodians that I had not told Ari about, even now. I preferred to leave such things in the past, and to forget.

Leading us to a group of chairs situated below the windows, my father invited us to sit. He himself remained on his feet, standing with his back to us and staring out at the courtyard on the other side of the glass. Being on the lowest floor, the library did not have the best view, but looked out on a small, private space with dark, moss-covered stones, a small pool of water filled by a natural spring, and a tree with a gnarled trunk and delicate, fiery red leaves. Some of these had already fallen into the dark water at its base, like drops of blood.

I had not been a vampire long enough to have my father's sense of time—to stretch a moment into an eternity, or to let days pass like minutes—and he was trying my patience.

"Well?" I asked, knowing I sounded a bit peevish and lacking the grace to care. "Are you going to tell us why there's a mindless new-blood in your cellar, or not?"

Ignoring me, he turned and addressed Ari instead. "Forgive me for not asking until now, my dear," he began. "Did you sleep at all after our little...encounter? You look rather tired this morning."

Ari offered him his typical, innocent smile, suspecting nothing but genuine concern in my father's question. Sometimes I wondered how he'd managed to stay alive for the twenty-eight years before I'd met him.

"No, I didn't really sleep," he admitted, "but it's nothing some meditation or a nap won't cure."

My father cast me a look that held an accusation. Why had I not offered my lover comfort? Why had I not charmed him into a deep and restful slumber, as he would no doubt have done?

The truth was I'd been out of it, drunk on Ari's blood, and as soon as we'd returned to bed, I'd crashed.

My father didn't understand. Ari's blood was unlike other blood—more potent, laced with magic. I doubted even he—with his vaunted control—could resist its often unpredictable effects.

"Well, I hope that our business this morning will be quick," he said, "and then you may rest and restore yourself to your usual...radiance."

I scowled. He'd really been playing up the romantic vampire crap lately (apparently Matt loved it) and it was getting on my nerves.

"If you don't mind, Count," I said, "perhaps if we move past the pleasantries and get to the point, our 'business' as you say, will be concluded that much sooner."

He glanced at me and I saw the tiniest of detectable smirks on his lips. He knew he was provoking me, I realized, and he was having fun. Fortunately (for both of us) it seemed he'd finally had enough and merely gave me a small nod. "You are quite right. To business then."

He sat down at last, leaning back in his chair and crossing one knee over the other, looking like a lord taking his throne.

"I invited you here—both of you—for a reason. My son, dear Soren, to discuss your inheritance, and you, Ari, for the matter upon which you so unfortunately stumbled last night."

He looked at me and raised a brow.

"Yes, Soren. I was going to tell you about the new-blood. I simply had not got around to it quite yet."

Turning back to Ari, he said, "The thing is, I could not discover quite how to broach the topic. It is rather sensitive, and I do not wish to upset you, of course—especially here, with all the memories that you bear."

"Where is this going?" I asked, impatient once more. "What do you want with Ari?"

He sighed, paused, and went on as if I hadn't spoken. "It was Ayad who found her—you remember him?"

I nodded. As Ari's uncle had been, Ayad was a Custodian like ourselves—one who specialized in magical artifacts of dubious provenance.

"Like you, he assumed she was one of mine at first, though I can't imagine why. Perhaps people would trust me more if I lost my accent," he mused, studying the back of his hand. "Once I'd assured him that I was not unleashing mindless, blood-frenzied monsters on the world, he turned her over to me. And that is where the mystery really began."

"Mystery?" Ari prompted, leaning forward.

"Yes. You see, every vampire leaves their legacy in the blood of their 'children.' An old vampire, like myself, can tell which line another descends from just by—well, smelling, I suppose is the closest thing. I know most of the legacies by heart, and even those I am less familiar with I would at least recognize even if I could not name. This one was different."

"New?" I asked. Usually, by the time a vampire became powerful enough to turn others, they were well known. It wouldn't be hard to narrow down the list.

My father shook his head. "No, not new. Not anything. There was no trace of a legacy at all."

I sat in silence for a moment, processing this. "How is that possible? That would mean that she has no bond—no master. She'd have no chance of turning without losing her mind. And to turn her loose... No vampire would be so cruel—so reckless. It would endanger us all."

"Agreed. That is why I have been trying so hard to help her regain herself. I wish to learn who did this. To turn another, and then not to claim them, not to bind them with your own blood...it is unthinkable. A vile act. One that I do not intend to let go unpunished."

"How can we help?" Ari asked. "I mean, what can I possibly do? I don't know any magick that works on vampires."

"You may not know it," Volkir agreed softly, "but you have it, nonetheless. In my long experience, I have only seen one thing that has helped a vampire complete a turning without losing himself even once. That vampire was my son," he said, "and that thing, my dear, is your blood."