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Clara	By : dancingsalome Category: G through L > The Historian Views: 3093 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Historian or Dracula. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: Thanks to Initialaitch for beta.

This story is based on Dracula as he appears in Kostova''s The Historian. I feel, though, that this is closer to an original story, rather than a fanfic. Or perhaps a fanfic about the character Dracula? This story does not need you to have read The Historian to enjoy it, I think it would be enough to have knowledge about the myth of Dracula. However, it is The Historian that inspires me to write about Dracula- I really like how she entwines the historical person with the myth. And I love that Kostova''s Dracula has a penchant for librarians.

Clara enjoyed working in the library, and she especially liked working in the evenings. When the daylight didn''t stream in from the large windows, the library turned into something more than just mere shelves filled with books. In her imagination it turned into a forest where the large shelves were trees, all filled with the fruits of knowledge. No matter how many lamps were lit at dusk, the rooms never got really light, not like in the days, and that made the feeling of something magical even stronger.

She sat behind her reference desk, its lamp a beacon where the visitors went for help and advice. Other small lights were lit at the tables strewn around the library, heads of all shapes and colours were dipped over books and papers. The sight made her smile. They were all here for a mutual goal, and she was there to help them achieve it. People who came in the evenings were different from those who came in the day. In the evenings the lonely people came. Those who had no family who wanted them home for dinner, nor friends eager for their company. The library was their friend instead, and Clara recognised them all, greeting them by name when they sought her out her out.

One evening she realized with a start that a new person had entered her kingdom. Not because he was a stranger. Strangers came, some just once, some to become known. They all started off wandering around the shelves, not really knowing what they wanted, or where to find it. They soon gravitated toward Clara for help, or they disappeared. But this man, when she first saw him, was sitting at a table, working over some thick volumes - working with an air of being there forever, though Clara was sure she had never seen him before. And he wasn''t the kind of person one forgot either. A dark man, with strong features that ought to be handsome, though Clara found she didn''t really think he was. A foreigner, surely- but that was not uncommon in the library where students and researchers from many countries visited. Perhaps because she noted him in such different circumstances than usual, Clara found him a bit disquieting, a feeling that she did her best to shake off, not quite succeeding.

After the first night she noticed him, she found that he was always there when she worked her evenings - reading, writing, only occasionally picking up a new volume. She never saw him speak to, or even look at, any of the other visitors, and he had never approached her desk, not until she had almost gotten used to seeing him in the farthest off corner of her domain.

So she was really startled when he suddenly appeared in front of her. In a low, polite voice he asked some questions of reference. Though he spoke very correctly, there was also an unmistakably foreign accent to his words. The question he asked was a difficult one; Clara frowned over the paper he had given her and then asked him to be seated again, as it might take her some time to finish the task. He answered with a slight bow, and she set to work. Reference questions seldom daunted her for long, but this one was complicated and she had to do quite the detective work to solve it. It was challenging, but it was also fun, and when she, almost an hour later, walked up to the man with the answer she was smiling. but when the man looked up at her, her smile died. He had such a serious face, and not a very friendly one either.

”Thank you” he said, the question mark in his voice very clear and Clara found herself answering.

”My name is Clara.” Why she didn''t answer with her last name as she usually did, she couldn''t tell. The man looked at her searchingly.

”Clara- the glorious one. A beautiful name.”

She waited a second, expecting him to introduce himself, but he just returned to his books, without sparing her another glance.

After that he came several times with requests, and Clara found that though they always were hard - and they seemed to grow harder with time, they were always interesting, almost exciting. What subject he really studied eluded her, though. The subjects varied, even if he seemed to have a preference for history, and she wondered many times what he was writing about so methodically. Somehow she never dared to take a peek at it, or even to ask him. She never really grew at ease with him either. She still didn''t know his name, though he always called her by her name when he spoke to her. The way he pronounced her name made it sound wholly unfamiliar in her ears, like it wasn''t hers at all. And though he was unwaveringly polite to her, she couldn''t say that his presence made her feel comfortable at all. Indeed, as time passed, the feeling of discomfort when he was around grew instead of diminishing.

One evening Clara was putting back some books on a high shelf, balancing rather unsteadily on a ladder. She had never liked heights, and when she heard someone speaking close to her, she almost thought that she had been thinking out aloud.

”You have to be careful, Clara, you may fall.”

She felt it only for a second, though , and then she realised that someone was standing by the ladder. That nearly did make her slip, and she turned her head sharply toward the sound of his voice. With a slight shock she found herself staring directly into his eyes. She was standing a few steps up on the ladder, and for once their height was equal - before, one of them had always been sitting - and the first impression she got now was that he must be immensely tall.

”You might fall and hurt yourself.”

Clara was about to protest, saying that she had never fallen, but before she could speak he moved closer and slipped his arm around her waist. That was so unexpected that she never had time to get scared. For the first time she noticed that his eyes were a brilliant green- she had somehow always thought that they were black. She couldn''t stop staring into his eyes, and then felt relief when he bowed his head against her neck so she didn''t have to anymore. She felt cold and dizzy, there was an unpleasant smell around her that almost made her feel sick, and then the dizziness overcame her and she could feel herself fall before all sensations were gone..

When Clara opened her eyes again she stared up into concerned faces, all worried and familiar. With some help she sat up, gingerly feeling her head. It ached, but not quite as if she had hit it, which she must have done, falling off the ladder like that. She had also ripped her neck on a sharp corner, leaving a small, but rather nasty wound at her throat. She was helped up, someone fetched her a cup of tea and after some rest Clara felt much better, though oddly lightheaded, and quite tired. In the end she was sent home, the other librarian assuring her that he could cope alone for the last hour. Clara fended off a number of anxious offers to escort her home, walking alone in the autumn evening. The cool air felt like a relief, the headache the fall had given her eased away a little. At home she mostly felt silly for scaring everybody so, and for being such a silly girl and slipping when she had indeed been warned.

Been warned by whom? Clara frowned, but the memory eluded her. The next morning the headache was still there, but much better, and the following weeks she was somewhat tired, but that too passed. The wound on her neck didn''t want to heal, though, it remained open and sore. She considered seeing a doctor about it, but decided she was being overly-cautious. It didn''t get worse, so most likely it had just gotten a little infected- the ladder had hardly been very clean.

Only after she had worked a couple of evenings did she realise that the dark man in the corner table had stopped coming. Clara wondered a little about it, but she had to confess to herself that it made her feel quite relieved that his quiet presence was gone, even if the usual questions seemed quite dull after the exiting references the stranger had provided her with.

TBC
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Clara