Read Online Ad Eternum by Elizabeth Bear - Free Book Online

of long programming. “What is that ?”
    “It was my house,” he said.

6.
     
    She stared at him, seeming not to understand those words in his calm, almost bemused tone. “Your house ? We have to—”
    “There should have been no one inside. And there are the sirens of the fire brigade.” Faintly, a rising wail floating on the moist cool air. “Somebody wishes me to understand that I am not welcome here.”
    “We have to do something.”
    “It’s things,” he said. He touched her shoulder. “Just things, Ruth. And a beautiful old building, which can be rebuilt.” Things. Jack’s things.
    Perhaps someone had done him a favor.
    “You can find me at the Aphatos,” he said. He let his hand fall away; she scarcely seemed to notice. “I recommend the side door.”
     

     
    He was late, perhaps a little more so than was fashionable, but—just—within the bounds of etiquette for an informal gathering. The others were already assembled, and as Miss Emrys—Sarah—led him into the now-familiar library, Damian was checking his watch.
    It left a sense of satisfaction.
    No matter how old one got, it was always gratifying that someone cared enough to worry.
    “I’m sorry I was delayed,” the wampyr said, unable to resist. “My house blew up.”
    Unable to resist, perhaps. But he should have resisted, because a second explosion followed, though this one was composed of questions and not a little fussing.
    “It’s all right,” the wampyr assured them, taking the seat they had left open. “No one was injured, to my knowledge, and the fire brigade seems quite competent to contain the damage. And it’s not as if it’s the first time—well, the first time for that residence, true.”
    He’d had a house burned around him, once, but he wasn’t about to mention that here. Nor did he particularly care to recollect it, or the long and terrible process of healing. He had been far from help, far from others of his kind, young—by the standards of the blood—and callow.
    He was not proud of what he had done in the time that followed.
    Some of that history must have permeated the silence that followed, or perhaps it was just the wampyr’s calm that made Ragoczy’s cup rattle in his saucer. The expression on his face was quite gratifying, before he hid it behind the porcelain rim. As with the crystal, the china was mismatched, and as with the china, the effect was charming.
    The putative Comte de St. Germain was trying for an aspect of bland sangfroid…but the wampyr could make out the tremor along his upper lip and the way his scent soured with fear. There you have it, my dear Count. What it means to be what the world thinks of as “immortal. ”
    In the awkward silence that followed, Ruthanna toasted him with her teacup—red cabbage roses quite overwhelming tiny violets, and a speckled gold rim. “We were just arguing over whether we should expect you, Jack. I am sad to say I doubted you.”
    “Really?” He perched on the edge of the wooden chair, feeling unmoored. “I shall not ask who my defenders were. In any case, I am here now, and prepared to discuss the necessities—and the niceties—of arranging a foundation that can support your university.”
    Estelle glanced at Damian, who had cleared his throat ever so slightly. She did not smile, exactly, as he made a gesture of handing something over to her. His hands were surprisingly graceful for those of such a large man.
    She said, “What do we have to do to make you reconsider your role?”
    “Please,” the wampyr said. “I—”
    He stopped, arrested not by Estelle’s frown but by the still-fresh memory of Ruth Grell’s face painted in unearthly colors by the flames.
    “I am still considering,” he said. “I am considering, in point of fact, if I am going to remain in New Amsterdam at all.”
    Damian started from the settee, and Ruthanna set her cup aside as well. “Jack—”
    The wampyr raised an eyebrow.
    “Talk to me,” Damian said,