How a Post-Apocalyptic Vampire Librarian Saved the World

By Ursula Katherine Spiller

Quentin was the local accidental librarian. Accidental because he was of course not a trained librarian, and there were hardly any people to visit his library in the classical sense, not in damn near two hundred years. Unfortunately, just because the world had ended, that didn't mean it needed no more saving. And someone's gotta do it, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ursula Katherine Spiller
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463797983

Ursula Katherine Spiller

Ursula Katherine Spiller was born on 19. March 1977 in Switzerland and wrote her first stories by dictating them to her mother who was much faster at typing than little Ursula. Little Ursula soon grew old enough to do her own typing and wrote what she would later learn is called "fanfiction". In fact, she wrote quite a lot of that. Incessantly. As an avid fandomer, she never lacked material, but it took some time before she eventually decided to invest in her own characters.Aside from the whole writing thing, Ursula has also raised an awesome son on her own and has a Master's Degree in English Literature and Communication Sciences. Her thesis was something about blood and Dracula and was totally cool."The True Ship" is her fifth original novel. As you'll soon see, her characters like to hop between different books/stories and genres, and "The True Ship" uncovers that. So, if you want to know how the characters would act in a completely different setting, you'll want to check out Ursula's detective novel "Cookie", the fantasy novel "Q's Key", "How a Post-Apocalyptic Vampire Librarian Saved the World", or the wlw romance "The Coffee Shop AU".

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How a Post-Apocalyptic Vampire Librarian Saved the World

By Ursula Kathrine Spiller

Copyright 2018 Ursula Katherine Spiller

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue: The End of the World™ Was a Long Time Ago

Chapter 1: UnExpected Visitors

Chapter 2: Blood Ties

Chapter 3: Market Value

Chapter 4: Shifts

Chapter 5: Doris's Den

Chapter 6: Floodgate

Chapter 7: Stronghold

Epilogue: Morning Glory

About the Author

Prologue: The End of the World™ Was a Long Time Ago

It wasn't how a doomsdayer would have imagined the world, but there were no roses to put on beds or elsewhere. After the End of the World™, there wasn't a whole lot of anything for a while, except for humans trying to survive, displaying a choice selection of their baser instincts. Confusion was available in huge quantities as well, largely due to the fact that basic instincts are not conducive to critical thinking. That and the bloody world ending. It didn't help that people had always imagined what the Apocalypse would be like in gory detail, because their imagination would come up with a big war with terrible weapons, a big asteroid, a big flood, a big pandemic – all the good stuff. But that's not what happened, or at least nobody remembered any better. The earth used to be riddled with instantaneous information, and people had kind of just assumed that the End of the World™ would be reported in real-time and around the globe. It gets somewhat tricky when the End of the World™ comes with the inconvenient collapse of networks. All of them. Some said it happened all at once; some said it started somewhere in Russia or in the United States, because it was always either one or the other to the world at large. Or it used to be. The world at large got a whole lot smaller with the Big Change almost two centuries ago, and since there was no global communication to document that change, nobody ever got to know what truly happened. Those who lived in the location where everything started to fall apart were also in the prime spot to be hit by whatever was hitting the earth and were therefore the first to die, hold their peace, and take the information they had to the metaphorical grave (because there was nobody to bury them in an actual grave). There wasn't much travelling to be done anymore either, and therefore nobody to spread news. So, putting information pieces together was significantly hindered in that post-apocalyptic world, because people never quite managed to put up networks again, except perhaps for a radio with very limited range. There was electricity if you had a little creatively-powered generator to call your own though, so it wasn't all bad. No television (at least no programmes to receive), but if you were lucky enough to get your hands on a physical copy of a film, and you had a player device that hadn't been stripped apart for its components, it would entertain you for a while. Perhaps you could catch some form of play at Crossroads Market, even if it was possibly more animated storytelling, because there weren't many open spaces to put on a performance. That was all you could get entertainment-wise in that new world. Because not only were there understandingly few tourists where Quentin had set up his home, there were few people, period. And those that were around were either holed up in the palace of the Ruling Four, or part of the market with its craftspeople. The scattered few who didn't have a home tended to not live very long in the everlasting, post-apocalyptic winter that had swallowed the sun.

Quentin was the local accidental librarian. Accidental because he was of course not a trained librarian, and there were hardly any people to visit his library in the classical sense, the way it was still described in some of his books. Also, it wasn't really a library that he was the librarian of. It was an old church where he had brought all the books he could scrap together and categorised, sorted, catalogued, and cared for them. He had built the shelves and put them up all over the body of the church, and apart from the altar, the only remaining stained-glass window high up in the front facing east that hadn't been bricked up, and the huge-ass crucifix hanging from the ceiling above the altar, not much spoke of the church's original use.

Jana had used to make fun of Quentin for living on holy ground while not burning to a crisp, to which Quentin had generally replied that there was nothing holier than knowledge, and god didn't have a whole lot to do with that. At least they'd bickered about that for maybe the first ten years after moving in. A joke's only funny for so long, after all. The joke being that they were both vampires and had made fun of wildly exaggerated folklore for as long as they'd known each other. People meeting Quentin for the first time and learning about his nocturnal inclination were usually treated with a quip about lactose intolerance or sunscreen. One would expect a creature who has lived through centuries to come up with better jokes, but, for one, humour's not for everyone, and for another, Quentin was not centuries old. He'd only been undead for twenty-four years by the time of the End of the World™, and he'd forever be a 30-something-looking. So, all in all, he was only going on two hundred and forty-ish. Jana, on the other hand, did not have that excuse for her own brand of bad jokes. She'd been around a whole lot longer than that. At least Quentin's comedic timing was quite good, so people meeting him were sure to be treated with lame vampire jokes at the proper moment.

Quentin wrapped himself deeper into his large coat and sped up his steps. The cold and damp air couldn't hurt him, but discomfort was as real to him as to the endotherms. He even had the theory that discomfort was more real to him, because discomfort was all it ever would be, without him being distracted by fatal consequences of near-inhospitable temperatures and weather.

He scampered close to the walls of the dilapidating old city buildings that were once modern and inhabited. Now, they were empty, draughty, and uninviting. Well. Mostly empty. Some of the buildings occasionally housed people in their cellars, he knew, but there wasn't much in terms of food to get in this concrete desert. One might manage to grow something in a makeshift cellar garden, but it was the market or most of the Core where humans had made all kinds of impossible things possible. So, whoever stayed in this area, it wasn't for long and often for disagreeable reasons. This side of the city was also less sheltered from the elements, and since there was hardly anyone around to disturb the peace, Quentin would still sometimes discover abandoned treasures, even after all this time. More people could be found, the further away you'd get on the other side of Quentin's library towards the east, but he could ransack the area around the church and westwards to his unbeating heart's content without being disturbed. The Core territory of the Ruling Four was a day's walk away for humans and theoretically half that with an old car (always running the risk that it would break down or cut its tires on the cracked ice and snow or break through a weak spot on the street and down a hole). Quentin didn't think there were any functioning cars around anymore. Liquids that could be used for fuel were rare and valuable and used for more important things than to drive nowhere with a car and most likely wreck it in the process and then dying from exposure. Also, cars had useful parts.

And while people did try to stay away from the Core, the Ruling Four had chosen their location for a reason, and it was a constant juggle between staying away and remaining in inhospitable surroundings, the market tying everything together. Quentin was just glad he was past all that endothermic inconvenience.

Today's scavenging had been particularly fruitful (not literally), and Quentin held onto the treasures he'd found tightly. He'd only been 'shopping' today, he hadn't gone... well... hunting and feeding. That part always freaked people out a bit for some reason. But vampires didn't have to feed all the damn time, killing victims left and right. It wasn't like they would starve or anything. They weren't even alive! A bit of blood every now and again was perfectly sufficient, and it didn't even really hurt the victim. Not really really, though the reports varied wildly. And, of course, there was the pleasurable aspect of biting. Quentin liked to think that he was quite good at that, and he took great pride in his ability to consensually charm a potential food source into agreeing to be nibbled on a bit. He also always made sure they were well-fed in return. It wouldn't do to have a guest pass out from being light-headed; what kind of host would he be if he allowed that? No, no. Manners maketh vampire. Even Dracula made sure that idiot Harker was lodged in the best rooms and given the finest food and wine, and Quentin's manners were at least as good as Dracula's, who thought of his manners while being hunted by a manipulative old fool and his loyal sycophants. But vampire hunts were for storybooks, and, all things considered, vampires didn't have it that bad nowadays. Jana had different stories to tell; she'd un-lived through the heights of the vampire craze at its core. (And not the benign post-Stoker craze, either. The we-should-stake-this-living-human-being-just-in-case craze.) Quentin only knew of those times and places from his beloved books. A fact he should be grateful for and was reminded of regularly, being just a fledgling who should listen to his much elders and even much more wisers. He did that. Sometimes.

He darted through the heavily falling snow and pushed open his library's door and then quickly closed it again to keep the snow out. The weather was even more inhospitable than usual, and while there were always clouds – nobody had seen the sun since the End of the World™ – it had started to snow and snow and then snow some more, even if their useless calendar in the library claimed it to be April. Eternal winter was all fine and dandy, but this was getting ridiculous. He shook himself like an old dog, threw his satchel into the misappropriated colymbion (that nowadays held keys, hats, and bags, instead of holy water), and hung his coat on the rack made of equally misappropriated crucifixes. Flakes and chunks of snow gushed and splattered to the stone floor where it would still take them a while to melt, despite the relative warmth inside the thick walls.

It was a kind of standard Catholic church that he had made his home. Large, wooden, winged doors opened up to an impressive interior. Right above the main entrance were the remains of an old organ on a balcony stretching along the width of the building that Quentin and Jana had converted to their needs, and up front on the other side still stood the marble altar atop the few steps that led into the sanctum (which is that holy part thingy where the priest would stand and orate). The nave (where the praying masses would sit and kneel) no longer had any benches, but rows and rows of bookshelves. There was a pulpit on the left side with a spiral staircase leading to that tiny little balcony where particularly grand speeches could be held (or so Quentin assumed; he'd never been a church-goer for some reason), and the aforementioned giant crucifix hanging above the altar. They'd installed a kitchen through a door to the right leading off the sanctum, where stairs also led down to the crypt (aka bedroom) and up to the clock tower, which was also adjacent to the right of the body of the church. The stained rose window in the wall behind the giant crucifix faced east, for religious reasons or something. Their lights were mostly electrical and were powered with several small generators, very unlike anywhere else in the city where people could perhaps maintain some generators, but not enough to power most of the light.

Jana? Quentin called, still enjoying the grandeur of the sound, even after all this time.

Where the hell have you been? came the disembodied reply from the pulpit.

Just shopping, he bellowed back and put the heavy lock bar in place.

Jana poked her head over the edge of the small balcony and peeked down. Find something?

Quentin grinned and held up his satchel for her to see. Two DVDs that don't look too scratched and three books.

Oooh! Jana popped out of view again and hurried down the winded staircase. Anything good? What did you get? she demanded to know, her voice varying in volume depending on which side of the pillar she was on.

Well, he mused, rummaging in his satchel, taking delight in watching her race towards him. One of the books is German, I think. I can't even read the title.

Jana came to a halt and snatched the book out of his hand. "Die entführte Prinzessin, Jana read. Sounds good."

Whatever you say. There's some biography-ish book by Jerry Lewis, he continued, the book being snatched from his fingers as well, and, he read the title again, "The Eyre Affair, which sounds fun, actually."

Hm, was Jana's verdict, taking possession of the third book as well. I think I've heard of it, but I never read it. So. She grinned at him expectantly. Films?

Well. One of them's an animation and has an intact case with a booklet and everything. It's about a girl transforming into a seal... and the other one...

Jana frowned at him suspiciously. And? And what? What's the other one?

Quentin couldn't help but grin. What do you mean? A shapeshifter is not interesting enough for you?

Jana narrowed her eyes. It sounds great, actually, but you're hiding something.

Well...

What?

I may have found a Dracula adaptation we don't have yet.

Jana's narrowed eyes widened. No way.

There's no booklet, he started to explain while Jana juggled all three books and the first film so that she could grabble for whatever was left in the satchel. Quentin took pity on her and relieved her of the books. But it says Dracula on the disc and Frank Langella. We don't have that one, do we?

Jana squealed. We don't! Oh my god, I love that one!

And the night is saved, Quentin commented in a histrionically serious tone, then he frowned a bit. "Our disc player can read that one, right?"

How many times do I have to tell you? she asked, rolling her eyes. The player was one of the last that were produced before the world ended. It's downward compatible. Her eyes flashed. "It had better be able to read this. She straightened and grandly pointed at the sanctuary. Prepare the screen! she commanded. It's time you are introduced to the amazingness that is Frank Langella's lush locks!"

"Yeah, yeah. You can fire up the player and the projector. I don't want to be anywhere near there when you start yelling if it doesn't work."

"It will work, she insisted. I was an electrical engineer, you know," she added in parting and sauntered away.

Is there anything you haven't yet claimed you were? Quentin muttered, not really expecting her to hear but not trying to be extra quiet either.

I've never been a librarian, she replied.

Well, you're an assistant librarian now, he yelled back. One with a penchant for bare necks and Dracula movies, he murmured with a smile. He wasn't any different, but his own penchant for this particular genre of film had only developed once he got to know Jana. Before that (but after being turned), he had always thought that it was the height of irony for a vampire to even watch such things, much less like them. He supposed that Jana had a point that not only did they have the right to enjoy such outrageous interpretations, but they were pre-destined to. And the films were an awful lot of fun, he had to admit. Of course, these days, he disliked that devious old Dutchman Van Helsing even more than back when he'd still had a pulse. Oh, he had opinions on Van Helsing; he'd even written down some of them. After all, he was a librarian and as such a sort of authority, wasn't he?

The light from the projector above interrupted his musings, as did the yell.

Screen! I got this running!

I'm going, I'm going!

At first, Quentin had been disappointed to discover that there were only demolished remains of the old organ up in the back, but now, that balcony served as the perfect spot for their projector. There were no pillars in the way of the beam, either.

Sorry, old chap, Quentin said to the Jesus figure hanging gruesomely from his crucifix above the altar and who now got its view blocked by the screen Quentin pulled down by a cord. He peeked around the patchworked white-ish fabric and up at the cross. I'm afraid being in the prime spot does have its disadvantages.

They'd never managed to get that one crucifix down, and if Quentin was honest, he never really tried all that hard. He was only just superstitious enough to worry about god finally remembering that vampires weren't at the top of his list of favourite creations if one of them tore down the last image of his son. Then again, there was barely anything else left of the church's iconography. The paintings and crucifixes and statues that hadn't already been ripped down and either sold or burned long before Quentin took advantage of the available facilities were now covered with rows and rows of bookcases.

The old chap left hanging prominently and life-sized didn't appear to mind. He had an eerily benign smile on his face for someone who was nailed to a cross in gory detail, which Quentin took to mean that – even if his followers might have disagreed before the End of the World™ – he approved of Quentin's collection.

Quentin sat down in the middle of the nave where he and Jana had installed a little nest of blankets and cushions with a clear view of the screen. A warning flickered on the screen about piracy that had no relevance in their world anymore but was kind of part of the ritual of watching a film. Jana navigated through the menu and then joined him when the howling of a wolf and the shadow of a bat announced that, yes, this was indeed a Dracula movie.

Ah. They based it on the play, Quentin commented when the credits announced that fact. I guess that means we'll get another Mina/Lucy confusion.

Hm, Jana hummed, already engrossed in the storm at sea on the screen. I never understood why Deane switched the characters for his stage adaptation, she murmured absently.

They watched for a while, until the ship reached its harbour and Dracula set foot on English soil, and then, a bit after that, Oh, my god, those hands! Quentin exclaimed when one of said hands creepily opened a coffin from the inside.

Wait until you see the eyes, Jana replied knowledgably. He does the eye and hand thing really well.

It didn't take long for Quentin to go, Ohhh, yeah. I see what you mean, when the count put his hypnotic eyes to good use at a dinner with Doctor Seward he was invited to in this particular adaptation of the story.

Then they watched for a long time in companionable silence.

You're looking a bit pale too, Jana observed off-handedly when a very pale Mina (not Lucy, because it was one of those versions) passed away in the film.

Quentin rolled his eyes. I'm fine. I melted some snow today. Blood mostly consists of water, you know.

And water holds no nutrients, as you also know.

That depends on what you want to call whatever the air is full of, these days. I'm sure it gets into the snow.

Jana giggled. I'm sure the nutritional value of pollution shouldn't be discarded. Then she nudged him, looking at him seriously.

Quentin sighed. Tomorrow. I promise.

Jana nodded, apparently satisfied.

Your cheeks look rather rosy, though, Quentin remarked after some more time had passed.

Oh, I just visited an old friend.

Quentin smirked, not taking his eyes off the screen. Takoda is back in the area, is he? He was certain that if Jana could have, she would have blushed. The quip about the rosy cheeks was just that: a quip. Their kind could tell when someone had fed. There was a certain vibrancy in the eyes that was hard to describe. Perhaps it took one who knew what it felt like to recognise its look. And how is he?

On a mission of errantry, as usual. Trying to save the world, one human at a time.

Quentin nodded. That was nothing new after all, and they enjoyed the rest of the movie without further chitchat, until...

Seriously?! Quentin exclaimed, laughing delightedly, and Jana grinned. A happy ending! Oh, I like this one!

Told you, Jana crowed.

Quentin grinned widely at the screen through the end credits and then sighed happily. That one is now marked as a favourite.

There aren't a lot of Dracula movies with a happy ending, Jana agreed.

Sometimes I feel like there are more books who give him a chance than movies, Quentin mused, got up, dusted off his trousers and picked up the three new books and the other disc. Make sure you put Mister Langella in the right spot. We'll probably watch it again before long. He winks. I have to put these away and catalogue them. On his way to his office corner, he pulled the screen back up, restoring Jesus's view. Just a little bit of superstition couldn't hurt.

Jana found him in the chancel