“True. But I fell in love with you anyway because my heart knew yours. No matter how excellent your training, you cannot hide that piece of yourself from me.”
“But to your point,” she says, removing my hand from her chin, “I’ve been trained to hide who I am and just how deadly I can be, which means I could’ve killed Nice a thousand times. He never would’ve seen me coming—more proof that I’m telling you the truth. I stayed because I wanted to, because he can give me the life I want.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, woman, and if you really want me to believe you threw away everything—me, your library, me in your library—because ‘girls just wanna have fun,’ you’ve got another think coming, Cyndi Lauper.”
“Ugh!” Miriam takes the sandwich and chucks it at me.
I catch it in midair and place it back on the plate. Slightly smooshed. “I do not hear Bubba hammering any longer. You may go to your room now. Take the sandwich if you wish.” I turn away and open the refrigerator to put the ingredients back.
“What do you want to hear? That I love you, Michael? Because I do, and I always will, but I love someone else more. Why can’t you just accept that?”
Suddenly, it’s like a bolt of lightning’s hit me straight in the heart. Just now as she spoke about loving someone else, I felt it.
What the hell? Seriously? She loves both Nice and me? No, no, no. It doesn’t make any sense. This cannot be happening. Or can it?
I say nothing because I never imagined I would feel so confused. “Goodnight, Miriam. I hope you rest well. And do not try to leave. Bubba will be sleeping outside your door.”
“Whatever.” She storms off, leaving her sandwich. A moment later she returns. “Forgot something.” She grabs the pen and paper left out on the counter. She leaves the sandwich.
A sharp pang hits me in the stomach. She chose communicating with Nice above her own needs.
This is not a good sign. And it is most certainly a mystery.
Mystery! Mystery—
Stop it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Later that night, I sit on the porch and stare up at the clear night sky. It is a sky with the same constellations I have seen thousands of times. North Star. Big Dipper. The Sea Goat. But tonight I feel like the stars are looking down on me. Judging. Watching. Perhaps trying to tell me something.
Yes, yes, I know stars cannot speak, but the feeling reminds me of the first time I went to Sedona, right after I was forced to take leadership of the Arizona Society of Sunshine Love—the ridiculous legal name of our society, registered as a nonprofit in the human world. The name was the prior leader’s idea of a joke. Anyway, stuck with a nightmare of a loaner from the car rental company, I got into my unmanly, tiny blue vehicle, and drove to clear my head. Before I knew it, I was staring up at those jagged red cliffs. Even for me, a mystical creature that defies the laws of nature, there is a feeling I get when in such a place where nature fans her peacock feathers and displays her awestriking majesty. Not even a vampire, who flies in her face, can stare up at the stars or the red cliffs and not feel like a part of something more.
This mystery reminds me of that. It feels bigger than me. Bigger than Miriam or Nice.
But why?
I thought a few days of mind games would get Miriam to crack, but I was wrong. She’s the one who’s cracking me, and now this gnawing deep inside my gut is telling me I’m missing something.
Why won’t she tell me the truth? I know something else is going on.
I exhale, hit the mental rewind button, and review the facts…
Miriam loves me. I know she does. But what would make her turn away and fall for a murderous Count Chocula in drag?
Could it be his tight leather pants? Admirable, yes. But not enough.
Perhaps his once long black hair? His flair for living in a dream?
I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense.” I know she’s hiding something.
Think, Michael, think. There has to be a way to break her, some sort of leverage I can use. Her library and her books! They are her church, where she feels a connection to the world and to her family—God rest their souls.
Perhaps if I want the truth, I need to take Miriam home. She will not be able to stick to her lies when she is standing in her sacred temple.
I turn and go into the house, finding Siracha Bubbles sitting on the floor outside Miriam’s door, watching Hell’s Kitchen on his phone. He seems to really be fascinated by food.
“We’re leaving for Phoenix in the morning,” I say.
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Make sure we’re gassed up and loaded at sunrise.”
“Nice’s friends might be looking for you there.”
“Which is why we’ll be stopping by my storage locker.” I have several, but the one just outside Mesa is the closest. “After that, we’re going to a book burning.”
He raises a dark brow. “Sounds…hot?”
“I hope so.” Because I have to smoke out the truth.
“Michael, I’m not dressing up like a businessman with an ’80s Tom Selleck-stache. Not. Happening.”
Standing inside my storage locker, I dangle the enormous black caterpillar in front of Miriam. “I am giving you the chance to gather a few of your most prized books from your vault, Miriam. Because if what you say is true, then by this time next week, you’ll be on the road again, living your free, fun life with Mr. Nice. Would you not like to take one book with you? A keepsake, a memento of your family before I donate everything?” She thinks I am taking her straight home, where she keeps hundreds of thousands of books, some quite rare, but I have a little surprise stop for her first.
She narrows her eyes. “I already told you, I let go of all that. I’m a new person.”
“Well, then, you won’t mind helping me gather up the most precious books to ensure they go off to a museum for safekeeping rather than to any old library.” I put on a shoulder-length black wig. I cut my hair this morning before our departure. Miriam keeps stealing glances, so now feels like the wrong moment to discourage her trip down memory lane, but we cannot risk being spotted. I top my head with a giant sombrero.
“Not conspicuous at all, Michael.”
“Before Clive’s heart turned dark, he was the world’s best detective. His motto was to always hide in plain sight.” If you didn’t want to be noticed, be the person everyone wants to avoid and ignore because you are just that obnoxious. “Clive was the master—could blend in anywhere and find a fart in a windstorm.”
“Ew…”
“I thought you would appreciate the honesty.”
She grabs the mustache. “Some things should never be shared. Passing gas is at the top of the list.”
“Even if one is married?”
“Especially when you’re married.” She grabs the pile of clothing I gathered for her, sitting atop a box. “I’ll change in the van.”
“What about peeing in front of your partner? Is that off-limits?” I bellow as she leaves the locker.
“Yes!” she barks. “So are any other bodily functions unless you want to kill the romance!”
Hmmm…interesting. It is yet another clue. She claims to be in a real “loving” marriage with Mr. Nice, but everyone knows that almost all married couples pee in front of each other. At least on occasion—read it in Cosmo. And yes, vampires urinate. And sometimes read Cosmo. So if she and Nice are so close, why is Miriam so adamant about bathroom boundaries? It is not conclusive evidence, but it does support what my gut is telling me. Sham. But that doesn’t explain what I felt. I sensed her love, and it wasn’t some teeny tiny little crush. Dare I say it was as strong as her love for me. Or stronger. I groan internally. This just can’t be right!
I gather up my disguise and get to work. Bubba’s outfit will have to be improvised, too. I grab our things and lock up.
When I get to the van, I see a dark-haired man, with a tiny woodland critter stuck to his face, sitting beside Flavor Man.
; I slide in behind them, trying not to laugh. “Looking good, Head Librarian.”
“Stop it.” She folds her arms. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me.”
“Understood.”
It is early afternoon by the time we reach our intended stop: Miriam’s library. The uneasiness in my gut feels foreign to me. Before, when I would go into battle, I always felt exhilaration backed by an unwavering confidence. I knew we would win because in my mind there was no other option. But in this moment, I’m betting all my chips and have no clue what the outcome will be. Miriam is too smart to not know this is a test. The question is, will she crack?
“What are we doing at my library?” Miriam asks, scratching her huge mustache.
Sorry, woman, but your books are overdue—for a visit—time to pay up. “I need to take care of a little business here. I’ll be just a moment.”
“Your tricks won’t work, Michael. I let go of this place five years ago and never looked back, so a little nostalgia isn’t going to make me change my story.”
“Fine by me,” I lie. “Though, I put a hell of a lot of money into your scrappy but respectable neighborhood book-a-torium, so perhaps you’d care to see it before I let it all go. Either way, I need to gather a few things from your office.” I hop from the van and go to the front door. As I hoped, Miriam is on my heels.
Excellent!
I turn the lock and push inside. The smell of old books, new glue, and children’s sticky treats hits my vampire nose immediately. And then there’s someone’s leftover pastrami in the trash can.
“Sorry about the smell. I was in a hurry when I left.” I grab the liner from the can and toss it outside.
I flip on the lights and watch Miriam’s expression with bated breath.
“Oh, Michael.” She presses her hand over her heart.
I grin as those warm brown eyes take in the glass elevator that goes all the way up to the fourth level, each floor open in the middle with a wrought-iron railing that overlooks the center of the ground floor. The unattractive metal shelves have been replaced by high-quality wooden ones, and white marble floors replaced the old brown carpet. I even bought new furniture for the lounging areas—plush armchairs, mahogany coffee tables, and adjustable reading lamps.
“I installed some of those hanging pods you were looking at in that Modern Libraries magazine.” I point to a white, teardrop-shaped, hanging chair for the kids to snuggle inside while they nap and read. Of course, the chairs have become teen make-out central, but Miriam doesn’t need to know that. “There’s also a free coffee and tea machine in the back, a book-donation station where people can swap their personal books for something they haven’t read, and a self-checkout by the door, which has an alarm system and security camera, to deter people from taking off with your books.”
“Michael.” Miriam inhales sharply. “This is incredible.”
“Did I mention the glass on the front door is vampire proof? It would take tank-piercing ammo to bust that mother of a door down.”
“Why?” she whispers. “Why do all this for something you hate?”
“I do not hate this library. I dislike sharing, which is different. But this place has always been an extension of you—your child—so I took care of it.” I take her hands. “And even now, while you look like a ’70s weatherman, all I can think of is expanding. You, me, more books. Maybe someday we could adopt a few tiny humans who would welcome a vampire father and a human mother who is the smartest woman on the planet.” I kiss the top of her hand. “I have dreamt of nothing else since we made love.”
“Michael, no…” Her tone is stern and warning. I know she is about to give me more of her excuses and lies about only wanting to be with Mr. Nice.
It is time to strike and call her bluff.
I drop her hands and hold up my palms. “But you’re right, Miriam. You asked me to accept, to listen, and to let go. I love you enough to do that. It is time, my sweet, sweet librarian.”
“Time for what?”
I pull a lighter from my pocket. “Bubba! Bring it in!”
Bubba enters in a black dress, with a doily strapped to his head. A French maid. I thought he would complain about his disguise, but he wears it well. Hairy legs and all.
“Michael, what are you doing?” Miriam eyes the two large gas cans in Bubba’s hands.
I look down at her panicked face, and I know I have her. There is nothing more important than her books. “You said goodbye five years ago. And you’re right, Miriam. It’s time for me to let go. Of you. Of this place. Of my dreams of a future together. I’ve been living in a fantasy where happy-ever-afters exist for men like me.” I ignite the lighter. “But they do not.” I lean over to hold the flame to the pool of gasoline near my feet.
The gasoline ignites with a flash and chases the stream of clear liquid leading up to the first set of shelves.
Miriam stands frozen like a sentinel, ready for battle, unshaken.
Any moment now, she’ll tell me to stop, she’ll break, and I’ll put out the fire.
I wait. Then I wait some more as the fire crawls up the biography section. No loss. Biographies are boring. When the flames reach the new fiction aisle, I begin to worry. She’s not moving. Why isn’t she moving?
I turn toward her, hoping to see a flicker of anger or fear. For all intents and purposes, I am burning her children.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Huh? What the hell?
She adds, “Now there’s nothing for me to come back to.” She drags a hand over her brow. “Phew! That felt good, right?”
“Why…yes?” I say stiffly.
Dear God. Nice has given her a bibliobotomy! He must’ve removed the part of her brain that loves books.
“Dammit!” I walk over to the fire extinguisher on the wall and give a look to Bubba, who dashes outside and returns with a garden hose. It takes us a few minutes, but we put out the flames. Very lucky. Because I had Bubba disable the sprinkler system. I didn’t want to risk everything getting wet.
Miriam stands there watching, showing no emotion.
“Gather up any books that caught fire,” I command to Bubba. “Take them out back to the dumpster. Make sure they’re not smoldering.” He gives me a nod, and I turn to Miriam. “I believe you. You have changed.” She no longer cares about this place that was once her life, which can only mean one thing: she doesn’t want it. She was telling the truth.
My heart sinks. How is this possible?
I swallow hard. “You are free to leave if that is truly what you wish.”
Miriam’s eyes and entire body instantly perk up. “Really?”
I nod, but I do not look at her.
“Thank you, Michael. All I want is to be with my husband again and to have our life back the way it was.”
I turn and look at her, feeling a potent combination of bitterness and devastation swimming around in my gut. “I said nothing about freeing him. Whatever he did to make you love him so much, I do not know, but it does not negate the fact he abducted you—my mate, my woman—and for that, he must answer for his crime.”
“But, Michael—”
I glower down at her. “He. Will. Answer, Miriam,” I snarl. “Bubba will see to it that you get a ticket to Cincinnati for the trial.” I head for the door and do not look back. I never thought it was possible, but I have lost her. For good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So she didn’t even flinch when you set fire to her library?” Lula asks over the phone later that day while I pace my minimally furnished apartment near downtown Phoenix. I moved in shortly before Miriam was stolen about five years ago. I could have taken up at her house, which is quite spacious, but I missed her too much. Being at her library, surrounded by the smell of her sweet skin everywhere, was enough torture.
“She didn’t even produce a bead of sweat,” I say, “which leads me to believe the impossible: Miriam is telling the truth. She loves Nice and chose a new life with him.” I sink dow
n on my beige sofa and throw my head back.
“Oh. My. God. Michael, are you listening to yourself right now? How can you possibly believe that she was in love with you and then, within weeks of being taken, fell in love with him too and became his wife? It doesn’t add up.”
“No. It does not, but what can I do? She has not broken any laws. She is sticking to her story. I had to let her go.” Plus, I felt what was in her heart, though I can’t bring myself to say it out loud to Lula. It’s simply too depressing.
“What about Nice?” she asks.
“He must answer for abducting her.”
“Agreed. But it won’t be easy to prove she was yours if she left you so easily.”
“I have a secret weapon: you. You will be the judge and know the truth.”
“Errr…that’s the thing, Mikeypotomus. I’ve called back our old council members to oversee the trial. There were too many society leaders crying foul because of my personal relationship with you.” The world’s five hundred and eighty-two societies are divided up among twelve geographical regions, each with their own twelve-person—err…vampire—council. One member from each council sits on the all-powerful international council. Basically, Lula is acting in place of all one hundred and forty-four council members, who are still highly respected, either because they run influential businesses or because they are the oldest. Nevertheless, though the councils are disbanded, they are still our elders, and their opinions carry weight, as does the opinions of society leaders and our generals.
“So you’re not overseeing Nice’s trial,” I say, thinking about the impact to my situation.
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