The Silence

Aurelia stood in the center of the Blackwood library. It was 2:00 AM.

The house was silent.

It was a terrible silence. It wasn't the peaceful quiet of a tomb; it was the hollow emptiness of a space that should be occupied.

She looked at the desk. The stack of railway bonds was still there, perfectly aligned. The pyramid of bread rolls from dinner sat on a silver tray, stale and ridiculous.

She picked up a roll. It was hard as a rock.

She waited for the laugh. She waited for the absurdity of the situation to hit her—the ancient vampire standing in a library holding a dinner roll, mourning a dragon. She waited for the bubble of mirth to rise up and shield her from the pain.

But nothing came.

Her chest felt hollowed out. Her throat was tight.

"It's not funny," she whispered to the empty room.

Cornelius Vane had taken him to the Palace. The Crystal Palace. The great exhibition hall of glass and iron. A cage for a monster.

Aurelia crushed the bread roll in her hand, turning it to dust.

Ignatius was grumpy. He was boring. He was obsessed with trains. And he had pushed her out of the way. He had burned himself to keep her safe.

She wasn't just his beard. She wasn't just a tenant in his vault.

She was his hoard.

Aurelia walked to the fireplace. She grabbed the heavy iron poker. She bent it into a circle with one hand, testing her strength.

"Well," she said, her voice dropping to a register that would have terrified a wolf. "I suppose I shall have to make a scene. Ignatius hates scenes."

A small, cold smile touched her lips. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of a predator who has finally found a reason to hunt.