The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 4

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Please, Michael. I’m begging you. I’ll look for Miriam myself, but you have to come home.”

  I do not trust Lula like I used to. She has lied one too many times in the name of “just trying to help.” In fact, she is partly to blame for Miriam’s abduction, which has destroyed our friendship. A friendship I greatly miss but will never confess to her. I relied on Lula. She was my trusty sidekick. And now, more than ever, I feel the loss of her in my life. Almost as much as I feel the loss of Miriam. Nevertheless, even if I do not see how things could ever be repaired between me and Lula, I would never turn my back on her, and she knows it. That is the thing about vampires, we are loyal to our own detriment.

  “I will be home tomorrow. Let the council know that heads will roll. Anyone who has threatened you or spoken out against me will be dusted.” Dusted is vampire lingo for killed. We turn into a fine cloud of particles when we die.

  “Booya! There’s the Michael I know!” Lula howls.

  No. That man is dead. Four times over. First, when I was made by Clive. Second, when I was made into the Executioner. Third, when I lost my librarian. And fourth, when I lost my best friend. Now I’m not sure who I am.

  You, Michael, are Miriam’s motherfucking assistant librarian. Don’t ever forget it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Phoenix, Arizona. Four Years Later…

  “Hi there, Michael. Did my copy of Fanged Love, Book Four come in yet?” The brunette woman in her mid-forties bats her eyelashes from the other side of the counter that’s been recently replaced and freshly varnished—the final piece of my remodeling efforts. Over the last few years, I have given the entire library, all four stories, a complete makeover. New furniture, shelves, lighting, the works. I have spared no expense. Unfortunately, now that remodeling is over, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stay. I did it all for Miriam, but knowing she might never see it is more sorrow than I can bear.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, sorting through the pile of returned books, “but it’s backordered. Might be a few more weeks.”

  “Seriously?” She groans. “But I’ve waited over a year to find out what happens after the baby’s born.”

  Yeah, well, you’re lucky to have any book at all. The irony is that same vampire who kidnapped my librarian over five years ago, leaving not a trace, also kidnapped the author of those Fanged Love books and demanded more installments. She eventually got free; however, Mr. Nice became so obsessed with the campy vampire series that he began believing he was the hero in the story and my Miriam was his long-lost fanged love. We still do not know what triggered his obsession or why out of seven billion humans on the planet, he zeroed in on Miriam. Why her?

  “Well,” I say to the brunette, “you are free to put your email address on this list, and we will contact you when the book comes in.” I hand her a clipboard.

  The woman cocks her head to one side and flashes a flirty little smile. “How ’bout I give you my phone number instead? You look like you could use a woman to make you a nice meal.”

  I smile tightly. Does a man such as myself—svelte, muscular, handsome, and in his twenties (on the outside)—put on a beige cardigan, khakis, and bright white sneakers because he wishes to engage in sexual relations with women?

  No! No, I say. My manner of dress clearly states, “I am not interested. Keep your horny human paws off my immortal manliness because this heart is taken!” I have even gone so far as to wear oversized golf shirts that give the appearance of a doughy center to hide my six-pack—really more of an eight-pack, but who’s counting? Not I. I am merely trying not to go insane as my world slowly closes in. Over five years ago, Miriam and I were hiding out at a cabin near Flagstaff when Clive found us. I was a traitor in his eyes for halting his coup. He was about to end me when Lula, Mr. Nice, Alex, and a group of men showed up to help. With one swipe, Nice killed Clive. But little did we know, he had not come for that. We looked away for one second and Nice was gone. So was Miriam. No more Mr. Nice. And no more librarian.

  “So? You interested?” says the brunette.

  No. I am not interested in bedding you, woman! I scream with my eyes, like I have every day for the last four years. But do they listen? Do they obey my ancient deadly vampire wishes? No. I am subjected to my own personal hell, running Miriam’s library—sharing books. Ick!—being ogled like a piece of fine Wagyu beef, while waiting for a miracle. Miriam will return to me. She must.

  I clear my throat. “I would not touch you if you were the last source of blood on the planet.”

  “Huh?” Her round face contorts.

  Hell. Why did I say that? I should not lash out at the poor woman for desiring me. It is not her fault I am radiating “forbidden fruit,” which seems to attract more bees. Or birds. Or…flies? Whatever!

  “Apologies. Just a little Fanged Love humor.” I chuckle.

  “Oh.” She touches her nose with one hand and points at me. “Good one.” Her eyes go wide. “Wait. Are you a fan, too?”

  No. Absolutely not. I shrug and force a smile to my lips.

  “Well, we have Fanged Love Fridays at my house, and I’m sure the girls in my vampire book club would love to have a gent in the room.”

  I would sooner castrate myself and eat my own falafels in a pita. “Thank you. I will definitely keep that in mind.”

  “Okaaay,” she singsongs. “I’m holdin’ ya to it!” She jots down her email address. “Now, if I don’t hear from you before the end of next week, I’m going to have to buy a copy. We’re throwing a Fanged Love wedding slash Christmas party.”

  “How delightful,” I say dryly.

  “Yes!” she says excitedly. “We’re doing the red cake with little black bats and Christmas trees and everything. It’ll be so much fun, and you totally have to come.”

  Silly woman. Vampires don’t do Christmas. I mean, I rose from the dead and saved humanity multiple times, but do I get a day where people feast in my honor? No. I’m an “abomination,” a “creation from the devil himself.” Stupid judgy humans. I can’t help it if I was born of darkness and defy the natural order of life. Or occasionally kill people for sustenance.

  I bow my head. “Thank you for the invitation, but regrettably, I have plans.” Clipping my toenails.

  “But I didn’t tell you the day.”

  “Still busy,” I reply.

  She sticks out her lower lip. “Awww. Well, then, we’ll see you at the book club!” She prances off, oblivious to the fact my fingertips are burrowed into the oak wood of the countertop.

  I watch her leave and whoosh out an exasperated breath. I cannot do this anymore. I hang my head. I am going mad. Perhaps it is time I accept that Miriam is gone. My own Fanged Love fairytale, about a powerful vampire finding his happy-ever-after with a human, is gone.

  My cell rings, and I slide it from my pants pocket. Lula. We are still not on the best of terms, nor will we ever be so again, but she cannot seem to accept it.

  “Hello,” I say drearily.

  “Mikeypoo! How’s it hanging?”

  “Very low to the ground. Along with the rest of me.”

  “Well, Mr. Depresso, I have some great news.”

  “They have promoted you from vampire queen to emperor of the galaxy,” I say dryly, “and you have decided to blow it all up? Please say yes.” After my return to the throne four years ago, there was a brief discussion about everyone reverting back to the prior governance structure comprised of councils, but they all voted to keep the existing framework in place. My brand of ruthlessness apparently made all five hundred and eighty-two societies feel more at ease.

  Leave it to vampires to reject democracy for dictatorship. Personally, I think the council members were simply tired of ruling. Since Clive’s failed coup, they have been partying nonstop. That is why they all put up such a stink after I went AWOL. Adulting is hard, even for immortals, and I was their way out. Little did they know, I was in no condition to rule. “You want Michael Vanderhorst? Well, you got him!” I
had said. My return had been quite vicious. In just one night, I lived up to every legend, rumor, and historical account told for over three hundred years. I slaughtered twenty council members with my bare hands for speaking out against me and threatening Lula. I dusted another sixty of their best friends just to remind everyone that Michael Vanderhorst answers to no one.

  Afterwards, I felt ashamed. What would Miriam think? My cruelty. My savagery. I hated my actions, but my people loved it. They forgave everything, and I became more popular than ever. Vampires. Eeeesh… After a few months, I appointed Lula as the new “king” and told everyone that my hand of justice would never be far if they crossed her. Truth is, I may not trust Lula, but I trust other vampires even less. She was the only option, given my lack of desire to rule.

  “No,” Lula says. “My news is way better than becoming master of the universe.” I hear the library’s front door open and the clackity-clack of a woman’s heels approach. “So good that I had to deliver the news in person!”

  I turn, and standing there is Lula in a hot pink tutu, a leopard tank top, and bright yellow heels.

  “Surprise!” She rushes to the counter, leans over, and throws her arms around me.

  “Oh-kaaay…” I try to pry her off, but her grip is unrelenting. Also, I am weak. I have not been eating regularly since she left. “You’re hurting me,” I grunt.

  “Oh, you.” Lula releases me. “When’s the last time you had a proper cherry Slurpee?” Code for blood.

  I ignore her question. “Why are you here?”

  Lula flips one blonde pigtail braid over her shoulder and flashes a devious smile. “Does your queen need a reason to visit her favorite subject?”

  I narrow my eyes. “You already said you had big news, so spill it.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She reaches for my hand and sandwiches it between hers. “I found Miriam.”

  I stare across the counter at Lula for several moments, unable to believe her. “Why would you jest about something so important to me?”

  “Dude. Come on. Would I screw with you like that?”

  I jerk my hand free. “Yes. That is your highest form of entertainment.” We used to make a game out of messing with each other, but those days are long gone. I miss them sometimes, but I am determined not to think about it anymore. Lula made her bed.

  “No. I would never joke about this.” She shakes her head. “I know how miserable you’ve been without Miriam. And I also know you would have kept up your search had it not been for the fact that the council wanted to hang me in your absence.”

  “Well, I know you did not find her, and I advise you to leave before I lose my temper.” I turn away and return to sorting through the pile of books.

  “What in the world?” Lula mutters. “This is not the reaction I expected.”

  “You wanted me to be pleased about your insensitive prank?” I keep my back to her.

  “Michael, it’s not a prank. Three days ago, I sent Alex to check out a lead, and we found your librarian!”

  I say nothing. I don’t believe her because, frankly, Lula never had a nose for detective work. Also, if there had been a viable lead, I would have found it.

  “Okay,” Lula huffs. “I didn’t want to give you the bad news until you had the good news, but here ya go.” She comes around and shoves her cell phone in my face.

  I glance at it and then look away. Wait. I grab the phone and study the photograph of the blonde woman sitting on a park bench, reading a book. The sloppy bun, the chunky black reading glasses, and the wrinkled white blouse are all Miriam’s signature look, but I cannot clearly see the face. The book is partially blocking it.

  I meet Lula’s gaze. “Did you see her with your own eyes?”

  “No. Alex did, and he’s met Miriam in person before. He knows what she looks like.”

  Alex was once my close friend. We fought together during the Great War, but he too broke my trust when he decided to join Team Clive. Later, I would learn he was acting as a spy for our side, but to gain Clive’s trust, Alex threw me to the wolves and framed me for some very serious crimes. I almost died. “I had no choice. It was for the greater good,” he would later say—the same excuse Lula gave after she did the same thing.

  That’s where I differ. I am loyal to my family and friends first. The greater good can suck it. And so can Alex. Lula is family, so I have forgiven her—sort of—though I will never forget her misdeeds.

  I hand back Lula’s phone and return to my work, placing books on the cart. I can’t stand how used and worn they look. Books should be cared for and kept in pristine condition. Such is the miserable life of a library book. Everyone sucking the life from it, day by day, crinkling the pages of its existence, wearing it down to nothingness… Oh, wait. That’s me.

  “Hold up, Vandersuck. This is the moment you’ve been spinning on for over five years, and all I get is a shrug?” Lula asks.

  Not even that. “I didn’t shrug.”

  “Michael! What the hell!”

  Quickly losing my patience and hoping to end her sadistic charade, I offer my logic. “If the information came from Alex, then it cannot be trusted. It means he is up to something, and given your track record of honesty, I would not be surprised if you were in on it. For the greater good, of course.”

  “Oh God, Michael.” Lula throws her hands in the air. “When are you going to let all that go? We never wanted to lie to you, but we had to convince Clive we were on his side. We had to make him believe we’d turned on you.”

  “So you said.” And even though that was over five years ago, my heart has not moved past that fated evening when my librarian and happiness were snatched away from me.

  I grab the last stack of books and place them on the cart.

  “You really think we would doctor a photo of Miriam and show it to you as a joke?” Lula asks.

  “All I know is that cannot be her.” As much as I wish it were.

  “Why?” Lula snaps.

  I turn and glower down at her. Physically Lula has similar traits to Miriam—blonde hair, expressive brown eyes, and pouty lips, but I cannot imagine two more different women. Miriam has a pureness and kindness about her. She is intelligent, cautious with her heart, and observant. Lula is ruled by whims and vices. She is selfish.

  “I know it isn’t Miriam because she’s sitting on a park bench, clearly free to roam,” I say.

  Lula stares for a long moment before she gets it. “You think if she’s free, she would be running straight back here. To you.”

  “Exactly. And why not show me another photo? One with her face?” I challenge.

  “That’s the bad news I was getting to. Nice isn’t in the picture, but he was standing a few yards away, doing yoga or something. Alex didn’t want to risk Nice seeing him because then he might take Miriam and run again, so Alex pulled back. Since then, we’ve been sending in different people throughout the day to keep an eye on them—to make sure we can follow if they move.”

  Her excuse makes some sense, so perhaps Lula is telling the truth. Then again, maybe not. “I need to see her with my own eyes. Where is she?”

  Lula’s expression sours. “There’s something else I need to tell you, Michael, and I don’t want you to flip out.”

  “I have been pushed to the edge of sanity. I am way beyond flipping out. Besides, what could possibly upset me? If this is truly her, it is the day I have been hoping for.”

  Lula inhales sharply and crinkles her nose. “Miriam doesn’t look like a prisoner. She seems happy.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Miriam is happy? As in, she is with Mr. Nice voluntarily? I cannot believe it. I will not believe it. Mr. Nice is utterly insane and frightening, though his velvet capes, poufy lace shirts, and long dark hair resemble a man en route to a silly Halloween party.

  “If you speak the truth, then she has Stockholm syndrome,” I say to Lula.

  “I am telling the truth, but I don’t know what’s going on with her, which is why we wante
d to consult you before attempting a rescue. Nice is powerful and dangerous, and there’s no telling what he’ll do if we get near Miriam or try to arrest him.”

  If this is not a prank, and the woman in the photo is Miriam, then retrieving her must be done carefully. One wrong move and Nice could run with her again. To capture him, we would need a well-thought-out plan. I might be a second-generation vampire, which makes me stronger than most, but Nice is over eight hundred years old and was once a general in the Byzantine army. He’s fast, well trained, and cunning. Our best chance at apprehending him is through the element of surprise.

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  “Forks.”

  “Sorry?” I can’t have heard her correctly.

  “Forks. Washington State.”

  “As in the home of that Twilight story with the sparkling vampires?” A comedy, of course, because vampires do not sparkle. Though I do radiate glorious masculinity that has been known to blind many a female.

  “That’s the one. Apparently, after the movies came out, most of the real vampires left the state. They couldn’t take seeing the vampire wannabees running around with body glitter and plastic fangs. That, and all of the restaurants stopped serving spicy food and went to an all-mushroom-ravioli menu.”

  Ew… While I don’t hold any grudges against the fungi family, I put my foot down at the lack of chili peppers. It is a myth that my kind doesn’t eat normal food, and like most vampires, I like my dishes hot. The spicier, the better. The heat makes us feel alive. Strong coffee is my other vice. I only ingest blood when my body requires it for nourishment, which can be every few days or even weeks, depending on the vigor of my activities. It’s shocking when people find this out, but over the centuries, the myths have helped us remain a secret. For example, we hate the sun, but we tolerate it. Our bodies do require sleep, though we can live without it if we are willing to go insane. Also, we do not run around in capes, unless you are Mr. Nice, known for his eccentric ways. Otherwise, our laws state that one must dress according to their human cover story and visual age. I was turned at the age of twenty, which means I am doomed to Converse, jeans, and graphic T-shirts I do not understand. For example, what is the meaning of a cat wearing glasses, riding a uni-horned llama, with spaceships and rainbows floating haphazardly in the background? I simply do not get how this is considered fashion, which is why I prefer a fine tailored suit, the proper dress of a proper gentleman.