The One With No Vampires In It (Allegedly)
“So in summation,” Trenchant said. “No, I have not finished the book. My returned vassal and dear friend Lucienne Du Lat kept me quite busy, showing me what changed since I was called to the dark. But I intend to, so I would appreciate it if we can continue this without any major spoilers for the last quarter or so of the book.” She drew a long, curved blade from its sheath belted to her side and inspected it for imperfections. “On an unrelated note, this is an année neuvième Light Cavalry Sabre which saw service in the Napoleonic wars. A suitable apology from my protegee, who, if you would deign to forget, was so rude to us last time.”
Lucienne du Lat, pale and dressed in a severe charcoal men’s suit with a red shirt, lounged unladylike on an armchair. She glowered at Trenchant, her nearly white skin still marred with healing scar tissue caused by burning chartreuse.
“Perhaps apology is a bit of a strong way to put it. It is more that I allowed her to buy me this fine gift, for the sake of our rather short memories.”
“Thank you, Trenchant,” Fenrir said, unable to completely hide the concern and confusion from his battle-scarred features. “Shall we continue then?”
“One thing I don’t quite understand,” Seth D’Asur said. “This book, it came from here?”
“Recommended to us, from a patron of the Reading Room,” Anatole said. “Madame Ashley.”
“Saves me the trouble,” Dalla Arnesen said in passing. She nestled herself in a well-sofa’d nook and produced a book that she opened at her bookmark and proceeded to read.
Anatole smiled. “At least it was a good book this time. Not like the one that was for human children.”
Seth grew very still. Dalla raised a single eyebrow in his direction before proceeding to read with murderous intent.
“And,” Fenrir put in with a shudder. “It was not as bad as the one with the alligators.”
“Muuuurder loooogs,” Dracula whispered.
Fenrir clasped his token of Tyr on its leather cord, hung about his neck.
“We all at least enjoyed the New Awlins road trip,” Trenchant said.
“I didn’t,” Seth said.
“Well, who knew that Vampires could get car sick,” Trenchant said.
Seth darkened the room perceptibly. “Any being not car sick after that so-called driving could never have been even remotely human, to begin with.”
“Humans? Where?” Dracula asked.
“Unbecoming,” Trenchant said. “To show such weakness.”
“I do believe the little prince has complimented us,” Anatole added.
“Finally, respect from his lips,” Fenrir said. “I was getting tired of his conceit.”
“And besides,” Trenchant added. “My lovely Mademoiselle Du Lat had taught herself how to drive that contraption only that evening, and I thought she did admirably. And we all agreed to let go of the trifling little details.”
“Like the crash? And the screaming?” Dracula added.
“I don’t recall any of those,” Trenchant said, the tip of her sword ever so slightly making its way in Dracula’s direction.
“Nor any flames,” Anatole said.
“I especially do not remember flames,” Fenrir agreed, staring into the middle distance.
“Good, so long as we’re all on the same page.”
Fenrir shook himself out of his grim reverie. “On to business. Can a novel be a vampire novel if it has no vampires in it?”
“Is that a spoiler?” Trenchant whipped the tip of the blade at Fenrir’s bared neck.
“Merely a hypothesis,” he replied without flinching.
“The word ‘vampire’ appears in every chapter of this book,” Anatole said, raising her copy of Pale Immortal. “So this is obviously a vampire novel.”
“There is definitely something vampirey occurring,” Trenchant added, placing the blade flat on the table in front of her.
“Yes, that is until it’s rev-” Seth started, but he didn’t manage to finish the sentence before Trenchant scooped up her weapon and levelled it at Seth’s throat even before the ringing of the blade’s contact with the table abated.
“Ixnay on eth oilersspay,” Anatole implored in a sing-song voice.
“As a hypothesis,” Fenrir continued deliberately. “I pose the question of whether a book can be considered a vampire book if it has no vampires in it. This book, in particular, is not being mentioned specifically in this context. Baron De Breizh has made it as far as three quarters in, and as far as I remember, the vampire is yet to be revealed.”
“Alleged vampire,” Dracula added, looking smug.
The others gave him a level look.
“What? Renfield’s a lawyer. I know that when something is not yet proven, it is ‘alleged.’ Until proven otherwise, of course.”
“…Alleged vampire has yet to be revealed,” Fenrir proceeded.
“And I put it to you, that the book is about vampires, and thus sufficiently vampirey,” Anatole added, crossing her arms with her face set in grim determination. “Why are we even talking about this? Why are we not talking about the forbidden romance? The blossoming love in the face of danger?”
“But what if there are, in fact, no vampires?” Fenrir asked, unsure how to respond to Anatole.
“Allegedly,” Dracula added.
“Would you consider Vampire Weekend sufficiently vampirey then?” Seth asked.
“Isn’t every weekend sufficiently vampirey?” Dracula added. “You know? Because we’re vampires? Allegedly?” He stroked his chin with a distant expression. “I wonder where Renfield has gone off to. Haven’t seen him since I asked him to clean my spare coffin.”
“Everybody caught your joke, Nine-Pence,” Anatole said. “You are not clever. We have the internet, you know.”
“What joke?” Fenrir asked.
“I’m sure you could internet it if you’re lost,” Trenchant added.
“Back on topic,” Fenrir said. “Anatole, your position is that the book is about vampires because it forms part of the theme of the book, no matter if there are actual vampires depicted in the book.”
“No, I’m saying that there are vampires in the book, and they love each other. They drink blood and all. So your point is stupid.”
“Is he a vampire, though?” Trenchant said. “The poor fellow with porphyria?”
“Are you sure you want that answered?” Seth asked.
“He had a child, so surely not?” Trenchant said.
“Child happened before the severe porphyria,” Fenrir replied.
“Alleged child,” Dracula put in.
“What I’m driving at-” Fenrir started to say.
“No more driving!” Seth and Anatole happened to startle at the same time. They looked at each other, then at Trenchant’s disapproving glower.
“Nothing wrong with driving,” Seth said.
“That’s how I got here,” Anatole added.
“Too many car crashes for my liking,” Fenrir said.
“Is that a spoiler?” Trenchant asked, her hand dangerously close to the hilt of her sword.
“I thought you all let that go!” Lucienne Du Lat wailed softly to herself.
“Can you drive?” Seth asked of Anatole.
Fenrir raised his voice an octave over the din. “The point I’m making is that vampire fiction has certain modes, conventions and thus creates certain expectations in the reader. Would it make sense then, if when those elements are present, but the vampire itself is not, is it still vampire fiction?”
“There are vampires,” Anatole said. “But the heteronormative oppressive town that they live in doesn’t allow them to love each other, so they form their own pack, rejecting those norms. They go free, to do what they really want, to spend eternity together!”
The room quieted at Anatole’s vehemence.
“That’s,” Fenrir managed after a moment. “That’s actually a valid point.”
“Of course it is,” Anatole said. “You were just too set on trying to find a box to put everything in to notice.”
“A part of vampire fiction then,” Seth said. “Is the urge to go against the grain of what is expected by an oppressive society?”
Anatole clasped her hands together in glee. “Exactly. The Pale Immortals are never accepted, will never be accepted, not even in death. So they do horrible things instead. They strive for love eternal in the dark, alone but together.”
The sword clattered to the ground; Trenchant’s face was wet with tears. “I was going to cut off your big dumb head for spoiling that they all died, but your passion is so beautiful that it disarmed me. Their forbidden love moved my too-still heart. There is yet beauty in this world. They were murdering little ingrates, but beautiful nonetheless.”
“And then there’s the simple case of leaving a drained body in the centre of town,” Fenrir said.
“Don’t you ruin their love with your oppressive rules, old man!” Trenchant shouted.
Fenrir shifted in his seat, suddenly no longer relaxed, his eyes hard.
The proprietor of the Reading Room, one Virgil Cavendish, stood up from his stool behind the bar, and made his way to the boisterous party with a look of impolite apology on his features.
Lucienne, noticing his approach, interposed herself adroitly. “I think what Baron De Breizh means, Fenrir Jarl, is that of course she will respect the laws of the city, but in this work of fiction, their carelessness showed their disdain for mortal laws on the cusp of their immortality. They merely made a statement that the Pale Immortals are now above the law. No one here’s foolish enough to risk your prodigious wrath in transgressing so blatantly.”
Fenrir settled down a degree. “It’s not an easy job, you know. Keeping mortals off our trail takes a lot of effort from both myself and the Church.”
“And we appreciate the work, of course,” Seth said, trying his best to keep the line straight.
“There is a beauty to being the last remaining sentinel against youthful disdain and carelessness.” Trenchant saluted with her sword.
Mr Cavendish, mollified, went back to his chair.
“Thank you, all of you,” Fenrir said. “It is sometimes nice to be appreciated. I do try.”
“We all notice, and appreciate,” Anatole said.
“So you’ll listen to my point now? About the nature of vampire fiction?”
There was an awkward silence.
“Yeesss,” Seth managed to say. “Of course…” He looked straight ahead, studiously ignoring the glares from the others in the room.
“You may as well take your chance,” Trenchant said. “Vampires are all about take, take, take. Nothing is ever freely given.”
“So, sort of like you want to live forever,” Dracula said. “But you have to take life to have more life.”
“That can’t be all that vampire literature is about? Predation?” Fenrir said.
“There is an awful lot of that going around,” Anatole said. “Aren’t we a little like that too? In all the books, there are victims and predators beyond the understanding of the prey. Except maybe in that kid’s book that Nine-Pence reminded me of again. No one took anything from anyone there. At least as a contrast to the non-consensual blood donations, you get love eternal from time to time.”
“Are we really like that?” Fenrir asked, deflated.
“So that’s not a vampire book? The kid’s one?” Trenchant asked. “Even though it was called, what again? Vlad the Worst Vampire? I was sure there were actual vampires in that one.”
Seth ignored more things. “But Pale Immortal then is? There is plenty of vampiric predation in this book, even though there are no vampires in it?”
“Allegedly,” Dracula added.
“That’s it!” Trenchant shouted, sword collected and raised. “I warned you, I still wanted to read it!” In one movement, Trenchant was across the table, blade arcing through the air.
It clanged against an unstoppable force a moment before alleviating Seth D’Asur of his big stupid head. That unstoppable force was the broad basket-hilted blade of Virgil Cavendish.
There was a third blade, thin and pointed, unwillingly held by Lucienne du Lat. It was blocked by Trenchant’s blade as surely as Trenchant’s was blocked by Virgil’s.
“I have a sword too,” Virgil said through clenched teeth. “It screams at me when I wield it. It gives me a headache.”
Lucienne disengaged first. She dropped the sword and kneeled on her hands and knees. “I prostrate myself in front of you, Mr Cavendish, as merely a guest to your esteemed rooms in service to my Liege lord, Baron De Breizh. I acted in her defence on an instinct that I forgot I still possessed.”
“Instinct,” Virgil said, his expression level.
“An instinct to strike out at those who insult my Baron. If she had not stopped my strike with her blade, I would have surely shattered the peace of your hospitality.”
“Baron De Breizh acted in Praetor D’Asur’s defence,” Virgil said, his tone flat. He glanced at Trenchant, who, after a momentary glance at Lucienne, nodded and sheathed her sword.
“There was a wrong committed. Allow me to make reparations,” Trenchant said, her voice strained.
Virgil lowered his weapon as well. “The Reading Room will listen to your proposal.”
Trenchant could not bear to look at Lucienne. “Firstly, my vassal, although loyal, displayed a lack of decorum. I, therefore, free her of her obligation to me. You no longer have the right to defend my honour, and I no need to come to your aid.”
Lucienne looked up, eyes filling with tears.
“For reparations for my former vassal’s transgression, I will allow a selection of a book from my personal collection to be taken up by the Reading Room.”
“You’ve never even allowed me in your library, Baron,” Virgil said.
“I take the honour of your Rooms quite seriously.”
“Three,” Virgil said.
Trenchant’s hands nearly flashed back to her sword.
“One for the Rooms, and two to be read at your library, by your leave.”
Trenchant settled down somewhat. “I assume you already have books in mind?”
“Absolutely,” Virgil said, his stern expression breaking into a smile. “Lucienne is banned from here, of course.”
“Finally,” Lucienne said, standing. “The lot of you need a different hobby, like sunbathing.”
Without much more than the cursory formalities required of a free-blood to the Lords of Night, she departed.
“Well, that was certainly something,” Dracula said.
“It’s good to see a girl with her own mind,” Seth added.
“Hang on, did you two plan all that?” Trenchant said.
“Of course not,” Seth said. “That’s as unbelievable as a vampire getting car sick.”
