“What! You didn’t.” She chuckles.
“What’s the matter with Rumpelstiltskin? It’s a classic.”
“It’s frightening!” she protests.
“They didn’t seem to think so. They asked me to read it again.”
“You’re too funny.” She hits my hand, and I feel a subtle spark. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Well, tomorrow you’ll have to do The Hungry Caterpillar—I read it every Thursday.”
“I had something a little darker in mind, like the original ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ but I’ll think about it.”
Miriam laughs. “You’re going to give them nightmares.”
“So? You don’t have to tuck them in at night.”
Her jaw falls open. “Yes, but I care. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a library.”
“And exactly why have you kept it open? Besides wanting to honor your parents? Was running a library what you wanted to do?”
“Oh God, no. I dreamed of having my own antique shop, traveling the world, buying rare old things with rich histories that bring the past to life.”
I like her dream for very obvious reasons. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Life, loyalty, my parents’ death—take your pick. But I’m not unhappy. Well, except for those goons who are trying to kill me.”
Not for long. “Did you ever consider simply selling the building and using the money to start your business?”
She shakes her head. “Not once. I think…I think that sometimes dreams are meant to give us momentum or direction, but your true calling happens along the way.” She looks up at me with her wide brown eyes. “You know what I mean?”
I know exactly what she means, though I have not found my true calling. I don’t know if it exists.
“Oh God,” she scoffs. “Listen to me babbling on and on. These meds are making me all loopy.”
“No. Don’t apologize. I rather enjoy it.”
A moment of silence passes between us, and we stare into each other’s eyes. I can’t help wonder if she feels anything.
“So, Miriam, how is your head?”
“The doctor told me she’s never seen anything like it. A complete turnaround.” Miriam leans in and speaks from the side of her mouth. “I heard her say the word miracle, but I tried not to laugh. Each to their own.”
“Yes. To their own. And besides that, how else do you feel?” I focus my thoughts on our connection, wondering if she senses it as vividly as I do.
“What are you doing with your eyes?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“The whole intense staring thing.”
She feels nothing? “Oh, I was just goofing off. You know—like us kids do.”
“You’re hardly a kid.”
Correct.
“And you should never discount yourself, no matter your age,” she adds.
Also correct. “Age is just a number, but since you brought it up, I am number one.”
She laughs, and I enjoy the sound of it.
Now, I know what most people think—that I’m feeling something for this woman, but that simply isn’t true. My kind doesn’t have romantic feelings for anyone. That’s not to say we don’t have needs of an intimate nature, but they’re no different than hunger or fatigue. It’s simply a need and nothing more. Our blood binds us to our family and gives us a sense of belonging. In some ways, it’s primitive. In other ways, the simplicity is freeing. We do not get caught up in the gray areas of the heart. We either care, or we don’t. We feel loyalty, or we don’t. We always know where we stand with one another. That’s not to say that my kind doesn’t take companions. Some even believe in soul mates, too. But they are fools, too blind to see it’s merely their own weakness tricking them into thinking they have love-like emotions.
“I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend—what did you say her name is?” Miriam asks.
My internal glow dissipates, but I’m unsure why. “Lula.”
“And what does she do?”
“She’s an assistant.” My assistant. Which sort of makes her Miriam’s assistant.
“And where did you two meet?”
“A mutual friend introduced us.” And gave us his blood and made us into vampires. “It was your typical romance.” Aside from the fact that she’s not my girlfriend, we do not have sex—nor will we ever—but she will always be a part of my life and is extremely possessive.
“So, Miriam, what about you?”
“Me? Ummm…I’m in the middle of a custody battle for my library with a gangster, so that just about sums up my life. But I did manage to speak to the police today, after you left.”
“Oh? And what did they say?”
“The guy who hit me was dragged off by another big guy before he had the chance to finish me.”
So there were witnesses who saw me. Not good.
“Who was he—the man who saved you?” I probed.
“Hell if I know, but maybe it’s one of those situations where there’s discourse among the ranks in the cartel.”
“So you think one faction doesn’t want you dead and the other does?”
“That’s what Officer Jordan said—those gangs are constantly splitting up and going after each other.”
“Did he show you any mug shots? Give you any names?” I ask.
“He showed me a few pictures, but it wasn’t the guy.”
“And the land developer?” I ask.
“He skipped town.”
Damn. I hoped to break a few of his fingers. Regardless, I will look him up and see if he’s left any clues as to where he’s gone.
My cell rings, and I slide it from my pocket. It’s Lula. “Honey? Where are you?”
“Dammit, Michael. They’re here.” Lula is panting.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I look at Miriam. “I’ll take this in the hallway.”
She gives me a nod.
“Lula,” I whisper, “who’s there?”
“I don’t know. I’m hiding in Clive’s closet.”
What is she thinking? “That’s the first place they’ll look. Did you bring a weapon?”
“No,” she hisses.
“Are they human or other?”
“Other,” she whispers. “I can smell them.”
Unable to do a thing, I feel helpless and only have myself to blame. “Lula, listen to me. Whoever they are, they’re likely young because they’re stupid enough to sneak into our territory without permission—and you are much, much faster. Just get the hell out of there.”
“I can’t,” she whimpers. “There are five of them, and I can hear one over by the door.”
“Yes, but they don’t know you’re there yet and won’t be expecting you. Just run before they sniff you out. I know what I’m talking about.”
“I can’t,” she cries.
“Think about what Clive taught you. Think about what he said to do when you’re stuck in an impossible place. Do you remember?”
“Run first. Fight last.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. So if you won’t listen to me, listen to him. Take the phone, shove it in your pocket, count to three, and bolt for that door. Do you hear me, Lula?”
Silence.
“Lula?”
“I’m afraid, Michael.”
“I know, Lula, but you can do this. There’s a reason Clive chose you, and it’s because you’re resilient. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then on the count of three, you run and don’t stop until you’re somewhere safe. All right?”
“Michael?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I’m texting you the pictures now. Just in case I don’t make it out of here.”
The call ends and my stone-cold heart turns into a glacier of despair.
Crap. I hang my head only to hear my phone beep. Six pictures come through. I look at the first one, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it. But the situation has quickly gone from trying to exact just
ice for a murder to being terrified that I have caused one.
“Oh, Lula…”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Standing in the hallway just outside Miriam’s hospital room, I endure the most difficult debate of my existence. Every ounce of loyalty in my body urges me to run to the airport and go to Lula. But I cannot move my feet, as I am equally torn about leaving Miriam unguarded. Part of me, the rational part, knows that my leaving will not save Lula. She has either fled and survived, or she has not. A three-and-a-half-hour trip—if a flight is even available at this late hour—will not change a thing. Alternatively, I could call one of our trusted members, but by the time they get there—same thing. Too late.
I stare down at my black Converses, shaking my head. Fool! Why did I send her? Why did I think she would be safe? We are so connected that I often forget we are not one and the same, and that simply because I can handle myself does not mean she can.
I groan and stare at my phone. “Come on, Lula. Call me back. Call, dammit.”
“Mike? Everything okay out there?” Miriam asks from inside her room.
I exhale softly. I must be more careful. Especially around my smart little librarian. She might notice that something is amiss, and God forbid she figures me out.
Really, Michael? She’s going to jump to the conclusion that you aren’t human?
“I’m fine.” I poke my head through Miriam’s doorway. “Lula and I got into an argument earlier, and now she says she might not come.”
I am a right bastard, a vampire through and through. I say this because my comment to Miriam serves the purpose of covering myself should the worst have happened to Lula.
Do not get me wrong. If anyone has so much as harmed a hair on Lula’s pretty blonde head, I will hunt them down to the ends of the earth. I’m merely pointing out what a calculating lot my kind is. We always think in terms of survival and covering our tracks versus simply caring for others like we should.
“I hope it’s nothing serious?” Miriam says.
I think of what a man in his twenties might say. “Couldn’t tell ya.” I shrug. “Women.”
Miriam shakes her head and adds a tsk-tsk.
Wrong answer?
“Well,” I say, “I’m going to let you get some rest. I won’t be far if you need anything.” Ten feet from your door, even if I must make out with the entire staff to stay.
“Thanks, Mike.” She flashes a tired, but warm smile and nestles under her covers. “You’re a good kid.”
Kid? Snarl… Regardless of my feelings, I know her comment is a good thing. She doesn’t doubt I am a college lad.
“Thanks,” I say with a wink. “See you in the morning.” I flick the light switch on the wall, but the door remains open, shedding plenty of light on the foot of her bed. A dim light over her headboard also provides illumination. Sweet dreams, my little librarian.
I could stand all night—not an issue—but I don’t want to draw too much attention, so I find a chair and place it outside her door.
Within moments, I’m silently chanting with my phone in hand. Please, Lula. Call. Please.
I then look at the photos she’s sent, scratching my stubbled chin. Hmmm…there is a note in Clive’s appointment book that says “160 Saguaro.” I toggle through the rest of the photos that are of the weeks prior to Clive’s trip here to Phoenix. I see he’s met with several people I know—a few council members, a phone call with Mrs. Reynolds, the head of one of our society’s families, and a scribble I cannot read clearly.
I look closer. Oh, it’s a note to buy Pop-Tarts. Clive really liked those for some strange reason.
Other than the 160 Saguaro, I do not see anything to indicate why Clive even came here. Nothing about a new client, no unfamiliar names, nothing out of the ordinary.
I sit there thinking about what “saguaro” might mean besides being a type of large cactus. Well, he wasn’t planning to buy one hundred and sixty cacti, so it must be an address. I pull up my map app and input the name.
Great. Dozens of streets, courts, loops, ways, roads, and lanes, including east and west sides, pop up containing this number and word. They’re not all in Phoenix either. Five nearby cities have their own addresses with this combination.
I will need to visit Viviana in the morning to see if I can’t ply her with a little charm. They must know something about where Clive was when he died since they recovered his ashes. Oh, did I mention that when my kind dies, we turn into a cloud of dust? It’s very disturbing to witness. One moment, a person is standing before you, the next, poof! Gone. Just like that. I suppose it has certainly helped conceal our existence since there are never bodies left behind for scientists to study; however, it makes the process of accepting death very difficult. I will never get to look at Clive’s face, with those soft wrinkles around his mouth or that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, again. I will never have closure because in the back of my mind, his death isn’t real. There is no body, and part of me will always wonder if that soup can simply contains someone else.
My mind quickly conjures up an image of Clive, with his shaggy brown hair and scruffy beard, sitting on a cold beach in Alaska, a pair of binoculars in his hands. He loved bird watching. In fact, every year, he would threaten to retire and apply for a world visa—something only the most respected, oldest vampires are eligible for—and see the birds from every continent.
He will never get to live his dream. Which only stokes the coals of my anger.
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe it away. I cannot make any more mistakes, and my rage will not help me.
The next morning I wake to the foot of a cranky nurse kicking my shin. I jolt upright in my chair.
“Hey, you can’t park here,” she says. “We have gurneys we need to roll through.”
“Oh, I, uh…” I glance at my watch. It’s seven in the morning. Seven? Seven! I quickly grab the chair and put it back inside the empty room where I found it and then go for my cell phone.
The moment I push the home button, my blood turns to ice-cold rocks. The battery is dead. This is precisely why I do not like anything with batteries—cars not excluded. There should be a fuel tank on everything, and when the fuel gets low, an alarm should sound. Refueling should be as quick and easy as going to a gas pump.
All right. Think. Think…
A nurse I’ve never seen passes by. “Excuse me, but would you happen to have a charger?” I ask.
She gives me the classic f-off look and continues walking.
“Hi there,” says a saucy female voice. “You need one of these?” It’s Nurse Delicious Lips dangling a power cord.
“You’re still here,” I say. “Thank goodness. Yes! I need that.”
I reach for the charger, but she pulls it back. “Nuh-uh-uh… You have to pay me first.” She puckers her lips.
Dear vampire gods. I want to roll my eyes, but I must know if Lula called or texted.
“Fine. Bring it over.”
Nurse Davis’s smile is all devils and vixens. “Make it count, big man.” She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her soft lips to mine. Oddly, I am wondering how this would feel if she were Miriam. I am also thinking that I wish she’d hurry up—because…Lula!
“Ummm…” she moans into my mouth, and being the polite man that I am, I moan back.
“Mike? What are you doing?”
I pull away and find Miriam in a wheelchair with a nurse behind her.
“Oh, I was just…” Making out with a nurse, looking like a wretched manwhore. “Wait. Are you—”
“Leaving, yes,” Miriam says. “Why are you kissing that nurse?”
It’s a very good question, one I can most easily answer with yet another lie. “This is—”
I am about to say she’s a friend, but Miriam cuts in.
“Lula! Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says. “Mike told me you were an assistant. I didn’t realize he meant medical assistant.”
Nurse Davis looks down at her scrubs and then giv
es me an awkward shrug.
Miriam continues, “So nice to meet you. Mike didn’t mention how gorgeous you are!” Miriam is a tad bit too excited to meet my “girlfriend,” and it puts me on edge.
“Oh now…” Nurse Davis swipes her hand through the air, playing along.
The nurse in charge of Miriam’s wheelchair is flapping her mouth, clearly confused by all of it. She knows Nurse Davis isn’t named Lula.
Enough with the chitchat.
“Lula is about to head home,” I say, “and since you are too, Miriam, I can escort you.”
“But don’t you want to talk with Lula?” Miriam asks.
Ah, yes. I told her we were in a fight.
“No. Everything’s great. See?” I turn toward Nurse Davis and kiss her again.
“Michael?” says a very, very familiar voice.
Lula? “Lula!” Without regard for what’s just transpired, I dash toward her and sweep her into a twirling hug. “Why didn’t you call?”
“You’re. Crushing. My. Ribs.” Lula grunts.
“Shut up.” I set her down but do not release her from the bear hug. “Why didn’t you call? I was worried.”
“I did call. You didn’t answer.”
“My phone died,” I say.
Someone clears their throat, and I slowly turn my head to see all three women staring at me in disgust. All right, not Nurse Delicious Lips. She’s smirking. But Miriam does not look happy.
“Let’s go,” Miriam says to her nurse.
“I can explain.” Actually, I cannot. There simply is no way. Miriam thinks I’ve just cheated on my girlfriend and lied to cover it up.
Nurse Davis walks off with a chuckle, and Miriam disappears around the corner.
“What was that?” Lula asks. She is wearing denim overalls and has her blonde hair in pigtails.
“Nothing to be concerned about. What are you wearing?” I scoff. “You look like you’re going to a rave.”
“Shut up. I almost died because of you, which is why I rented a Rolls Royce at the airport and put it on your expense account.”
She’s serious, but I’m so thrilled to see her in one piece, I do not care. “What happened with the men? Who were they?” I ask in a low voice.
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