I glance at Freddy. “Please go around the block, find an inconspicuous car to hotwire, and meet us at the corner.” I assume all of our rental vehicles were destroyed.
“Yes, sir.” Freddy turns, and I notice his ass is showing through his pants. The fabric is singed in a perfect circle. The back of his shirt is charred, too.
Freddy was up on the roof of the library as my lookout. He must’ve taken quite the ride when the bomb went off.
“After that, we will find you new clothes,” I add.
“Very good, sir.” Freddy zips off, and I turn toward my librarian, whose tiny pink lips are mashed together.
“So that’s it? You’re just,” she throws her hands to her sides, “leaving? You don’t even want to see Stella?”
“My apologies, but I have—”
“She could be in danger, Michael! Whoever blew up my library might be after her, too. You know you have enemies, and they see us as nice juicy pawns.”
Yes, which is why the child and the librarian have had around-the-clock security since I left them here in Phoenix. I cannot have my enemies snatching one of them up and distracting me from my very important work. Of course, my librarian is unaware I have taken these measures, but why would I bother to tell her? I am king. This is not a democracy. I do what I must, and asking permission is not on that list of musts.
“I am aware of the threat, librarian, which is why we will go retrieve the child now,” I say.
“Oh.” The librarian blinks her brown eyes at me. “So the three of us are going to get Stella?”
I nod.
“Then what?” she asks.
So many questions. When will she learn that this is not my first hoedown? Showdown? Whatever. “Then I will tell you the rest of my plan. Let us go. I believe I hear Freddy approaching.”
We exit the garage, and a tiny blue car screeches up to the corner.
No. No. Noooo… Not again. There is an entire city filled with cars to steal, and he chooses this one?
Freddy’s large frame is crammed into the driver’s seat, and he’s hunched over the steering wheel. It pains me to think that is how I looked driving this car.
He lowers the window. “How’s this, sir?”
I snarl at him and am about to shove the blue weenie wagon up his ass when sirens approach and two squad cars fly by. There will be many questions by many officials about the explosion, and we cannot afford to get held up. We have bigger fish—we have more important things to do.
“Hey, it’s just like the one you used to drive,” says the librarian.
“Yes,” I growl. “I am aware. Get in.” We will have to find another ride later. At present, we must retrieve the child and get her and the librarian to a safe place.
CHAPTER SIX
Miriam
I know Michael isn’t telling me everything, which really ticks me off. Not more than his nonchalant attitude, though. He’s so calm and cool. So annoying!
Meanwhile, it’s taking everything I have to not get hysterical. Honestly, if it weren’t for the training my parents gave me—stay in character, stay in character—I would be crying and yelling at the top of my lungs. My mind can’t stop replaying the image of my precious books being blown to shreds, and my heart can’t stop screaming about the fact that Stella could have been there with me. She’s been going to the library with me every single day for weeks, helping to pick out books for story time, playing with the interactive reading games, and pushing the huge cart for me. She’s strong for a five-year-old. Had she been with me today, I don’t know what would have hap—
Wait. I’m assuming that it was a coincidence. What if the fact she wasn’t there isn’t random? What if Nice waited until he had a clean shot at both Michael and me? Honestly, the entire time I was with Nice, he always threatened to hurt Stella if I didn’t do as I was told, but looking back, he never actually harmed a hair on her head. In fact, he made sure she had a nanny who could protect her. No, I won’t ever forgive him, and I hated those nannies, but facts are facts. He never hurt her.
So if he was behind this, then what would have been my daughter’s fate once we were dead?
At this early stage of sleuthing, I can’t disregard anything until I’ve, well, disregarded it.
I tuck away that little tidbit for later. Right now, I have bigger fish to fry, such as coming up with a possible list of locations where Nice could be hiding with Lula. I know Mike is holding out, and I need him to trust me so he’ll dish.
Luckily for me, winning trust is right up my ally. I am a librarian, after all. And if there’s one thing we’re known for, it’s trust. People trust us to tell them which books to read when they want to fix their lives, be swept away in the best fantasy ever, do their taxes, raise their kids to be geniuses, or learn a new language—even the language of love. Books are information, and information is power. That pretty much makes us the keepers of the universe, so in my book—pun intended—that makes librarians as close to godliness as any human being can ever get. Or vampire can get.
I slide into the backseat of the blue mousetrap that Michael seems to detest. Honestly, I don’t know what he has against small cars. Yeah, I get that men see their vehicles as an extension of their penises, but Mike was born before they even had cars. Shouldn’t his hang-up be on swords? Or horses? Carriage size?
I realize we are driving, but I haven’t given Freddy, aka Michael-Two, any directions. “Stella is at—”
“Preschool, just off Camelback,” says Freddy, his dark eyes glued to the road.
“How do you know where her school is?” I ask.
“The king,” he glances at the man in the passenger seat, who’s too occupied on his phone to answer, “makes it his business to keep tabs on all his subjects.”
Jesus. The guy sounds just like Michael. Even his cocky tone is the same. And I’m not talking about this version of Mike. Freddy looks and sounds exactly like the vampire I fell in love with, which is stressing me out.
“Does he now?” I say with blatant skepticism.
Freddy is silent on the matter.
“So,” I say, buckling in out of habit, “after we get Stella, what’s the plan?”
Michael joins the conversation. “You are unsafe at your home. You will come with me to Cincinnati.”
“You want us to come to your house?” I ask.
“To a house,” he corrects.
A safe house, he means. Michael thinks I’m just going to hide while he fills out paperwork. “Sorry, but I don’t like that plan.”
Michael pivots in the passenger seat to offer a stern warning with his intense dark eyes. I can’t deny that his gaze stirs up old feelings. “I am your king, and your level of enthusiasm for my decisions does not weigh into the matter. Best you accept that.”
His gaze also stirs up new feelings. I want to punch him in the nose. “Yes, I get it, Michael. You don’t love me anymore. You don’t love Stella. Our needs and feelings mean nothing to you, but I will not be relinquishing my rights as a mother. Best you get used to that.”
Freddy keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. He probably doesn’t appreciate the tone I’m taking with his king. I might be new at this whole vampire gig, but I know from my Keeper studies that vampires are extremely loyal to their families and societies. There isn’t anything they won’t do to protect them.
I believe it’s because vampires feel with such intensity. When we need, we need with all our hearts. When we love, we love like there’s no tomorrow. When we want revenge, nothing will stand in our way. For example, the moment I woke up after being turned, my emotions felt like a freight train, and I was tied to the front, along for the ride. My need to find Stella, who’d been taken by Nice at the time, was like a fury I’d never known.
Now, after a few months of being a vampire, I’ve made some progress reining in my emotions, but I think that has more to do with the years of discipline my parents taught me. Self-control is the
cornerstone of who I am. That’s why Michael is my Achilles’ heel. Even when I was human, I couldn’t resist my feelings. I wanted him. I still do—the old Michael, anyway.
Honestly, I wish I knew how to fix him. I miss his laughter and humor. I miss the way he used to look at me with intense desire and admiration. Once upon a time, I could do no wrong in his eyes. Now I’m just another one of his subjects.
Still looking over his shoulder at me, Michael lifts his chin. “I sense disapproval in your tone, librarian, but I recall a time when you accused me of poor judgment. You claimed my feelings for you were a hinderance. So, problem solved. My attention is now laser focused on my responsibilities to you and all my people.”
“Fair point,” I say. “But you can’t dismiss feelings altogether. They come in handy for making abstract connections. Intuition and gut feelings are valuable tools when it comes to detective work.”
“So you believe I am at a disadvantage when it comes to hunting down Nice.” Michael’s tone is filled with condescension.
“No. I do not. Because you have me. Which is why you should tell me what you know. Together, we might have a chance of catching him.”
Michael faces forward but doesn’t comment.
At least he didn’t say no. I decide to drop the issue for the time being because we’ve arrived at the preschool.
My pulse rate ticks up, and my vampire senses—hearing, sense of smell, and visual awareness—go into overdrive. Logic says if someone wanted to hurt Stella, they would have tried by now. They would have come after her and me at my house. Still, I can’t stop worrying. Nice is unpredictable.
“I will go in and retrieve her,” Michael says. “You two wait here.”
“But they don’t know you. They won’t let you…” My voice fades as Michael opens the car door, hops out, and approaches the two guards in front, who wave to him like old buddies. “How does Michael…? How do they…?” I watch the guards let Michael past the gate. A few moments later, he has Stella in tow. “Freddy? Why was Michael allowed to retrieve Stella just now from a high-security preschool?”
Freddy looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I believe, ma’am, that Mr. Vanderhorst came to the school to introduce himself and make a sizeable donation just last week.”
What? “Are you sure?”
Freddy doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to.
I push the passenger seat forward and rush out of the car to grab Stella, sweeping her into my arms. I hug her harder than I should, and she grunts.
“Librarian, do not break the child,” says Michael.
Why does Michael keep calling us librarian and child? It’s starting to grate on my nerves. Vampire nerves. They don’t like grating.
I set her down and look her over for dents, scratches, and anything else. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mommy. We were in the middle of singing. Why did I have to go?” she asks in her teeny-tiny voice, her big brown eyes wide.
“Well, there was a problem at the library, sweetie,” I say, “and we are going to have to take a trip with your daddy to fix it.”
Stella stares up into my eyes. She senses my fear. The bond between us is incredibly strong, even stronger than the one I have—or had—with Michael. Bonds are the one thing I’ve yet to understand. There wasn’t much in the Keepers’ manuals about them. How do they form? And with whom? Why did I feel an instant connection to Michael when we first met?
“It’s Mr. Nice. He’s back, isn’t he?” Stella asks in a brave voice. Like her dad, she hates showing fear.
I’m about to assure her that she’s safe when father-of-the-year chimes in. “Yes. And he’s a very bad man, which is why we must hunt him down. You will stay with my soldiers, who will guard you with their lives.” Michael nods at Freddy.
Stella’s gaze shoots over to Freddy, who’s behind the wheel. Her little mouth falls open and she points. “Mommy! Look! There’s another daddy!”
Freddy waves happily at her.
“That is not your daddy, child. That is cousin Freddy,” says Michael.
“Wow. He looks just like you. But much more handsome,” Stella adds.
I can’t lie. I’m a little peeved about Michael’s choice to jump in and tell Stella that Nice is in the picture again, so I agree. “Yeah, Freddy really does have a nice smile. Reminds me of someone I used to know. Why don’t you get in the back of the car so we can hit the road, sweetheart?”
Stella jumps inside and introduces herself to Freddy. They immediately start chatting away.
I glance at Michael, who is scowling. “What?”
“A valiant attempt to provoke me, but I assure you, librarian, you are wasting your time if you wish to engage my vanity. I have none.”
“My name is Miriam.”
There’s a twitch of something in his dark eyes. Anger? Discomfort? I am about to ask what the heck is up with him, when something catches my eye. A reflection on the roof of the preschool.
I dive for Michael, and we both hit the ground, me on top of him. “There’s someone on the roof!”
Michael simply stares at my face. Suddenly, our eyes are locked, and my body is all tingles, soaking up the warmth between us.
Michael clears his throat. “No need for alarm. It is merely one of my soldiers.”
“Huh?”
“There are three men on the roof, two behind that bush over there, and several posted around the grounds.”
“But-but how did you…? Is that why you came to the school last week?” A spark of hope charges through me. Maybe he’s not as unfeeling as he’s letting on. Maybe there’s still hope for him. For us.
I don’t know, but my body doesn’t seem to care about any of that. It’s telling me that far too much time has passed since it’s been with a man. It remembers how well this one in particular felt when we were together. Like the night we made Stella.
Michael clears his throat. “Freddy is waiting. We must go.” He gives me a little push, urging me to dismount his body.
I slide off and get to my feet, ignoring the lingering effects of having just been so close. I know it’s my subconscious dusting off old memories. We haven’t been together for well over five years—before Nice took me.
Michael stands too and gestures for me to get in the back of the car with Stella, while my mind starts pointing out inconsistencies in his behavior. He visited this school last week, which means he knew I applied, which means he’s been watching us. He also had guards posted here, which means he wants to protect Stella. And just now, I could swear he got offended when Stella said Freddy was better looking and I agreed.
Could it be more than a hope? Could Michael, the man I fell for, still be alive somewhere inside there? After everything I’ve heard and seen since Michael stepped into power, I know it’s a long shot.
Is a reunion really what I want?
I need to remember one important thing: Even if I hate to admit it, the world is a safer place with the Executioner King at the helm. It is safer for Stella.
But is that good enough?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Just like old times. Right, Michael?” From inside his private jet, I glance over at him sitting in the black leather seat. As a precaution, he called ahead and had them move the plane to a smaller airport about a half hour west of Phoenix. He said it was best to be unpredictable when it comes to our movements. Harder for Nice to set up bombs.
“No. Not like old times. We will not be making any children on this flight. Or ever again,” Michael grumbles and returns to reviewing whatever’s on his tablet.
The disdain in his voice sticks in the air, allowing me to marinate in it. His comment is unusually cruel, even for him. Was the night we made our beautiful daughter really so bad? It was on a fancy exec jet like this one with sleek, black leather seats. That was also the night he finally told me the truth about what he was. I already knew, but the fact he trusted me with his secret opened a door in my heart that I haven’t been able to close.
<
br /> I look across the aisle again and find him staring at me. Does he know how badly I’m hurting right now? Does he know how much his words still matter, or that it was thoughts of him that kept me alive all those years when Nice’s eccentricities made me want to jump off a tall bridge? Once, Nice made me stay up for ten days straight to binge-watch Supernatural. Over three hundred hours. It was thoughts of Michael that kept my head on straight. I imagined him at my side, saying, “Miriam, you’re strong. You can get through this. For Stella. Just pretend Dean is me.”
Then there was the time that Nice wanted to stay in the bubble bath for a month. I had to sit there for hours reading to him and refilling the tub with warm water. Then he made me use a whisk to keep the bubbles just so.
It was Michael who gave me the strength to carry on and stay focused on Stella when I didn’t have it in me.
“You are upset. I meant no offense,” he says. “You are a vampire now. Our kind is unable to procreate the human way.”
Michael and I lock eyes, and I have to wonder if he still senses what I’m feeling like he used to. Otherwise, why would he have just said that?
“Yes. Right,” I agree, trying not to get choked up by his small act of compassion. “I guess we won’t be reliving those times.”
“If you could become human again, would you? Would you have more children?” His eyes flicker with a curious twitch.
What a strange question. I’m not sure. I tend to push myself away from dreaming of the impossible. My parents taught me that it’s better to focus on the possible.
“I haven’t given it much thought,” I reply. “Everything I know about vampires, which is a lot—more than most vampires even—says that it can’t be undone. Once you’re a vampire, you’re a vampire.” The Keepers have records dating back centuries of all sorts of experiments they did on vampires to see if the person could be cured. They drained them of their blood, starved them, injected them with whisky as an antiseptic. The only thing the Keepers accomplished was creating very hungry, intoxicated vampires. “Why do you ask?”
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