The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 5

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “I’m sorry,” he grumbles.

  “Yeah, me too. So now, are you going to tell me where Nice is so I can kill him before he kills me first?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Oh, I know! You want to wait until he’s dusted me so you can say you’re sorry again. Right?”

  “You don’t understand.” He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a hangover fog that’s stuck inside his skull.

  “Then try explaining, because my patience is wearing thin.”

  “Nice isn’t trying to kill you.”

  “I don’t have any other enemies,” I point out.

  “As far as I can tell, Nice has been here in Miami all week. Also, it is not his style to use a bomb. He would not even know the first thing about making one.”

  “He could have bought one and paid someone to leave it at my library.”

  Michael shakes his head. “You and I both know that if Nice wanted you dead, he would kill you with his own two hands.”

  My mind reels. Maybe Michael is telling the truth. “So if Nice wasn’t behind my library explosion, then who?”

  “I do not know. I haven’t had time to look into it. My only concern right now is catching Nice.”

  “Tell me why? Why would you ignore someone trying to blow us up, and me almost getting shot earlier tonight? And you’d better be honest.” I stand and reset the direction of my crossbow at his groin. “What do you want with Nice?”

  He stares but doesn’t speak.

  “Michael…” I growl.

  “Librarian…” he growls back, glaring up at me from his chair.

  “Dammit.” I start pacing across the small room. “You said I’m the love of your existence. And now you can’t even say my name? Or are you just like all the other lying, dirty, lowlife bloodsuckers out there?”

  “I am not dirty. I am very clean, and unlike you, I smell nice.”

  “Funny. Now say my name.” I hold the crossbow firmly in my hand and stand directly in front of him. “And then tell me, the woman you supposedly loved once, why you care more about catching Nice than you do someone trying to kill me. Are you that cold? You’d let our daughter grow up motherless and fatherless?”

  “I-I cannot tell you, Mir—librarian.”

  “Ugh. That’s enough of this game.” I set the crossbow on the small brown table by the window and dig out the Hershey’s bottle from my bag of goodies. I dig out a clean needle.

  “No! Do not do that. I need to capture Nice before he catches wind we’re looking for him. He still has many allies.”

  I fill the syringe and then point it at him. “Tell me what you want him for.”

  We stare each other down for several long moments. I can feel conflict inside him. My guess is he wants to tell me, but isn’t sure he can trust me.

  “Just remember that I have never double-crossed you or stabbed you in the back, unlike other people in your life. But you forgave them over and over again when you shouldn’t have. So why do they deserve second and third and fourth chances, but not me?” He knows I’m talking about Lula and Alex. Even his old assistant, Viviana, from what I hear, betrayed him and acted as a spy for Clive during the Uprising. Michael should have had her executed for that, but he put her in prison instead. “Everyone is shown mercy and forgiveness except me.”

  “Very well,” he grunts. “You made your case. I will grant you this one chance, but understand, librarian, if I tell you, it means you cannot kill Nice. Do I have your agreement?”

  Hell no. There is nothing on this Earth that could be important enough to spare his life. “I will consider delaying my plan to murder him in a very painful way, but that’s it.”

  “Fair enough.” Michael clears his throat, and I instantly know I’m in for a very long explanation, so I retake my seat at the edge of the bed in front of him. “Well, you know I was a bioengineer for a while, yes?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” He mentioned it once.

  Michael goes on to explain that he spent many nights studying his and other vampires’ blood. It led him to a theory he was only able to partially test. “As you’re aware, if a vampire ingests the blood of a more powerful vampire, the weaker vampire gains strength.”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe it is because of the virus that transforms us. The longer it has lived in our bodies, the stronger it becomes. When that older, more potent strain is ingested, it wipes out the weaker one, leaving the vampire with enhanced abilities.”

  “Very interesting. So it’s kind of like survival of the fittest, but the viral version.”

  “Exactly.” Michael nods. “And you’re also aware that our kind does not get ill. I believe the reason is because the virus responsible for changing us has its own immune system, specifically white blood cells called interferons that attack foreign bodies in the blood. It seeks to protect the vampire’s human cells.”

  Michael then goes on to explain that if you were to take the blood of a weak vampire, it degrades almost instantly once outside the body. “But take the blood of a strong, older vampire, that blood will remain stable for several minutes. If I am able to separate out just the white blood cells and then introduce them into a weaker vampire’s system, those white blood cells will attack the virus of the weaker vampire. Just as they do when a weaker vampire ingests the blood of a stronger one. Only, in this case, the stronger form of the virus is left out.”

  “So you’re talking about—”

  “The cure, Miriam. The goddamned cure for vampirism.”

  Wow. What? I have to let that sink in. It’s genius, really. I mean, I don’t know if it would work because I’ve never studied our blood, but Michael has. “So you’re saying you want to make a serum using an older vampire’s immune defenses.”

  “Well, it’s the virus’s immune defenses, but yes. The trick is, I need the blood of a vampire who is strong enough and old enough so that the blood will survive those few precious moments needed to separate out a few white blood cells.”

  This sounds like quite the theory. I wonder if he’s tested it out. “Did you try doing any experiments with your blood on someone younger?”

  “My blood didn’t last long enough—a problem I think I can overcome, but I would still need Nice anyway. He is the oldest vampire we have, and if I’m right, it means I have a cure. For everyone who wants it.”

  “Oh my god. This is incredible.” It hits me that I could be human again.

  “Of course, we would need to test the serum and ensure it works, but with a vampire like Nice, we could make an endless supply of an antidote.”

  My mind starts shooting in a hundred different directions. Something like this could be used to right so many wrongs. I bet tons of vampires never wanted to become what they are.

  “Would you take the serum?” I assume that’s why he wants it.

  Michael looks down at his shiny black shoes. “Too many vampires would wish to remain as they are, and those vampires must be controlled.”

  I see his point, but maybe there’s a solution. That is, if he really wants to be human again.

  “I assume you would want to take the serum?” he asks, a hint of unexpected hope in his voice.

  “Yes. And I’d want Stella to have it, too.”

  “That would not be possible.”

  “Why?” I ask. Not that there’s anything wrong with the way she is, but she might want the choice someday.

  “Because as far as I know, she is the only one of her kind. There would be no way to test it first to be certain it is safe. The virus that makes us is more than a virus. It transforms our bodies, like yeast transforms flour into bread, the culture that turns milk into cheese, the ice that makes a margarita mix into—”

  “I get the point.”

  “Good, because what I am speaking of is reversing vampirism. But the child was born that way, her DNA coming from two sets of parents. So what would she revert back to if she is an original species all her own?”

  It gives me a lot to
think about. I would never want to risk anything happening to her.

  “Now will you give me your word that you will not harm Nice?” Michael asks. “You see how this is bigger than you and me or our need for revenge against him?”

  “If he is safely locked up, I guess I have no choice.”

  “I want your word, librarian. I want you to swear on your child’s life.”

  “Her name is Stella. Why can’t you say it?” I snap.

  He shrugs.

  “Michael,” I growl, “you said you were going to give me a chance and trust me. But how can I trust you if you won’t even say our names? It’s like we are not real to you.”

  “Fine.” He shakes his head. “I cannot seem to make my mouth form the words.”

  “What words?”

  “Your names. There is a barrier inside my mind preventing me.”

  That is really strange. I wonder if this has to do with his other transformation—the one where he lost his soul.

  There’s a knock at the door of our motel room.

  My eyes go wide, and I hold my breath to hear better. No one except the clerk knows we’re here.

  I raise my finger to my mouth and tell Michael to be quiet. I point my crossbow at the door and come up to the side. “Who is it?”

  “Pizza,” says a woman’s voice.

  “Wrong room.”

  “It says right here, Miriam Murphy. That’s you, right?”

  Crap. I dash over to Michael, unlock his chains, grab my goodie bag, and run into the bathroom. The window is very small. There’s no way out.

  “Did you pick this room?” he scowls.

  “I’m sorry. But if you recall, I wasn’t aware we had an assassin after us. I was only thinking about you not getting away.”

  Michael lifts his head toward the ceiling, like he’s praying for patience. Then something seems to catch his attention.

  “Look,” he whispers and points up to a large metal grate.

  The ventilation system. Given what a dump this place is, I bet it leads right into the next bathroom.

  Michael must be making the same assumption. He reaches up with his tall frame and pops off the screws. He helps me up, and I slide in, trying not to notice the half inch of mold and dust caked inside.

  Is that a dead rat? So nasty. I push on the grate leading to the next bathroom and hop onto the tile floor. Luckily, it doesn’t appear anyone is staying here.

  Michael follows closely behind me.

  “What next?” I whisper.

  “Wait until we hear them enter our room; then we’ll slip out this door and run.”

  “To where?” I ask.

  “The Hotel Platano’s penthouse, where Nice is.”

  Hotel Banana? Sounds oddly fitting for Nice.

  He adds, “I have my car parked two blocks north from where I found you near the beach. We’ll make a run for it. After that, we will capture Nice and bring him back to my plane. It’s on standby.”

  “What about that person?” I point to the wall separating us from this assassin.

  “We will have to deal with them another day. We cannot afford to lose Nice. Too much is at stake.”

  I have to admit that seeing this rational, determined side of Michael is refreshing. He’s acting out of his sense of duty and not as a slave to his emotions. But the other part of me really misses his squishy, sweet side too. Sentimental & Sweet Michael was the man who worked tirelessly to keep my library open when I was Nice’s captive. Squishy Michael started building a museum to share my family’s legacy with the world. He was also the man who rocked my world in bed. He gave me Stella.

  We hear the sound of the door being kicked down in our room.

  “Let’s go.” Michael jerks open the door—only to find a short person in a black mask pointing a crossbow right at him. He jumps just as the arrow flies, and it lodges right in his chest.

  “No!” I grab him and run, leaving behind the perpetrator, who smells like White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor—a poor choice of perfume, because while it masked some of the smell, I caught a subtle whiff of their true scent.

  Human.

  Wait. We’re being hunted by a human?

  My mind is far too occupied by the bleeding vampire in my arms to process that. He could dust at any moment.

  “Where do I go, Michael? Where?”

  “Dump our cellphones,” he groans. “They could be using them to track us.”

  Crap. Of course. I don’t have a free arm at the moment, because I’m carrying him like an oversized baby, and he’s a tall, well-built man. As soon as we’re a few blocks away, I set him on the ground behind the dumpster of a taco place.

  “It smells like armpits,” he mumbles.

  “Be quiet,” I whisper and dig out my phone from my jeans. Then I find his cell inside his coat pocket and stomp both devices to smithereens. “There. Done. Okay, let’s get a look at that wound.” I lean down to inspect the hole in his chest. “Oh crap! That arrow is right next to your heart! There’s so much blood.”

  “Thank you. I noticed,” he groans.

  “What do I do?” Blood’s oozing down the front of his white dress shirt and turning to a gray dust that floats away.

  “Pull it out,” he whimpers.

  “But won’t that make it bleed more?” I inspect the arrow. “It’s really deep in there.”

  “It’s poisoned. You have to remove it. Hurry.”

  I know nothing about how to save vampires. My training is in killing them. “Okay. On the count of three. One. Two. Three. Four. Five—crap. I can’t do it.”

  He gives me a pained but confused look.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just, I know it’s going to hurt you and leave a massive hole.”

  “Do it. You must.”

  “Okay…” I grab hold, close my eyes, and pull.

  He cries out, “Miriam!”

  I hold the arrow in my hand and grin. “Well, at least I finally got you to say my name.” If I’d known that shooting him with an arrow was all it took, I would have been all over that.

  I’m about to tell him so, in order to distract him from the pain, when he passes out.

  “Michael?” I slap his cheek. “Michael?” He doesn’t respond.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I leave Michael behind the taqueria dumpster and find an ATM to withdraw three hundred cash. Whoever is after us already knows our general whereabouts, so now it’s a question of falling off the radar. Fast. No credit cards. As for our rental cars, I hope Michael was right when he said the assassin was using our cellphones to find us.

  But who is this human? Why are they after me?

  Mystery?

  Not now!

  I return to Michael behind Ta Bueno Tacos, carry him to his SUV some six blocks away, and head north, praying I find a motel better than the last one.

  But when I pull up to a stoplight and glance at my vampire king in the backseat, his skin’s getting grayer, and there’s a huge bright red stain on the front of his white dress shirt.

  “Crap!” He needs blood. I know he does. But with an injury like his, we’re not talking about a sippy cup or snack bag. From what I know about vampires, Michael is going to need a full meal.

  I pull off the main road and park behind the first strip mall I see. This one has a computer screen repair place, a donut shop, a seedy sports bar named Buuubies, and a pawnshop, which means I have, at best, a forty percent chance of finding a spicy meal for Michael. Spicy being a person who might deserve to die. But how does a vampire really know if the human is good or bad until they’ve sunk their fangs in?

  It’s not like everyone who goes to a pawnshop next to a boobie bar is evil. Sure, the probability goes up a little, but it’s not necessarily an indicator of being vampire food. Legal vampire food. And what if that food deserves a second chance at redemption? Theoretically, people can change, can’t they?

  My merciful thoughts make me realize how little I’m prepared to be a vampire. Vampires eat peop
le. It’s just what they do. But for me, it’s a moral dilemma. Not only the “meal” selection process, but the entire immortal quagmire.

  On one hand, Stella is still growing, and who knows what lies ahead? I need to be there until she doesn’t need me. I want to be there well beyond that, which requires being immortal, or at the very least, living longer than a human. On the other hand, I always believed that what makes life special is how it isn’t endless. You can’t just run to the store and buy another year like you can a gallon of milk. Life is precious.

  I glance over my shoulder at Michael—the man I once loved more than my books, the man who gave me the most beautiful creation on the planet. Stella.

  I sigh with exasperation. His skin grows paler by the second, and his breathing is shallow. I know he’ll die if I don’t hunt down a big dinner.

  I hate this. I’ve been scraping by on “baggies” donated by members of my local coven, the Arizona Society of Sunshine Love. Such a ridiculous cover name. It’s embarrassing. Either way, because of their generosity, I’ve never actually had to kill a person. Tonight, that ends. I have to choose between someone who maybe doesn’t deserve to live so I can save someone who does.

  I’ll never get used to being the judge, jury, and executioner. I chuckle bitterly, realizing that Michael has been filling this role for a very, very long time. He once told me how killing burdened his soul. I thought I understood. Now I’m imagining the weight of deciding if someone lives or dies, and doing it over and over again for four hundred years.

  This night alone will haunt me for the rest of my life no matter what I do, because there is no win-win. I either let Michael die, or I kill a human being. Well, Michael, I guess I get to walk in your shoes for once, don’t I?

  I roll down my car window and sit patiently for over ten minutes, watching several people exit out the back of the bar. Two guys with white aprons take a smoke break.

  Two for one? Nah, they’re working in the kitchen of a dive bar. That can’t be easy or fun.

  Then a woman in high heels and bootie shorts steps out for two minutes to scream at some guy on her cell. Apparently, it’s her kid’s father, and he’s late on child-support payments. Again. She doesn’t know how she’ll make ends meet this month, so now she has to take more shifts.