The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 5

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  Maybe he has a workshop where he sharpens his swords or burns voodoo dolls made entirely of red lace. I decide to look around back.

  Sadly, there’s nothing other than a field of snow and an old, rotting green car half covered in more snow.

  I walk back around, following my footsteps—

  Wait. There are two sets. Crap. He’s here.

  Just as I turn, I hear the distinct slide-and-click sound of a shotgun being loaded for action.

  “Who the hell are you?” Alex growls.

  He is a lean man, just over six feet, with dark eyes and longish, unkempt brown hair. He looks like a hipster, but I know better. This vampire is deadly.

  I raise my hands slowly. “It’s me. Miriam. Remember, I used to have the library in Phoenix?” It kills me to use the past tense. I still can’t believe my precious sanctuary is gone.

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  I suppose that means he does remember me. It’s a start? “I need your help. I need to find Lula. It’s urgent.”

  He lowers the mess-you-up end of the shotgun. “No. Now get the hell out of here before I give you a non-life-threatening injury. Or a life-threatening one. Your call. Just know I happen to be very good at causing pain.”

  Alex is a legend for his ability to kill, maim, and anything else required of a vampire soldier who served in the Great War alongside the Executioner King.

  “Please, I’m begging you. I know you’re close with her. You have to know where to find her—or at least, where I can start looking.”

  “Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

  “Because I’m going to kill Nice.” I hold my gaze steady. I want him to know I’m serious.

  “Alone?” He arches a dark brow.

  I nod.

  Alex explodes with laughter, howling up at the frigid afternoon sky.

  “Hey! Laugh on your own time! Michael’s going to be screaming down your driveway here at any second, and I need to get going. Where. Is. Lula?”

  Alex stops laughing. “He’s coming here?” He looks over his shoulder.

  “He’ll be looking for me. So, if you don’t mind telling me where she is, I’ll be on my way.”

  He scratches the back of his head. “Look. As much as I want to see Nice drown in a vat of his own tears—or piss—I gave my oath to Lula to never get involved or tell anyone where she is.”

  Bull!

  “No.” I march through the snow and close the gap between us, pointing a finger in his face. “You look! That asshat held me hostage for over five years. I refuse to allow him to take one more thing, one more minute of my life. And if that’s not good enough for you, then think about Lula, because I guarantee he’s making her read some of the world’s worst haikus about socks and pickles while he soaks away his immortal worries in a tub filled with Cherry Coke and rainbow sprinkles. And if you’re attempting to visualize what that looks like, don’t even try. It’s a train wreck.”

  Alex’s dark eyes flicker with horror.

  See. I told him not to visualize it. But did he listen? Men. Dead or alive, they’re all the same. “Just tell me where she is.”

  “I want to help you. I do, but—”

  “But nothing, Alex. I’m the one putting my life on the line. Not you. If I fail, then your miserable hermit life doesn’t change one bit. If I succeed, then you’ll get Lula back. You two can go anywhere you want, do anything you like, and you’ll be free with the love of your life.” Everyone says he’s totally, inconsolably in love with Lula, but her loyalty to Michael has always gotten in the way. Her guilt over offering me up like a sacrificial lamb is only the latest obstacle. “I kill Nice, then her conscience is free,” I add. “She can finally let go of what she did to me.”

  I can see the mulling happening behind his brown eyes, but he’s not on board.

  “You have nothing to lose,” I push. “Also, Michael will be super pissed at you for helping me.”

  He smiles deviously, and his eyes light up. The need to poke the bear is fierce with this one. I should’ve known.

  “Last I heard,” he says, “they were in Miami, renting a house near Miami Beach. The place is pink or red or something and has a windmill out front. Or wind chimes? Not sure. I couldn’t hear her well. Nice was taking a shower and singing. But, full disclosure, it’s been over three weeks since we spoke, so I have no idea if they’re still there.”

  Ugh. Showers. That vampire spends so much time conditioning his hair that by the time he finishes, it’s time to shampoo it again. “He was just in Arizona yesterday. Do you think he would return to Miami?” I ask.

  “Arizona?”

  “Yeah. He blew up my library.”

  Alex’s brows shrug.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s just that Lula said Nice was taking some stupid course with a vampire guru and it would last three months.”

  “So?”

  “So it sounded pretty intense—seven days a week, twenty hours a day kind of thing. And Lula promised to tell me if they moved on to a new location.”

  That is interesting, but I’m sure it was Nice who tried to kill us. He wasn’t thrilled about me leaving him.

  “I guess he made a quick road trip to Phoenix,” I say. Now I’ll make a road trip to him. “Thank you, Alex.” I head toward my car.

  “What do you want me to say when Michael shows?” he yells out from his back porch.

  “Tell him to go home and take care of his daughter!” I slip behind the steering wheel, crank up the music to level three—vampire hearing is very sensitive—and tear out of there, taking a back road. I have never been more excited and scared out of my mind than in this very moment.

  I’m coming for you, Nice.

  Rule one: Never cross a librarian. Rule two: Never cross a vampire librarian.

  We don’t mince words. We mince enemies.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Michael

  I have heard rumors that the librarian has gone to see Alex, likely looking for a lead on Lula. Very smart. But I am smarter!

  Lula worked for Clive for several years, as did I. She served as both his assistant in his detective agency and as his second-in-command at the Cincinnati Historical Society of Original Family Members, our home society. After Clive faked his death (so he could mastermind the Uprising without suspicion), I stepped in to lead, and learned that Lula was never far from her phone. Complete addict.

  Point is, I have been receiving calls from an unknown number in the middle of the night for several weeks now, and despite the hang ups, I know it is Lula. Maybe she simply does not know what to say. Maybe she fears I would yell at her—which I would. Her acts during the Uprising are unforgivable. Which is why I suspect she was not ringing me to shoot the breeze. Lula knows that repeat calls from an unknown person would spark my curiosity. It did. And, as luck would have it, I had the number traced through an associate in the human government and just heard back from him a couple of days ago. I know every location that phone has been for over a month.

  I’ve got you now, Mr. Nice. I have been patiently waiting for the opportunity to capture him, but unfortunately, my librarian has thrown a wrench in things by going after him on her own. I cannot allow it.

  I arrive at the private airport in Miami, hopeful that the librarian (when she arrives) will look for her prey in the wrong location. According to the cellphone data I received, Lula’s signal has recently moved from a small house near the beach to a high-rise hotel. If I am lucky, the librarian will not know this yet.

  One good shot is all I need, and then I am out of here.

  I will wait until night and call the number my associate gave me, announcing to Lula that I am here in Miami to see her. I will give her a location several blocks away downwind on the beach. Once she leaves, I will ring the hotel room and say I am room service calling with a question about the order just placed. Do you want the chocolate syrup on the side? Nice will know he did not place the order and attempt to inquire with
Lula about why she is ordering chocolate at such a late hour. When he discovers she is not in the room, he will follow her scent. I will be waiting behind a sand dune and shoot him with ten rounds of chocolate BBs. Enough to take down a vampiric elephant, but not enough to kill him.

  As I said, I need him alive.

  I will then take Nice back to my plane, keep him sedated, and transport him to the jail in Cincinnati. There, I can run my experiment. So far, I only have theories that work on paper. But if Nice’s blood is as powerful as I think, it will change the world.

  I grab my rental SUV and start toward Nice’s hotel. It is midday and far too early to make my move, so I will do a little prep work, mostly scouting out the ideal sand dune to conceal myself.

  I love how simple and clean this plan is. Nothing can possibly go wrong.

  Suddenly, I realize my hands and arms are pulling the steering wheel toward the wrong turnoff. What the devil? It as if some part of my brain is doing its own thing. I would panic, but I am more intrigued than anything else. How can my subconscious take over when I am sitting right here! The conscious me is being overridden!

  The SUV goes in the opposite direction from the hotel and toward the location where Lula was staying in prior weeks. What is happening?

  I reach deep and come up with the only conceivable explanation.

  I want to see her? The librarian?

  No. No. That cannot be right. I must be feeling protective. Someone tried to kill us yesterday, and I worry they are following the librarian. I worry they might make another attempt on her life while she sets up her own trap.

  Yes. That is it. I am merely feeling a deep-seated need to ensure she is all right.

  My logical mind starts to fight with my subconscious. No. You will go and prepare to capture Nice. That is what’s right. That is what your people need you to do.

  Or…or! I argue with myself. I could tell the librarian why I need Nice alive and simply trust she will see the sense in it?

  But what if she does not agree? What if she merely pretends to be on board with my plan and then moves to kill him? She is quite the actress, and her disdain for Nice runs deep.

  I decide it is best to keep my objective to myself. As for this other dilemma, I do not know what to make of it. My body seems to have a mind of its own.

  I groan and take the turnoff, heading toward the house where Lula and Nice were staying. After I ensure my librarian is safe, I can only hope my brain will allow me to get on with my plan. Everything is at stake.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Miriam

  It’s early evening, and the winter sun is setting over the horizon, just west of the crashing waves before me. A man with huge headphones, wearing rainbow shorts, jogs by on the sidewalk in front of the bench where I’m seated. An elderly woman, wearing a bikini top and miniskirt, passes with her lime-green poodle.

  Oddly, I’m thinking about how I wish I could be normal—like them. My mind is human except for the intense vampire emotions; my need to be a good mother is still human; even my taste in food is still basically human. In every aspect of my life, except for the physical changes to my cells, I feel like a human trapped in the body of a vampire.

  What’s it matter, Mir? I ask myself. You can’t change it. Still, my heart keeps protesting over being this way forever. Sooner or later, I’ll have to accept what I’ve become and set the example for Stella. She’s half-vampire, and if she’s going to love herself, she can’t see me hating myself. The problem is I feel like this is all a mistake. I was never meant to be this way. Stella, on the other hand, is a beautiful mystery.

  Did someone say mystery?

  Oh, fuck off.

  I check my watch to see how much longer until sundown. Just a few more minutes. My stomach does a flip. Everything has to go right tonight, or Stella will grow up without a mother.

  Don’t say that. Think positive thoughts. Visualize the target. Just like my mom taught me.

  I’ve already procured a crossbow from the local sporting goods store. I have changed into black jeans and a long-sleeve black T-shirt so I can sneak into the yard of Nice’s rental. I drove by earlier and spotted a ficus tree that looks perfect for setting up.

  Nice will rise within the hour, take a two-hour shower, dress for another hour, have a snack, and then hit the town. If I don’t have a clear shot as he’s leaving the home, I’ll get him when he returns at dawn.

  To mask my scent, I’m wearing Midnight Fantasy by Britney Spears. To a vampire, it smells like sour, rotting plums mixed with cow dung and mothballs. Any vampire who comes within ten blocks of me will pinch their nose and curse whichever human left the lid off their stinky old trash can, but they will not smell me.

  “Smelling rather putrid tonight, aren’t we, librarian?” says a deep, familiar voice.

  I turn my head and find Michael standing there in a black suit that’s tailored to his lean muscular build like his second skin.

  “Dammit. Alex told you, didn’t he?” I say.

  “No,” Michael replies.

  “Then how…never mind. Doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. I hate pointless conversations. “Are you here to capture Nice and treat him with the respect he never offered to us?”

  Michael takes a seat next to me on the bench. Rather brave, considering how awful I smell.

  “Actually, I am here because…because…” He slams his fist into his thigh.

  What’s wrong with him? “You feeling all right, King Vanderhorst?”

  “No. I mean, yes. No! There is something I should tell you. Nothing! Yes! No!”

  I skootch away a few inches and stare at his contorted face—tightly puckered lips, crinkled nose, squinty eyes. He looks like he just swallowed a bee. “What are you doing?”

  Michael tilts his head back and inhales sharply. “Mother-bleeper! I am not going to tell her!”

  Oh. Wonderful. It appears that our king has misplaced his marbles. Just what the vampire nation needs. “Michael, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not going to stop me from killing that sadistic frilly mess of a man. So best you just leave me to do my thing while you get the help you need.”

  Michael lowers his gaze and meets my eyes. “I assure you, I am perfectly fine. It seems as though my mind is experiencing a minor conflict with my body. Muscle memory is real, apparently.”

  How strange. “And what conflict is your muscles having?”

  “They want to tell you that Nice is not here at the house any longer.” He slaps his hands over his mouth and mumbles, “Sonoverbeech.”

  My jaw drops. I don’t have a clue what’s going on with him, but this is big news. “So where is Nice?”

  Suddenly, a projectile whizzes past my ear. Before I can produce a coherent thought, Michael grabs me and throws me over his shoulder. A second later, we’re two blocks away. Another second later, it’s four blocks. Michael keeps going until I’ve lost count.

  Finally, he stops and sets me on my feet behind a dry cleaner.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “I think the assassin has found us again.”

  “Assassin? What assassin? You mean Nice, right?”

  He shrugs innocently.

  “Wait a sec. You’re not telling me something. I can feel it.” Just now, Michael clearly used the word assassin. “You said ‘the assassin found us again.’”

  “Did I? I must have misspoken.” He pastes a fake smile on his beautiful lips.

  “Is someone else trying to kill us?” I ask.

  “Nope.” He shakes his head of dark hair, and my BS meter shoots up to a level ten. There’s way more he’s not telling me.

  As fast as my body allows, I pull a hypodermic needle from my back pocket, pop off the cap, and plunge it into Michael’s arm. It was meant for Nice or Lula, but oh well.

  He looks down at the spot where the needle is sticking out. “Ow! What is tha-tha-that…?” His eyes roll into the back of his head, and he falls flat on his back.

 
; “That’s right, Michael. This librarian is done messing around.” I will get to the bottom of whatever he’s hiding.

  An hour later, I’ve rented a room in a shady by-the-hour motel and have Michael secured to a chair with chains I’ve coated in Hershey’s chocolate syrup. A trick I learned in Keeper’s boot camp. The chocolate makes the muscles limp so he can’t get free so easily.

  With a loud groan, Michael starts coming to.

  Showtime. “I’m not afraid to use this, so think carefully before you give those chains a tug.” I hold up my crossbow and point it at a very strategic part of his male anatomy.

  He blinks and manages to open his eyes, but I know his head must be pounding right about now.

  “What did you inject me with?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. “The same chocolatey goodness I’ve coated those chains with. Now, would you like to tell me where Nice is really hiding?”

  “No,” he mutters.

  “Well, too bad, because I’m the one with the crossbow.”

  “I know you won’t kill me,” he grumbles, still managing to sound cocky despite being drugged. “I’m the child’s father.”

  “You’re absolutely correct. I wouldn’t dream of dusting you, but I would be okay with shooting off your right testicle. I bet that’d hurt.”

  “Since when did you become so mean?” He sighs with disappointment. Kind of hypocritical coming from the Executioner.

  “Um, let me see? The moment I was kidnapped by Nice when you should’ve been there to protect me? Oh wait. I know. Maybe it was the moment Nice snapped my neck and turned me. If my memory serves, you were also there and didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

  “That is unfair.” He blinks at me, like he’s trying to focus. “I did not know Nice would do that to you.”

  “No. But you should have. I trusted you, Michael. You—a vampire—told me you would do anything to protect me, and instead I was put through hell, only to become the one thing I never wanted to be.”