Page 85 of The Book of Blood and Roses

“A witch made this for me back in my alchemy days,” Elia says, handing me her mirror. I sniff it, just as she did, and I smell the rose, the candle wax, and the damp tunnel.

“You said this is the entrance to the library?” So, I was right. But knowing where it is and getting inside are two different things. “How do we get in?”

“Only I can go inside,” she says lightly. “Ada could as well, but she’s dead.”

“You knew her?”

“Well…” Elia’s expression softens, and she lowers her head. “We were lovers, on and off, for five centuries.”

“How old are you?” I know this isn’t the most important question right now, but I can’t help myself.

“I thought you would have guessed after seeing I’m immune to garlic,” she says. “But I was born in Hispania. Back when old Augustus was emperor.”

“You—” I gawk at her, trying to process those words.

“Two thousand years, give or take a few decades.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Elia says. “Born and raised in a small seaside town, in modern Catalonia. Got converted when I was twenty-three.”

I don’t say a word.Two thousand.

“Obviously my first name was not Elia. I’ve had several, depending on where I lived. First, I was Flora, and then when the Western Empire fell and my native Latin started to branch out, I switched to Clotilde. Then I was Elisenda, the most feared vampire in Barcelona.” She smiles at the memory. “A few centuries later, when Ada and I crossed paths in Rome, she started calling me Elia, and it stuck.”

“Your first language isLatin?” I say, unable to wrap my head around this. I knew, based on what Julia had told me, that Elia was old. But I don’t think I’ve ever met a vampire this old. She’s over a thousand years older than Tynahine itself.

“Ita,” she says with a smile, and I assume that means yes.

“Can you get me into the library?” I ask, suddenly remembering what we were talking about.

“The library?”

“Ada Astra’s library,” I say. She crosses her legs, considering my words for a moment.

“Definitely not,” she finally says.

“The cure is in there,” I say. “I can’t become a Familiar.”

“And I can’t let a vampire hunter enter Ada’s library. Forget it.” Panic starts to climb up my chest, but Elia doesn’t seem to care. “Aliz must be wondering where you’re hiding,” she says, changing the subject.

“Can’t you find the cure for us, then?” I ask.

“You know, she hasn’t slept with anyone in over a week.” Elia ignores my question. “Aliz isn’t a nymphomaniac by any means, but I did think it was interesting that her appetite for company took such a sudden dip.” I try my hardest not to react to those words. Try to not read between the lines. “Don’t tell her that I said this, of course. But even at our last party, at least while I was there, she was just moping about in a corner.”

“Why haven’t you told her what I am?” I ask. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt her?”

“If Aliz is anything like Ada, or her father, she’ll not be easy to kill,” she says. “Even for a seasoned serial killer, such as yourself.”

I breathe in, glaring at her. “Thanks.”

“What else should I call you?” Elia asks, all warmth slipping from her voice. “How many people did you kill tonight?”

“It was self-defense.”

“I’m not askingwhy,” she says, rain pattering on the roof of her pink car. “How many?”

I lean further back into the leather seat, words dying in my mouth. It’s the wordpeoplethat sticks out. I’ve spent almost half a decade hating vampires with every fibre of my being. My hatred has given me purpose; it has been the only thing that’s kept me going, but now, admitting that I’ve killed a vampire feels no different to admitting I’ve killed a human.