Using his innate powers takes a heavy toll on Haruka, so he sleeps late into the next day. By the time he wakes up, gets dressed and wanders into the dining room in search of table food, it is late afternoon.
Practically everyone in the duke’s estate is asleep due to the nocturnal mandate. The house is eerily quiet. Full of sleeping, old-fashioned vampires, Haruka ponders. Like a crypt. Only a skeleton crew of attendants oblige Haruka and his manservant with a late lunch before his departure.
When they’re done, Asao stands from the table with a look of conviction set in his square jaw. “Let’s get the hell out of here before these weirdoes wake up.” Haruka agrees wholeheartedly. Soon after, they quietly leave the Duke of Oxford’s home.
They reach London at sunset. Haruka stares blankly out the window as they drive, watching the orange-and-pink gradient of the early evening sky.
“Is your awareness of this purebred growing stronger as we get closer?” Asao asks from the driver’s seat. “I hope this address is right.”
“Mm. The duke says that his business is located in Camden Lock. That information corresponds with my innate sense of him.”
“He owns a bar, right?”
“Yes.”
Asao sighs. “Alright. We’ll have to walk when we get near that area. I don’t think I can drive down the market streets.”
Haruka rubs his palm down his face. Walking in a public area filled with a myriad of humans on a frigid winter night. God help me.
It’s dark when they finally arrive at Camden Lock. They navigate the narrow cobblestoned streets and alleyways, eventually standing in front of a bar with an illuminated sign. It shines brightly in white, like a second moon against the deep indigo sky. It reads Scotch & Amaretto in relaxed cursive script.
Haruka reaches out to pull the bar door open, but pauses at the sound of his manservant’s voice. “Now… what if this purebred is some kind of crazy pervert and attacks you?”
Standing straight, Haruka genuinely considers the possibility. He can handle a lower-ranked vampire in his weakened state. Another purebred, or even a particularly strong first-generation would be much more challenging. “Most purebreds have exceptional control over their natures, and my primal aura is enclosed. I doubt he would wish to create havoc within his place of business.”
“True.” Asao nods. “I’m suddenly reminded of that one very pushy purebred we met in Montreal. Remember that? What year was that, eighty-three?”
Haruka remembers. He wishes he didn’t. He’s met more than his share of pushy, selfish and entitled vampires. “Why are you reminding me of that right now?”
“It’s better to be prepared.”
Again. Not helping. Haruka tugs the heavy wooden door open (a little harder than necessary).
When he steps inside, he’s immediately tense. The luscious smell of the purebred consumes him. The aroma is clean, woodsy and with a hint of something spiced—mahogany but somehow intermingled with cinnamon. The lighting is low, and in combination with the smell, the intimate space feels perfectly warm and inviting.
He glances around, taking in the refined details of the bar. Several tall oak tables with high stools are thoughtfully placed throughout the main floor. Jewel-toned, orb-shaped candle holders sit in the center of each table, creating soft flickers of light throughout the room. The stone walls are adorned with burning lanterns and sconces, giving the overall impression of a romantic, very trendy Renaissance castle basement… if such a juxtaposition can exist.
Even with all these wonderful elements for the eyes to behold, the farthest wall from the entrance is clearly the focal point of the room.
A full bar glows softly in the darkness. The wall is filled with multi-colored bottles of alcohol, interspersed once more with bright candle holders and other curious, antique-looking artifacts. Haruka likens the wall to an apothecary’s pantry filled with exotic potions and mysterious elixirs.
The bar hosts a comfortable crowd of people for a weekday night. Naturally, they have all stopped and are now staring at him. Haruka sighs. To hell with a discreet entrance.
He scans the length of the bar. Empty. The purebred is nowhere in sight but Haruka can feel his energy. He is definitely here.
“He smells nice,” Asao says brightly, standing behind Haruka. “I’ll stay by the door?”
“Fine.”
Haruka walks forward, ignoring the blatant stares as he skillfully moves his tall body between the tables to follow the narrow path to the bar. As he approaches the counter, a male ducks out from behind a heavy velvet curtain covering a doorframe on the opposite side of the bar. Their eyes meet. Haruka stops dead. The purebred pauses as well—rigid as he stares.
The knot of Haruka’s enclosed aura pulses in his core. It’s subtle, but it independently shifts as if to untie itself from the forced hold. His nature has never done this before. It’s bizarre. Surprised, he almost takes a step back and away from the vampire gawking at him.
With his pulse racing, he inhales a deep breath to gather himself and walks forward again. His action sets the creature behind the bar into motion, and he too cautiously shifts closer to the counter between them. Before Haruka can introduce himself, the purebred speaks.
“Hi… It’s Haruka, right? Haruka Hirano?”
Haruka pauses again, blinking. “How… Why do you know my name?”
“I think every vampire in the UK knows who you are. You’re pretty famous. I had no idea you were this young though.” He shifts his golden-amber eyes to the side, then runs his fingers into his thick hair—coppery-brown in color and styled in a modern trim with wavy length in the top. His honeyed skin practically glows under the soft lighting of the bar.
He flickers his eyes back toward Haruka, sulking. “Am I in some kind of trouble? Is that why you’re here?”
Haruka softens his expression, oddly wanting to put him at ease. “Not in trouble. May I sit?”
“Of course, please. Would you like a drink?”
“Merlot, please,” Haruka says, making himself comfortable atop the closest bar stool.
“No problem.” He turns away, then briskly turns back toward Haruka. For the first time, he offers a timid smile. “I’m Nino, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Nino runs his fingers through his hair again, hesitating before making himself busy behind the bar. He pulls a bottle from the illuminated shelf, then glasses and a handled corkscrew from underneath the bar. His movement is fluid now, like a fish swimming underwater.
“Nino, what is your full name?”
Nino abruptly pauses, his vivid eyes wide. “Excuse me?”
“Your full name,” Haruka repeats. “It is proper in new introductions like this.”
Nino works the cork, then twists and smoothly pulls it from the wine bottle. “It’s sorry—I mean, I’m sorry, for not…” He takes a deep breath. “My name is Nino Bianchi.”
“And what is your age?” Haruka asks.
“One hundred and twelve.” Nino focuses, pouring the burgundy liquid and generously filling both glasses. Haruka keeps his expression even, but he is surprised. Nino’s manner presents as fairly juvenile, like that of a vampire well below a century. Not only is he over a century, he’s older than Haruka by eleven years.
Nino carefully lifts the wine glass and places it in front of Haruka. “So… what’s your age? May I ask?”
“Of course.” Haruka gently wraps his fingers around the glass. “I am one hundred and one.”
Nino’s haunting eyes brighten, his smile open and genuine. “We’re pretty close. I’ve never met another purebred near my age before. Where I’m from they’re all old or scary.”
“Where are you from?” Haruka lifts his glass, taking a sip.
“Milan, Italy. My father’s clan still has firm control over the city, but everyone in my mother’s clan was killed during the First World War—starting at the Qingdao conflict.”
Haruka considers, scanning his memory like the pages of an old reference book in the expansive library of his mind. Qingdao had primarily been a conflict between Japan, Germany and the UK over a German port in China. To his knowledge, the Italian military had not been involved. “I am sorry for your loss… In what way was your mother’s clan entangled in the siege?”
“They were major players in the Japanese navy. My grandfather was the commanding officer on the Kawachi.”
Haruka blinks, processing the information. Nino finishes a long sip of his wine and smiles timidly. “You’re thinking I don’t look half-Japanese.”
“No.” Haruka stares into space. “I was having difficulty remembering when the Kawachi sank. Was it 1918?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m surprised you would know such an arbitrary fact right off the top of your head.”
“It is essentially my job to know many arbitrary facts.”
Nino leans with his elbows against the counter slightly off-center from Haruka. He makes himself comfortable and gently twists his wine glass with his fingers at the stem. “Historian?” he asks.
“Correct.”
“I knew it.” Nino beams in his open, genuine way once more. “My family specializes in roles related to business and social affairs, so I’ve never met a proper vampire Historian before… I always imagined them as these cultured, intelligent people. Looks like I was right.”
Haruka’s knotted aura independently shifts again, a distinct warmth gently bubbling up his spine. He discreetly stretches his lower back and sucks in a breath. What the hell is this?
“How many languages do you speak?” Nino asks. “You’re a polyglot, aren’t you?”
Distracted and tense from this abnormality of his aura suddenly having a mind of its own, Haruka picks up his glass. “What evidence do you have that warrants this assumption?”
“Am I wrong?”
Haruka pulls his glass to his lips, shifting his eyes sideways. “No…”
Nino laughs, the sound warm and bright and accentuating the energy rolling off of his delicately sculpted body. There is an undeniable wholesomeness—perhaps goodness—in his vampiric aura as he comfortably lets it rest outward. He is like a creature derived from the sun.
Haruka drains his glass. He can’t remember the last time he had a conversation with another high-level vampire that wasn’t centered around his physical appearance or bonding. It is a pleasant surprise, but he needs to cut to the chase. “Nino, have you been receiving the invitations to the confirmation ceremony next month?”
Standing up from the bar, the amber vampire straightens his spine. His posture stiff. “I knew I was in some kind of trouble.”
“It is not trouble,” Haruka assures him. “However, your presence has been formally requested, so it is proper for you to respond and attend. The requesting family wants us to officiate the ceremony… the admittedly archaic and invasive ceremony. Nonetheless, will you attend?”
Nino visibly exhales while shifting his eyes away. “Listen… to be honest with you, I don’t know anything about officiating a bonding ceremony. I would rather not be part of it, if possible.”
“How can you not know anything about it? You are a one-hundred-and-twelve-year-old purebred vampire—”
“I know how old I am, and what I am,” Nino says, watching Haruka. “But I’m not—It’s not something I want to do.”
Haruka pauses, dumbfounded. They are purebreds. Part of their station in life is doing things they don’t want to do. It is simply how their culture works—especially at the behest of lower-ranked vampires. The strong help the weak, the haves support the have nots.
Unless you run away. No one can ask you to do something if you aren’t there to do it. Haruka has discovered a loophole. However, in light of his manservant’s apparent defiance, Haruka can no longer use his loophole. He needs Nino to participate. Simply “not wanting to” isn’t an acceptable excuse.
Keeping his voice calm, he makes an appeal to Nino. “If times were different and there were more purebreds within this country, perhaps you could dismiss your responsibility. There are only three of us in the UK, and the purebred in Edinburgh has other obligations. If you feel insecure about your knowledge…” Haruka hesitates, wondering if he is truly so desperate to have another purebred in attendance that he would open his home to a complete stranger.
Yes. Yes, he is.
“I have a library at my estate in Devonshire, off the coast in Sidmouth,” Haruka explains. “In my collection, there is a book that specifically details the process of bonding. If you wish, you can spend a few days researching with me as I prepare for the ceremony, then we can travel there together?”
Nino pauses a beat, giving Haruka a false sense of hope before he ultimately shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Haruka. It’s… I can’t. But I appreciate the kind offer. I’m really sorry.”
Indignant, Haruka stands from the bar and pulls his wallet from his coat pocket. He takes a breath to squash his incredulity. This is the modern age—the twenty-first century. If this purebred desires to live his life as an outcast of the aristocracy, who is Haruka to persuade him otherwise? To each their own.
Haruka will handle the ceremony alone, somehow. He manages every disappointing thing life throws at him.
He removes a twenty-pound note from his wallet and places it on the counter. “Understood. I won’t trouble you any further—” Nino reaches out, his hand firmly resting over Haruka’s fingers. The physical contact abruptly shifts Haruka’s knotted aura again and he inhales sharply. Startled, he snatches his hand away from Nino’s grasp.
Nino is completely still. His shoulders drop when he exhales a breath. He closes his eyes as he runs his fingers into the top of his thick hair. “You—you don’t need to pay… The wine is on me.”
Haruka takes a step back, smoothly sliding his hands and wallet into his coat pockets. He straightens his spine. “I insist. Good luck with your future business endeavors.”