The Librarian's Vampire Assistant, Book 4

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “I’m going to get to work on your ID and see what kind of cash I have lying around,” Gretta says. “Try taking her downstairs to my basement. I have battle-axes, an iron maiden, and a guillotine.”

  “She is quite annoying, but I think it is too soon to throw in the towel on fatherhood.” After all, it has only been an hour. I am sure once we settle in and get her home, her outbursts will diminish.

  “Michael, I meant for her to play with. Don’t be so morbid.”

  I raise a brow. “Says the woman who owns a battle-ax, an iron maiden, and a guillotine and just offered them to a child.”

  “I liked playing with those when I was her age.” Gretta shrugs.

  I say nothing because I fear it will prompt Gretta to explain herself. With older vampires, their stories tend to take a while. “Thank you. We will check it out.”

  Meanwhile, Stella has discovered Gretta’s drum set in the other room and begins pounding away.

  “Dear God…” Remember when I begged you to find her? Perhaps now you could help me unfind her?

  I slide out my phone and call a few council members I feel are trustworthy—for a vampire—but no luck. I try five more individuals, including Pioneer Patty, and get the same results. Can they still be passed out from the party?

  I try Lula one more time, knowing she will not answer, but hoping she might.

  “Vanderhorsthsssth! I bet you’re looking for our mutual friend Lula.”

  “Nice,” I growl, “where is she?”

  “I am berry sorry, Vanderhorsthsssth, but she has been arrested.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “You know what.”

  “No. Really. I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do,” he says.

  “Nope.”

  “Such games do not please me, Vanderhorsthsssth! But if we must: She was arrested for accessory to the unlawful dusting of twenty council members. And yes, diss means she helped you—a berry, berry bad man—commit zeez murders.”

  He and I both know I was within my rights, as ruler, to execute them as traitors. “Such a coincidence that it happened four years ago, yet you said nothing. Perhaps because you were too busy living on the run with my librarian,” I snarl.

  “She izzz mine now, Vanderhorsthsssth. Oh, and she was mine every night since our beautiful Fanged Love wedding. Did I tell you about the cake? So sweet. So red.”

  Rage dots my vision. Thinking about this horrible, despicable vampire making love to Miriam is…is… I will not stand for it! Especially now that I know the truth.

  “You won’t get away with this, Nice.”

  “I have zi votes to be elected king tomorrow in zi big meeting. I will consider sparing your Lula—she was quite fun in the coffin—such a fantastic kisser—but only if you turn yourself in. I give you twenty-four hours, Vanderhorsthsssth. Ta-ta!”

  The call ends, and I stand there dumbfounded. I understand that Nice has many allies, but who in their right mind would elect him king? He’s insane and violent. He would enact the sorts of laws that will make no sense, such as everyone must wear ruffles but not pants, including our army.

  Nice must have something on them, but what? He was gone for five years, completely off the radar, and then he pops in, starts calling in favors, goes to a make-out party, has Lula arrested, and now people are ready to vote him in as ruler?

  Something is very wrong. I sigh. Just put it on the mystery list. “And please stop that noise!” I yell to Stella, who is still pounding away on Gretta’s drums.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Are you sure you want to go back to Cincinnati?” Gretta asks, sitting on the edge of her large all-black bed, pulling on a pair of thigh-high boots with red skulls up the sides.

  “I see no other choice. Any moment now, Nice is going to discover I have Stella. Lula is locked up, and I can’t get word to Miriam.” Even if I could reach someone else there in Cincinnati, I am unsure whom to trust. Nice likely has Miriam glued to his side, and he’s surrounded by his allies. “If I confront Nice publicly at the hearing tomorrow, Miriam will be with him and see I have Stella. She’ll be able to tell the truth.”

  “Okay, so let’s say you show up, everyone sides with you and Miriam, and then Nice is locked up. For good this time. Then what? What’s your play?” She stands and inspects her outfit in the mirror in the corner. Her room is just like her home, very minimalist. Very modern. Lots of big windows with zero privacy and endless views.

  I lean sideways against the doorjamb and fold my arms over my chest. “We live happily ever after. What else is there? I mean, I am still Michael Vanderhorst. Ultimately, everything goes my way.” It’s in my character arc.

  “Michael, you don’t get it. Lula is cool beans, for sure, but she’s not a legend, a folk hero who is as equally loved as she is feared. She doesn’t have the clout to keep order because she was never a cutthroat soldier. And the council members have no interest taking on all that responsibility—they hate meetings and structure. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be voting to have Nice elected.”

  This makes no sense. “But they were just talking about reinstating the old structure.”

  “Where have you been, Vanderhorst, living under a rock?”

  “In a library, really.”

  “Well, you’re completely out of touch, because the only thing all five hundred and eighty-two societies want is someone to keep order. They don’t want war or problems. They want to run their businesses, look after their families, and find ways not to be miserable for all eternity.”

  I shake my head. “If you’re trying to say that—”

  “Yes, Michael. You’re the only one fit to be king. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty to keep the peace. You’re fair. You’re a gentleman. And you’re really, really good looking, so that definitely helps. Makes you a king all of us can admire. Or want to screw. Either way.”

  I scratch my chin, thinking hard. “But what if that is not the life I wish to have?”

  “Then you’d better be ready to accept someone else ruling in your place, because the council has been the council for hundreds of years, and they have no intention of going back. They want to live with their covens or travel or do whatever really old vampires do—like join all-girl rock bands.” Gretta winks.

  I know she is only a mere two hundred years older than me, but she is one of those vampires who’s managed to live a hundred lifetimes. She has probably resided with half the societies as she traveled from job to job. If anyone has their ear to the ground, it is her.

  “Thank you, Gretta. I have much to think about, but either way, I must go to Cincinnati immediately.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “No. I do not want you getting mixed up in this very long, very drawn-out soap opera that, frankly, has way too little sex.” A soap opera disgrace. Not that I watch them. Well, not since the telenovela La Patrona, but that was only because I really enjoyed her miner hat and rebellious nature. Strong women are hot.

  “Silly. It won’t be me alone. I’ll call in a few friends. Someone has to get your back.”

  I do not like the idea of dragging anyone else into this. It could all go terribly wrong, and then they would be branded as traitors. On the other hand, if it goes well, it would be nice—I mean good—to know whom I can trust when I take over.

  But can I rely on Gretta? She is smart and energetic but has been known to get distracted by shiny objects.

  “Gretta, I’m not sure having you there would be the best—”

  “Nope. Nuh-uh. We’re not having this debate. I’m going with you to help you get your stripper back.”

  Huh? “Miriam is not a stripper. She’s a librarian.”

  Gretta shrugs. “Same thing.”

  “No. Not even a little,” I say dryly.

  “Stripper, librarian, gunslinger…who cares?”

  Me. I care.

  She continues, “The most important thing is preparation.”

  Now the
re’s something I cannot argue with. “What do you propose?”

  “Let’s go over the game plan—do a few dry runs.”

  “An excellent idea. But first, any word on my ID?” I plan to catch the first flight out. Stella will obviously come with me. She’s my ace in the hole and, also, I wouldn’t dare trust her safety to anyone. Even if she is the most annoying human on the planet. “Do you have any chocolate?”

  “Yes and yes. And don’t forget before we go that you owe me something.” She winks.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, but you’d better make my manhood look good. I don’t want it out of proportion with the rest of my body.”

  She gives me a look. “What rest of your body? I’m only painting the most important part.”

  Dammit. Why is Stella so bouncy? It’s like the chocolate had the opposite effect. “Please, my sweet. Stop jumping on the seat or you’ll break the plane.”

  “Where’s Mommy? You said I could see Mommy.”

  By now, every single passenger is giving us looks because (A) I have brought the Tasmanian devil on board, and (B) it does not have an off switch. Also, Stella keeps screaming for her mother. It looks sketchy, and she’s giving me a headache.

  I cannot believe I stole a giant teddy bear for her. Not that I have it any longer. I had to leave it behind in the truck.

  “My dear, sweet, little soul sucker,” I say between gritted teeth, “if you scream one more time, I will take you in the bathroom and flush your tiny head in the toilet where that man,” I glance across the aisle at a large sweaty beast, “has just taken what is sure to be a very large dump. So one more word, one more peep, and his excrement will be your face’s best friend. Also, no pony.”

  Stella sticks out her lower lip but doesn’t make a sound.

  I straighten back into my seat and close my eyes, trying not to gloat. I am finally getting the hang of this. Maybe I should have more children.

  “Excuse me?” a little voice squeaks beside me.

  I crack up one eye. “Yes?”

  “I really am hungry. May I please have a snack?”

  Well, well, look who has some manners after all. The big brown eyes and apologetic smile melt my cold, undead heart and give me the sudden urge to spoil her rotten. “Yes, my sweet. You may.”

  She cocks her head to one side, studying me. “You’re a lot nicer than my real daddy.”

  I want to tell her, for the twentieth time, that I am her real dad, but perhaps I should let it slide for now. Tomorrow at the big meeting, she will be reunited with her mother, and together we will face our biggest challenge yet: Defeating the monster who wishes to separate us all forever.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I will ask for your snack; then you get some rest. Tomorrow is a long day.”

  She lifts the armrest and snuggles against me. I cannot help feeling somewhat rewarded for the hell I have been through these past days. The journey has led me here.

  All I must do now is hang on to her and get Miriam back. But deep down, I know none of this is so simple, because Gretta spoke the truth. If I truly wish to protect those I love, I must step up and be king. Otherwise, every lunatic with a power trip will put their name in the hat, people like Nice. Or worse. Yes, there are worse. We are vampires.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After the flight, I took Stella for a quick trip to Target for clothing and supplies, and then to a hotel instead of my well-appointed home, which I am certain is being watched by Team Nice. I then placated her with movie rentals and room service. For such a young child, she really puts away the food—mac-n-cheese (disgustingly bland food), fries (no hot sauce, really?), and a sundae. Still, she is an excellent chewer. A sign of thoroughness and intelligence, I’m sure.

  “All right, Stella. It is time to see your mother,” I say the next morning as we step into an Uber. She is wearing a bright green holiday party dress—I couldn’t say no when she asked nicely—and I bought myself the usual irritatingly casual outfit of jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt. This one is plain black, though I was tempted to get the one of Santa riding a T-rex. Kind of cute. However, Stella didn’t approve—“He only rides a sleigh. Everyone knows that!”—and then reminded me that Christmas is in a few days and I should keep to my promise of getting her all those gifts.

  If I survive the day, I’ll buy her anything she wants.

  “Please, just remember what I told you; no matter what, stay by my side. When you see your…” I clear my throat, “the man you call your father in the meeting hall, do not go to him. He is angry, and I do not want you getting mixed up in all that.” Quite honestly, I don’t know what else to tell her. That her “father” has threatened to murder her almost every week since her conception? Or that he has blackmailed Miriam into a marriage? These things are going to come out this morning, but her mother needs to be present to comfort her when the world comes crashing down around her and I crash the meeting.

  If I am lucky, the sordid journey will be over swiftly and end here. Well, at least for Mr. Nice. I hope? The one thing I never understood is how he became so obsessed with Miriam to begin with.

  I know that Nice and Clive were longtime friends and that they cared for each other, so when I learned Miriam had ingested some of Clive’s blood—which is supposed to help Keepers attract vampires or let their guard down or something of the sort—I assumed that was the reason. But perhaps Nice’s attachment to Miriam is something else. Regrettably, no one has been able to study the Keepers, because only Clive knew about them. Whatever the reason for Nice’s attraction, it goes beyond my understanding. It also means that when it comes to Nice, I must be prepared for anything.

  We arrive to the office building downtown, and it is another cold, windy day with dark gray clouds. I take Stella’s soft little hand.

  “Why are you shaking?” she asks.

  “I am not shaking. I am simply cold,” I lie.

  “Uh-huh,” she says with a tinge of doubt.

  We enter the sterile-looking glass structure, only five stories tall. Lula rented it after she took over as ruler so that she could run things close to home. In the basement are holding cells and the courtroom where I last saw Nice. The floors upstairs contain offices for the administrative staff. The ground floor has two large meeting halls with bench seating. To human eyes, looking from the outside, this building is a busy transportation company. On the inside, it is vampire central.

  We pass through security with ease, meaning no one stops us, but the cell phones and texting fingers start flying.

  “Look, it’s Vanderhorst,” one woman whispers to a group standing in the lobby. “This is gonna get gooood…”

  “Could today get any better—Nice getting voted down and now our king returning?” a man replies.

  Nice is getting voted down? I hope this isn’t simple gossip. Nevertheless, the mere fact that anyone is rooting against him is fuel for my ego. And damn, do I need it after my dirty, manwhoring, shroom-tripping voyage to fatherhood. Who knew giving birth was so difficult?

  We take a right and follow the hallway to the meeting hall. With a slow breath, I pause in front of the door to steady myself. Gretta, who traveled separately, is supposed to be inside waiting with backup.

  “Ready, little one?” I beam down at this precious creature I have yet to understand but am grateful for.

  “I’m still getting a pony, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m ready, Vanderhorst.” She lifts her chin, mimicking me.

  Adorable. She also called me by my proper vampire name. I like it.

  “Let us rock, then.” I push open the doors. “Sorry to interrupt this charade, but Nice is a blackmailing fraud, and I have brought proof!”

  The people in the half-occupied meeting hall turn their attention toward me. Also, there is no Gretta.

  “I think you’re in the wrong room,” says the man sitting at the head of the table, probably one of Lula’s appointed deputies. “Nice is next door, trying to hijack the vamp
ire nation.”

  “Oh.” I wave with an awkward gesture. “Sorry about that. Come, child.” I tug her along.

  “I’m hungry,” she whines.

  “I know. It is because you refuse to drink any blood.” I obtained a bagged dinner last night, and she threatened to vomit on me if I even drank it in front of her. “But you are half creature of the night. Eventually, you’ll need some.” I push open the door, and we exit.

  “I don’t like nighttime. Getting ready for bed and brushing my teeth are boring.”

  “True, but cleaning one’s teeth and fangs are simply a part of life.” I dot her nose.

  “I don’t have fangs. My granny’s poodle does.”

  Who is her granny? Probably one of the other nannies Nice hired. “Interesting.” Something to investigate later.

  I head across the hallway to the second meeting hall. “Okay. This time I mean it. Be ready.” We charge into the room.

  This is the right place. It is standing room only, and Nice is standing at the front of the room in an enormous velvet cape, talking about why he should be the next king. Something about casual Fridays and everyone learning to belly dance. “It weel be one Nice big party!”

  Wait. Where is Gretta? Just as I’m thinking this, a text pops up on my phone.

  Gretta: Hey, was your thing this morning or tomorrow?

  Dammit, Gretta! I knew I could not rely on her. Another text comes in.

  Gretta: Nvrmind. I’ll pop over just in case. Don’t start the rebellion w/out me!

  Uhhh…no. Not an option.

  Nice spots me across the room and ceases to speak. The spectators gasp with delight, and I sense that this is about to become the vampire version of an MMA fight. Gloves off. Anything goes.

  “Vanderhorsthsssth! Choo came! And you brought a friend.” His voice bounces off the high ceiling painted with little black bats encircling the faces representing our first-generation vampires. No one knows what they really looked like, except for Clive, whose face has been removed from the mural.