The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 3

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “So?” What’s her point?

  “They are all crazy, Michael!” she whisper shouts. “They couldn’t win a round of bingo even if the game was rigged.”

  “Oh, come now… I am certain they could manage cheating at bingo.”

  Lula slaps me across the cheek. “Wake up, you mental dump truck! You are our only hope to win this dance-off, so get that garbage out of your head. Forget the council leaders. Forget rescuing them. You know war. You know every devious trick in the book. Which is why the army and generals will follow you.”

  I groan with despair and rub the stinging flesh on my face. “I can’t…”

  “Why? Give me one good reason, Michael.”

  I look away, unwilling to speak the truth aloud. Not because I fear it, but because I know she will not understand. “Your faith in my abilities is misguided, Lula. We will move forward with my plan.”

  “You seriously want to leave our fate to a group of vampires who have the collective IQ of a box of Fruity Pebbles?”

  They are ancient, much older than me. “They’re more like a box of Grape-Nuts or maybe bran flakes.”

  “Fine!” She throws her hands in the air. “But you’re making a big mistake.”

  “Perhaps you should trust I know what I’m doing.” I clear my throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to dispose of Nice’s dinner and then head to the office. I will be back around five to take over librarian duty.”

  Lula stomps away, likely to the beanbag kiddie area, where she’ll pout for a while. “And don’t forget to help Miriam with story time at three!” I yell, only to get hushed by a few of the moms milling about with their children.

  “Sorry.” I wave apologetically and head outside to my blue coffin containing one ripening body. Ironically, for the first time ever, I’m actually looking forward to a little alone time digging holes. I need to decompress and get my head straight. Too much is on the line for me to start making mistakes, and I’m beginning to realize that the Great War never truly ended for me. I am still living with the memories of the terrible things I did to make the world a better place. I cannot repeat that chapter of my life. I simply cannot.

  But what if Lula is right? What if there is no other choice if we wish to win?

  Hell. I hate being so good at killing.

  Just after two o’clock, I am covered in dirt and other things I prefer not to discuss, so I swing by my studio for a quick shower and change of clothes. I cannot believe how little I’ve accomplished today.

  I open my narrow closet door and grab a light-blue button-down shirt and another pair of faded jeans. I slide them on and—

  Wait. Where the hell is Nice? I open the closet again, hoping he’s somehow hidden himself on a shelf up top or inside a shoe.

  He’s gone.

  I plant my hand on my waist and shake my head. “Where the heck did he go?” I mutter. There are no signs of a struggle. No dust. Nothing but his lingering scent on my shirts.

  I groan and spear my fingers through my wet hair. I don’t have time for this. Luckily, Mr. Nice is a big boy; he can take care of himself.

  I reach for the door handle and step into the hallway.

  “Vandershorsthsssth!” Nice appears out of nowhere, holding two overflowing shopping bags. “I found zi sexiest store ever!” He holds up the bag that says Bela Lugosi’s Crypt.

  “Wow. How…interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as the two-for-one sale on dickies.” He rushes inside my studio—soon to be ex-studio—and I follow, closing the door behind me.

  “Dickies, sir?”

  He digs out a lace collar that isn’t attached to a shirt. “You see? You can make it look like you have on a proper shirt underneath almost anything. I plan to wear diss with a black leather jumpsuit I found for your wedding.” He slides out a shiny pleather leotard, not too dissimilar to the horrible outfit Lula has on today, except his has a terrifying S and M gimp vibe.

  Thank God Nice thinks the ceremony is next week. By then, I’ll either be dead or have come up with an excuse as to why my plans changed and I had to marry Miriam without him present.

  Miriam… My heart accelerates. It’s odd, but before I felt drawn to her. Now, being separated gnaws at me. Must be the impending war. The danger has my senses heightened. Along with another body part.

  “So, Beebeeiana says the fun starts at seven?” Nice adds.

  Viviana was here? And she told him about tonight? I feel a pit form in my stomach and plummet to my feet.

  Nice narrows his eyes. “Yes. She stopped by to leave some munchies for you. She said she wasn’t sure if you wanted blood in your new place until after the party—you might not want your bride to accidentally see it.”

  I can’t believe Viviana spilled the wedding beans.

  Nice continues, “So tell me, Vanderhorsthsssth, why would you lie to me about this wedding?”

  Think quick. Think quick. “I meant no disrespect, Mr. Nice. But the truth is, I was not expecting you to show up last night, and given the dire situation, the ceremony I had planned is not at all worthy to be performed in front of you.”

  Nice’s dark eyes hold fast to my face. Remember when I mentioned that vampires are terrible liars, but gifted lie detectors? Well, that goes quadruple for Nice. They say he can sniff out a lie from three states away.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. I hope he buys my excuse. The only thing I have going for me is that I wasn’t completely lying. Nice had hoped for a lavish, vampire fairytale wedding, the social event of the century. He’d even planned to rent horses and have them painted red to match his shirt and carriage. Some bean dip and a cooler filled with beer and single-serve wine with screw caps is hardly the romantic fantasy he’s been pining for. But anything fancier, and Miriam might not buy my whole college-student-housewarming story.

  “I’m very sorry, sir. Truly. But tonight is a formality so that I can ensure Miriam is treated like a queen and is afforded the protection of our army. In fact, she’s so disappointed and heartbroken about not having her big Fanged wedding that she’s pretending tonight is just a simple gathering at my new apartment. She’s asked that we make it all seem like a game of charades.”

  “Ah! Diss is very smart. So, she will habe her real wedding in a few months?”

  “We hope. Because she won’t consider us truly married until we have the real deal—vows, party, red horses.”

  “You know, Vanderhorsthsssth, I like your librarian more and more every day. You are very lucky.” He sighs contentedly. “Are you sure you want her? Because I think I could—”

  “She is mine,” I snarl, before I can stop myself. It is dangerous to displease Nice, but when it comes to this, I simply do not care. He cannot have her. He shouldn’t even joke about it.

  Nice holds up his skinny pale hands. “Oakzi dokzi. In that case, I will be happy to play along at your non-wedding tonight.”

  “Thank you.” I bow my head in gratitude. “There’s just one more thing: Miriam is still sensitive about the whole vampire topic. So maybe just not mention it until she has had time to process.”

  Doubt flickers in Nice’s soulless dark eyes. “You will perform the vampire marriage ceremony tonight, and your bride is pretending that you are not a vampire?”

  “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds a bit odd. But, yes. Essentially.”

  “I like it! It’s very weird. I will be there with zi bells on.” He pulls out a string of tiny bells from his shopping bag.

  “How very festive.” I lift one brow.

  “I must start getting ready now. Send zi car for me at seven. Yes?”

  “I will send…” I have no one. No drivers, guards, nothing. “Uber.”

  “Tell Uber not to be late and to make sure there are snacks in the car. I always need a little something around seven.”

  There is no way I can make that happen. I can only hope that the driver isn’t named Tim or Ted.

  I don’t have time to worry about this right now. I must g
et over to the office and start putting together the pieces of the puzzle: where our enemies are hiding, where they might attack, and any additional information about the council members’ whereabouts.

  “Mr. Nice, I wonder if you could answer a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “How many others were with you?” I ask.

  “All.”

  “All what?” I ask.

  “All of the council members.”

  “From every region?” That’s one hundred and forty-four—twelve regions, twelve council members each, with one chosen to sit on the international council.

  “All in one big muddy hole. And you know how Gertrude the Gory is with her gas. She insists on eating vegetarians.” He makes a sour face.

  “They collected all the council members and placed them in one spot, sparing only you. Why would they do that?” I am suspicious to say the least.

  “It is a trap, you fool. They hope you will send your army to rescue everyone, and then attack.”

  That’s precisely what I was thinking. Except… “So why did you not say so in the first place?”

  “Didn’t I?”

  No. He did not. But what rouses my suspicion even more is the following:

  1. How did the enemy know where to find all of the council members? They were in various locations—home, office, traveling, Fanged Love movie premier—yet Alex and his men rounded up each and every one.

  2. The council members, as insane as they might be, are powerful. Fast. Strong. Cunning. How were they captured so easily?

  3. Whoever is running the show seems to know a lot about the Great War and is using it to their advantage, i.e., rousing our kind’s natural suspicion of each other to divide us, the pits, the fact that Clive was used to turbocharge their army.

  Bottom line, our enemies know things only a person of great importance and power would know. Someone like…

  I turn my head and stare at Nice. No… He can’t be their leader. He just can’t. As I said to Lula, he is simply too crazy, lazy, and spoiled to go back to the old days without credit cards and posh stores like Count Chocula’s Shack of Fashion Doom or whatever.

  It has to be someone else. Someone equally high-ranking. But who? Logic says it would have to be whoever wasn’t taken prisoner.

  “Are you certain, sir, that no one was missing? No one got away from this roundup?” I ask.

  “No. I did a head count.”

  “But those pits are narrow and deep. I’m sure you were all standing on top of each other. Could you have missed someone during your head count?”

  “No.”

  “So if I were to go there now, I’d find all one hundred and forty-three.”

  He shrugs. “No again. Half died to make more room. The Nice cannot be stepped on.”

  Jesus. “You killed half our leaders?”

  He holds up a finger. “I merely suggested they kill themselves. It was either that or I was going to remove their limbs since no one confessed to stepping on my toe.”

  Hell, Nice has to be the one, then. He’s the only option. But why does my gut keep saying otherwise?

  “Thank you for understanding about the wedding.” I step toward the door. “I will see you around seven, but feel free to come late.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I have missed the company of your librarian.” He winks, and I do not like it one little bit.

  Is that a dribble of drool coming down the side of his mouth? My jealousy goes through the roof. What game is he playing here?

  “Thank you, sir. I cannot express my gratitude. Here you are, recovering from torture and being taken prisoner, yet you are still willing to support my very special relationship. With my wife to be.”

  Before I can blink, Nice is on me, his hands like iron claws around my neck. “My Fanged Love. Mine!” He snarls like a feral beast, his dark eyes bulging from his skull.

  Instinctively, I raise my hands and remind myself there are two kinds of strength. One is of the body and the other of the mind. If I fight Nice, which I am willing to do for Miriam, I will likely lose, when all that matters is living another day. I cannot allow my kind to take over. For Miriam’s sake.

  “Are you…” I swallow hard, “all right, sir?”

  “Miriam is mine.” He shakes me so hard that my fangs clack against my lower teeth. What has possessed him?

  “I think you are mistaken, Nice,” I say in a firm, calm tone. “I am to wed her. Tonight. You yourself have been looking forward to our union, so how can she be yours?”

  Nice blinks and shakes his head from side to side. “I…I…” He snaps his hand back, like I’m a venomous snake. “I don’t know what came over me. My biggest apologies, Vanderhorsthsssth.”

  I have no choice but to accept and leave before something else happens.

  I dip my head and calmly go outside to my car. The pit in my stomach has turned into a tree stump. Mostly because I’m stumped. Why did he react like that?

  I rest my head on the steering wheel. Something strange is going on. Or perhaps Nice was merely attempting to distract me from bigger issues…

  —Army amassed.

  —Council members taken from around the world and brought to one location.

  —Obvious tactics being used from the Great War.

  —Nice freed.

  Could he, in fact, be a spy, sent to distract me?

  I lift my head and push the engine’s start button. I detest the lack of a manly engine sound.

  “Wait. What if Nice is not the spy?” I mumble to myself and grip the steering wheel. “What if something else is going on?” Someone seems to be going out of their way to leave bread crumbs. Someone wants me to go to Blackpool with an army. Or maybe stay away?

  Hell. I feel damned if I do react, damned if I do not.

  My mind quickly shuffles through dozens of different facts, landing on one giant piece of the puzzle I have overlooked…

  I am king.

  I understand that our leaders are out of the game, but why me?

  There’s that one vampire…Glubdred or Gulberfield or…something that resembles the sound of making a loogie. He is third generation, fought in the war, and has led Eastern Europe for over three hundred years. He rejected a seat on his council because he felt more powerful ruling one territory than being one voice among twelve. A man like him, despite the unappealing name and physique of a lobster—unusually large hands and ruddy skin—is many times more qualified than myself for the role of king, no matter how legendary and virile I may be.

  There is also Pussy. Her real name is Pousilda, but vampires can be like children. Once they pick up on something that amuses them, they do not let go so easily. Such as childish nicknames. Pousilda was the daughter of a wealthy Greek landowner. For all intents and purposes, she was a princess, and when her father was poisoned by a stable boy who loved Pousilda but wasn’t good enough to wed her, she took over her father’s place. She also killed the stable boy. Since that day, her ruthless hand has been legendary.

  You want to get a man in line? Send Pussy.

  Okay. Okay. That was a childish joke, unworthy of a man of my station, but I am merely repeating what is said about her.

  I exhale and turn my attention back to the mysteries at hand: Me being chosen for king, Nice’s role in all this, the enemy’s real plans, and now…something I should have been questioning all along.

  Miriam.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Michael! Thank God you’re here!” Viviana yanks me through the front door of our office building and slams the heavy steel door behind us. “You are not going to believe what I just found.”

  “Bad news. Incredibly bad, bad news,” I respond drably. I’m quite certain this day is only going to get worse, and considering it is just past three in the afternoon, I should prepare for many more delights coming my way.

  “Who told you?”

  I shake my head. “A lucky guess.”

  “Everyone RSVPed to the ball.”
r />   I let that sink in. “Everyone?”

  “Yes!” She nods frantically. “Do you know what that means?”

  “Either we’re barking up the wrong tree or—”

  “They knew we’d check! Whoever is behind this is in our heads.” She taps the side of her skull.

  Feeling dumbfounded, I walk over to her desk in the middle of the room and sit. “Fuck.”

  “Michael!” She gasps. “Such language is not becoming of a king.”

  “Who the hell cares, woman?” I grumble.

  “Oh, now you’re in trouble.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I might be a vampire, but I’m still a lady who doesn’t approve of potty mouths.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter miserably. “You’re right.”

  “Apology accepted. Now. What are we going to do?”

  I feel like they are anticipating my moves and throwing out red herring after red herring. “Have you swept our office for bugs?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “How about our phones? Could they be tapped?” I wonder aloud.

  “Not likely, considering how often we change them, but you know how careful we all are about discussing sensitive business.”

  I groan. I taught Alex everything I know, but this feels different. Vampires can be very intuitive. Some come equipped with centuries of experience, which allows them to easily predict the outcome of a situation. But we are not mind readers. Once again, something simply doesn’t feel right about this situation.

  What the devil is going on? The answer is probably staring me right in the face.

  I take a deep breath. All right, everything so far has had one thing in common: It’s kept me guessing. And it has also prevented me from taking any real action because I am unsure of what to do. I have no one to fight because we do not know where our enemies are. I cannot rescue the council members if they’re simply being used as bait. I haven’t rallied the generals because I am reluctant to truly take over and fight another war, perhaps the reason I was chosen as king in the first place. Again, it is as if someone already knew how I would react.

  So, given all this, my only choice is to take action that would be…uncharacteristic. And make sure I keep as much of my plans to myself as I can.