“Fine,” Miriam throws back, “you go check on them, and I’ll take a cab back to my place. We can meet there.”
“Nice might be waiting for you. The enemy’s soldiers might be waiting,” I argue.
“Then you take me to get my ring.”
Stubborn little librarian. Why won’t she listen to reason? “Standing about is unsafe. Let’s discuss this in the car.”
“Nope.” She crosses her arms. “Not until we’re in agreement.”
I lose my patience—I am, after all, still a vampire. We have short fuses. “Get in the caca azul, woman. A war is coming, and I do not have time to debate.”
She gives me a look. “You really call your car the blue shit?”
“Among many different names, yes. And you will ride in it.”
“I am not one of your soldiers, Mike. Oh, sorry. King Mike. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
I groan. She knows I hate being called Mike. “Would you please,” I growl, “pretty please get in the caca azul?”
“Agree to take me by my place, and I’ll get in the car. It will only take two minutes. In and out of the vault, and we’re done.”
The vault? I have been dying to see what’s in there.
No. No. That is no reason to take a detour. I look her in the eyes and note the despair. But her feelings are. “All right. But we will have to be quick about it.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Every minute of the drive to Miriam’s house, I’m expecting something to happen—Nice to pop out from behind a tree and jump on the hood, our car to be surrounded by a caravan of armored SUVs, or to get pulled over by a police officer, only to find he or she is an imposter and we are forced to fight.
I can protect myself. I can fight like no one else. But I cannot do it while keeping Miriam safe. My kind is simply too fast, and if there are more than one, she will be easy pickings.
Despite my jumpiness, we arrive to Miriam’s front door without issue.
“Well, that’s a good sign.” Miriam punches a code into the console in the foyer. “Nothing’s been triggered.”
“Let us hurry. I need to stop by my disguise locker.”
“You have a storage locker just for that?” She stifles a smile.
“Of course. One never knows when they will need a cowboy hat or hook nose.”
“Wait. Were you there the night Jeremy died?”
Oh boy. I forgot about that. It was the night of the party where the vampires who were running the blood farm, which included Jeremy and his boss, held their auction. They had actually taken Lula prisoner and were planning to sell her blood to the highest bidder. Eternal life could be yours for just a cool million. I showed up dressed as cowboy Frank, one of my best costumes, posing as a bidder. I saved Lula, and the party was shut down, as were the humans who knew too much, but Jeremy and his boss ran, taking Miriam with them. When we caught up, the two men were already dusted. Miriam saw the whole thing, though she’d been heavily drugged.
“I was there that night,” I admit. “And I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to explain.”
“Did you kill Jeremy?”
“No. I believe it was one of Alex’s men. They saw my disguise and used a similar outfit. The people behind all this wanted fingers pointed towards me—the blood farm, the party, the cover-up.”
“Oh.” Miriam nods solemnly and lets out a sigh. “Well, it was a really great disguise.” Her tone lacks any color.
Still standing in her foyer, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But more than anything, I’m sorry that Jeremy turned out to be so unworthy of you. No woman deserves to be misled and used in such a manner. Especially you, Miriam.”
She looks up at me, her eyes glassy. “Do you really mean that, Michael?”
“Of course.”
“Then why do I sense something’s wrong?” Her tone is soft and vulnerable. “You’ve hardly looked at me since Blackpool.”
I do not want to tell her what I’m thinking because I do not know if it is real. Does she have something inside her that attracts me subconsciously, or am I in love with her? Does it even matter? All I know is that telling her the truth will hurt her, and for what? It could be complete bullcrap.
“I am simply overwhelmed by the puzzling situation,” I say. “I do not see a good way through this.”
“Is that why you’re not making a real plan?” she asks. “Or is there another reason?”
“What do you mean? I have a plan. Retreat.”
“All right. Let me rephrase. Are you unable to take the bull by the horns because you’re too afraid something will happen to me?”
I look down at my shoes, giving it some thought. “Yes. Perhaps so.” Fear is like a cancer to a clear mind. It blocks you from seeing the truth and taking action. It is poison.
“I see.” She bobs her head. “So I’m holding you back.”
“I do not view it that way. You are in this mess because of me, and it is my duty to keep you safe.”
She shakes her head in disagreement. “If you didn’t have to worry about protecting me, you’d probably be off right now hunting down these evil vampires instead of wanting to go into hiding. Yes or no?”
I nod but do not speak.
“Wow. Okay.” She whistles out a breath. “Then I need to find a really safe place so you can get to work.”
“I am not sure there is one.” And I do not like the idea of Miriam leaving my side.
“I inherited my parents’ cabin. It’s two hours north of here in Flagstaff. My mother used to go up there a lot in the summers to escape the heat.”
“If there are public records, anyone can find it.” Her family also owned a hacienda about an hour south of the city. I believe Miriam put it up for sale recently to help pay taxes on her home since her library doesn’t bring in much money—just the occasional book sale or two. That said, when Jeremy and his boss took Miriam after that auction, we tracked them down to her hacienda by using public records.
“But the cabin is still in my mother’s maiden name,” she argues. “She inherited the property from my grandparents before she met my father. It wouldn’t be so easy to trace back to me.”
That does make sense. “I think you would be safe, at least for a few days. I can take you there now.” I only wish I could send someone I trust with her, but there is no one.
“Great. Let’s go get my ring. I’ll also grab a few supplies from the kitchen.”
We pass through Miriam’s enormous skating-rink-sized living room and take a set of spiral stairs into the basement. There are several doors, likely utility closets, lining the long hallway.
We arrive to a solid-looking door with a keypad. Here it is. The infamous vault. She’s hinted at the many book treasures down here, and I am a sucker for such things.
She punches in some numbers, and the lock pops. With a push, we’re inside another hallway, but this one is lined with glass cabinets.
“I keep some of our more valuable things in this temperature-controlled room,” she says, “but the priceless stuff is in there.” She jerks her head at the next door. It is a shiny stainless steel thing with another keypad. There’s also a speakeasy with a grille in the middle.
“What is the small window for?” I ask.
“Oh, I got locked inside once. That big door can only be opened from the outside—keeps anyone who goes in from getting back out with the loot.”
“Then how does one leave if the door closes?”
“Just don’t close the door.”
Strange. She just mentioned she had the window installed to assist her in escaping should she become locked inside. There must be another way to get out. A voice-activated lock release perhaps.
We enter the brightly lit room, and my man-knickers hit the floor. “Jesus.” I stand there looking at shelf after shelf of books, musical instruments, and other items, all labeled and sealed in clear plastic.
“We have autographed fir
st editions of Austen, Twain, Tolstoy, and a bunch of others. We even have the wax mold from Elvis’s first record.”
“Amazing.” I stroll the narrow passage, having to duck. The ceiling is low with industrial lighting every ten feet. “It is your very own Smithsonian down here.”
“Well, my great-great-grandfather inherited a bunch of stuff from his great-aunt, and from there, the collection just kept growing. Someday, I’d like to open a museum. It’s just that getting donors would be a full-time job.”
“I think I might know a few people who would gladly contribute.” Vampires are fairly big on preserving history, since we are preserved history.
I lean down and look at a large sheet of yellowed paper sealed inside a pane of glass. “Is that Shakespeare?”
There is no reply.
I look over my shoulder and do not see Miriam.
“Miriam?”
She does not reply.
“Miriam!” Oh crap. The door is closed. I rush to it and open the little window.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” Miriam is standing just on the other side, throwing a crossbow over her shoulder. “I wasn’t completely honest with you about who I am either.” She turns and marches for the outer door.
What the fuck! “Miriam! Where the hell are you going with that crossbow? Come back here!”
Her reply is the thud of that outer steel door.
“Jesus Christ. I think she is a vampire hunter.” Could my life possibly turn into a bigger cliché? Or an overworked storyline from the CW?
I bang my forehead against the vault’s door. “Stupid. Stupid vampire.” How did I fall into this trap?
Maybe because I truly do love her.
After an hour of yelling every phrase I can think of—Abracadabra! Shazam! Fanged Love! Zorro is a sexy masked man!—through the tiny window at the alarm system, I give it a rest. I cannot believe she tricked me like this. And I’m not speaking of being locked in here. It is her secret identity that shocks me most.
But now it’s all making sense—her frumpy little unassuming outfits, her Clark Kent clumsy ways, and her really smoking hot body. And then she hides it all in those ugly tattered sweaters.
Dammit, Vanderhorst. She pulled the bookworm wool right over my eyes. As for my attraction to her, now I’m convinced there is something more to it.
I stroll through the aisles of books and cultural memorabilia. Most of the items are sealed inside airtight bags or encased in glass, but toward the back, on the very top shelf, is a set of twenty or so leather-bound books with dates ranging back almost three hundred years. The word Murphy is embossed in gold on their spines.
I pluck the first one off and start thumbing through the pages. Names, dates of birth, and family information such as the names of parents, siblings, children, and spouses are listed here. It is a very detailed family history.
“What is this?” On the last page of the chapter are notes.
Territory: Midwest
Leader: Randolph Morris
Coven Size: 64
The text goes on to describe observations about the coven—any bad apples who committed murders, notes about conversations with the leader, and the date of the kill.
What is this?
I go through several more chapters and note the same sorts of information.
I cannot believe this. I go to the last book in the series and find Miriam’s parents listed. Or should I say…Miriam’s mother. Mildred Murphy.
Territory: Arizona
Leader: Mr. Aspen
Size of Coven: 782
The notes go on to say that Mr. Aspen, who I replaced as leader here in Arizona, was a threat and linked to numerous murders, several forced conversions to vampirism, vampire enslavement, drug trafficking, and “other illicit activities that appear to be undermining our laws.”
Our laws? Our? I scratch my chin and think. They aren’t vampire hunters. They are a vampire police of sorts? But the “our” could signify they belong to a group of their own or…
I scan the nearby shelves. “Bingo.”
The book is unmarked but sitting with the rest. I read through it, and my knees weaken. Clive. Clive did this? Page after page details how he formed a secret alliance with several human families, the Murphys being one, and the others are unknown to them for their own protection. The rest of the book outlines the terms of this alliance with the Murphys—their silence can never be broken, they must only kill vampires who are agreed upon by both parties as a threat, and if something should ever happen to Clive or if order among his kind is abandoned, the Murphys must hunt down and kill every last vampire. The book lists several effective defenses and ways to track us.
“I do not believe this.” Clive secretly set up his own human militia. He wanted them to be prepared in case we lost the Great War.
Sneaky SOB.
I continue reading the rules of engagement. They can never disclose to a vampire what they know, who they know, or anything having to do with this alliance. And…
Each member, upon their eighteenth birthday, will be given a drop of Clive’s blood. The pages say that to have his powerful blood, the blood of an original vampire, even in the minutest amount, would create a connection to him. The connection would not be detectable in their scent or alter the person in any way, but a drop of his powerful blood would cause a vampire to “let down his or her guard” and perhaps feel an affinity, given that original vampires are like the parents of us all.
Jesus. So that’s it. There really is an attractant in Miriam’s blood. And Nice, for example, had a deep love for Clive. They were good friends for centuries. It would explain Nice’s insatiable attraction toward Miriam. He’s drawn to Clive’s blood.
As for me, I am unsure if this explains the entirety of my feelings for Miriam. Yes, Clive was my maker and I had a strong bond with him, but what exists between me and Miriam goes beyond merely feeling drawn to her. I would do anything to keep her safe and ensure she lives a long happy life. Yes, I desire her too, but my feelings are selfless not selfish.
I shake my head. I cannot believe any of this. Including the fact that she and her family have been helping Clive police our kind. They are an insurance policy in case anything ever happened to our own checks and balances, such as our side losing the Great War or the old guard taking over. Just as we are seeing now.
Once again, I am dumbfounded, yet unsurprised. It makes perfect sense. Clive believed that God made vampires for a reason: to protect this world, not prey upon the innocent.
Several hours later, I have read almost three hundred years of Murphy history. I almost feel ashamed that I have lived this long and knew Clive so well, yet I never suspected he had formed an alliance with several groups of humans.
I’ll say this for Miriam; she puts on a very believable act. I do not doubt that her life was in jeopardy all the times I saved her. I do not doubt she has feelings for me. But to have the ability to pretend that you are someone else completely? A weak, mousy, clumsy librarian? Damn, girl. You could be a vampire. She is just that good at living a double life.
As for why she decided to lock me up down here, I do not know, and I am furious.
“Michael!” Footsteps thump across the floor above.
Miriam…I snarl to myself and place the last book back on the shelf. I get to the tiny speakeasy window just as she comes through that first door.
“Michael. Ohmygod.” Miriam’s face is covered in dirt and sweat, and her white blouse is torn. “You’re not going to believe what I found.”
I narrow my eyes. “A very angry vampire locked in a vault?”
“No. Something that actually scares me.” She holds up her phone to display a photograph. “Lula.”
I home in on the face in the picture. Lula is standing with a group of men surrounding her. They are all dressed in camo pants and dark shirts. She appears to be barking at them.
“Where was this taken?” I ask.
“The parking lot just outside my library. Micha
el, she was in on it the entire time.”
“This cannot be.”
Miriam closes in. “I’ve just spent the last two hours climbing—and perhaps falling a few times—in trees, doing nothing but taking pictures of her and some other guys coordinating thousands of men who are coming out of the ground like ants during a flood.”
This is bad. Very bad. “Let me out of here,” I command.
“Do you promise not to yell at me for locking you in the vault?” She smiles awkwardly.
“No.”
She shrugs. “Fair enough.” She looks at the alarm console on the wall. “I want to lick Mr. Darcy.”
The vault door pops open.
“I knew it!” I shake a finger at her. “I knew you had some silly romance-related code phrase.”
“I change it every week. Sometimes it’s sci-fi or history related.”
“Awesome. Do not care.” I step out of the vault. “Why did you lock me in there?” I ball my hands into tight fists. Not that I would ever harm her, but my rage needs to go somewhere, and there are too many precious items in this room.
“I’m sorry, Michael. Well…actually, no. No, I’m not.” She lifts her chin. “I’m breaking every rule in the book by exposing myself to you. You did read the books, didn’t you?”
“Of course. They are books and the only things not wrapped up in plastic. What sort of man would I be if I did not read them? But what sort of woman goes around parading as a librarian and killing vampires by night.”
“Whoa! I have never killed anyone. And I really am a librarian.”
“Then explain the frumpy clothes with a Buffy body.”
“Wow.” She holds up her index finger. “A, thank you for the compliment on my body. I try very hard to keep in shape.” She holds up two fingers. “B, how dare you fashion-shame me. I might live in a mansion and own millions of dollars’ worth of books, but that doesn’t mean I’m materialistic or have money to throw away on designer clothes.”
“Who said anything about designer? The clearance section bin at Target would be an improvement, and I know this because that’s where I buy all of my crappy teenware. If you really wanted to do your body justice, might I suggest some tiny black leather shorts?”
The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 3 Page 13