At five o'clock on Friday night, I sat in the library, at table number eight, and waited for Cedric Morgan. I had already borrowed the physics books I needed, and every now and then I looked at my watch. And I was silently getting angry.

Half past six. Morgan was still gone. But I waited stubbornly, telling myself to do my time and leave. Whether he came or not, I didn't care!

The round wall clock in the library read six.

He didn't come.

I was seething with anger. The bastard! Where the hell had he been?

I decided that if Morgan didn't show up in five minutes, I was going to leave. Doesn't want to come? Great! Then I'd have an objective reason to refuse his "help" in the chancellor's office!

I crossed my arms on the table, rested my head on them, and mentally counted down the five minutes. Three minutes and seven seconds later, I heard: "Hello," carelessly dropped by a pleasantly low voice.

Wow! He'd managed to come after all!

My lectures were over at sixteen o'clock (a boringly long time), and, afterwards, I went to the nearest park, made myself comfortable on a bench, took a book of Thomas Mann's musings out of my backpack, and began reading with pleasure, at the same time thinking with immense satisfaction and schadenfreude about how the unknown Viper was freaking out waiting for me in the library. It was a tremendous feeling of revenge against the pimply-faced human youth who had been terribly unlucky enough to be my ward. Though he was wrapped up in the deadly sin of not knowing physics, and if he had known it properly, I wouldn't have had to spend my precious time pounding this elementary, logically correct information into his stupid head. Perhaps Viper is so stupid that nothing can save him now.

As I finished the next chapter, I glanced at my watch: it was seven minutes to six. It was time to make the poor man happy. Carefully closing the book, I put it into my backpack and slung it on my shoulder and walked at ease towards the university and then to the library. As I opened the heavy door, I immediately smelled the wonderful aroma I already knew. Blood and sea breeze.

Was it possible? I hurriedly looked around the hall with a searching gaze. Could it be… My gaze fell on the table where my ward No. 8 was supposed to sit. And I was immediately pierced by the realisation that the stranger from Nusle Bridge was very close by. I slowly made my way to the table, looking at the girl sitting at it and thinking up a convincing excuse for myself.

The girl was sitting at the table with her head resting on her hands, her thick, straight hair covering her shoulders in a wave, hiding her face from me. But I didn't need to see her face – I remembered it well from the first glimpse of her on the bridge. Is she Viper Vladinovich? Is this student the stranger from the Nusle Bridge? Is this girl my ward?

I don't know for what reason, I was inclined to think that Viper was him. I mean, that name doesn't really fit the female gender. It's not even a name, it's the English word Viper. What kind of monsters would name their daughter Viper? I never thought there'd be any fans of such a bizarre exotic name. But now I was standing at table number 8, next to a stranger whose blood scent made me shudder, and whose name was Viper. And she had waited for me for an hour.

I felt like a wretch, and I couldn't think of any excuse for my tardiness. I felt an overwhelming desire to justify myself, even though I had never justified myself to anyone, especially not to people. I'd forgotten that I was a vampire, and Viper was just a mortal.

– Hi," was all I could say.

The girl raised her head and looked at me. My blue eyes met her dark brown ones: my unexpected ward's gaze was angry and contemptuous, and her pale lips were tightly pressed together; her beautiful face breathed surprise mixed with insult.

– Are you Viper? – I asked a stupid question. Just to start a conversation.

The girl didn't answer. She gave me a scornful look, jumped up from her chair, and started packing her bag.

I watched my ward in silence, unpleasantly amazed at her stupidest act, though I understood her motives in my heart: the girl felt extremely offended by my lateness for a whole hour. And while she was preparing to run away and not looking at me, I had an opportunity to look at her again, this time in the light of day.

The stranger from Nusle Bridge (Viper, as I now knew) was dressed modestly: a dark green pullover, somewhat tight on her slender frame, and black straight jeans, strict, classic in style. She looked like an office worker. But her thick, straight, dark hair adorned her appearance and gave the strict clothes a deliberate contrast, indicating that she had no primness at all and was not trying to look official. This time I saw her without her coat, and she seemed to me even more unusual than on the bridge: there was mystery and femininity in her whole appearance, her movements, her look, in spite of her anger at me, and it seemed as if I saw before me a magical elf with unusually bright brown eyes.