Miriam wasn't certain how many tales she'd read about innocent maidens being swept up in the arms of their saviour.

All she knew was that it was a lot.

And that all of them had eschewed one important detail.

“Mmmmgnfh?! Mmmgnff!! Mmnnfhgh!!”

It was really hard.

Miriam was shocked.

All the evidence she'd gathered through centuries of late night binge reading while sat upon her pillow was unequivocal.

The problems only started once the villains decided to send their best henchmen. That was usually around the same time every cliff, balcony and tower began crumbling, as well as all the things which didn't usually explode now being inexplicably filled with combustible material.

Miriam's problems began immediately.

“Ah, apologies … apologies again … again, my apologies ...”

Carried upon her arms was a maiden in distress.

Except that this particular maiden in distress was bigger than Miriam. Not by much, but that didn't matter. Miriam had a small frame, and while vampirism did much for her eyes, it did little for her figure.

With time, she could learn to alter her voice, her age and her appearance. She could pretend to be a pauper on the streets or the Grand Duchess herself, weaving a plot as complex as the ending to A Summer Knight’s Dream, Vol III … so long as the Grand Duchess was also her height, of course.

Despite the powers of vampirism, not even the darkest of arts could raise one's physical elevation. That was something archmages were still trying to solve.

A slight problem.

Because as it turned out, most people who rescued maidens could actually see over them.

Pwash.

A vase smashed against the ground.

A painting was propelled off the wall.

A tea table was sent hurtling backwards.

“Mmgnfh … ?!”

One after another, Miriam's hopes of a discreet exit were undone by either the foot or the head of an increasingly distressed village girl.

It was, to put things bluntly, extremely inelegant.

Despite the size of the hallways, they were filled with a litany of furnishing. All found themselves targets of her clumsiness as Miriam juggled her bound damsel with the need to speedily exit in a way which didn't cause more than a handful of winces as pottery shattered around her.

She was failing.

Boomph.

Hence, she had little cause for complaints that upon arriving at the final hallway, what appeared before her was a great sphere of blood.

It twisted and turned, writhing in the air before imploding into the smiling figure of one whose hair was now slightly more wavy than just before. That wasn't the only change. His court tunic now had a few more frills. His cravat scarf was a new colour. And his shoes had turned into flared leather boots.

Miriam was stunned.

In just the brief time she'd dashed from the dining chamber to the exit, he'd already seen to his hair and wardrobe.

“... My dear Miriam!” said Master Harkus, hurriedly throwing away a comb. “Are you leaving so soon? Why, you've only just arrived!”

The village girl trembled in Miriam’s arms. The sounds of either pain or distress had ceased, replaced once again by a silent look of horror.

“Sadly, I must,” she said with a polite nod. “Thank you for seeing to my curiosity. However, I'm afraid I have other engagements to attend. I only wished to know if you'd returned.”

“And so I have. I take it that won't be an issue?”

“It will not.”

The master vampire raised his arms as though to invite a hug.

“Well, then I dare say whatever engagements you have can wait another night! This is a special occasion. The last time we spoke, you were scarcely out of the proverbial oven. Now look at you. Already eager to dash away to warn the wrong people that their worst nightmare has now awoken.”

“I've no intention of doing such a thing. While I admit I’ve no interest in any ongoing plots you may have prepared, I do not intend to be an obstacle, either. I have a library to manage, and sadly this comes with few luxuries regarding time.”

A hearty chuckle answered her.

“Well, that I don't doubt … most curious, isn't it? For all our immortality, it seems we don't have enough hours in the night to do all the things we want.”

Miriam nodded in agreement.

She'd calculated it herself. Books were coming out faster than she could read. A thought both terrifying and exciting. But mostly terrifying.

“I agree. And so I—”

“In which case,” he interrupted. “I would like to insist upon an extension of your stay. Especially since you intend to enjoy your meal on-the-go. A highly controversial choice for your first indulgence. Trust me when I say that these things are better done in the comfort and proximity of a napkin.”

Master Harkus clicked his fingers.

A brief fluttering of wings later, a polka dot napkin was delivered upon the village girl’s horrified face via delivery bat. Miriam blew it away.

“Thank you. But I would like to indulge in the comfort of my own home.”

“And so you may. But not before you consider the à la carte menu of wicked schemes I’m simply dying to discuss with you. I’d simply feel terrible if I didn’t at least attempt to convince you. I've a variety of plots fit for every kingdom of every size, you see. I'm confident at least one of them will tickle your fancy.”

Miriam raised a brow … all the while leaning slightly away.

She'd already had her fill of scheming. Long before she’d been sucked in by her first illicitly acquired novel, she was a member of the nobility, with all the endless conniving that entailed.

However, this wasn’t the only reason for her sudden discomfort.

It was the flamboyancy.

The theatrical movements. The wild gestures. The pompous clothing. The speech more close to a song than any normal conversation.

Miriam indulged in drama. In the delight of foul ruses and villainous speeches. And yet not even in the worst of her reading history could she find an evildoer who wore his calling so thick that it was like a drape which smothered all necessary thoughts of restraint.

Master Harkus was the worst image of a vampire, through and through.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

A career scoundrel more sinister than a smile in a tavern corner, whose abode wasn't in the manors, crypts and castles he owned, but in the shadows they cast.

To her young self, such adherence to his character was impressive.

But Miriam was different now.

Perhaps not outwardly … and in truth, not a lot inwardly, either.

But even if her reading tastes hadn't changed, her standards in pantomimes did. And witnessing such obsessive commitment to duplicitousness was much more embarrassing when it was occurring outside the words of a page.

It was, in fact …

“Clichéd.”

“Excuse me?”

“Clichéd. Your performance is clichéd. And not in an appealing way.”

A blank expression met Miriam's rare chastisement.

“Ah … A-Ahem … my apologies, my dear countess, but to what do you refer? My honest and virtuous wish to bring you beneath the umbrella of darkness so that you may help spread the canopy?”

“Yes. That.” Miriam frowned slightly. “It is tired and overdone. I understand you wish for me to craft an insidious scheme to subvert this kingdom until the people can no longer see the light upon the horizon. But I've not a shred of interest in it. And to be frank, I don’t see why you do, either. What purpose is there in scheming for the sake of it, other than to hear your own cackling because no one else will join you? It’s embarrassing. And I think you should stop. Frankly, you’re much too old for this.”

For a moment, the master vampire fell silent and still.

Even the puffs of his attire seemed to deflate. A silence deeper than any well filled the chilly air.

Miriam expected the worst, knowing instinctively she’d erred.

Vampires did not condone insults to their character, no matter how truthful. And in a moment, the fury would flare beneath the cracking of pride just before the walls received a new layer of red paint.

Instead … Master Harkus let out a sigh.

All the merriness was gone … yet nor was there indignation either.

Only a sombre expression remained on his face, the sudden creases upon his forehead as foreign as the sight of him covering them with a palm.

Miriam was deeply confused. As was the village girl in her arms.

They both waited.

A moment later, the master vampire gestured towards a sofa against the wall.

“Please sit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take a seat, if you would. It is time that we had a … little talk.”

Miriam blinked.

However, seeing the entrance still blocked, she slowly took a seat on the sofa. The village girl she awkwardly placed across her lap … most of her poking off to the side.

Master Harkus sat beside them.

An expression of utter seriousness was on his face. One far different from the vampire who'd so jovially welcomed both her appearance and her botched escape.

“Miriam.”

“Yes … ?”

“My apologies, but I've not been entirely open with you.”

“I see … ? And what have you not been open with … ?”

“The fact that I’ve not been cursed with smelling the odour of this insignificant kingdom without reason. It’s no coincidence that a captain of a pirate vessel just so happened to find my manor, nor that they could breach the mist which surrounds it. That … book was to make its way to you. And then you to me.”

Miriam's apprehension rose. As expected, no gift was free.

“Very well. And why is that?”

“To have a conversation I hoped to avoid. Sadly, despite my optimism, I see that my worst fears are confirmed. And so it falls upon me to shoulder my portion of the responsibility.”

Master Harkus raised himself slightly.

His eyes, sunken as they were, seemed even darker as he grappled with the words he wished to speak. A solemn air enveloped him like a lector at a funeral.

Then, he frowned.

“You've been making us look bad.”

Miriam blinked.

“... Excuse me?”

“You’ve been embarrassing us.”

“Us? Who is 'us'?”

“Us. All of us. Vampires. Your actions have been highly unappreciated.”

Confusion did the rounds in Miriam’s head.

As far as she knew, she didn’t know any vampires enough to embarrass them.

“I haven’t done anything,” she said honestly.

“No. If you hadn’t done anything, then that would have been fine. Doing nothing is simply us biding our time before we cause the downfall of the next innocent kingdom. That is perfectly acceptable. What is not, however, is this … Pink Raven tripe.”

Miriam couldn't keep her eyes from widening.

Her identity was a secret known to few. And of them, most were still only hazarding educated guesses. A man with no interest in romance literature could not have known.

“I don't know what—”

“Please, you may spare me the denials. Your movements haven’t gone unnoticed–nor your wings. And the result is that I, yes, I had to defend you … with utterly no warning, I should add.”

All of a sudden, the master vampire threw up a hand in exasperation.

The sombre atmosphere was flicked aside with it.

“Allow me to paint the scene for you. There I was, laughing amidst the lifeless warmth of the most pallid company. The blood sucking leeches of the Nocturne Court, all gathered together in a cosy crypt to boast, lie and accidentally push each other into a basin of holy water. A fine evening with rotting dinner, a group of terrified troubadours and room to elevate me in a ceremony long overdue. I was happy. I was content. And yet just when I was due to begin regaling my tale of conquest over Rozinthe for the 99th time, that's when conversation turned to the matter of my spawn. You.”

He shook his head, for all the world as though Miriam had deliberately sought to disappoint him.

“... Really? A secret network of literary contacts?”

“Yes? What is the issue?”

“The issue is that if you'd just made that into a network of informants and thralls, then that would have been perfect. It would have been appropriate. What you do instead is ridiculous.”

“How I choose to spend my own time is no concern of yours.”

“It is very much my concern. Because your reputation is the reputation of all vampires. Frankly, I was delighted when I'd heard you'd vanished from your cave. Excellent, I thought. The young countess is finally freeing herself from her shackles. Instead, I hear rumours about a vampire turning up at the home of royalty. Not to enslave them. But to work for them.”

Master Harkus leaned back on the sofa like an old man whose every bone was aching. The sigh he exuded was so cold it turned to mist.

“... Unholy gods, Miriam. Are you trying to make us a laughing stock?”

“No, I'm trying to keep to my own interests.”

“Your interests are unacceptable.”

“To you, maybe. But I fail to see how the reputation of vampires can possibly get worse just because I've chosen to categorise books. All that will do is improve our image.”

Master Harkus's expression tightened.

“Our image is precisely what’s at risk. Do you think we’ve worked tirelessly to scheme in the shadows since time immemorial for the sake of it? No. We do it because it is vital. Reputation is our armour.”

“Vampires have blood magic and the ability to turn into bats.”

“Yes. But even that has limits. A very tall limit, yes, but not one immune to our walking desserts suddenly thinking that a silver spoon is enough to destroy us. That is highly inconvenient.”

“Mr. Harkus—“

“Master Harkus.” He wagged his finger. “I didn't personally bring down the greatest empire the continent has ever known only to be confused with a professional cat tamer in Granholtz. From now on, you shall refer to me by my title. That is the proper decorum. And I’ll also ensure that before you leave, you understand the meaning of being a scion of the night. Teamwork makes the dream work, Miriam. And you are not exempt.”

Without an inkling of shame, he instantly brushed aside his ire and replaced it with a smile.

“Fortunately, it's nothing blood can't fix,” he said, pointing at the village girl hoping to be forgotten. “Your mind is famished, but I see the cure wriggling upon your lap. Now, do you understand what you must do?

Miriam nodded.

“I do.”

“Excellent. Will you do it?”

“No.”

A sigh met her simple response.

He stood up, adopting a frown like a disappointed parent.

“Very well. Then I must take matters into my own hands. This no longer only affects you, after all.”

“And what is it that you intend to do … ?”

“Something very simple. I will have you drink this squirming girl's blood–one way or another. With that said, I suggest you enjoy this moment. Especially as you don't have the strength to say otherwise.”

Miriam stood up as well.

Doing her best to ignore the pitiable groaning coming from the direction of her arms, she more than matched the frown.

“Then you shall need to think twice. I possess strength you do not.”

“You’re malnourished. What possible strength do you have?”

“A teapot,” said Miriam simply.

The master vampire stared at her.

Then, he turned around … just in time to see the smile of a ghostly maid and the alarming object held above her head.

“Greetings!”

Pwashh.

A flaming teapot promptly smashed into his face.