The Invisible Library (18 page)

Kai gave Vale one of his affronted looks. ‘Are you challenging Miss Winters’s actions, sir?’

‘Oh, no, no,’ Vale said. ‘I will go so far as to spend the next half-hour or so picking up the books which are for some reason all over my floor, and let you tend to her hand.
Unless the lady herself has something to contribute.’

‘Actually,’ Irene said, ‘I do. But I can do it while Kai’s seeing to my hand, if you don’t mind.’ Fortunately, staring at her hand gave her an excuse not to
look at Vale. She knew that she must be blushing. Of all the stupid, ridiculous things to happen. This was not calculated to impress him at all.

Kai snorted, then sat down next to her and began to remove the soaked bandages. ‘Please do go ahead,’ he said. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Besides your inability to
contact the Library
came through the words quite clearly.

‘I think we are all agreed that the Liechtenstein Embassy is involved in –
ow, careful
– this,’ Irene said, clenching her free hand.

‘Sorry,’ Kai said, more as a pro forma than in genuine apology. ‘Hold still.’

‘I would agree,’ Vale said. He picked a couple of the books off the floor, and dusted their covers tenderly. ‘Especially given that Lord Silver placed a very high bid by proxy
for that book when it was being auctioned. Quite interesting, don’t you think?’

Irene nodded. That was extremely interesting. ‘Then I suggest we attend the Embassy Ball tonight,’ she said firmly.

‘What?’ Kai said in horror. ‘Mingle with the . . . that is, are you serious? Do you realize the danger we’d be putting ourselves in?’

‘Mr Strongrock overstates the situation,’ Vale observed, ‘but it isn’t possible in any case. I agree that it is worth investigating, but unfortunately we won’t be
able to get in. The affair is strictly invitation only, and even if I can enter the place disguised, I am not sure that either of you would be able to do so.’

‘I agree that the Fae are probably behind it,’ Kai put in, ‘but there has to be a better way of investigating them. As this one isn’t going to work.’

‘No.’ Irene said. ‘It will work. Because I have an invitation.’

‘Excellent!’ Vale exclaimed.

‘And,’ she added, ‘I’ll need a new dress.’

‘And a new hand?’ Kai asked through gritted teeth.

Irene managed to catch his eye. ‘Trust me,’ she said.

‘Oh, I do,’ Kai said. ‘I just happen to think that this is one of the most reckless, hare-brained, soul-endangering plans I have heard of since—’ He broke off.
‘Never mind. I’m under your orders. But that invitation had better be for three people.’

‘It’ll do,’ Irene said serenely, and tried to stay calm, and composed, and everything that she didn’t feel.

Irene stood back and watched Kai at the buffet. There was something fascinating about the pure, focused dedication that he gave the caviar: it seemed to somehow elevate the
little black grains into something holy, even divine. The curve of his wrist as he scooped it onto a triangle of toast was the last word in elegant efficiency. Of course, there were other reasons
to watch. Thanks to Vale’s tailoring recommendations, Irene was decorously gowned in a nice dark green, but Kai . . . well.

Kai managed to wear evening dress with a personal style that made Irene work very hard on repressing jealousy – and on stifling a half-formed wish that she’d accepted his offer last
night. It was not
her
business that Kai had such an air of inherent power, or the elegance of a nobleman combined with a somehow touching air of raffishness . . .

That made her think. When she’d first seen him he’d been in leather jacket and jeans, with a young ruffian attitude to match. But once they’d established themselves here,
he’d shifted his style and his language as effectively as any spy (and that wasn’t a comforting thought), easing into a more cheerful politeness that had certainly mollified her. At the
ball, he’d adjusted himself again without a moment’s hesitation. She took a sip from her glass of wine, held in her left hand. Dry white, appropriate to the largely fish buffet.

She still trusted him. That enthusiasm – that vigorous, cheerful offering of himself that night – and even his unwillingness to accept what he thought was a dangerous course of
action, both rang true to her. Whoever he was,
whatever
he was, he was sincere and he was on her side.

He couldn’t be a fully-fledged Librarian. He wouldn’t have been so willing to share a bed with her if he’d needed to hide the requisite Library brand. That was one thing which
make-up wouldn’t cover, as Irene knew from personal experience. And she didn’t think he was a creature of chaos. His distrust of all things Fae seemed very real. A nature-spirit,
perhaps? But from what she’d read, nonhuman spirits didn’t actually
like
taking human form that much. And then again, there was one significant alternative. She stared at the
back of Kai’s head and thought about everything that she knew about dragons, and wished she knew more.

There were dragons, after all, who looked like – well – dragons. And then dragons could take a partly human form. She’d met one of those and sensed a pride so sublimely unaware
of itself that it was somehow graceful. There had been the sense of a being apart, and definitely not human. She didn’t get that from Kai, except he did have the dignity. And Kai looked
human. Impossibly handsome, but entirely human. Yet she’d been told that dragons could take that shape as well, if they wanted. Irene felt a rising sense of outrage at the thought that
Coppelia must have known – if this was true. So why hadn’t she said – and why had Bradamant wanted him?

‘My little mouse, I believe,’ a voice said from behind her. ‘How good of you to come.’

Irene had enough of a grip on herself not to spill her wine. Just about. And she hadn’t been so engrossed in her student that she’d forgotten to watch the crowd. She just
hadn’t seen him coming. She turned and dropped into a curtsey, flicking a brief glance up at his face before lowering her eyes. ‘Lord Silver.’ She had no idea whether or not he
deserved the title, but it’d probably please him. He was as formally dressed as Kai, with some unspecified military order on his chest, and his pale hair was draped loosely over his
shoulders. ‘Thank you for your kind invitation.’

‘You do pick the most interesting people to accompany you,’ he said. His tone was amused rather than dangerous. ‘But I appreciate it. I’d have invited Leeds myself if
I’d thought of it.’

‘I didn’t realize you were on those sorts of terms with him, sir,’ Irene said.

‘I’m not.’ His lips curved in a private smile. ‘Very definitely not.’

Irene straightened out of her curtsey. ‘The ball seems very successful,’ she said neutrally.

Silver glanced across the room with a smile of casual ownership. He scooped up a plate from the buffet, casually loaded it with a handful of crab pâté puffs, and offered it to her.
‘I should hope so,’ he said. ‘I’ve invited all the best people. Lords, ladies, authors, ambassadors, debauchers, grave-robbers, perverts, sorcerers, courtesans, deranged
scientists, and doll-makers. And a few innocent socialites, of course, but generally I receive polite notes of refusal from their parents – or invitations to be horsewhipped.’

‘Invitations?’ Irene said.

‘Notes offering to horsewhip me in front of my club if I even approach their daughters . . . ’

Irene swallowed nervously. Was it a joke? Should she so much as touch the crab pâté puffs? ‘Some people might call that a threat, sir.’

‘A threat?’ He looked at her, genuine puzzlement in his eyes. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’

She couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eyes while replying. If that was an example of Fae tastes, then she wasn’t going to push it any further. ‘They must be
people of very limited scope, sir. Clearly.’

He patted her shoulder fondly. His gloves were white kid, soft against her skin, and she could feel the heat of his flesh through them. It was more of a casual flash of power, as a shark might
show its fin, than a deliberate attempt to englamour and seduce her, but she could feel it all the same.

Kai was still over by the caviar, but watching her with narrowed eyes, as sharp as a snake. She shook her head minutely, warning him to
keep away
. Vale looked bored, and was talking on
the other side of the room to a hunched man with a brass-rimmed monocle screwed into his right eye.

The room itself was large enough to hold about a hundred and fifty people comfortably, with buffet tables around the edges and waiters circulating silently. Improbable swords and lances hung
along the walls in glittering decoration, with Liechtenstein banners positioned above. A string quartet in the corner picked through something light and unobtrusive. The whole room had an
unwholesome feel to it, a hothouse sort of closeness and oppression, even though the temperature was perfectly normal. Irene wondered whether everyone present was hiding secrets, something that
affected their every word and action.

Even me
, she thought with more than a touch of irony.

Silver squeezed her shoulder again. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said smoothly. ‘Don’t go away.’

Between one blink and the next, he was gone.

Irene put her glass down before she was tempted to drink even more wine. There had to be some way to lure out Belphegor, or whoever had killed the vampire and taken the book. And if this ball
was as packed with key society suspects as she expected, here would be the perfect place to gather information.

Several conversations and about fifteen minutes later, she’d reached the Yoruban Ambassador – a kindly-looking man a full head taller than her. He was sporting some sort of
ceremonial outfit with gold bracelets that weighed more than her entire gown. She wondered how Silver had got him to visit. ‘So, you see,’ she lied with the utmost sincerity,
‘I’m writing an article on important figures in the literary world. I was going to interview Lord Wyndham, but his tragic death . . .’ She let her voice trail away
artistically.

‘I never knew that Lord Wyndham was a literary figure?’ the Ambassador queried.

‘Well, not as such. But he does seem to have been very
au fait
with up-and-coming novelists. I’d heard that he acted as patron to some.’

‘Ah,’ the Ambassador said comprehendingly. ‘I only knew about his collection.’

Since Irene had entirely invented the bit about his patronage of new writers, she wasn’t surprised. ‘It was a fine one,’ she agreed. ‘And he was always so good about
making books available to other experts in the field. Not like some bibliophiles who hoard everything and then just gloat about it privately.’

The Ambassador looked slightly furtive, then loomed forward. ‘One hesitates to speak ill of the dead,’ he said in lowered tones, ‘but I think that is giving the gentleman a
little too much credit. He was inclined to boast. His nature, you know. Vampires. They just can’t resist it. I’ve known some very pleasant ones, of course,’ he added hastily.

‘Oh, of course,’ Irene agreed quickly and meaninglessly. ‘But I do think that you’re right, Your Excellency. They are so very proud of their advantages.’

‘Exactly,’ the Ambassador said approvingly. ‘I am glad that our host hasn’t brought any here tonight. They always demand to be catered for in such an obtrusive manner
– the blood, the open veins, all that manner of thing. It does get in the way of a simple conversation.’

Irene nodded, suppressing annoyance that Silver hadn’t invited any. She’d have liked the chance to question a few. In fact, why hadn’t Silver invited them, if he enjoyed their
company? Or even if he was feuding with them? From what Silver had said about the guest list, inviting half a dozen antagonistic vampires seemed like just the sort of thing that he’d do.
‘It does make matters simpler for everyone else,’ she agreed.

‘And we’re spared the anti-blood-sports protestors.’ The Ambassador collected a fresh glass of wine from a passing waiter. ‘But if you’re a reporter, you’ve
probably interviewed a few of them already!’ He rumbled a deep laugh.

‘I like to think there’s something to be said on both sides,’ Irene temporized. ‘But about Lord Wyndham’s boasts . . . oh, I beg your pardon.’ Vale was
walking towards them, a slight urgency to his movement. ‘If you will excuse me a moment, Your Excellency . . .’