“I have all I wish to see right here.” Nice continues salivating over Miriam like she’s a warm, freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. Meanwhile, Miriam looks like a tiny animal with its leg caught in a trap, not knowing what to do.
I cannot believe this. If Nice is a spy, here to sabotage me, then he is a genius and has already won. If he’s merely here to steal my woman—I mean, my librarian—I am still on the losing side. I cannot make a move against him without Miriam seeing. Also, the odds of beating him in a hand-to-hand situation are not good. Not zero percent either, but not good. He is much, much older than me. Yes, I am second generation, but Nice is faster and lived in the days when men killed each other with their bare hands. None of this…guns and swords crap. They used rocks and threw clay pots. Or so I hear. Really must catch up on the Byzantine era.
“Mr. Nice, sir, if I may have a word with you in the other room?”
He waves me off. “No, sank you.” He takes a seat beside Miriam and scoots so close that he’s nearly on top of her.
My jealousy turns into an angry bull, kicking up dirt and ready to charge.
Miriam scoots all the way over to the armrest, but he nudges over, closing the gap.
“So, have you read zi latest Fanged Love, Fangless in Seattle?” Nice asks.
“Oh, uh…I’m almost done,” Miriam responds in a shaky voice.
“And what did you think?” He raises a dark brow.
“Well,” she swallows anxiously, “I was a little surprised that the author put out a third book so fast. I mean, it usually takes her a year for each edition.”
“Yes…” Nice’s dark eyes twinkle with sadistic delight. “Toothpicks glued to the eyelids can have that effect on a writer.”
Is that what he did to that poor Mimi Jean woman? I only hope she is somewhere safe now. Unlike Miriam.
Sonofabitch, I must do something. And the only thing I can think of is to start the ceremony now. Not to marry her, but to create a distraction.
“Well!” I clap my hands together. “Now that we have Mr. Nice here, it’s the perfect opportunity to begin charades.”
“I will be on her team.” Nice puts his arm around Miriam, and I wonder how she’s managed to not wet herself. I also wonder how I’ve refrained from jumping Nice. Take your filthy dead hands off her, Nice.
“Actually, sir,” I say, “this is merely a warm-up. No teams. And I’ll go first.”
I wave Lula and Viviana over to the loveseat perpendicular to the sofa, which is holding a frightened Miriam and a horny-as-hell Nice.
Lula and Viviana both give me shifty-eyed looks—the sort one uses when they want to ask what the heck is going on but can’t. My response is to remain calm.
And here I was, worried about pulling off the ceremony with Miriam. This is much worse. Nice has come to stake a claim on my librarian.
“Well, do not keep us waiting, Vanderhorsthsssth.” Grinning like a mad loon, Nice squeezes his arm tighter around Miriam. Her eyes go wide like two Frisbees.
If those Frisbees were saying “Help. Meee…”
The tension in the room spikes to defcon 4. Except for Nice, who seems lost in his own happy little bubble.
“Yes. One moment,” I say. “I am coming up with a good one for you. Got it.” I start miming an old-fashioned movie camera.
“Movie!” Lula barks out.
I nod and hold up four fingers and then repeat.
“Four words. Fourth word.” Viviana slides to the edge of the sofa. Her body language reminds me of a spring-loaded mousetrap.
I look directly at Lula. This is the part where I would like to say we know each other so well that she can read my mind, but the truth is I am about to take a huge risk. I can only hope she sees, as I do, that there is only one move to be had, and we both must do our parts.
You keep Viviana safe, Lula. Protect her, runs through my thoughts.
I continue with the charade. I take my hands and wave them sideways through the air, wiggling my fingers.
“You are a magician?” Nice says gleefully, enjoying the game.
I shake my head no and then glance at Lula. I blow hard, continuing the movements with my hand.
“Wind! Choo are the wind!” Nice barks out.
I nod yes and lock eyes with Lula once more. She gives me a look of horror as if to say, Don’t do it. Don’t do it…
Sadly, I must. I hold up one finger.
“First word,” says Viviana.
I pause, rallying my composure. Do it, man. Just freaking do it. I exhale and make like my fingers are walking on the palm of my other hand.
“A Stroll in the Garden of Windpipes!” Nice yells out. “A Walk on the Windy Glacier of Death! Dances on Piles of Breezy Flesh.”
Those are all movies? What sort of crap is this man into? Wait. Never mind. Don’t want to know.
“Darn. None of those are four words.” Nice scratches the smooth pale skin of his cheek. “Hold on. I’ve got it! Gone with the Wind!”
“Yep.” I swoop down and grab Miriam, throwing her over my shoulder. As fast as I can move, which is literally as fast as the wind, I am out the front door and bolting for the nearest exit leading down to the parking garage below the building. Miriam is screaming bloody murder, and I am unsure if it is because we are moving so fast or because I’ve just gone caveman on her. Either way, all that matters is saving her life. Nice has lost his marbles, and I cannot think of anything more dangerous than him wanting to make her his Fanged Love.
We arrive to my car, and I quickly toss her in the trunk. “Sorry about the smell!”
In a split second, I am in the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The electric car hums to life. I back out, throw the car into drive, and hit the accelerator. All the while, Miriam is yelling in the trunk and my cell phone is ringing. I screech out of the garage, onto the street, and take a hard right in the direction of the private airport.
The call is from Lula.
I hit the button on my console, and her voice pours over the speakers. “Whatthehell, Michael!”
“Lula! Are you and Viviana all right?”
“Yes, but Jesus! Give me a heads-up next time.”
“I did. Gone with the Wind.”
“I thought you were going to pounce on Nice, not run away, you idiot!”
“How could you think that? He’s too dangerous. I couldn’t risk fighting him with Miriam right there.”
“Well, I hope you’re driving the speed of light because Nice took off after you, howling for his librarian. What the hell’s gotten into him?”
“I wish I knew. Because this is the last thing I need to deal with.” Perhaps they did something to Nice when he was taken prisoner. Or maybe he has been putting on an act the entire time and this is all meant to distract me. It seems to be the enemy’s MO.
“Well, I don’t think it matters what you want because he’s coming for you,” Viviana says in the background.
I hit the freeway entrance and push the tiny car as fast as it can go. I am certain Nice can outrun this flea with wheels, but he doesn’t know which direction I went, nor does he know his way around town.
At least, I hope not.
“Get out of my apartment,” I command, “and get to the office. Stay there until I contact you.” Interesting fact: Every society’s headquarters is built for two purposes. One, to conduct business, and two, to act as a fortress. The brick walls are five feet thick and reinforced with solid steel beams every six inches around the inside perimeter. The heavy steel front door has hinges a tank could not bust through, and the roof is constructed from more steel beams. There is a good reason there are no windows, and this is one of them. They will be safe there until I figure out what to do.
“Michael! Whatthehell! Let me out!” Miriam yells.
“I’ll call you later, Lula.” I hang up, wincing. This is not the way I wanted the evening to go. I glance in my rearview mirror and continue violating every traffic law possible in my little buggy.
“I’m already dead,” I mutter to myself. And if I am lucky, she will not be joining me.
Fifteen minutes later, I am pulling into the gated driveway at the private airstrip. I stop at the guard station, flip on the radio, and set it to some rock station. I crank it up to full blast before lowering the window to greet the guard.
“Well, hello there!” I yell. “I’m Miguel Vontrape. I have a reservation!” Miguel is one of my many secret identities. I used this particular one quite often when I worked for Clive in my detective days.
The older guy in the brown uniform looks at me like I’m mad, but I assume I am not the first obnoxious person to pull into this airfield with millions of dollars of private jets.
I hand him my fake passport for inspection, and he hands it back. “Have a nice flight, Mr. Vontrape. Your plane is waiting over there.” He points to a large white executive jet with the interior lit up. A welcoming orange light pours through the open door above the staircase.
“Thanks!” I roll up the window and lower the volume on the music. Miriam is quiet now, but I do not believe for one second it is because she is through yelling at me. I am also certain that Nice has not given up either. If we’re lucky, very lucky, we will escape.
I pull up beside the stairs and spot the pilot in the cockpit.
Thank goodness. I grab Miriam’s backpack, the one she left on the floor of my car, and hit the trunk release. I do not bother with taking my car keys because there is no time to park the Cookie Monster, and I’m certain the staff will need to move it.
I dash outside just as Miriam is kicking open the hatch. Her dirty blonde hair is a mess, and her face is blistering with fury.
“Come on.” I grab her wrist and yank her out of the trunk so fast that I nearly knock the wind from her. “Sorry.”
“Michael! Let me go.” She somehow manages to dig her heels into the asphalt, and I’m forced to release her so I do not snap off her sweet little arm.
I move to grab her again, but she stumbles back. “Stop! What are you doing!”
Crap. I cannot afford for her to make a scene. The airport might alert the authorities. The pilot is an acquaintance, so I am not too worried about him.
I grab her firmly by the shoulders. “You must trust me. We only have a few seconds before Nice finds us.”
Miriam’s eyes are wide with fear, but her mouth and body language are rife with anger. “What the hell is going on? And…” she jerks her body back, “get your hands off me.”
“We do not have time for this.” I hear a gust of air one block away. It could be just that, or it could be him. “Goddammit, Miriam!” I scold. “I am a vampire. Nice is a vampire. And he is much, much older than me, so if we do not get on that goddamned plane, he will take you as his bride, and there won’t be a damned thing I can do about it!”
Miriam blinks up at me, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. She can’t quite believe what I’m saying, but how else can she explain the way I moved her from my apartment to my car in two seconds flat?
“Holy Christ. You really are a vampire,” she mutters under her breath.
“Yes! And I do not want to lose you. Can we go now?” I flash a nervous glance over my shoulder. “Because I assure you this is not the time nor the place to get into details unless you want to become bride of the gimp and spend your days reenacting scenes from the Fanged Love wedding.”
“Oh God. No.”
“Excellent response.” I scoop her up and dash up the staircase, tossing her into the first row of seats before shutting the door. “Go! Fly! Get us into the air, Fernando.”
Fernando is an old friend, originally from what is now known as the Dominican Republic. He was taken as a young boy by slave owners in the 1800s and then one day came across a vampire, now dusted, who believed in the old ways. For some reason, he liked Fernando and turned him rather than kill him. It didn’t take long for Fernando to end his maker, who enjoyed snacking on anyone he pleased, including other slaves. Fernando would then go on to help win the US Civil War—behind the scenes—and free the slaves. Since then, he has been a lawyer, a doctor, and a few other professions. Now he owns one of the world’s largest fleets of private jets and enjoys flying them any chance he gets. He is one of the few men I trust in this world, but even so, I have not told him a thing, and Fernando is too smart to ask. The less he knows, the better.
“I’ll get us in the air as quickly as I can.” Fernando ducks into the cockpit and gets to work.
I hear Miriam in the background, shuffling through her backpack, but my focus is on the gate and the road leading into the airfield. Nice could stop this plane with a flick of a finger—remove a tire, crack a window, pull off the engine.
“Come on. Come on…” My heart races as we begin to advance.
Oh no.
A white streak moves outside, punches through the chain-link fence, and comes straight for us.
“Go!” I yell. “Go!” But the plane is merely inching along, making a slow turn toward the runway.
“Vanderhorsthsssth!” Nice stops right below the window and points up at me. “Give her back! She is my Fanged Love. You are not good enough for her and her books!”
Don’t I know it. “You’ll have to kill me first, Nice.” Despite the noise of the engines, I can hear him just fine, and I know he can hear me.
He moves alongside the plane, keeping his eyes locked on me. “Easy. I am much older than you. And a much better dresser.”
He really thinks that? Or that it matters? “But I am the son of Cluentius Boethius. I am over four hundred years old and have slaughtered thousands on the battlefield, so if you think I’m going to hand over the woman I love without a fight or that I fear you and your shiny pants, think again.”
Wait. Did I just declare my love for her? More importantly, did I mean it? Obviously I did, because I said it.
Nice balls his fist, and I prepare to knock out the door. If we fight, it will be outside. Not in here where Miriam will be harmed.
“Jesus, go away. Just go away!” Miriam yells.
I glance over my shoulder and notice Miriam peering out the last window at the far end of the cabin.
Nice sees her, and it is as if he’s hit by a brick in the face. He drops his arm and stares at her, mesmerized. I do not know what they did to Nice or why Miriam has become his latest fixation, but it is clear he has lost his faculties.
The plane completes the turn, lining up with the runway, and Fernando punches it. Nice disappears from view, and I can only hope he hasn’t decided to grab a wheel and go for a ride.
We’ll know in a moment. I still my body, listening for any sounds. The plane roars off the ground and into the air. I hear the gears and flaps move.
“Is everything okay?” I call out.
“Yes,” Fernando replies.
“Good. Keep going.”
“Same destination, my king?”
East. “For now.”
I close the cockpit door and turn. At the rear of the tilted plane, Miriam is standing with her back to the wall, her face lacking any sign of emotion.
“You’re really a vampire?” she whispers. I can hear her just fine, though a human would not.
I nod.
“And Jeremy?” she asks.
I nod again.
“And Lula, Viviana, Nice—all vampires?”
Another nod. This time I take a step closer, but she stiffens.
I hold my hands up. “I would never hurt you.” And I would give anything to hear her thoughts. At the moment, I cannot even sense her emotions. I am much too charged up with my own.
Cautiously, I approach, doing my best not to allow the stern, protective, angry vampire in me to show through, but adrenaline is coursing in my veins, demanding I take action even if the threat is gone. Whatever that was back there with Nice has just cost me dearly. I cannot leave Miriam under the protection of
my army because we did not marry. I cannot run off and play detective, leaving Miriam alone. No matter where we go, there will be vampires, and I do not know which ones are against us. She will have to remain by my side from here on out.
I stop a few feet in front of her and stare down, waiting patiently for her to say something.
“You’re really four hundred years old?” she finally asks, blinking rapidly. The tone in her voice is quiet, restrained.
“Give or take a few years,” I reply in a low, calm voice.
“And you just saved me from becoming that insane goth man’s plaything.”
“Yes.” I nod, overtaken with the urge to hold her, simply to assure myself she truly is standing here with me unharmed. I would have died fighting Nice, and I would have done so gladly; however, that would have only left Miriam for his taking if I’d lost.
“You said you love me.” It’s not a question, but I know she’s questioning it.
“I believe I did.” I suddenly pick up on her emotions again. I can feel she wants me. She is afraid to, but like me, she can’t hide it any longer.
“And this—this thing between us, is it normal?” she asks.
I shake my head, because I honestly do not know.
“But you feel it, too, don’t you?” she asks.
“I do.”
Her shoulders fall. “Thank God. I thought I was losing my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I am too caught up in the moment to care, but it strikes me as odd that she is so unfazed by my confession. I am a vampire, and she doesn’t seem to care. Perhaps because like me, she’s too overwhelmed by thoughts of another sort.
The scent of her arousal fills my nostrils and it is more than I can take. I slide my hand to the back of her neck and close the gap between us. “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this.” I cover her mouth with mine, and the warmth of her body instantly ignites a hundred different sensations—adrenaline, lust, fear, need, and so many other things I do not have time to think about. My entire body explodes with libidinous sensations.
The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 3 Page 9
