The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 3

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “Yes,” I say. “Charades. I’m having a small get-together at my new apartment and thought it would be fun.” I still haven’t found the apartment I speak of, but I will. My current “college student” accommodations are horrendous, which is why I recently told Miriam that I inherited a small amount of money from an estranged uncle. This way she doesn’t suspect where the money for better housing came from.

  Miriam looks down at a gardening book about bees cradled in her hands. She loves books as much as she loves this library and reads everything before putting it on her shelves. I revere her dedication.

  “I’m not sure I’m up for it, Michael,” she says, a muted sadness in her tone. “I have a lot of work to do and reading to catch up on.”

  I know she is still upset about this morning’s conversation about vampires, and I want to say the perfect words to smooth things over. She’s been through a lot lately and I am only adding to her stress. “My dear woman, I realize it has been a treacherous past few—”

  “Stop. You know I hate it when you talk like you’re a character from a BBC period piece.”

  Ah yes. While I look and dress the part of a twenty-year-old, I always forget to sound it.

  I clear my throat and prepare to interject lots of umms and yannos. “Yeah, sorry. Uh…I’ve been practicing for a play, so I’m trying to sound all old ’n stuff. We’re doing Hamilton in my drama class.”

  “You? You’re taking acting?”

  No. I have all the drama one man can stomach. “I joined an off-campus club,” I lie and shrug like a sloppy youth from this day and age. “To meet girls, yanno?” Sounds like a plausible excuse for a twenty-year-old, right?

  I wonder if Miriam will get jealous. Hmmm…

  “You actually disgust me sometimes. I can’t believe I let you work here.” Miriam’s lips flatten.

  “What?” I respond defensively. “We all know the women of the theater aren’t exactly beauty queens.” At least, not during the 1600s. Missing teeth, bad breath, a ruddy complexion from drink. I mentally shudder with revulsion. “But hey, it’s not their fault they’re hideous. But what they lack in looks, they make up for in personality.”

  Miriam crinkles her nose like she’s just smelled bad cheese. “Sometimes, I think you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, wise beyond your years, and then you say things like that.”

  I don’t get it. I just tried to tell her that I am willing to date ugly women for their intellect. Doesn’t that make me a good guy, even if I just made it all up? I simply do not understand the females of this time.

  I have no choice but to pass my comments off as a joke. I laugh and point a finger at her. “Had you going, didn’t I?”

  Miriam frowns. She didn’t like it as a joke either.

  “Sorry. Bad form. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d come tomorrow. Yanno?”

  “Why? So I can meet all of the ugly drama club girls you’re blessing with your presence?”

  Let it go, woman. Just let it go. “No girls. Just Lula and Viviana—my, uh…she’s my acting coach.” Viviana was turned in her thirties so she looks ten years older than me. Miriam’s already met Lula and believes her to be my ex-girlfriend. “Oh, and a bunch of the guys are coming, too. They’re all practicing for parts in a theatrical version of Rambo, so expect lots of fake guns, tight shirts, and camo.”

  Miriam slowly nods. “You run with an interesting crowd.”

  “Just wait until they start kneeling and calling you their queen.”

  “Why would they do that?” Miriam’s brows scrunch together.

  Great question. Give me a moment to think of another plausible excuse. “After the Rambo thing is cast, there’s, uh…uh…” Crap. The only stories I remember with queens are Cinderella, Snow White, and… “They’re trying out for Game of Thrones. Extras.”

  “Isn’t that over?”

  How the hell would I know? Vampires don’t watch those silly types of shows. The disappointing finales just make us angry.

  “I guess they’re bringing it back.” I wink like I know something she doesn’t. “Anyway, I’d really appreciate it if you’d come to my get-together. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” I offer Miriam my most alluring look: hooded lids, a charming smile, flexing jaw to show off the angles. I know she feels drawn to me, even if she does not wish to admit it.

  She stares into my bedroom eyes for a long moment. Come on. Say yes. Say yes… The air starts to hum between us, and I feel her emotions. It’s like I can taste them in the air.

  Fascinating.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll go. But only for an hour.”

  Perfect. By my calculations, I only need twenty minutes to perform the ceremony. “I’ll text you the address tonight.”

  “Great.” She forces a smile. I know something else is on her mind. Come to think of it, something is on mine, as well. A loose thread.

  “Um…Miriam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember how you were going to rent out several rooms in your house?” She mentioned doing it a few weeks ago, after the city threatened to shut down her library if she didn’t retrofit the building, a million-dollar expense she couldn’t afford. Turned out that some land developers were after her property. Also turned out they were working for Jeremy and our enemies. As I mentioned, beneath all those floors of books are massive, naturally formed catacombs, the perfect place to hide illicit vampire activities, such as that blood farm. One of the access points is a block over, but Miriam’s library sits directly over another big cavern that they had wanted to use to expand their operations.

  Thankfully, these land developers are no longer. I put a stop to the scheme, and her building is fine; however, I need to be sure she’s not still worried about money.

  “How could I forget?” she replies.

  “You’re not going through with that anymore, are you?”

  This time, it’s Miriam who’s shrugging. “I don’t know… I was thinking about interviewing a few candidates.”

  “But why?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up, looking for a fight. Yes, even my hairs are fighters. I am quite manly like that. “Everything’s settled with the city. You don’t have to do any retrofitting. I checked myself.”

  “It’s a huge relief; I can’t even begin to tell you. But I live in that enormous house all by myself.”

  “If it’s a question of feeling protected, I can assure you that your alarm system is adequate and—”

  “No. It’s not about that. I’ve been blessed in so many ways, and there’s tons of space I don’t use. I could give a good person a home. Maybe a student like yourself.” Miriam had actually suggested I take a room myself, and I can’t lie; I was tempted. What man wouldn’t want to be closer to such a beautiful woman and catch a glimpse of her walking around in a nightgown? Or accidentally dropping her towel in the kitchen after she has just showered, her skin glistening with drops of water, her shoulders and delicate neck completely exposed, begging for a nibble? I mentally sigh with pleasure. Dare to dream. But it would have been impossible to hide what I am if we lived under the same roof. And dream gone.

  “No. I do not approve of another man living with you,” I exclaim, quickly realizing I’ve overstepped my bounds. “I mean…” I swallow my overly protective male pride. It feels like I’m choking on a giant furry sock filled with thumbtacks. “It’s not wise to let complete strangers in your home. You have millions of dollars in rare books just lying around. Some are priceless.”

  “I’m going to screen everyone, and the most valuable items are locked in the vault.”

  I shake my head. “I just don’t like it.” And I really want to get inside that vault. Just for a peek. She says all of her rarest first editions are down there. I want to touch them.

  She chuckles bitterly. “You don’t have to like it. I’m thirty years old and don’t need yours or anyone’s approval.”

  “Thirty? When was your birthday?” And how do I
not know her damned birthday?

  “Today, actually.”

  Oh, God. And I did not get her anything. I didn’t even slay an enemy or bury any bodies in the desert for her today—the sort of thing that tells a woman how much you truly care. I must try harder. I want to be a good husband to her.

  I quickly pull myself back. I am going to be her husband in title only. It’s a means to an end and nothing more. After this war is over, I’ll have our marriage annulled. It’s never been done, but I am the ruler. I can make it a law. I will make it a law.

  My selfish inner-male bucks in protest. He doesn’t ever want to let her go. “Well, then…happy birthday. Let me take you out tonight to celebrate since I didn’t get you anything.” And since I have to follow you home anyway.

  “Let me guess? You want to take me to happy hour at the Beer Hut?”

  The local college hangout down the street? As if I’d be caught dead in any establishment that has the word hut in it. Beer Hut, Sunglass Hut, Pizza Hut. Not very vampire. Still, I must keep up my “college dude” appearances. Now more than ever, so she doesn’t suspect what is going to happen tomorrow or that she will be in an apartment filled with deadly immortal soldiers. Not to mention followed around by ten of them.

  “What’s wrong with the Beer Hut?” I ask. “They have two-for-one chicken wings tonight and Miller Light on tap for fifty cents.” The thought of drinking such swill nauseates me. A good Bordeaux or perhaps a fine single-malt scotch could hit the spot. “But if that’s not your thing, we could go somewhere fancier. The Cheesecake Factory, perhaps?” I truly have no idea where humans like to dine these days, but I see these Cheesecake places all over. They must be popular.

  “Thanks, but no. I have plans already.”

  What! “With whom?”

  “None of your business, Michael. Now if you don’t mind, I have a mountain of paperwork and two books to get through.”

  Her eyes flash to the pile of paperbacks on her desk. Peeking out from beneath a copy of Dr. Phil’s latest book is something I immediately recognize: Fangless in Seattle.

  Is book three out already? One of our council members, the infamously unpleasant Mr. Nice, happens to be obsessed with the Fanged Love series, though I cannot say why. Seems like a campy vampire parody to me—capes, coffins, and moats. Not that I’ve read it. More than once. Nice learned about the books one night when he came into Miriam’s library with me. She happens to be a huge fan, too, though I also do not understand why, considering her aversion to even discussing vampires. Either way, I had needed to occupy Mr. Nice for a few moments and handed him the first book. He’s been holding the author hostage ever since, demanding more books.

  I hope the writer has figured out a way to get free from Nice’s basement. He is among our enemy’s prisoners, so who knows what’s become of the poor authoress. I’d send someone to check, but no one knows where the one-thousand-six-hundred-year-old Mr. Nice actually lives. Even if they did, who would be brave enough to enter his dwelling?

  Eesh… I bet his home looks like the Munsters’ junkyard. That, and he is quite possibly the deadliest, scariest vampire on the planet. And this coming from a man called the Executioner.

  I bow my head toward Miriam. “Enjoy your books. And I hope you have a happy birthday. With your friend.” I will be following her tonight, of course. She has no idea of the dangers lurking in the shadows. I mean, other dangers lurking besides me. “I’ll send you the details for my housewarming party later.” I turn to leave.

  “Michael.”

  A few feet from the door, I stop and face her desk again.

  “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.” Her eyes shift away, and she fidgets with a paperclip she’s found on her messy desk.

  “What’s not a good idea?”

  “You. Me. Socializing like that. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m your boss. You—you’re just a kid.”

  Kid. Very funny. Here is where my vampire senses come in handy. Her pulse is rapid and her cheeks are flushed. The sweet floral aroma of her delicate skin fills the room with the rising heat of her body. She is lying. Which means she thinks socializing is a very, very good idea.

  So why would she tell me otherwise?

  I give Miriam a look so she knows that I know she is lying. “I assure you my ‘impression’ of us is entirely accurate.” With my mouth closed, I involuntarily swipe my tongue over my aching fangs. My twins want her.

  She stares at my lips, and I hear her already rapid heartbeat accelerate into a furious gallop. I catch a whiff of her body letting off potent pheromones—an involuntary human response when one desires the attention of a potential sexual partner.

  I smirk with male pride. This is the second time today that I have been right. Winning! “See you later, boss. And happy birthday.” I leave her to her lusty vampire book, knowing it is my face she’ll be seeing when she reads the tantalizing love scenes.

  Such a shame she doesn’t want to let a real vampire into her bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  That night I do what I do best: lurk in the shadows, waiting for Miriam’s “friend” to arrive. By midnight I am certain she either made it all up or this mystery person is a no-show. Either way, I find myself at odds, stuck between knowing I should give her privacy and wanting to make up a ridiculous excuse as to why I happened to be in the neighborhood. Miriam is a bright young woman, loved by many. She shouldn’t have to be alone on her birthday. Except, perhaps, if she wants to be. Not everyone is a fan of turning a year older. I, myself, could not care less. Once you reach the age that no human is meant to live to, it becomes an endless blur.

  Just after midnight, I hear some modern music playing in her living room—Nat King Cole, I think—and opt for leaving Miriam alone. I do not want to fight with her on such an important day.

  Our wedding day…

  Excitement courses through me, all the way down to my groin. She will be my wife. Mine to please in bed, to hold, to sniff. Her fruity shampoo does smell amazing.

  Suddenly, a twitch of guilt ticks in my stomach. What the devil am I doing? I should be off finding our council members, not fantasizing about sniffing Miriam’s hair and making her my real wife. But here I am, watching over my librarian like a hawk, fearing something might happen to her. All because of my choice to be a part of her life. If my plan to wed her tomorrow doesn’t go as I hope, and I fail to obtain the protection of my soldiers for her, I do not know what I’ll do.

  Turn my back on everyone who is counting on me?

  All for her?

  Could I live with myself if we lost the war?

  It would mean that everyone I care for will die. Humans, including small children, will be hunted like farmed trout. Or chickens. Or whichever docile creatures are raised for their meat these days. Millions of innocent, non-spicy, flavorless humans will perish, simply to satisfy the whims of the power-hungry evil few. Then, after the initial slaughter, when humans figure out that the myth of bloodthirsty vampires isn’t a myth at all—except for the “blood-only diet” and “no walking in sunlight” part—humans will get their acts together and wipe us all out.

  This war is a zero-sum game. How do our enemies not see this? How do they not understand that we should live in anonymous cooperation with the species we once were? Personally, I’m proud to cull the dregs of human society from the herd.

  I eat.

  They are safer.

  It’s a win-win.

  The only drawback is having to pretend to be human. Don’t forget driving the tiny blue shit stain. God, I hate that thing.

  On the way to my studio (my soon to be ex-studio), I pick up some Chinese from a place around the corner that serves the hottest vegetarian chow mein on the face of the planet. It literally makes my balls hurt, but I enjoy anything that reminds me I am still alive.

  “What a day.” I come through the front door and go straight to my miniscule kitchen table, which is literally two feet from everything in my casa de c
ucarachas. I have seen coffins larger than this dump. And prettier, too. The walls are a grungy white, the furniture is falling apart, and the shag carpet is more of a quilt made from remnants sewn together.

  I cannot wait to move out.

  I take a seat at the table and look at my phone. A text from Lula informs me she’ll be here at first light. Viviana says she’s still working on getting the full list of non-RSVPers, but should have it soon. By morning, we can begin making calls and weeding out suspects. All we need is one good lead. One crumb to follow. The rest will be a question of persistence and good old-fashioned detective work.

  I pop open my carton of hellfire noodles and get to work with my chopsticks while I scroll through emails. Now there’s some positive news. Viviana has forwarded a list of five executive suites available for immediate rental. They’re the kind that come fully furnished and you can stay in for a night or rent for months—a glorified extended-stay hotel, really.

  I move through them with a quick flick of the finger. Ouch. Ten thousand a month? I can afford them, but the college student I’m supposed to be cannot. It won’t help with keeping up appearances. Sadly, I’m out of time, so I have to choose something.

  I pick the least fancy option with good lighting in the parking garage and plenty of exits—four on every floor. Planning for retreat is just as important as planning for victory.

  I text Viviana and tell her to book the place tonight and make sure it’s ready in the morning, stocked with beverages and snacks. The human kind. I want Miriam to believe this gathering is your basic drama-nerd party.

  Unexpectedly, I feel my bones vibrate with trepidation. I know something terrible is coming, but this is what separates a seasoned warrior from the dead ones. I’ve made my share of mistakes, and they have taught me one important lesson: not to panic. When I was younger, I would jump in with both feet toward any threat, too confident in myself to see that determination alone doesn’t win battles.

  A knock at my door startles me from my thinking mode. I stand and listen to what’s on the other side. Not a hint of a breath or a heartbeat. Either the person has just dropped dead or it’s another vampire.