“Nice, sir,” says Patty, “may I remind you that threatening a society leader is a punishable offence. I would hate to have you arrested again.”
Nice flashes a tight smile at Patty. “My apologies. My anger merely got the best of me. I would never harm a hair on his head.” He turns and looks at me again. “Though, I can make no promises about other people.”
Sonofabitch.
Miriam, who is standing next to him, looks at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me to keep my promise: Do not let Nice know she’s disobeyed him by telling me the truth. And I mustn’t do anything to jeopardize my own freedom in this moment. Because it is now up to me…
I turn and bolt for the exit. I do not stop until I’m at my storage locker ten blocks away, in the industrial part of town near the train tracks. It is a cold, wet, drizzly day, the sky overcast. I dial in the code on the padlock and jerk open the metal garage door. The smells of dust and gasoline hit my nose.
I go inside, strip down to my boxer briefs, and yank on a pair of black leather pants from one of my many boxes.
“Wow. Not the outfit I was expecting for a man who just handed over his dick to the vampire who stole his woman.”
Lula. Of course she would follow me.
I glance over my shoulder. “Not in the mood.”
“What the hell is going on, Michael?”
“I was asking the wrong questions, Lula. It was never about Miriam.” And that love she feels for someone else has nothing to do with Nice.
I reach for a crate to my side and pry off the top.
“Then who?” Lula asks.
I do not answer because Lula will have questions, and I have no answers.
“Michael,” Lula approaches and grabs my arm, “I’m talking to you. What the hell is going on? Why the one-eighty?”
“I cannot do this right now. I must go.”
Lula pokes me in the right eye.
“Ow!” I cover my eye.
She pokes my left.
“Stop that!”
“Not until you start talking.” Lula holds out her menacing finger.
I will be blind and unable to go anywhere if she keeps this up. “She…Miriam…” The words won’t seem to form. “I put my thing in her thing and…then…and it is mine.” I am in such a state of shock that the entire situation feels like a dream. I am a father! How’s it possible? How! Frankly, I do not know which is more startling; that Miriam got pregnant and had to go through all of it on her own, or that five years have passed. Five years this tiny being has lived, and I have been absent from her life—not there to protect her or help her or watch her take her first sip of blood. Wait. Does she drink blood? I have so many questions.
“I don’t understand.” Lula scratches the side of her head. “You mean you and she…”
“And baby makes three. Yes.” I dig through the crate and find my black leather boots and gloves.
“How’s that even possible?” Her jaw drops.
“Did you not read Twilight, woman?”
“I was really high on chocolate chip cookies, but of course I did. And it was fiction.”
“Apparently, not that part.” Miriam kept mentioning that she felt weird a few days after we had sex. She even got sick. But I attributed it to nerves and the fact we were being hunted by Clive.
“Are you sure she’s telling the truth?” Lula asks. “Because there isn’t one recorded pregnancy in the entire history of vampires. And let’s be real, here; vampires will fuck just about anything—humans, other vampires, rubber dolls, the occasional cupcake.”
I give her a look.
She shrugs. “Just the one time.”
“I doubt any of the humans who have bedded vampires over the centuries have ingested the blood of a first-generation vampire like Miriam’s parents had and Miriam did on her eighteenth birthday.”
The Keepers, as Miriam called them, were ironically one of Clive’s secret projects. He partnered with several human families—we do not know how many since they were not made aware of each other and none of us knew about it—and trained them how to kill vampires. At the time, he wanted humans to have a fighting chance in case our side lost the Great War. After we won the war, he used the Keepers to monitor and kill the vampires who secretly refused to abide by the new laws, specifically not munching on innocent people. Of course, three hundred years later, Clive changed his mind about humans ruling the roost and, to the best of my knowledge, killed off the Keepers. All except Miriam, who trained, but ultimately decided not to join the club. The point is, Keepers were all given Clive’s blood in order to aid them in tracking our kind—sort of gave them a built-in homing device, I am told. No one truly knows. And for certain no one knows if there were other side effects, such as being able to host a half-vampire baby.
I walk over to another crate of supplies I’ve placed here for a rainy day and rip off the top. “I believe Miriam. Nothing else makes sense. All along I kept wondering what would make her give up everything she loves. The only answer is something she loves more. A child.” A child Nice has managed to keep hidden from the world along with himself and Miriam.
“Ohmygod, Michael. You’re a daddy?” Lula plops down on top of a crate, her face paler than usual. She looks as devastated as I feel. I am touched by her sympathy; it shows she is truly turning over a new leaf, caring as much for another as she cares for herself.
“Apparently so.” I pull a white T-shirt over my head and slide on my leather boots and black leather jacket.
“So why didn’t she tell you? Or call? Or something?”
“Because Nice made sure if she didn’t obey him, she would never see her baby born.” I dig into the storage box and grab a backpack filled with cash.
“No.” Lula presses her hand to her mouth.
“Yes. And now I have four days to find the child.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Once a week, Miriam gets to see our daughter. If Nice doesn’t call the nanny, the nanny has instructions to kill her.”
Lula’s eyes widen with outrage.
“Exactly,” I respond, removing the tarp from my Norton motorcycle. I’ve had it since 1961. It has never failed me, unlike these newfangled cars with their electronics. It tops out at one hundred and ten miles an hour, and with the ground I must cover, an airplane isn’t going to cut it.
“So Miriam thinks Nice is going to have the girl killed? Why? Why now?”
“Miriam wouldn’t say. She just begged me to find her before Nice did something drastic. Then the guard showed up to take her to the court, and she left.” I roll the bike just outside the door.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” Lula shakes her head from side to side. “This is so bad.” Suddenly, she stands, her eyes wide. “Michael, I want to tell you—”
“I appreciate the words of encouragement, Lula, but there is no time. I will call you from the road.”
“Where are you going? And how can I help? Tell me what to do! Anything at all, just say the word.” Lula’s eyes water. I find it truly touching that she already cares for the child as much as I do, yet we have never met her. It only drives home how precious this little girl is. My family. Our family. My blood. And Nice took her from me, too.
“Miriam thinks she’s being held at one of four locations.” The child is constantly being moved, and Nice has a system that Miriam figured out. “You can help by making Nice believe I’m fleeing because I fear his revenge and that I’m a sore loser.”
I straddle the bike, squeeze the clutch, and start the engine with a pump of my foot. The bike roars to life with a plume of exhaust.
“How do you propose I do that, Michael?” Lula asks, sounding genuinely fearful—a rarity for such a vampire. Again, I am touched by her emotion. Such loyalty.
“I don’t know, but I need to find her before Nice moves her again.” Or worse, decides not to call the nanny.
“What’s her name?” Lula calls out as I put the bike into first and scream out of the drive
way.
“Stella!” Like the heroine from the Fanged Love stories. Miriam said that if somehow our daughter survived and she did not, the baby had to have a name that might make me stop and think if I met her.
I hit the busy street on my bike, weaving through traffic, and say a prayer. For her, for me, for Miriam. I have four days to make four stops and cover over two thousand miles. If I do not find this child, Nice might take out his anger on me by not calling the nanny. I believe this is what Miriam fears and could not tell me.
I’ll find her. I will. And this madness will stop.
CHAPTER TEN
Vampire or not, riding a motorcycle through the Midwest in December is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Strike that. I would have no problem sending Nice on this journey. I can think of a thousand different ways I would like to see him suffer—soaking him and his cape in kerosene and lighting them on fire, making him dine on his own face, forcing him to spend eternity camping at a KOA (he loathes roughing it). The sad part is, when I eventually get my revenge—and I will—I know it will not make me feel better. Traveling for ten hours alone on a motorbike, freezing my fingers off, has given me a lot of time to think about how what started off as a triumph—finally finding Miriam—has turned into a miserable mystery that continues to evolve. Dare I say, the situation resembles a nightmare with elements of thriller and suspense.
How I long for the days when my existence was comprised of challenges such as correcting a bad haircut or finding a missing person. Hunter/fur trapper, English professor, barber, detective, assassin—out of nine professions over four hundred years, being an assistant librarian has proven to be the toughest.
My cell vibrates, and I hit the Bluetooth button on my helmet, which I only wear to avoid getting pulled over in such states where helmets are law. “Yes?”
“Michael, OMG.” Lula’s high-pitched voice rings in my ears.
“What is the matter?”
“Well, let me see… There’s the fact that Nice is actually free right now, and he’s secretly rallying every council member who fears him—which is, like, all of them—to vote me out and vote himself in as the new king.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
This is not good.
She continues, “Then we have the glorious news that he’s also trying to convince Patty Cake to issue a warrant for your arrest. If he succeeds and I don’t turn you over, I’ll be thrown in the dungeon—and I don’t mean the fun one where I can get a free spanking, Michael. This is a real dungeon! With bugs. And mold. And slimy things.”
What the… “Back up. Warrant for what?”
“Well, it’s all still on the hush-hush, but my spies tell me it’s an incredibly long list.”
There is more than one charge? “Start at the top.”
Lula ceremoniously clears her throat. “At number one, we have bringing false charges against a respectable leader. At number two, we have kidnapping said leader’s mate. At number three we have—and this is a doozy—murdering twenty council members without authorization.”
“You mean the council members who vacated their seats, therefore abdicating their power, and then threatened a mutiny and to kill you, while I was acting king and out searching for Miriam?”
“Yup. Those are the ones,” Lula replies. “Rumor mill also says that Nice will claim that I have no right to be queen since you appointed me, and you were appointed during an emergency and not the legitimate ruler to begin with.”
Motherfu… “This is bullcrap. I was forced into ruling, and I had proper support when I handed over the reins to you.”
“No duh. He’s out to get us, and by my calculations, we only have a few days before he pulls the trigger and goes public with his move. He’s going to force everyone to take sides. It’s a coup!”
“Then we need to prepare to fight him. Hard. Make a show of force so the others see you’re not a pushover.” Vampires respond to strength and power. Basically, we’re animals. With nice clothes. Who like spicy food.
“I’m already on it,” Lula says. “I’m throwing Nice a welcome-back slash so-sorry-that-my-best-friend-got-you-arrested party.”
“You’re throwing a party in his honor? Have you lost your mind?” I lean left around a tight bend in the road right as the rain starts pouring down. Wonderful. It is the dead of night, and in a few hours, the temperature will drop even further. That rain will become ice.
“He doesn’t know that I know he’s up to something, and he’s already said he’s coming. So are all of the bigwigs in town for his trial—the council members, society leaders, generals—just about everyone who’s on the chessboard for both sides. Oh, did I mention that I will be serving chocolate martinis and lots of chocolate chip cookies?”
I give that some thought. Pure chocolate is poisonous for our kind; however, in small doses it behaves like a narcotic.
She adds, “Everyone will be completely high for a few days, which will buy us some time.”
“This is a hairbrained scheme, but given the situation, I must commend you on your creativity.”
“You’re welcome. Just hurry, Michael. Miriam is with Nice, and if he suspects she betrayed him and told you the truth, he could take her and run again. Or worse, kill her.”
I have had many hours to think about how this scenario might play out and how to avoid a tragedy. First, I need to locate the child. Then I must ensure Miriam is separated from Nice before I retrieve her. Otherwise, Nice may find out and harm Miriam. Once I have Stella and Miriam is somewhere safe, Nice must be killed. If anything happens out of sequence, it could be catastrophic.
Don’t forget to add that the clock is now ticking because Lula may be overthrown in two days’ time and Nice might become ruler. If it were not so damned cold out, I would be sweating bullets.
“Please, Lula, try to stay close to Miriam. If I find Stella, you will need to grab Miriam and run.”
“Ten four, dead buddy.”
“And, Lula, I just want to say…thank you. I know things have not been the same between us, but you have proven yourself a true friend. I am proud of the loyal person you have become.”
There is a long silence and then, “I need to go…uh…” Lula sounds all choked up, like she is about to cry, “dust off my stilts and check on the party snacks. We’re lacing everything with chocolate to be sure no one stays sober.”
I am grateful to have our friendship back, too, even if it is for the worst possible situation. “Be careful, Lula. The last thing I want is something to happen to you.”
“I don’t deserve your worry, Michael, but you deserve my help.” The call ends.
What did she mean by that? I do not know, but now is the time to focus. I must drive as fast as this bike will carry me, and the weather is turning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two hours later, I pull into Alexandra. It is dark, cold as hell, and I am hungry. No, not for food.
Unfortunately, I left in a hurry, so I was unable to bring a bagged “lunch” and therefore will need to hunt at some point. As a rule of thumb, I only dine on unsavory types—thugs, murderers, etc. Not only do they taste delicious, but it is the law. Nonetheless, time is of the essence, and stalking someone all night to ensure they are a rotten apple will not be possible.
I’ll have to wing it.
I pull over on the dark country road, grab my phone, and review possible locations where Stella and the nanny might be staying. Thankfully, there are only three hotels that Miriam says meet Nice’s minimal accommodations—continental breakfast; a VIP, presidential, or bridal suite; and a heated pool, even though he doesn’t swim. Why does this matter if the person I am searching for is Stella and Stella never stays in the same town as Nice and Miriam? The answer is something only a loon like Nice could dream up.
According to Miriam, Nice has Stella moved once a week, but before the nanny takes her to the next town, Nice calls to check in and then takes Miriam to see Stella at whi
chever hotel they have procured. Miriam spends the afternoon with Stella, and then Stella leaves with the nanny to the next unknown location. Basically, he uses Stella as a way to ensure Miriam obeys him at all times, but they are always on the move. Nice knew people were out looking for them.
What a sick man, I think, trying to imagine poor Miriam having her child ripped away, over and over again, week after week. I am going to hang Nice by the neck with his lace dickie for what he has done.
I tuck away my phone and start checking hotels, asking if anyone has seen a German woman named Franny—yes, Franny the evil nanny—traveling with a five-year-old who, according to Miriam, looks exactly like her, but with my lips.
Lucky child. I have excellent lips.
Unfortunately, none of the three hotel managers on duty have seen anyone who fits their description. Also, side note, they all looked at me like I was some sort of maniac. Who knew Minnesotans were so unfriendly?
I mount my bike and prepare to head out to Aurora, Colorado, nine hours away if I drive at top speed.
I am about to put on my helmet when white flakes start falling from the sky.
Snow? Dammit all to hell! I get my phone out again and check the weather. Three to four inches? They are calling it the Arcticpocalypse? Super.
I won’t make it on my bike, and according to my phone, the nearest car-rental place does not open until eight a.m.
I growl with frustration. I will need to find alternate transportation.
I head toward downtown, passing what appears to be an enormous statue of a Viking—odd—and then pull into a diner toward the end of Main Street. Christmas lights twinkle over the doorway, and there’s a picture of Santa painted on the window. Yuck. I loathe Christmas—all that cheery music and corny decorations—Flying deer. Ridiculous! Such magical creatures do not exist—however, I cannot help wondering if Stella was given a proper celebration these past five years. Presents. A sparkly pine tree. A feast of nuts and dried meats or whatever humans eat to celebrate these days. She is half human and deserves such memories, but I doubt Nice saw this as important.
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