“Who said anything about designer? The clearance section bin at Target would be an improvement, and I know this because that’s where I buy all of my crappy teenware. If you really wanted to do your body justice, might I suggest some tiny black leather shorts?”
“Ugh! Michael, I work long hours and don’t see how dressing in leather hot pants will help.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” I shrug.
“Funny.”
“Not really, because you still haven’t explained why you’re running off with a crossbow if you do not kill things. And by things, I mean vampires, which generations of your family have clearly hunted.”
“I didn’t say that I wasn’t trained, because I was. My parents started when I was young. I didn’t have a choice. But after I turned eighteen, they asked too much of me. Correction, they asked everything of me, and I put my foot down—a girl’s gotta have time to read. I flat out rejected the whole Keepers thing.”
A life without reading? I, too, would not stand for such nonsense. “Keepers. Is this what you call yourselves?”
“I honestly don’t know what we’re called. The different families aren’t allowed to know about each other in case we get caught and tortured for info. But our family wasn’t into names, so I just go with Keeper–saw it in a movie or something.”
“Okay, so you rejected this, whatever you call it, and then you locked me up and ran out of here. Why?”
“I don’t really have time to explain everything, but we’re taught to work alone. Not that I ever worked. In fact, that was the problem. My parents wanted me to, and I thought they were crazy—all this talk about bloodsucking vampires when you’ve never really seen one just sounds nuts.”
“And now?”
“It’s still nuts, but it’s all true. And you’ve apparently got a major thing for me, which is crippling your ability to think clearly. I had to lock you up so I could survey the situation. For our sake. Now we’ve got what we need to tackle this beast head-on. You and me.”
Damn, she is making me so hot right now. Take-charge women are irresistible, even if men are better at leading. Specifically, me. The king.
“I really, really want to discuss your comment just now about my ‘thing’ for you,” I say, “but I am far too worried about our survival.” I am also gutted. If Miriam is right and that photo is showing what I think, then Lula has been working against me all along. That means she is working with Alex and our enemies. That means she helped kill Clive.
Miriam shoves her phone at me. “Take a look. I counted dozens of soldiers exiting those catacombs every few minutes for over two hours. They were being loaded onto buses.”
I take her phone and flip through the images.
“Dear God. It cannot be,” I mutter over a photo of Lula standing in black overalls next to Alex, Otto, and three other generals—Asia, South America, and Canada.
Those sneaky Canadian bastards. Always appearing so neutral and friendly. Going forward, I shall know better; however, what shocks me most is the man facing them. He has shaggy dark brown hair and a medium build. His face is so familiar, I could draw every wrinkle, every feature from memory.
“Clive.” I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. “He’s not dead?” I do not know how to process this. There is a vacuum where emotion should reside. He’s alive. The man—who was the only father I ever knew, who allowed me to mourn him and suffer the rage of believing he was murdered—has been alive the entire time.
My mind begins sliding the pieces of my mystery into place: Who could pull the right strings to have me appointed king when there were better candidates? Who could convince my good friend Alex to betray everyone, including me? Who would be able to turn Lula against me?
Clive. Clive. Clive. Only someone like him, a first-generation vampire and legend to our people, has that much power.
I suddenly realize why Clive did all those favors for so many vampires. He ran his detective agency into the ground, but in the meantime he was firming up loyalty and planning all this.
As for my new appointment, Clive must have wanted someone in charge whom he could easily manipulate, and that person would be me. He knows exactly what makes me tick. He knows my every weakness and strength. This is how he managed to distract me while he worked quietly behind the scenes. In short, I have been unknowingly supporting Clive this entire time. I am the king who cannot take action because he’s too busy chasing red herrings and protecting a librarian. Essentially making our side a snake with a useless head.
I cannot believe that all along it was Clive, but the pieces fit. Except one: Why? Clive fought for hundreds of years to bring our race to heel. Why destroy his legacy?
“I need to sit down,” I say. “Got any chocolate? Or cookies with chocolate? Really, anything with chocolate will do.”
“You’re hungry? Now?” Miriam asks.
“Chocolate is a narcotic for my kind, and I’m in need of sedation.” How does she not know this? Grandpa Kipper knew.
“Yeah…no. You need to be lucid because we have to do something, and I don’t think baking cookies is going to cut it.”
“Then clearly you understand nothing about war,” I grumble.
“Michael, stop it! This is serious.”
“Really? Because this feels like one giant clown orgy to me.” I scrub my face with my hands.
“I understand you’re upset. I do. But now that we know where these bad vampires are, who’s leading, and what they are up to, we have enough to make a move.”
“And which move might that be? Lighting our hair on fire and running away screaming?” Honestly, it sounds kind of pleasant, because if I’m facing having to go up against Clive, Lula, Alex, Otto, and several other generals, I might as well Ginsu my genitals and hand them over.
“We need to warn everyone,” Miriam says.
“What good will that do? The enemy has their claws in everything. A warning would simply be used by them to create countermeasures.”
“Who cares! Do the math, Michael. Your fifteen thousand two hundred and fifty-seven vampires compared to their what? Two thousand? All you need to do is warn everyone. If a society is attacked, tell them to send out an alert. Order the surrounding territories to send in help.”
“You know our exact population?”
“Don’t you?”
Nope. “I guess I forgot.” But it is a bit frightening how much these Keepers know. And here I thought we were being sly vampires on the down low.
“Let’s get the hell out of here while we still can,” Miriam says. “We’ll send an email from the road.”
“Where’s Viviana?” I ask. She was not in those photos.
“Oh, I think she was tied up in your office.”
Dammit. “We have to help her.”
“Michael,” Miriam grabs my arm, “I am a complete idiot when it comes to warfare, but I’ll tell you this: you’re way too nice. She is bait.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I have a brain.”
I start to mull. Viviana claims to have been turned against her will and forced to work for Jeremy and his boss, but I never verified her story before deciding to keep her on. She could have made the whole thing up. And she did help organize the blood auctions. Plus, she makes sure my coffee is perfect every morning and does it with a smile.
“She’s a mole, isn’t she?” I say, thinking about all the little red herrings she’s been throwing out. “We can’t get any guards.” “Oh, let’s check the RSVPs to the ball.” She was helping to distract me all along, keeping me off Clive’s trail. She even made sure I’d think Clive was dead by giving me his ashes.
“Yes.” Miriam nods. “One hundred percent yes.”
I will never trust anyone again. “Is the cabin you spoke of still safe?”
Thump! Thump! Thump! Multiple footsteps storm across the floor above.
“They’re here.” Miriam removes her crossbow from her back and grips it firmly.
�
��Have you ever used that thing?” I ask.
“God no. But I’m a librarian; if we want to learn how to do something, we read a book.”
“And you’ve read one about the use of crossbows?” I find it interesting that such a book exists.
“Yes. Stop it! We have to go. There’s an exit through there.” She points to the vault. “I parked your car right outside.”
“This isn’t another trick, is it?” I ask.
“No. There’s a doorway hidden behind those shelves you were perusing.”
“Dammit, woman. Why are you so smart?”
“I already told you, Michael. I’m a librarian.”
“And a very sexy one.” I am extremely turned on by this gung ho, crossbow-carrying, fearless side of her. “I cannot wait to make love to you again.”
“Seriously? You’re thinking of sex right now?”
“I am a vampire. That is what we do when we get excited.”
“Touché.”
We run into the vault, securing the door behind us, and escape in my blue shoebox. I cannot believe how this day unfolded. Clive, my maker, is still alive. He is the evil force behind everything and has been manipulating me from day one. My best friend, Lula, has stabbed me right in the heart, presenting me with lie after lie. Our best generals are in on this coup along with God only knows how many soldiers. Without a doubt, the world is about to fall on dark times. Yet, somehow, I feel a sense of relief. Miriam, too, has been putting on her own charade. She is not the timid or weak woman I believed her to be. She carries a crossbow.
She just might be the most perfect woman I have ever met.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Miriam and I hit the road. I have just enough battery charge in my stupid car to get us to her cabin by taking the backroads versus the freeway. We both agreed that while the freeway would be faster, there is a greater chance of being spotted by Clive’s soldiers, who—as Miriam witnessed—are being loaded into buses. I can only assume they’re being deployed to their targets. That is why Clive wanted me out of his hair and following a dead lead in Blackpool. This entire time, their army was right below our noses somewhere in the miles of catacombs below the city.
Now that army is on the move, and I’m guessing it is to California. I mean, honestly, if you’re going to take over any state, California is a great choice. So many crazies. It is as if they make them en masse and pump them out of a factory. Especially that San Francisco.
My second guess is that they are going to hit the Las Vegas territory—the Society of the Lucky Lady—whose human front promotes responsible gambling, but is really the HQ for Nevada, the rest of the West Coast, and Utah together. My territory, which includes New Mexico, is already dead in the water since the de facto leader, Lula, is in on everything and there are no guards or military force to be heard of. I’m sure whoever Otto was sending my way on charade night were men loyal to him. So, in short, with a few strategic attacks, Clive will take the West in a day. The Midwest will be an easy target, as the vampire populations are very scattered, and it seems our second global headquarters in Wellington, Kansas, is already in on this whole thing, since that post has been abandoned. Ohio belonged to Clive before I took over, and most of the families were loyal to him—or will be once he asks them to follow him. Even if they disagree with his agenda, they will not want to cross such a man. Vampires follow power, not titles.
The southern territories, which includes Texas, will be a toss-up. The states of that region are notorious for trusting no one and will fight tooth and nail against any outsiders. Canada is already lost since their general is part of Team Human Enslavement. I suspect Clive already has parts of Mexico in his pocket since they’ve been building relationships with the cartel. Another piece of the puzzle solved. Somehow, the cartel got involved with this whole blood-trafficking thing. I believed it to be about money, and possibly it was, but there was more to it. Clive probably promised to take out one group’s rivals in exchange for support when the time came.
The East Coast will be a battleground for certain. In fact, if I had an army, I would be sending every able body there to prepare.
But you do not have an army. Nevertheless, this doesn’t mean those territories wouldn’t want to fight.
“Miriam, are you almost done with the email and text?” I glance at her typing away on my phone from the passenger seat. The early morning sun is beaming through the window, the rays of light catching the golden hues in her blonde hair. She looks tired, dirty from her tree hopping, and more gorgeous than ever. Could it be because I am seeing this new side of her?
“Yeah. I think so,” she replies.
“We need to tell everyone in the US to evacuate to the East Coast if they are not already there.”
“Huh?” Miriam blinks at me, looking up from the phone.
“Clive and his generals have the same information we do. They know they can easily take every territory except for certain pockets in the South and the entire East Coast. If I send a warning out to everyone to move quickly—get in their cars, get on planes, do whatever they must to head east to fight—it won’t matter if our enemies find out. In fact, I would argue that it will help us. Clive will know that he’s lost the element of surprise. He will know that we are not going to put up a fight in any other territories, so they might actually back off the West and Midwest. No deaths. No fighting.”
“I see your point. If there’s no one to fight, they’ll have to regroup and prepare for a different battle.”
“Yes. And we will be ready. If we can defeat them on the East Coast, then they’re done. They will not have enough men to take South America, Europe, or anywhere else.”
“Plus, think of all the lives saved if you make Clive and his army come directly to you. One battle. Winner takes all.”
“Well, they would get the East Coast, but frankly, that’s not the end of the world. Do you know how cold it gets in New York in the winter? It’s troubling. But if we can stop them there, we’ve won.”
Miriam nods. “I like it. I’ll modify the messages.” She taps in a bunch of letters on my phone and reads the note back to me. It’s brief, but to the point, informing everyone that Clive is alive and well and is coordinating an attack on our way of life for reasons unknown to us. It lists all of the generals who are participating in this act of treason and instructs everyone to evacuate immediately to the territories in the east to prepare for battle.
“Make sure that you add ‘by order of the king’ to that last part so they know it is not optional,” I say.
“Got it.”
We include a few more notes for the rest of the world to send reinforcements, too, but to leave themselves well guarded. Hold until further instructions.
“All right,” says Miriam, “here we go.” She hits send on the email. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“I don’t have a signal.” She lifts the phone closer to the window.
“Try sending it as a text.” We’d planned to do both anyway. Some vampires really hate email.
“Same thing.”
“I am certain the signal will strengthen up ahead.” At the moment, we are in the middle of the desert with nothing but Joshua trees, saguaro cacti, rocks, and lizards.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I really have to pee.”
“Now?” I snap.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding it for over an hour.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. There is no one behind us, and we’ve only passed a few cars. It appears to be safe, but one never knows. “Just make it fast.”
“Personally, I like to pee slowly when my bladder is about to explode. Prolongs the suffering,” she says sarcastically.
“Haha.” Up ahead I spot a small rocky hill with some thorny bushes about, so I pull off. “Just watch for rattlesnakes.”
Miriam looks at me.
I look at her.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” she says.
“No. Better I remain here and—”
Beep! Beep! Beep! The ear-piercing sound comes from both our phones. Beep! Beep! Beep!
“Well,” says Miriam, “the good news is we just got reception and the email went out. The bad news is there’s a haboob warning in effect that went out twenty minutes ago.”
“Of course there is,” I say dryly, noting how when life goes to hell in a handbasket, it typically comes with a side of “Oh-come on!” and “Whattheshit.”
“Yep. There it is.” Miriam hangs her head out the window. “And it looks like a really bad one.”
Haboob is a fancy term for a giant horrible dust storm preceding a monsoon rain. The storm front is so powerful that as it pushes through, it picks up dirt from the desert floor. Meaning, we are about to be engulfed in a thick cloud of windy dry grit, followed by enough rain to fill the Colorado River in two minutes. It is really fun. If you enjoy being dirty and soggy.
“Hurry, then. We only have a few minutes,” I tell Miriam.
She gives me a look.
“Fine. I will go with you.” I throw my hands in the air.
“Thanks.”
We exit the car, me following closely behind, watching her do a mixture of a pee-pee dance and a speed walk. If we were not in such a dire situation, I would laugh. As is, however, I settle for a fat smirk.
Miriam ducks behind a bolder, and I turn my back.
“Oh, sounds like the monsoon rain is here,” I joke.
“I told you I had to go.”
“I find it interesting how our relationship has already progressed to this level so quickly. Normally, one waits until the third or fourth round of coitus before they share such delight—”
“Ow! Son of a!” Miriam squawks.
I turn to see Miriam pulling up her jeans, hopping on one foot.
“Are you all right? Did something bite you?” I try not to panic.
“Yes! Ow!”
I scoop her up into my arms and swivel, looking for the offender. Please do not let it be a snake. Please do not let it be a…
I notice a line of tiny red ants marching around the yellow puddle she’s left behind.
“You peed on their house and made them unhappy.” I jerk my head and stare down at the spot. “They will not be sending you a birthday card, but you will survive.”
The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 3 Page 14
