“I can’t believe it,” I mumble to myself. “Forks. Why did I not search there?”
“Don’t beat yourself up; they haven’t been there long. And I never would have found them if it weren’t for the fact that I had one of our guys hack into the Barnes and Noble website.”
“Why…?”
“We found a discount card at Nice’s house in New Orleans, so I figured that’s where he buys his books. From there, I combed through the Fanged Love, Book Four data to see who’d ordered copies. I found an account that belonged to a Señor Simpatico from Napa—the same place where the first Fanged Love book took place.”
Jesus. “Lula, you are much smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“I will ignore that pigheaded comment because I am in the doghouse with you over the whole Clive thing, but make no mistake, it hurt. Owie.” She points to her heart. “Anyway, we went to the house in Napa, but it was empty. Luckily, one of the neighbors overheard Nice saying he was going to Forks!”
It takes everything I have to swallow my pride, but I must. Lula has proven herself a true detective. I never once considered tracking Mr. Nice’s book purchases, but he’s obsessed with the Fanged Love series. He would have preordered book four and waited with great anticipation.
“So it really is Miriam in that photo. Is she still human?” I drag my hand through my long hair. I still haven’t cut it. Not since Miriam was taken. Nothing mattered after she was gone.
“Yes, Michael. She is. And now we’re going to get her back so you can finally be happy again.”
I haven’t cried since I was a young lad of fifteen. And no, I don’t intend to do it now. However, without a doubt, this is a moment that calls for it. But only if I were a giant weak pussy. Which I am not. I am Michael Vanderhorst. And I am going to get my librarian back.
Two days later, disguised as a groundskeeper for the city of Forks, I stroll along the damp walkway, sweeping up wet pine needles and trimming hedges, hoping for a glimpse of my librarian. She didn’t appear yesterday due to the frigid weather and winter rains, but today is supposed to be sunny. The surveillance team watching her motel—a small suite, but the best accommodations in town—has informed me they’ve caught glimpses of her reading by the window. If we are lucky, the sunshine will bring her outside to this very park, where she has already been spotted on several occasions this past week.
So what will I do if I see her? I will want to run to her, kiss her soft cupid-bow lips, and carry her off. The other part of me warns to be cautious. If she has stayed away this long, there is a reason.
She is a hostage. She fears Nice and can’t run because she knows he will kill her. Why else would she remain by his side?
Three hours into my “shift,” I get to work on a pine tree with dead branches. Just when I am about to haul away my wheelbarrow and move to another section of the small park, I get a text.
Lula: She’s on her way.
My entire body tenses, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. I have dreamed of this moment every night for over five long years.
A few minutes later, I spot a woman approaching in a thick black coat. Her long blonde hair is wound on top of her head into a ratty spiral, and she is wearing jeans. I watch, my feet frozen, as she heads to the exact same bench I saw in the photo. It is at the edge of a patch of grass, a pine tree on each side.
Miriam? I hold my breath as she sits and faces my direction, opening her book. It is her! It is my librarian! I almost fall over, unable to believe I have found her. My eyes dart around the park, searching for Nice or any threats. As far as I can tell, we are the only two “people” here on this cold winter morning.
I tug down on my dark green baseball cap. My matching jumpsuit is padded, giving me the appearance of a robust man who enjoys the drink. My fake black beard and prosthetic nose make me look like a much older man from perhaps the Middle East or India.
Determined to smell her sweet scent again, I march for the bench where she is sitting. With every step, my heart grows warmer.
I stop in front of her. “Hello,” I say in a very deep Indian accent—well, my version of one. I never was great with certain kinds of accents.
She glances up from her book, and when our eyes meet, my heart spasms uncontrollably. It feels like it is going to jump from my chest and explode into a colorful firework. God, how I have missed her. Meeting her saved me from a dark existence. She taught me how to feel alive again—something I never thought possible after the Great War.
“Good morning.” Her voice is cheery.
“Mind if I sit? I like to take my breakfast breaks here.”
“Oh. Am I in your way?”
I do not detect an ounce of recognition. If she knows who I am, there are zero signs.
“Not at all. In fact, I would love the company. I always eat breakfast alone—well, not alone exactly. I do have the unruly squirrels.”
She laughs. “They are pretty aggressive here. I wonder why.”
I sit and pull a sandwich bag from my pocket. Yes, I brought a sandwich. All part of my disguise. “I think because it’s so wet and cold most of the year. The squirrels only have a few days each month to forage.”
“Then they must all be smart squirrels. Survival of the fittest.”
“Or, perhaps, they are simply fighters. Warrior squirrels.”
She laughs. “Warrior squirrels. That makes me think of furry-tailed rats in medieval armor.”
I smile, almost unable to contain myself. After years of searching, here she is. I want to grab her and hold her and never let go. But if I make a move, I must be certain it doesn’t jeopardize her life. Nice could be anywhere.
“So, are you from around here?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice extra deep and speak with my accent.
“Just passing through. And you?”
“Me? Been here a few years.” I unwrap my sandwich. “Want half? It’s mango chutney and fried egg.” Not the typical vampire food, which is the point. I want to maintain my cover.
“Sounds exotic.” She crinkles her nose. “But no, thanks. I already ate.”
I bob my head. “Don’t know what you’re missing.” I take a bite and hold back a gag. The restaurant forgot the peppers.
I set my sandwich down on top of the aluminum sheet. “So, what brings you to Forks? The vampire fest this weekend?”
She winces with disgust. “Uh. No.”
Her response is vague, but it could be a good sign. Maybe she is sickened by Nice and not happy like Lula says. On the other hand, Miriam always knew what I was. Does she loathe all vampires now? Perhaps she simply doesn’t like the festival.
A brisk gust of wind pushes through the trees, and speckles of sunlight dance on Miriam’s delicate oval face. I am mesmerized. I want to kiss her soft pink lips and whisk her away. I cannot leave her here. I won’t.
I am about to throw all caution to the wind when that very thing carries a scent towards us. Nice. He’s near. As for my own scent, I have covered myself in Drakkar Noir. It is one of the few colognes that are so potent it can clear a room of humans and mask a vampire’s scent—an old trick I learned from my detective days.
“Well,” I stand and tuck my sandwich back into the foil before sliding it into my pocket, “it’s been great talking to you…?”
“Miriam.” She holds out her hand. “Miriam Nice.”
I glance at her other hand and notice the wedding ring. They are married? No! This cannot be. It cannot! But Mr. Nice said all along that he wanted his Fanged Love wedding.
I reluctantly take Miriam’s hand. As feared, the warmth and softness only remind me of all the places on my body it has touched. Especially the time when she wrapped her fingers around my—down, boy. Down, I say!
“Enjoy your book and this lovely day.”
“Thank you. I will!” she replies.
I stroll off with my tree clippings and wheelbarrow. Just around the bend, I stop and listen. I hear Nice approach her.
“Who w
uzzz zat strange man, my love?” His accent is the usual gobbledygook of weirdness—German-wedish? Russi-French? Newmexi-terrestrial? No one truly knows. Especially because it constantly changes, almost like his brain is too scrambled to decide.
“Just one of the groundkeepers. Did you find anything good at the fabric store?” Miriam asks.
“No. And zi Nice needs a new fluffy shirt.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure I can find red lace online. I’ll look when we get back.”
“You are very good to me, my sweet, sweet little cookie. I wuv you.”
“I love you too, honey. With all my heart,” Miriam coos, and I can hardly contain my rage. My stomach twists and the bile rises. I know I mustn’t look, but I have to. I have to see her eyes. Does she truly mean it?
I slowly peer around the large tree trunk, and there is this moment, just a split second as she gazes into Nice’s eyes, when I see something that shouldn’t be there. Fear.
Miriam doesn’t love him! Because I’ve seen when she truly means it.
To be certain, I look again, but this time she’s making major goo-goo eyes at him.
Wait. How come she never made goo-goo eyes at me? Now I’m confused.
I duck back behind the tree before he spots me.
“Would you like to love me foreverzz?” Nice adds.
“No. I don’t want that,” she says sweetly. “And you have to stop bringing it up, my dark delicious pickle. You have me for now, as long as I’m still breathing.”
I hear Nice sigh. “It weel never be enough.”
“If you love me, then it has to be.”
“We weel discuss it tonight. Let uzz read. What chapter are choo on?” Nice asks.
The two continue talking about some new series they’re reading—who cares? Because in this moment, that thing in my chest that felt like a lump of dead wood has turned into something much worse: my rapidly fizzling hope.
Miriam is married to Nice. And, screw me, but she sounds happy, just like Lula said. This can’t be happening.
No, no. Something is wrong. He’s brainwashed her or—I don’t know. But I intend to get to the bottom of it. Mystery! Mystery! Myst—
Stop it. I refuse to allow my inner vampire child to rejoice. It has always loved a good puzzle, but this is more of a tragedy. An injustice! Miriam has been seduced by the dark and lacey side.
Wait. Does this mean they’ve slept together? Rage overtakes me, and my insides turn to lava. Jealousy lava. And if it is the last thing I do, I’m going to melt Nice with it. No one humps my librarian but me!
CHAPTER FOUR
“So, then, what’s the plan?” I ask Lula, who’s sitting across the table at the Forks Motor Lodge, in the small dining area stocked with…well, very little other than coffee and creamer packets. We are alone, though her twelve guards are stationed outside, patrolling the frosty forested perimeter. Regrettably, we were unable to track down all of Clive’s sympathizers before I handed over the reins, and I would not put it past them to attempt another coup, no matter how futile. Luckily, the majority of vampires simply do not wish to return to the old ways when we openly hunted humans. It was much too difficult, all that fighting for territories, and nowadays humans have much in their favor—armies, technology, Snapchat.
“Well, what do you think we should do, Michael? I mean, I don’t have to spell out the risks.”
“No, you do not.” Any move we make comes with the risk of Nice harming Miriam. On the other hand… “I only listened to their conversation for a moment, but it sounds as though,” I wince, “he cares for her.”
“Do you think he has a superpower we’ve never seen before? Like, he can hypnotize people?”
I shake my head and sip what turns out to be dirty-sock water. Yuck. Who makes coffee this weak? It is not fit for a human, let alone an undead one.
I set down the Styrofoam cup and push it aside. “If that were true, then he would have convinced her to become a vampire. From what I heard, it’s a bone of contention.” What kills me is that they even have one. Real couples have those. Not fake ones.
Dammit, man. Stay focused. Getting her back is all that matters. The challenge is I never anticipated this scenario. Does she truly want to stay with Nice? Has she lain with him as husband and wife?
Involuntarily, my hands slide to the edge of the small table and squeeze. The wood starts to crackle and splinter under the pressure.
“Mikenator, stop!” Lula hisses, knowing that just in the other room is the reception desk.
“I cannot help it,” I say in a low voice. “What if when I get Miriam alone and confront her, she tells me that he—not I—is the fanged love of her life?”
“Well, you won’t know until we get her back, so we move tonight. Our heat sensors show Miriam sleeping toward the back of the motel suite.”
“And Nice?” I ask.
“No heat.” Lula shrugs. “Could be anywhere, including by her side, but catching him asleep is our best chance.”
I groan.
“You okay?” Lula asks.
“I always thought finding her would be the end of this dark chapter.”
“I know.” She bobs her head slowly. “I don’t think anyone could have seen this coming. I mean,” she tosses her hands in the air, “to have the love of your life bamboozled by Mr. Nice? He’s like Norman Bates and disco-era John Travolta had a baby with Dracula. How could anyone choose him over you?”
I glare. “Thank you for the awe-inspiring pep talk. Have you considered doing a podcast geared toward the promotion of suicide? Because you’d be a natural.”
“Sorry. I’m just saying that I don’t get it. Miriam being with Nice is a mystery.”
Did someone say mystery? Mystery! Mystery!—
Fuck off, Vampy Drew. Not happening. No celebratory mystery breakdance. Not now. Not ever.
“Tell me what I must do. What is my role tonight?” I ask.
“The guards will focus on sedating Nice. You will be waiting outside in the van. I’ll grab Miriam and bring her out to you. From there, the driver will take you and her to a secret location.”
“Where?” I ask.
“I just told you. It’s a secret.”
“Shouldn’t I at least know in case something happens to the driver?”
“Negative, compadre. He’s the only one with this information. That way, if something goes wrong, Nice can’t torture us for the location. But don’t worry, Spicy Bubba is legit, and he’s our best driver—thus the reason he’s in charge of picking up my take-out orders. Kinda like my personal Door Dash. Who always grabs too many hot sauce packets. It’s the weirdest thing.”
“I am placing Miriam’s life and the future of my happiness in the hands of a vampire who delivers your food and is named Spicy Bubba? What’s his last name? Gum?”
Lula narrows her eyes. “Stop, Michael. We can’t afford a nega-Nell right now, ’kay?”
“I would feel infinitely more at ease if I knew there was a backup plan. Also, if you’d stop using slang like legit and nega-Nell. What does that even mean?”
“Negative Nelly. And since when did you become such a soppy cloth? That’s ‘wet rag’ for you original millennials.” She cracks a smile.
Even in the worst of times, Lula could never resist making jokes. It is her defense mechanism. “We both know I was a Generation F-er, six centuries after the first millennials. And please try to focus. Is there a backup plan or not?”
“We didn’t have time for that. If we wait too long to attempt a rescue, we risk losing her, so it’s now or never.”
“So we must take our chances,” I conclude and exhale slowly. “Let us do it, then.”
“Michael,” Lula slides her hand across the table and grabs mine, “if anything happens tonight, I want you to know how very sorry I am for lying to you when all that stuff with Clive went down. I didn’t want to hurt you, and I certainly didn’t know involving Nice would end up here.”
I nod solemnly. I wa
nt to believe her, but a small piece of my heart—the one that knows Lula—wonders if a small piece of her heart wanted to punish me for choosing Miriam over her. Unbeknownst to me, Lula was created around two hundred years ago by Clive to be my forever companion. Of course, I did not want a relationship with anyone, mostly because I was a vacuous void, incapable of feeling emotion after the Great War. So Lula waited patiently, hoping I might come around. Two hundred years later, before I understood what my connection to Miriam truly meant, I slept with Lula and then proceeded to regret it. She let me off the hook by telling me I was worthless in the sack and that she never wanted to do it again. But I think we both knew that my heart was already clawing its way toward Miriam.
I slide my hand over Lula’s. “If either of us should perish tonight, I want you to know that I forgive your deceits.” Lula is about to risk her life to get Miriam back, and that means something. It means everything. “Also, I hate the way you dress. It reminds me of those bad B movies where the clowns take over.”
Lula snickers. “Leave it to you, Mikeypoo, to ruin a moment.”
The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 4 Page 3
