Like I said, I must use every asset at my disposal to create a safe and normal life for us. The question is, what will I do when that sound I just heard really is Mr. Nice coming to claim his prize?
If only Michael would answer my phone calls.
CHAPTER FOUR
I drop off Stella at her new preschool for “tiny royals”—my little personal joke, given the security. After taking a thousand photos, I wait outside the gate for another ten minutes, just to be sure Stella doesn’t come screaming out of the building in tears (or covered in blood because she decided to make her own snack). So far, she hasn’t shown much interest in blood, and her vitals have been steady, so I’ve been feeding her what she wants—mostly simple food like mac-n-cheese, turkey dogs, apples, and broccoli.
I look at my watch, knowing I’m already late to get to the library. I have an insane amount of work to do today, including putting an employment ad in the local paper. I really need an assistant.
The thought instantly makes me start missing Michael again. I first hired him thinking he was a college student. He was the worst and best assistant ever. Hated touching used books and reading during story time, but somehow he kept my library going while I was captive.
I look one more time at my watch. Dammit. Four to? I have to go. I drive off, taking slow, deep breaths. At least my library is only twenty minutes away. If anything comes up at the school, I can make it back in ten.
My building is located near downtown Phoenix and doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it’s magical. Even more so after Michael renovated the place while I was away. Probably the nicest—wait, I can’t use that word—probably the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me. New furniture for the children’s play area, beautiful new wood shelving, an elevator, and upgraded computers. He spared no expense, and the gesture touched me beyond words.
My parents started this library and filled it with millions of dollars of books. Three floors. Open in the middle—same as our house—overlooking the main floor. When I wasn’t in school or training to be a Keeper, I was here, losing myself in books. I think I always knew I wanted to be a librarian, but it just took a while to work up the courage to tell my family. Of course, when I did, they acted like I’d told them I wanted to be a porn star or bank robber.
To this day, I don’t regret my choice, but I do regret how my parents were murdered before I could convince them that choosing another path in life didn’t mean I hated them. They died thinking the worst of me, and for that, I don’t think I’ll ever feel closure.
I pull into the parking lot to the side of my library and immediately go for my crossbow. The big one this time. Bertha.
There are four black SUVs in the lot and two parked out front on the busy street at the meters. I know it isn’t Nice, which is why I grab the chocolate-tipped arrow. I make them myself with pure cocoa powder and a flour paste so the tip hardens just enough to penetrate the skin. Vampire skin.
Chocolate is a narcotic for us. Give us enough, and it’ll kill, whereas a small dose has the same effect as alcohol. I’ve yet to sample any since being turned because I’ve been alone with Stella and must be on my guard. Mommy can’t get a chocolate chip cookie buzz until she finds a ninja sitter.
I take my crossbow and exit my Hummer. I might be a librarian, but when it comes to defending my child, I’m a one-woman army. Ready to kick fangs or asses. The ill-fitting, disheveled clothes I wear—below-the-knee skirts, moth-eaten sweaters, and granny glasses—are merely a disguise. Today I have on a wrinkled white blouse, plain tan pants, and a black cardigan that’s all stretched out. People see me and think I couldn’t harm a fly or fight my way out of a paper bag. All part of my Keeper upbringing. Unfortunately, my natural clumsiness is genuine, and so is my lack of love for violence. I can fight, and fight well. It’s just not something that comes naturally or that I enjoy. Even when I was Nice’s prisoner, fear always held me back. And he knew just how to use it to keep me tethered to his side, reading bad poetry, helping him shop online for ruffled shirts, telling him how much I admired his wiry body and long black locks.
The man is a monster.
At least I wasn’t mistreated sexually. Mr. Nice has a rule about not sleeping with humans (apparently they’re too fragile for his bedroom games), but he kept Stella from me. Those are years lost with my daughter, and I’ll never get them back. For that, he’ll pay.
How?
I’m not sure yet, but it’s coming. His day of reckoning for separating me from Michael and then my child, for driving Michael to become a cold-hearted vampire, and for turning me is coming. I love to read, and I’ve always believed a story is only as good as the bad guy. But in real life? The only good bad guy is a dead bad guy. This librarian is coming for you, Nice.
Now for this guy!
Bertha in hand, I pull on the front door of my library. My eyes meet his, and my heart starts hammering against my rib cage, like it’s calling out to him in longing. The sensation jars me and, in some way, shames me. I know he can hear it. Just like I can hear the lack of beating inside his chest. He couldn’t care less about seeing me. He feels nothing.
“What do you want, Michael?” I growl, keeping my weapon pointed at the ground. I know his guards are all around us, waiting to pounce.
“What do I want?” He points to his broad chest, and I try not to notice how good his tall, lean, muscular frame looks in his tailored black suit. Michael Vanderhorst was born over four hundred years ago, but if you saw him walking down the street today, you’d wonder where the Armani shoot was. And I’m not talking runway. I’m talking Christmastime cologne commercial. You know, the ripped, oiled-down guy with deep olive skin in a tight white Speedo, diving into a pristine turquoise ocean. Yeah. That Armani.
Despite being a vampire, Michael is everything hard and male and seductive, with a face that never ages. One look into those dark eyes, and you’re lost forever.
“Yes,” I repeat, “what do you want?”
“You summoned me,” he says in that deep, authoritative voice that doesn’t fit his youthful appearance. It was the one thing that first tipped me off about him not being human. No twenty-year-old I’ve ever met has a voice that can make my toes tingle.
I raise my crossbow and point it at his groin.
“What are you doing?” he growls with those sexy lips.
“I know you have at least a dozen guards surrounding me. Consider it my insurance.”
Michael unfolds his arms. “Mir-librarian-woman, you sent five of my men home in a shoebox. I hardly think you are the one at risk.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?” And why is he calling me Mir-librarian-woman?
His dark eyes narrow in puzzlement. “Please tell me it was you who summoned me.”
I blink, catching on to the situation.
Someone pretending to be me asked him to come here.
I hear a click somewhere in the room. Oh crap!
Before I can scream “run,” Michael charges faster than my new vampire eyes can register. His shoulder slams into my stomach and knocks the wind right out of me. The glass doors explode against my back, ahead of the blast as he shoves me through them.
Ohmygod. What’s happening?
The nearby cars, streets, and buildings are nothing more than a blur, whizzing by as the explosion nearly engulfs us, blasting through windshields just outside. I glance over my shoulder, watching metal fragments fly at us. The noise blows out my eardrums, and I scream from the pain.
As Michael carries me, my mind understands what happened, but my heart can’t accept it.
My library is gone.
My books are gone.
My life’s work is gone.
Michael keeps running until we reach a parking garage about ten blocks away. When he stops, he sets me down, and my lungs expand. The rush of air sends me stumbling back.
I claw at my throat, coughing and hacking. “I can’t. I can’t…” I double over, unable to catch my b
reath.
I feel Michael’s hand pull up on my shoulder, and when I look at his face, I see his lips move, but I can’t hear him.
“What?” I yell.
He points to his ear. I can’t hear, he mouths.
“I know!” I yell back. “What the hell just happened?” Someone blew up my beautiful library. Why?
He says something else, but I’m not sure what. “I can’t hear you!”
“I said your hearing will return in a moment. Just give it a second, woman!”
I heard that. “Don’t call me woman. My name is Miriam, in case you forgot.” The anger, outrage, and adrenaline start pumping.
“I have not forgotten,” he grumbles, wiping some of the debris from his eyes with the tip of his red tie.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“Yes. Thank you. And you?”
I wince, feeling an ache in my side. “I think you cracked my rib.”
“Would you have preferred being incinerated?”
I forgot. I’m talking to King Michael, who’s only concern is enforcing vampire law. I can’t say I blame him. Vampires don’t obey anyone they’re not afraid of. I just wish the old Michael was here right now. Because it’s sinking in fast. Someone just tried to kill us. They destroyed the library my parents built and loved. A place I loved.
“Who set us up?” I ask.
He looks down his nose at me. “Who do you think?”
We only have one common enemy. “Mr. Nice.”
“Well, I suppose I should be leaving, then. There’ll be forms to fill out, and some of the guards had family. They’ll be wanting their revenge.”
I blink at Michael. “You’re not going to do anything about this? My library is gone. Our daughter could’ve been left parentless. You can’t just leave!” I have to go get her, and what if someone attacks us?
“Why not?” he questions dryly.
“Because…because…” I try to speak in terms he’ll understand. “That was a huge violation of vampire law. I demand justice! And it’s your job to give it to me.”
He cocks a dark brow. “What gave you the impression I would not pursue the culprit?”
“Well, well, you’re talking about filling out paperwork instead of—”
“Of what, librarian? Of running around like a chicken with its head cut off? I see no reason to react in such a way. Nice will be caught, and he will pay.”
I push my fists to my waist. “And what if it wasn’t him? Huh? What if it was one of your enemies who are still sore over losing their failed coup? What if they plan to blow up my house next? Or the museum?” When Michael thought I was dead, he commissioned the construction of a museum. His original intent was to display all of the rare books and other items from my family’s collection. They would have found it ironic that a vampire took so much care to protect their legacy and share it with the world. Anyway, the construction isn’t complete, but I figure Michael has some pride wrapped up in the project.
“Then my men will get to the bottom of it, and when they do, the guilty party will pay.”
That’s it? How can he be so calm and collected? “Stella could’ve been with me. She could have been hurt,” I growl.
“I do not deal in hypotheticals,” he responds robotically.
I search his handsome face for a shred of emotion, but find nothing more than a pristine iceberg. Beautiful, but cold. “I never thought I’d see the day that Michael Vanderhorst turned into a giant chicken, too afraid to get his hands dirty.”
He frowns at me. “Your attempts to rile me up will not work, librarian.”
“My name is Miriam.” Why can’t he say it?
“Sir, are you all right?” a deep voice says from behind me.
I turn, noting how the voice sounds familiar. When my eyes hit the man’s face, I’m one hundred percent sure that blast did more than destroy my beloved library.
I point with a limp finger. “Michael, is it my imagination, or is there a man standing in front of me who looks exactly like you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Michael
I can tell that the librarian is frustrated by my lack of emotion over the blast, but her feelings do not concern me. At present, I have much bigger fish to…to…wrangle? Dammit. I never remember how that ridiculous saying goes.
Anyway, I know this bomb is not the work of Nice. I only agreed with her because I am unsure who is watching, and I do not want my true plans to be derailed.
What true plans? I will get to that later.
As for how I am so certain that Nice was not behind this, it’s logic. It is no mystery to anyone that he is an old-school vampire and believes in looking his foes in the eyes when ending their lives. Bombs are the weapons of cowards, of men without honor. If Nice wanted me dead, he would merely show up at my door, kick it down, and remove my head. He is that fast.
Whoever set up the librarian and me is cunning and wishes to remain a secret.
But who?
Who would want us both dead?
Who would employ a bomb to do the job?
Mystery! Mystery! Mystery! My inner vampire child claps wildly. He loves a good puzzle.
I bitch-slap him silly. No. No rejoicing! Those days are over! Funny how, despite my emotional transformation, I am still unable to quell the snot-nosed little runt.
I raise my chin, determined to keep my true thoughts and intentions a secret from the librarian and anyone else. Once, long ago in the 1600s, I was a hunter and fur trapper. Profession #1. It taught me that there is one basic rule when it comes to stalking prey: Never let them know you are coming. Okay, and bring a harmonica. It gets lonely out there in the woods by yourself. So make that two basic rules. In any case, it is never wise to publicize your plans to the world.
The person responsible for blowing up the librarian’s pride and joy is a sly, self-absorbed coward. What did those books ever do to anyone? Well, besides annoy me. But aside from being filthy, touched by many human hands, the books were innocent. Only a fiend of the gravest sort would dare murder thousands of them.
It is a clue! My curiosity cat—or bat?—perks its fluffy ears. The culprit has no regard for literature. A millennial perhaps? We all know they only read emoji-speak. Like some ridiculous throwback to the cavemen era with their cave symbols. But less understandable. I happen to own a T-shirt I bought on clearance at Target. Eggplant. Peach. Happy face. I still have no idea what it means.
Hmmm… I rub my unshaved chin. Beard length is the one place where I depart from the civilized men of my time. Thick facial hair separates the men from the boys. And solving this predicament will take a man’s brain. The librarian is fortunate to have me.
Another clue I cannot discount is that this person killed five of my men yesterday, so they know their way around a trained vampire. Also, they are familiar enough with me and the librarian to pen that letter, which pushed my buttons and persuaded me to come here.
So the guilty party must be someone who is a coward, but smart enough to build a bomb. Someone who hates books. Someone who knows us well.
My inner vampire child takes the clues, gathers them in his greedy little hands, and runs to a dark corner to play with his new puzzle.
“Michael!” the librarian barks at me. “Can you hear me?”
I blink. “Of course.”
“Then why haven’t you answered my damned question?” She points to Freddy. “Who the hell is he?”
“He is Freddy. My new guard.”
“That’s not what I mean! Why does he look exactly like you?”
“He is a distant cousin.”
Her wide dark eyes narrow. “A cousin. Who just happens to pass for your identical twin?” she says with rancor. Apparently she does not believe me.
“Haven’t you ever heard of a doppelganger? Everybody has one. Right now there is at least one other human on the planet who looks exactly like you.”
“Huh?” she scoffs. “What the heck are you trying to pull—”
“Bup, bup,” I interrupt. “I have lived for over four hundred years, and when one lives that long, they meet many doubles. Why, just the other day, I met a man who looks exactly like a general from the Confederate Army. He served me a scoop of habanero ice cream at the new shop I opened downstairs in our headquarters. Exotic ice creams and confections. My idea.” I might be king now, but I still require a profession that supports my human cover story of entrepreneur. In any case, this man I hired, Norman, is the spitting image of another man I killed some hundred and sixty years ago when I was more or less a spy for the North during the Civil War. South Carolina. Barber. Profession #6.
As for the true reason I have my double working as my personal guard, well, that has to do with another mystery I am trying to solve. A mystery that takes greater priority over this bomb situation. It is something that the librarian will not understand. But a king must do what is best for his people, for those in his care, and for the world at large. More importantly, he must know when to delegate.
Yes, we will find and punish this would-be assassin, but not until after I locate Nice.
“How did he end up a vampire, working for you?” the librarian adds to her list of inquiries.
“I found him. Then I asked him if he wanted to become a powerful vampire and work for me.” I shrug. “He said yes. Simple.”
The librarian looks at my face and narrows her big brown eyes. She knows that is not the entire story, just as I know she is latching onto this topic because her mind is desperately trying not to think about the fact that we almost perished just now and her library is gone. That building and those books meant everything to her. I may not have feelings, but I understand them. And I understand my librarian like no other. She is in shock. I know I must step in to help the weak, female, newbie vampire.
The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 5 Page 3
