The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 5

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  I tighten my grip on Stella’s hand. Now that I have my soul back, I know how much Viviana has suffered being separated from her family. My chest fills with warmth. “Viviana gets to be a mother again,” I whisper to Stella, who nods but doesn’t seem to understand how big this moment is.

  Freddy looks down at Viviana, no emotion in his eyes.

  Such a great actor, this guy! We really should have vampire Oscars.

  “Everyone,” he says, “Viviana is one of the traitors who helped Cluentius Boethius on his mission to send us all back to the Dark Ages. However, I know this woman personally. She served under me once, and I believe she is a good person, but a horrible vampire. Therefore, I have decided that she is about to get her old life back.”

  King Freddy gives the nod, and one of the guards forces a dropper into her mouth. She struggles. I know it is because she does not believe him.

  Vivian collapses. The vampires around her exchange glances and then start to sniff.

  That’s right, people, the Executioner is now the Ex-Vampirer. You’re welcome, I think proudly.

  “Come. Time for us to go.” My work here is done. I turn to leave with Stella in my arms.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?” Stella asks.

  “Freddy,” I correct her. “And I’m not sure, really.” Everything I own—four centuries of books and wealth—all belongs to my brother now. And, somehow, I do not care. It is a bit ironic, coming from a man who suddenly found his ability to care again. But making love to Miriam did not just change me back to who I was. It gave me clarity.

  With each of our lives, there are bookends. In between are stories, chapters, and pages comprised of events, some of which are out of our control. But what we do control is how we spin the yarn of our stories. We can fill our narratives with empty words and lies, or we can fill them with adventures and truth. But make no mistake, they are our pages to fill. Even if a villain—or a vampire or two—injects dark, unexpected plot twists into our lives, we still get to decide what to do with it.

  And what story will rise from the ashes of my own personal plot twists? For me, a four-hundred-year-old vampire, it is one single truth: I have seen rape, murder, massacres, births, and acts of extreme heroism that defied all odds. But not one of those, in my humble opinion, has truly marked my soul as deeply as the acts of love I’ve received.

  My maker, for all his shortcomings and betrayals, was there for me when no one else cared whether I lived or died. He turned me because he loved me.

  Alex, despite being a daft prick I should have executed the moment he crossed me, threw himself in front of dozens of swords to save my neck during the Great War. He loved me like a brother.

  Lula, that big horny slut, never ceases to seek redemption for her wrongdoings, no matter how many times she screws up. It is love that drives her to never give up becoming a better person.

  My librarian…well, she has captured my heart for no other reason than she is, and always will be, unapologetically herself. A librarian. Who loves her books and this world. I believe that in a time filled with so much noise and hate, her genuine nature means something. Especially to a very, very old vampire like myself. She has taught me about being brave. She has taught me the true meaning of love—that it is more than a simple feeling—and she has shown me that the only real home I have ever really known is a big ugly-as-hell gray building in the world’s hottest, most inhospitable place on earth. It is filled with grimy, nasty books I cannot stop missing, because when I look at them, I see her.

  “Well, first,” I say to Stella, “I’m getting you some ice cream. And then you and me? We’re going to Target, and I’m going to buy you new clothes, toys and—”

  “And books?” she asks hopefully.

  “Yes, my princess. All the books you could ever want.” I am no longer a man of means, since I gave most of my money to Freddy. However, with careful planning, I can make the two million dollars in cash I kept stretch far. Back on a meager budget. I have survived it before. I will survive it again.

  “Are we going to get Mommy back?” Stella asks.

  “Yes. I must figure out how first. Your grandma is a very sad and lonely lady, so she wants to keep your mommy all to herself.”

  “You should make her a vampire,” Stella says. “Then she could be like us and have lots of vampire friends.”

  I try not to laugh. “I had the same thought myself.” I won’t turn Granny, of course. But I do need to figure out something. I believe, with all my heart, if I am given a chance to spend time with Miriam, she will remember us. If I have learned anything after all she and I have been through, it is that we will always find our way back to each other. I simply do not know what to do about her grandmother.

  I will come up with something.

  Stella and I pass through the ice-cream shop in the lobby. I buy her a scoop of vanilla with O-negative swirls and rainbow sprinkles. She seems to love it. Maybe I will open more shops. Human flavors in the front of the store and vampire flavors in the back. Profession #11? Ice-cream mogul. Or ice-cream king? I do like the ring of it.

  Stella and I are almost to the rotating front doors with heavily armed guards on each side, when I hear a baby screaming.

  I stop because the father in me cannot help it.

  Most everyone is still in the great hall, so there are only a few vampires about in the lobby. Most are texting and speaking frantically on their phones about the news. No one seems to notice the sound.

  I stop, turn, and follow the noise to the coat closet door. I push, and it creaks open. Empty hangers and racks frame the five-by-five space, where a helpless and incredibly pale baby is crying so hard, its face is red and covered in hot tears that stream down its face.

  “Baby Nice?” Freddy said he gave him to a vampire couple who promised to keep him for a few weeks, just to ensure he did not exhibit any unusual signs of side effects from the serum. Then they were to hand him over to a human adoption agency.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Stella asks, licking away on her cone.

  “I do not know.” But there is a note tucked into his blanket: Sorry. But he won’t stop crying. We have tried stories, lace diapers, rocking him, cookies, and classical music. Nothing works. Good luck.

  “How about some baby formula, you morons,” I grumble. I cannot believe they simply dumped him here in a closet. I will have to ask Freddy who these individuals were.

  “Daddy, why won’t he stop crying?” Stella asks.

  “Baby Nice is just hungry. He’ll be all right.” I scoop up the damp, angry bundle and look into his eyes. There is a moment where he pauses his wailing, and I wonder if somewhere deep inside he remembers me.

  Don’t get so attached, you little bastard. I am not raising you. He’s getting fed and dropped off at the nearest orphanage. I do not care if there are side effects. Or how cute he is.

  “Come, Stella, we have much to do…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Miriam

  Two Months Later.

  I can’t make sense of much these days. Not what’s happened to me, not how I found the entire front of my library blown off, and not how empty my heart feels. There’s a void inside me that’s so big and so deep, even the Grand Canyon pales in comparison.

  Doesn’t help that my grandmother disappeared again, too, only to be found a few weeks ago inside the freezer of an ice-cream truck in Miami. The police said there was a note pinned to her sweater that read: We’re even now. You’re welcome. –L & A

  I just don’t get it. How did she end up there? Who are L & A? What did the note mean? To be honest, my grandma and I were never really close. Growing up, she treated me like one of her Keeper soldiers rather than a granddaughter. Then she would run off on a vampire-hunting mission and disappear for months at a time. I hadn’t seen her in years and thought she was dead. Which is why it shocked me to wake up in my house, completely disoriented, to find her ranting about building a new Keeper army to end vampires once and
for all. It pains me to think she died, never truly loving anyone or knowing peace because all she thought about was kill, kill, kill!

  What a waste. I shake my head and get to covering one of the shelving units that wasn’t damaged toward the back of my library. As for my books, the smoke and firehoses did quite a number. The insurance money will replace most of what was lost, but some of the books are out of print. You just can’t buy them anymore.

  One step at a time, Mir. That’s all you can do. Tomorrow, the construction crew comes in to demo the front of the library and rebuild what was lost in the gas-leak explosion. I still don’t get how it happened, but the city assured me it was an unfortunate fluke, having to do with an old gas line.

  “Hello?” a man calls out from the back of the library.

  I turn and see a tall guy with thick brown hair. He’s about twenty and wearing a baby sling across his chest. He has a beautiful little blonde girl in tow. I try to ignore how freakin’ gorgeous the man is, because obviously he’s taken. But wow.

  Wait. Is that infant dressed in a black leather onesie? Baby fashion is so weird.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “but as you can see, we’re closed. There’s another wonderful library across town. Just go left out of the parking lot and—”

  “We are not here to check out books,” he says in a deep voice that commands attention.

  “No? Then what can I do for you?” It’s odd, but as I stand there staring at him and his adorable children, I feel an itch in the back of my mind, like I know him from somewhere. I just can’t place it. But then again, everything has been a blur these past two months.

  When I woke, my agitated grandma said I hit my head and was in a coma for a while. I dreamed I woke up in a lab, surrounded by vampires, but she said it never happened. Anyway, after the heavy mental fog cleared a few days later, she went to the store and never came back.

  At first I thought she was upset because after her rant about building an army, I’d told her I didn’t want to be a Keeper anymore. She flipped out. All those years, all that training, and I was hanging up my crossbow already? I didn’t want to disappoint her, but being a librarian is my calling. It’s always been my calling. I just never had the strength to tell her. Or my parents, who, according to her, were off at some retreat in Alaska. I tried to track them down when Granny went missing, and then for the funeral, but it’s like they’ve dropped off the face of the Earth.

  Honestly, I know there’s more to the story. I’m not stupid. So many of the pieces don’t fit, and it’s obviously related to the life they all chose as Keepers. Part of me misses them and worries, but another part is angry. I warned them not to get mixed up with that Clive man. He’s bad news. He’s also the reason I refuse to officially become a Keeper. You’d have to be nuts to work for an evil vampire. Which is why I’ve promised myself I won’t do any digging.

  I won’t ask why huge chunks of my memories are missing and why I look way younger than I remember. I won’t try to avenge my grandmother’s death—she made her choices. And, wherever my parents are, I hope they’re all right, but if they’re not, at least I know they died doing what they believed in. Even if I’m no longer a Keeper, I still feel that’s what’s most important. You have to spend your time on Earth doing what you believe in.

  Me? I’m a librarian. And if I don’t want to end up like my grandma, I have to put all those mysteries behind me, along with the Keepers.

  Strange, how I feel like I’ve been here before. This place of having to let go and finding the strength to take my own path in life.

  Speaking of odd feelings, I look at the incredibly handsome man and can’t stop feeling a pleasant tingle in my heart.

  He smiles, and the way it touches his eyes takes my breath away.

  “I’m here to apply for the assistant librarian position,” he says. “I’m a single father and need something with a very flexible schedule.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place.” I smile back. “Let me get you an application from my office in the back.” I stretch out my hand. “My name is Miriam Murphy, by the way. Welcome to my library. I could really use an assistant.”

  “I hoped you might say that.”

  THE VAMPIRE END…

  (Resurrection is always possible.)

  But keep reading for a special message from Baby Nice!

  (OR skip GO. Head straight to FANGED LOVE! Yes. The actual book Mr. Nice loves is here!)

  →→→ www.mimijean.net/fangedlove

  MESSAGE FROM BABY NICE

  Waaah!

  Waaah!

  Waaah!

  Just kidding. I may be a baby once more, but I am fully aware of what has become of me. Now, some of you may wonder why I took that serum, and I can only tell you this: When you are an evil con artist and a vampire, one must recognize when you have been checked but not mated. I believe you humans call it a Hail Mary.

  I knew Vanderhorst had bested me. But as I always say: Live to fight another day! Survive to jive another century. Push, push in the bush, to garden one more season.

  In the meantime, Vanderhorst will have to change my shitty diapers, and that hot librarian will soon be holding me close to her bosom when I cry.

  Who’s the winner now, Vanderhorst?

  Me. Baby Nice.

  In twenty or so years, I will find a way to be a vampire once more and make her my fanged love.

  I happen to like older women, but do you, Vanderhorst?

  Time will tell.

  As for you blood bags—I mean, humans—I feel a reward is in order for your patience while I grow big, evil, sexy, and strong once more. I shall instruct this Mimi Jean person to send you signed rectangles bearing a book cover, which shows Gretta and Freddy! Anyone worth their weight in Nice Tea knows that my fanged love, Miriam, would never dress like that. She is all things wholesome.

  STEP ONE: Email her at Mimi@mimijean.net

  STEP TWO: Provide your NICE, neat, and complete shipping info.

  STEP THREE: If you wrote a NICE review for this spectacular story, and you loved it more than bloody ice cream, be sure to provide a link or screenshot. Mimi Jean will do her very best to include extra goodies. It is first ask, first get! So do not cry to me—or maybe do! I love crying!—if she runs out.

  STEP FOUR: Give her about 3–4 weeks.

  Be sure to sign up for her very tacky and scary newsletter so you do not miss out on updates from me, Baby Nice.

  SIGN UP HERE → www.mimijean.net

  With Evil Hugs,

  Baby Nice

  P.S. The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant, Book 5 Playlist! Here on Spotify!

  P.P.S. Book 5 on Pinterest.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A BIG FANGY thank-you to my readers, especially the Mimi Jean Junkies! You don’t know how much I appreciate all of the support and encouragement you give. Your posts about hotties, unicorns, squirrels, and books are like fuel for my soul. Never a dull moment and always smiles to be had.

  Also, I must give the usual accolades for Team Mimi! Su, LD, Pauline, Paul, and Kelli! It’s so, so wonderful to know I can always count on you guys to help me get these books to readers.

  As usual, a big thanks to my dudes and parents. It’s been quite a year for us all, but the challenges we’ve faced are proof of how much we all love each other.

  With Love,

  Mimi

  COMING SOON!

  THE DEAD KING, The King Series #6

  Click here for updates, links, and maybe a cover!

  www.mimijean.net/deadking

  In the meantime, are you caught up?

  EXCERPT – From the USA TODAY Bestselling Book KING’S

  “I am the man who can find anything or anyone. For a price. And my price is you.”

  When Mia Turner’s brother goes missing in Mexico while on an archaeological dig, she believes that life couldn’t get much worse. But when she’s blocked at every turn from finding answers, by both local and US authorities, she must turn to a m
an she swears is the devil.

  Others might be fooled by his private jet, fine tailored suits, and disarming smile, but Mia knows something dark, sinister, and unnatural lurks behind those penetrating pale-gray eyes. And the more she learns, the more she realizes she may never be free again.

  Chapter One

  San Francisco.

  Present Day. 5:57 P.M.

  I squirmed in my tight gray pencil-skirt from behind the antique desk and forced myself to look away.

  Three minutes to go.

  But I didn’t need a clock to tell me that. I knew it. My stomach knew it. And the sweat trickling beneath my fitted white blouse, down the small of my back, knew it.

  Focus on something else, Mia.

  I glanced at the drizzle of rain collecting outside on the office window, but I couldn’t see past the film of dirt. Even if I could, I wouldn’t see clouds or the long-overdue rain. I would only see him. Or, really, the mental ghost of his tailored black suit, jet-black hair, and pale-gray eyes powering through me from the darkened doorway, cautioning me not to speak. That was how he greeted me each evening before he walked directly to his private office and shut the door, leaving behind a subtle trail of delicious cologne. There would be no other exchange between us. His cologne. My nose. Oh yes, I almost forgot. The phone calls.

  At exactly 6:02 p.m., he would call my desk, a mere five feet from his door, and say in that deep, mesmerizing voice that sent prickly chills to my bones, “That will be all, Miss Turner.”

  Those five feet felt like a thousand miles of scorching desert. One I dared not cross. Because while some people might be fooled by the exquisite lines of his handsome face or by his European arrogance that reeked of old money, I was not. I saw right through that rapturous smile. He was a cruel, sadistic son of a bitch. That was the only explanation as to why he kept me waiting like this, day after agonizing day, forcing me to swallow back my bile while the clock ticked away, all sense of hope dying with every breath I took.