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“Really?” Amalie’s eyebrows rose precipitously. “The library in the Hofburg, you mean, not three streets from here?”

“Oh, yes.” It was always a relief to settle into a comfortable, lecturing mode—and this particular part of Habsburg imperial history held so much international significance that it had been taught in Margaret’s British university. “When the late empress first took the throne, she hired a remarkably enlightened man, Doctor Gerard van Swieten, to reorganize the court library and deal with all matters of public health. He was her personal physician, a fine natural philosopher, and a great believer in rational decision-making based on evidence rather than mere superstitious fears.

“That was how vampirism was finally legalized across the empire—she put van Swieten in charge of investigating the question, midway through the eighteenth century, at a time when unfortunate vampires in rural areas were still being executed merely for the crime of their existence. Once van Swieten came to the conclusion that vampirism was in no way immoral, unholy, or dangerous to the public when practiced within agreed constraints, Empress Maria Theresia lifted the old laws against it, banned hateful attacks and bigotry...and eventually decided to take on the condition herself for the sake of her empire, to keep it from falling into disorder upon her death.”

“But I’ve never heard any of this before.” A fine line ran between Amalie’s eyebrows. “Why does no one speak of that part of our history? All I was ever told as a child was that it was safer not to observe or even think about the ways of far too many nobles...and to thank my blessings that we all had a safe new emperor with no such unnatural tendencies.”

“Hmm. That is disturbing, but I’m afraid I don’t know enough recent Austrian history to offer any solid reason for it.” Margaret shrugged. “I do know that the empress’s final chancellor—Metterblink, was it? or Metternich?—was dreadfully unpopular, and he took on vampirism while serving the empress. Perhaps the general public’s dislike of him as a politician may have led to a more widespread distrust of all supernaturals?”

She had been a young child at the time, accompanying her parents on a field expedition in the woods of Croatia when the troubles across the continent had first broken out. When she strained her memory now, she could recall a name being uttered more than once in adult conversations around her, being blamed for the harshness of the policies that had led to hungry, angry workers rebelling in the first place—but of course, her own attention had been fixed upon the far more interesting supernatural creatures her own family had been visiting.

When there were giant, friendly divovi happy to carry her on their shoulders and tiny tintilinici to run around with in the woods, why would she have cared what was happening in the outer world?

“Perhaps,” Amalie said, “or perhaps the population as a whole was never so convinced of supernatural toleration as the late empress and her ministers.” The lorelei’s voice was wry; she took a long sip of coffee before continuing, “I can assure you there was no love or acceptance of that topic in the district where I was born.”

In a decidedly non-aristocratic district of Vienna, Margaret presumed. Still, she had learned enough in her recent months of new friendships not to ask any prying questions about Amalie’s family, much less their reaction to her supernatural transition. All too often, those origin stories opened wounds far too deep to be exposed to a near-stranger.

Instead, she returned to Amalie’s earlier question. “The primary difference between those other library collections and the new one we’re building is the intended audience. You see, most libraries and universities across the continent have focused on teaching humans about the supernatural, either in self-defence or—as in Britain—to allay irrational fears that might lead to public unrest. Our new private center for research in the Black Forest, however, is meant to pass on that knowledge to those who most need it in regards to their own conditions...particularly if they weren’t fortunate enough to be supported through the unpleasantness of their first transitions.”

“I see.” Amalie took another long, considering sip of her coffee. “That is indeed an admirable mission.”

“I hope so.” Margaret dragged another forkful of strudel through cream, already lamenting the diminished amount left on the plate. “My husband was hoping to spread the word here in Vienna, but it’s been difficult to know who can be trusted when even the highest aristocrats don’t dare reveal their true natures.”

“And are only aristocrats allowed to access your new collections?” The lorelei’s voice was as rich and melodic as ever, but even Margaret couldn’t miss the bitter note lurking within it.

“No,” she said blankly. “Of course not.” It wasn’t like that at all...was it?

Blinking, she sat back in her seat to gather her thoughts. “Most of the other residents of the inn aren’t nobles, and they’re equal partners in our endeavor. Everyone who knows of it is free to spread the word to anyone they trust. But I suppose...well, I suppose, when we first came up with our plan, we only considered seeking out those my husband was likely to meet at ordinary social events.”

“Naturally.” Amalie’s lips twisted.

Margaret ventured, “You might spread the word yourself if you know anyone else who might take an interest. Perhaps the owner of that stationery shop? And of course, if you ever wished to visit⁠—”

“Lady Riven,” said the lorelei, “you knew my condition well enough to be surprised the first time you found me even this far from the Danube. Do you truly imagine that I could travel hundreds of miles away from the river that grants me continued life? Or that any Bergmännlein would ever willingly tear himself so far from his native earth?”

“No-o-o,” Margaret said slowly. “No, of course not.” How had that not occurred to her in her first flush of excitement over their shining new project? Of course, plenty of supernaturals like her husband loved to travel, but others simply couldn’t, whether due to the binding restrictions of their own natures or to more pedestrian financial constraints. How could they access that store of knowledge?

“Perhaps we should move on to the questions you wished to ask me when you first issued your invitation.” Amalie’s voice was cool but civil as she finally cut into her waiting strudel.

Margaret’s own appetite had withered. Setting down her fork, she contemplated the other woman’s serenely distant expression.

There was almost nothing in life that felt worse than giving the incorrect answer to any question, much less one connected to her greatest passions. However, she could almost feel the invisible wall Amalie had erected between them with those final words. It would take far greater social skills than Margaret possessed to break it down and keep the conversation going in the face of such cool determination.

Besides, she had another pressing mission, and time was moving inexorably onwards. Sighing, she pulled out her new commonplace book and fountain pen, ready as usual to work—but, for once, less than enthusiastic about the prospect.

By the time she finished the unexpected meeting, it was too late to visit the library after all, and she was more than ready to fall into bed beside her husband and let her brain sink into restful darkness.

Unfortunately, a messenger stood waiting outside the door of her tall apartment building, wearing a bright, confident smile and the deep red sash of a British royal equerry, ornamented with a subtle pattern of vampiric teeth and werewolf claws.

“Your ladyship.” He gave her a respectful bow as he passed her a card stamped with King Thomas’s royal seal. “If you’ll do me the honor of accompanying me? His Majesty personally invites your attendance.”

Margaret would have liked to invite His Majesty to do something very impolite indeed in response to that that unwelcome news. Instead, she crumpled the note in her right fist and took a deep, sustaining breath as Eva hovered, wide-eyed, behind her.

“Could this possibly wait until my husband awakes?”

“I’m afraid, if you wouldn’t mind...” His beckoning gesture towards a waiting fiacre was somehow both regretful and final.

Only two flights of stairs past the door where he stood, her bed was waiting for her...