Chapter Text
⧫ Act I: Between the Bookshelves ⧫
“Always resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty.
Elinor, where is your heart?”
― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
__________________________
Vampire’s were terribly odd―that was the sentiment she was left with after six months in the Volturi’s employ.
Tasha had come to Volterra during late autumn, the weather far too pleasant from what she was used to from back home. There, it could have snowed about now and blanketed the forests with a fresh coat of white and the roads glazed with ice. Thoughts of home had been easily squashed however, locked away like the trinkets placed in the many lacquered boxes she handled with gloves―there was no before when in the service of the Volturi, only the now and later.
Even the ‘later’ part was not a guarantee―those were the thoughts that plagued her mind as she moved towards the extensive library that had been built over centuries. ‘The most boring room in our home’ Corin had announced one evening she had agreed to taste test some of the vampire’s baking, Tasha had though the seemingly young woman was insane for such a statement.
A week later she learned about how great their recall actually was, Heidi had got her coffee order from three weeks ago perfect without even asking a single question.
What a sad thing, she had thought at the time. The idea of never being able to think fondly of a time long past with the veil of time masking it in a thin shroud―it could make the dreary seem less painful, and the good far greater. Tasha had begun to understand her employers, the way they lived in a constant stream of ‘now’ .
Which was why she had come to find Demetri rather peculiar.
The tracker would be seen reading the same set of books over and over again, so much so he would often task her with ordering new copies from the same line of publication when he wore them down. Tasha could only assume that even vampires found some semblance of comfort in the familiar―so she did as he asked gladly. When she trudged up to his quarters with books in her hands, it was the only time she was awarded with that infamous dazzling smile he used towards his coven members, any other day it was that smarmy look he awarded the public.
Upon entering the library she was greeted with the tell tale sound of Demetri humming, some tune Tasha had not bothered to research. While the vampires were never easy to sense, she had grown used to Demetri’s presence due to his frequent visits to the archive. Right now, Tasha was quite sure she was left alone with the vampire in question. An exasperated sigh escaped her, and as if on cue she heard the vampire close whatever book he had been reading with a soft thud―already knowing it was her from the cadence of her breath. According to Felix the tracker had picked up on how her breathing grew laboured far quicker than the secretary’s.
A wonderful reputation to have.
Tasha veered towards the section she had come for, her heels making far too much noise on the lacquered, wooden floors. As she rounded a towering bookshelf it was not lost on her that a shadow seemed to follow from the corner of her eye, keeping just out of sight and moving far too quietly for her comfort. The issued uniform seemed constricting all of a sudden, and she had to fight the instinct to unbutton parts of her blouse to simply breath.
F, E, D, C, B, A―
Austen sat right in front of her, but before she could pull out the damned book, cold breath hit the shell of her ear as the shadow finally caught up with her;
“Looking for something to expand your horizons l'archivista ? Humans these days are so basic and uncouth. It is a miracle any archivist of ours survives longer than a month…” A hand came to rest against the small of her back, the touch only meant to tease and rile her up as a chilly nose brushed against her hair for good measure.
At this point, the only good thing about Demetri was his cat.
‘Persuasion’ was promptly ripped from its place among her sisters, and Tasha already knew she would chastise herself for how she had handled the copy once back at her desk. Without even looking at the vampire she made a turn, marching out of the narrow space and crossing the wider aisle towards the section housing Russian literature. Only when she felt as if she had put a safe distance between the two of them did Tasha turn around, noticing the bronze gleam of Demetri’s skin as he briefly passed through the scattered light from a window.
“Are you questioning your Master’s decision to hire me Demetri?”
The contraction of muscles in his neck was a reward, but then she saw the brief glimpse of anger in his eyes and she could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. He followed her, but at a leisurely pace. Like a lazy house cat playing at being a predator―only Tasha knew Demetri was anything but lazy. Nor was he playing. In retaliation, she passed the shelf she was interested in and ducked around a side table, the two of them unknowingly circling one another for a brief moment before she broke away from the dance.
“Careful human, I―”
“Master Aro said Caius swayed the vote, do you believe he made a mistake?”
“ Anastasia ,―”
The subtle warning in his voice was lost on her, too human to recognise the rumble―the only answer he received was the gentle lift of her brow in question. She did not hear how Corin cackled upstairs, but Demetri certainly did. Tasha would never get to her beloved Pushkin, the tracker moving forward so quickly it actually made her falter for a moment―a poor attempt to gain the upper hand of the situation from Demetri’s side. A soft laugh escaped her as she leaned back, watching as he plastered on a satisfied expression before leaning against the bookshelf.
“I find you rather ridiculous,―”
“Do elaborate my σπουργιτάκι,―”
“You know, it is very rude to use languages the other does not understand in a conversation.”
The smile on his face faltered for a brief moment, that perfect veneer showing a miniscule crack before Demetri regained his composure. As slight as it had been, she had seen it. The tracker could believe himself to be as mysterious and debonair as he wished, empty words and dark curls would not sway her favour. Even so, she could not deny how her heart sped up―an unnecessary side effect whenever Demetri was near. She would have gladly subjected herself to the bite to calm the organ forever, little did Tasha know that Demetri found the beat a rather pretty symphony.
And there they stood, left in a standstill, crimson boring into blue.
Her arms constricted, pressing the copy of ‘Persuasion’ harder into her chest; a flimsy shield against a vampire all things considered. But perhaps it would be more than enough when the vampire in question was Demetri.
“Do not worry, it is not too awful of a nickname.”
“So what does it mean?”
“That you never quite know when to shut up.”
✢
As luck would have it, there had been no reason to invoke the name of Caius, for Demetri was promptly called away by Aro a few seconds later. The tracker had bid her farewell and wished her good luck on furthering her education―Tasha had promptly flipped him off right before he was nothing more than a cool gust of air between the bookshelves. The huff that escaped her had been childish, and the urge to curse his name had almost been too strong.
With her book in hand she had marched down to the archives once more, passing several guards on the way there and ignoring snide comments about her scent. Apparently O negative was a personal favourite among parts of the guard.
Tasha threw herself into work, another day spent cleaning, examining and dating relics older than some could fathom. Even if she had kept her old position at Cambridge, there would have been no guarantee that she would one day be allowed to handle such exquisite pieces of history.
In the end she had taken her break later than usual, eyes blurring and slightly bloodshot after working in the darkened room with only specialty lighting to finish her tasks. It did not help that the archives were kept at a temperature that did not particularly agree with her. A part of her had considered asking Aro for air conditioning just to see the king’s reaction. Instead of toying with fate, she had decided to go for a walk.
Her new home had slowly become familiar to her, the architecture a marvel in itself as you could see how ancient architecture gave way to the medieval, then the gothic, baroque, neoclassical―all the way to the modern comforts housed in the secretarial offices. A state of the arts Nespresso machine almost seemed comical in an ancient vampire’s home.
In the end she had wandered too far in her stupor, walking down a path that suddenly felt all too unfamiliar to her. The stone work was far more simple in its nature, nearing what she could only date as pre ancient times… a time when Volterra had not even bore its Latin progenitor name. After not seeing a single window for a good while, Tasha let out a shuddering breath; it was time to go back.
However, it was easier said than done.
The hallways seemed to change as it grew darker, no artificial light reaching this particular place; only the odd candle lit along the halls every now and then. Tasha called out for help the moment she passed a doorway that seemed to lead to nowhere. Crude scribbles of dark swirls were painted on the frame, and a certain stench wafted up at her from what she could only imagine was a basement. If her heartbeat had been a pretty symphony before, the orchestra conducting it had lost all sense of the piece they were playing.
There was no sight of Chelsea or Rosa, nor did Felix answer her calls.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
While she had only heard his voice one time, it was enough to send a shiver down Tasha’s spine as she halted in the corridor. Of all the kings, Marcus unnerved her the most, a sentiment that garnered her a hearty laugh from large portions of the guard a handful of days ago.
Corin had regaled about how he was rarely seen around the palazzo these days, and Tasha herself could not remember a time outside that very first evening that she had seen him about their shared home. Now standing only a few steps away from him she was reminded of why she had felt fear curl in her stomach back then, it was the eyes. All seeing yet hardly present, a ghost in living form.
What was most peculiar was how he moved like an old man, yet his face carried so much youth. Before Tasha could compose herself however, Marcus stepped forward and pulled something out from his robes―dull eyes briefly looking down before landing back on her.
“I have something I wish for you to clean.”
The lacquered box in his hands was not unlike the one Aro requested she use when fulfilling her tasks, only this one was a deep cherry wood―poppies carved into the surface and gilded with fading gold. It had clearly been in Marcus’ possession for many years, and by the way he cradled it; Tasha knew whatever lay inside would have to be precious.
When the lid was drawn back, it was difficult not to gasp, the sound nearly echoing in the desolate corridor as she stared. While it was caked in dirt, there was no questioning what kind of material she was looking at―gold, pure gold.
Delicate.
That was the only word she could use to describe the set of jewelry that was cradled inside. Sat on a bed of black velvet was one of the most complete sets of Etruscan craftsmanship she had ever seen. It had clearly seen better days. Some of it seemed to be damaged, and she could only begin to consider how in the world she could fix it without doing further damage. Glass, Gold, Beads and Crystal… whoever had worn this at some point in time had to have been royal―someone important.
It was fragile, one wrong move and it would likely fall apart.
With shaking hands she grabbed onto the box, and Marcus did not let go until the trembles subsided entirely―the two of them caught in an uncomfortable silence as the king stared at her unblinkingly.
“Master Marcus, I do not think I can―”
“Return it to me when it is done.”
✢
As she walked away from the king, Tasha fought the urge to look back―her imagination conjuring all sorts of visions of what she was leaving behind. That Marcus had never truly been there, nothing more than a figment of her imagination as she had wandered the oldest part of the palazzo, or worst of all―that he still stood there, watching her leave in silence.
Tasha looked forward, not stopping until she found herself unexplainably at the grand staircase―Justitia and Prudentia mocking her for treading where she was not welcome in the first place. After feeling terribly judged by yet another marble statue, she hurried along towards her own little dungeon; only briefly stopping by the secretarial offices to grab another pot of coffee for herself. Rosa had looked at her with concern, and Tasha ignored it.
Marcus’ request would have to be taken care of outside her regular working hours.
She remembered all too well the tirade Caius had bestowed upon her about prioritizing the items still left in the catalogue belonging to the prior archivist. An older gentleman named Emilio had held the position before her. Tasha had promptly never wondered out loud about the man, fearing the answer may be one she would rather not think too much about. For now she would busy herself with the gold and glass―a brief thought of bronze sneaking past her defenses before it was squashed.
Another pot of coffee was fetched.
By the time Tasha considered herself satisfied with the first golden ring it was well past her evening curfew, and she could already picture how the transitory guard now lurked in the corridors above. Somewhere upstairs she could hear a clock strike, and she counted to eleven―a certain dread washed over her.
It was the first rule she had broken proper.
The ring was put back into the box as hastily as she could, her own belongings thrown into her bag before all the lights were turned off. For now Marcus’ belongings would have to wait until the morning. When she stepped outside of the archives what met her was an unnatural silence, the whole of the palazzo seemingly holding its breath as she hurried down the corridor―before what sounded like hushed, yet frenzied whispers broke out. It had to be the wind, she thought. Down in the archives there was little to no sound, it was a natural thing to occur.
Her ears were playing tricks on her.
Just as she crossed one of the inner courtyards―the moon shining down on her―Tasha heard a shingle slide out of place and fall, shattering on the cobbled stone below. Startled, she whipped around to see nothing out of the ordinary.
But, then she felt it…
There was a prick against her neck for a brief second, then a cold gust of wind, someone choked in the dark―an unnatural crack. Before Tasha could turn around once more, Demetri stepped into her field of vision, materializing seemingly out of nowhere. While the vampire had never been particularly friendly, he had always had the courtesy of putting on that human facade the Volturi liked to show the mortals in their employ―for their comfort. There was no trace of that now.
“I will escort you.”
“That’s really not necessary,―”
“I was not asking.”
The sound of a lighter flickering sounded from behind her, and soon enough shadows danced across Demetri’s face―taking on an eerie purple hue. There was little she could do when he began hauling her down the corridor like a ragdoll―and when Tasha tried to look back, all she saw was a head of white hair ducking into the inner courtyard they had left. A noise of protest left her, but Demetri did not listen.
Tasha found herself outside the main entrance soon enough, shoved into a quiet Piazza Dei Priori as she stared back at Demetri, a thousand questions running through her mind. The tracker's head tilted to the side, eyes not quite meeting hers; as if someone had spoken right behind him. His tight grip on the door nearly splintered the wood, and when he finally looked her in the eye―she understood why some found Demetri frightening.
“Never stay after nine again.”
For the first time Tasha ran all the way back to her small apartment.