Vampires Don't Suck: An urban fantasy romantic comedy by Juliann Whicker

Author:Juliann Whicker [Whicker, Juliann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Thirteen

The vault was typical of its kind of room, shelves widely spaced with plenty of hooks and chains for the serious troublemakers.

“Pepshaw, this is Miss Morell, the Librarian. She will be keeping her book here for the foreseeable future. She’ll do her own containment spells, and if you’re lucky, she’ll help you with yours.”

Pepshaw was a goblin. His skin was a chalky yellow, his snarl as magnificent as his long white hair, which he kept in thick dreadlocks almost to his waist. He wore a lab coat and glasses, but his ears were goblin ears, as was the calculating shrewdness in his eyes.

“Felix told me about you,” he said with a short nod. “Tell me what you need and be done with it.” That was incredibly polite for a goblin.

“Gold chains, soaked in salt under a new moon, powdered chalk and that should be all I need that I didn’t bring.” My book was already prepared to take the chalk spells. The marble and gold worried me in case it was adapting to gold chains, so maybe I would try silver next time. I would think about it.

He led me to a spot near the back of the room. I hesitated as I passed a book hanging from black chains, demon chains like the ones that had been around Horace. The chains weren’t what caught my interest, but the book. It throbbed menacingly until I poked it through the chains and I felt its dark, corrosive will.

“This one needs fresh warding. It’s a handful, I can tell. Would you like me to help you with it?” I asked Pepshaw, turning to find him staring at me with his flickering golden eyes.

“I will let you know,” he finally said before nodding at the table where I could do my work next to several buckets filled with salt and chains.

It didn’t take me long to put my wards and runes on it with the chalk, then even less time to chain it up and hang it in an isolated corner. I brushed chalk dust off my hands, and went back to the Scholar where he was standing still holding my box, studying the pulsing book of danger that I’d pointed out earlier.

“You were going to introduce me to your translators,” I said, bumping his arm to break his reverie.

He glanced at me, then nodded. “So I was. Good evening, Pepshaw. Shall we?” He held out his arm, and I took it again, feeling less aching in my chest when I did. Once we were out of the room, he said, “Miss Morell, that book is demonic.”

“Of course.”

“You touched a demonic book. Shouldn’t you be more careful?”

“It’s not the kind that I can’t touch.”

“Ah. What kind can’t you touch?”

“Demonic books put people in danger by turning their souls to corruption. I am not in danger of corruption, so the only kinds of books I can’t touch are those that would physically harm me, such as those coated in acid, poisons, or spiked. There are some ridiculously spiked books.

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