Chapter 3: "Cowardice"

Gillian struggled with the translation for weeks.
Initially she had intended to translate the scroll as fast as possible because she was eager to learn what it says. She thought of asking someone, and if necessary pay for translation.
But then she hesitated.
As long as she did not know what was written in it, she could not risk anyone to read it. After all, it came from the library of the vampires, and included knowledge that was not meant for humans.
Although her professor had already read it. But that was fine. He was a scholar and would assume the content like cultural history and as a legend and rate it mere interestingly.
In addition, Gillian was not sure if he had really captured what it was saying that night when he had looked over the copy. Even for a professor like him, it was not easy to read Latin fluently.
Certainly not ancient Latin in an spidery handwriting on old stained parchment.
Gillian had grudgingly began to translate the text word for word by herself, and only now and then asked Christian or Titus for advice on individual words, and she never shown them more than some lines.
So it was necessary that she attended an intensive course, and trying to understand the confusing rules of Latin grammar.
Eventually a rethinking had come over her.
She wanted to make it all alone.
Not just this one text.
If she has to be here anyway, she could take the opportunity, and really learn Latin.
What does she have to loose?
She had all the time in the world.
She was a vampire. And maybe one day it would proof useful to master this ancient language.
What if she once again will have the opportunity to get an old parchment from the library of the vampires in her hands? She could not always run to her professor.
Of course, that was exactly what the professor had wanted. That she learned how to do it herself.
It was a hard lesson, but secretly she was grateful for the old sly fox.
Secretly, she pulled her hat off to her teacher.

Thus, from weeks to months, Gillian came to terms with her life as a student. Although it was not easy, she constantly had to adjust. Not only that she was sleeping through the days in her room with shut down blinds - the professor had long accepted this as a fad - she also ate very little, stayed out of all the activities organized by other students and of course no one should realize that she drank blood.
She could not participate in the conversations of her fellow students, either because she did not know the TV shows, movies and pop stars of whom they spoke, or because she did not understand the academic discussions of politics und economy.
Luckily, the professor had become a maverick. While he had in the past been often surrounded by his students, and had invited them to wild parties or night-long discussions with red wine in his home, he now invited no one anymore, and wanted no one around him except Gillian.
That was fine for Gillian, she was happy to keep company with the old man, who became increasingly tired out and more frail with every day.
His coughing had become even worse.
But the old man steadfastly refused to consult a doctor, and reassured Gillian that it was nothing serious.
Gillian believed him. She wanted to believe him. She did not want all this to end. She was afraid of what would come after.

But eventually the day came when she could not even pretend any more.
She had translated the scroll.
For a long time.
She could not forever continue to pretend, as if she must still find a particular word, revise a difficult sentence.
It would not change anything.
She now knew the contents.
And it was time to leave.
She had been delaying it, but now it was time to move on.
Even if she was so much afraid, of what she had to do next.

Gillian grabbed her backpack, packed with little more than that with which she had arrived. Everything else she had left neatly in her closet. The papers with the translations she had destroyed, all but one copy, and she was carrying that one under her clothes. Even though it was not necessary. She knew the words by heart now.
Gillian smoothed her blankets, put out the light, pulled the door to the room, which has long been home to her, quietly close behind her and tiptoed to the stairs.
She lurked away again.
She had long thought about what she should say to the professor.
She could not tell him where she will go, and she was tired of lying to him.
But finally, she did again what she did best: slip cowardly away without a word.
She gulped.
She knew that he did not deserve this, after all he had done for her.
But she could not help it.
As she carefully put one foot on the top step, she was very ashamed and her heart beat to her throat.
"Will you not say goodbye?"
Gillian started.
There was the professor in his beloved old dressing gown at the entrance to his office. There were no lights on, that`s why she had not noticed him. She had assumed that he had already been asleep.
What was he doing up here in the dark?
"How did you know ...?"
He put his hands in his pockets and looked down sadly. "I expect for quite a while that you will leave. I was just hoping you'd say goodbye this time. "
Gillian swallowed: "Professor ... I ... I've never learned how to do that."
He looked at her: "Then you will learn it now." And he turned and went into the dark office sat down behind his desk and turned on the light.
He sat down in the massive leather chair, and Gillian followed him ashamed in his sanctuary.
She had not been here often. The professor lived here between leather-bound books and stacks of documents and newspapers.
This is how a library must look like, thought Gillian, as she approached the massive desk and obeyed the invitation to sit down.
He had his hands folded on the table and looked at Gillian through his gray eyes. Then he asked: "So, you are leaving?"
Gillian nodded without looking at him.
"And you do not want to tell me where?"
"I'm so sorry, professor. But I can not. "
He sighed. "Gillian. I can not stop you. But I wish you'd tell me, what kind of trouble you're in. I can help you. "
Gillian shook her head sadly and struggled then a smile. "I am in no trouble."
The old man smiled cynically. "My eyes are indeed bad, but I'm not blind."
He leaned forward and said emphatically: "Gillian. Tell me what is depressing you. Is someone after you? Is it because of drugs? "
Gillian laughed softly.
"I have money. And influence. Gillian, tell me how I can help you. "
The vampiress felt like she got tears in her eyes. "You have done enough for me."
Both were silent.
Then suddenly he stretched out his hand in a demanding manner: "Come. Show it to me. "
"What?" Gillian asked blankly.
"The Translation."
Surprised, she looked at him.
Then she dug into her pockets and pulled out the piece of paper.
The Professor folded the sheet apart clearing his throat, put on his reading glasses and began to look through the text.
When he actually took a red pen and marked an error, Gillian had to wipe her sweaty hands on her trousers.
She was nervous, like before an exam.
Should she speak to him about the contents, or not?
This was probably the last opportunity to do so.
Finally, he took off his glasses, and handed her the paper back.
He smirked. "I would not give it more than a B."
Gillian stood open-mouthed. She looked at the sheet. There were many red marked words. "But ...", she wanted to protest.
"But when I consider, that a few months ago you could not distinguish the ablative from the genitive, then that's a good job."
Gillian was speechless.
He did not take her seriously.
As if he had all the time in the world the professor conjured up a bottle of whiskey from the depths of his desk and generously gave into two glasses.
Gillian stared at the paper and tried to understand whether she had made serious errors in the translation or not.
Whether she had understood something important wrong.
But it did not look like.
The content remained the same.
"So. What kind of a text is this, and where did you get it?" He asked, taking a sip of whiskey.
"I can not tell you where I have it from. But it is, if I understand correctly, an eyewitness report. An eye witness who has seen how the last of the shadowdancers was killed. "
"The shadowdancers were the priests of the Queen of Air and Darkness, if I remember correctly."
Gillian nodded: "Her followers, yes. You could say they were like priests. "
The professor put his hands together: "An eye-witness report is always interesting. But as long as you can not prove your sources, you can not use this document for your work. So it's practically worthless for you. "
Worthless? No way, thought Gillian.
"Have you noticed that there is the speech of a grave?"
The professor sat back in his chair. "I see where that leads to. But there are no details as to where the grave is located. And you're not an archaeologist. "
Gillian grinned. She was not an archaeologist. And it was true, there was no mention of where the grave was located.
But something else was mentioned.
A name.
"Gillian, I know that my influence on you is low. You always done the opposite of what you're told. But just this once, I beg you, listen to me. "
Gillian frowned. She felt miserable. She could possibly not do whatever he wanted from her.
"Come back one more time, Gillian. Please. "
Surprised, she looked at him.
"Promise me."
The vampiress had to swallow.
She had not expected that. She looked at the old man with his shaggy white hair and his watery gray eyes, and smiled.
She nodded.
"I promise."