I stroke Lula’s soft blonde hair away from her pale face, and her brown eyes flutter open.
“Cowboy Frank,” she mumbles. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see that stupid wig again.”
“Hopefully, it’s his last appearance ever.” I lay down at Lula’s side and hold her to me. I came so close to losing her, and now I’m wondering what would have become of me if I hadn’t gotten to her in time. She means more to me than family and friend combined, yet I know there will be choices ahead, and they won’t be easy.
“Vanderhorst?”
After helping Lula partially rehydrate, the bedroom door finally opens, and it is my old friend Alexander—thinly built, lethal to the bone, and disciplined like no man I’ve ever known. He once worked for me—profession #2—but now leads the council’s guards.
“How is she?” he asks, his dark eyes intense and his medium-length hair disheveled. His black shirt is torn on the shoulder and his matching pants are covered with mud. I imagine it’s because he killed a bunch of Aspen’s men outside. They likely weren’t too thrilled about it.
“Gaining some living color,” I say. “I think she might heal faster if we were able to get her fed.”
He nods. “Let me see if there are any humans left.”
I lower my head and remind myself that these dinner guests paid millions to drain Lula and kill her. I could tell myself they didn’t know the donor vampire would die, but that would be naïve. Aspen made it clear that the supply was unique and limited. Even so, they know about us now. And who knows how many Aspen already turned successfully. It’s a mess that will take years to clean up.
“Thank you, Alexander.”
“No problem.” He pulls out the radio that’s clipped to his belt. “Hey, Martin. Lula needs to eat. Anyone left?”
“Yes, sir. Be right up,” he replies.
Alexander looks at me. “Mr. Nice is downstairs. He wants to see you.”
For the record, Mr. Nice is not “nice.” He is the antithesis of the adjective, the name short for Nicephorus, which is the Greek bastardization of Nikephoros. Rumor has it that he was a Byzantine general, born around the 800s. The man now sits on the council and is quite possibly the scariest vampire I have ever met.
I release a breath and then look at Lula.
“Do not worry, Vanderhorst, I will watch over her,” Alexander says.
I sigh. “Thank you. I will be back shortly.”
“Guard your nuts. Nice is in one of his moods.” He chuckles.
I groan. On a good day, Nice gives one the urge to piss himself. On a bad day, most of us would prefer to commit seppuku rather than face him.
I make my way down the hall just as one of the guards is bringing up a man who was a guest at the Lula slaughter-fest.
“Suck me, you leechy SOB!” the man yells, fighting the guard’s grip. “Do you know who I am? I’ll have your job for this.”
I shake my head and remove my wig and temporary facial features. I would say something about the man’s punishment being unfair, despite his stupidity, but since when is anything in this world fair?
Well, except for me. I am quite fair.
“Vanderhorrrrthsst!” Nice yells as I come down the stairs. “Ah, there choo are!”
To this day, I’ve yet to fully get his accent. He is supposed to be Greek, but he speaks like a Spaniard without front teeth. The Spanish are known for prolific lisping. So, yeah. It is just plain weird. That, and Nice looks like a throwback from an ’80s goth band, complete with a tall wiry frame, deathly pale face, too-tight leather pants, and a black shirt with a ruffled collar and poufy sleeves. The rule of thumb is that we must play the part of our human cover stories, but I cannot imagine any story that explains him. He is just that bizarre.
And frightening.
“Mr. Nice.” I bow. “Thank you again for bringing your men and coming to my aid so promptly.”
“No. Sank you! Diss Aspen is a disgrace to our kind.”
As he speaks, my eyes dart around the room. There is no blood, bodies, or evidence of any struggle. As I said, vampire justice is swift, and remarkably clean.
“Der is just one problem,” he says, slamming his fist into his palm. “Diss mudderfooker, Aspen, got away!”
I feel my cold blood pool in my feet. “Is Miriam all right?”
“No! She has escaped wit’ him and his son, Jeremy.”
“But how? How’s that possible?”
He flicks a wrist in the air. “Who knows?”
Part of me is extremely suspicious. This place was surrounded. To escape the clutches of the council’s guards would require either a very stealthy escape plan or allies. Or both.
That means I’m back to not knowing who to trust.
“What direction did they head?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Who knows?”
“What about the assistant, Viviana? Where is she?” I ask.
“Being interrogated now, but she claims she does not know where diss Aspen hath gone—I asked her myself.”
If Nice asked and she did not answer, she either does not know or she is not going to talk. Because if he cannot pry information from a vampire, no one can.
Then there are no leads to find Miriam. I run my hands through my matted-down hair—flat from wearing a hat and wig all night. I wonder if I can track her via our bond. It’s something I’ve never done before, but there are no other options.
I let out a long, tired breath. I need to go somewhere quiet to help me focus on Miriam and only Miriam.
I look at Nice. “I must go. May I leave Lula in Alexander’s care until I return?”
His dark, scary-as-hell eyes drill into me, triggering a shiver. Christ, he truly is terrifying.
“And verrr do you think you’re going, eh?” One evil eye twitches.
“The library.”
His ominous eyes light up. “Oh. I will come with choo. I want to check out Dr. Phil’s latest book.”
My face contorts, and I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly.
Nice shrugs. “You are never too old for self-improvement.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
With Nice in tow, I grab the keys to my Ferrari from the valet kiosk still outside and rush to my sporty rental. I risk a ticket, driving as fast as I can to Miriam’s library in downtown Phoenix twelve miles away. It is almost midnight, and the evening has been a blur, though the acerbic sensation in my gut is a solid reminder of just how horrible this night has been.
Bluntly put, I am still unable to believe that Aspen thought he could get away with selling immortality like it was a luxury condo. As for how Bob Kline or the Carlitos crime family became involved in all this, finding those answers will have to wait because the only thing that matters is retrieving Miriam—alive.
I pull up in front of the library and hop out. “The front door is locked,” I yell to Nice, running for the building, “but there’s a window on the second floor we can get in through.” No, we do not fly, but most of us can climb.
“Nice is not a monkey.” He raises his hand and blows open the front door.
I stop in my tracks. “Can Nice teach me that trick?”
“Nice cannot.”
All right. And we are also now referring to him in the third person. As I said, he defies all definitions of weird.
I run into the library and stop in the middle of the enormous, three-story room. Nice heads to the children’s section.
As I stand in Miriam’s library, inhaling her sweet scent, I feel her all around me, touching every corner of the room. Miriam’s essence infuses every book, every piece of furniture. She cares for everything here like a piece of her own heart, and it is the one place I know is connected to her. This is her home, and I felt it the first time we met.
I close my eyes and drink it all in, seeing her in my mind with a thick leather-bound book cradled in her small hand as she carefully turns the page. Perhaps it is a copy of Robinson Crusoe or Tarzan of the Apes.
No. The Mark of Zorro. I see her drawn to a classic romantic adventure. One with a nobleman fighting for justice. My librarian loves escaping into another place where good always triumphs and justice prevails. She has lost so much in her life that she longs for a world that makes sense, where death has its purpose.
While these are all just guesses and thoughts swimming in my mind—perhaps real, perhaps not—they make her come alive before me like a mirage. I see her sitting on the red couch in the center of the room, her lopsided blonde ponytail about to come undone and a pair of thick glasses perched on her perky little nose. I see her wide brown eyes moving over the sentences, drinking in the words.
I am there with her, watching, feeling her mind spark with delight and her emotions running wild with the story.
“What are you staring at?” she mumbles, turning to the next page.
“Nothing. I simply enjoy seeing you devour a book. It’s quite entertaining.”
Without lifting her eyes from the page, she smiles. “Stop being creepy and get back to work.”
As my mind plays out this imaginary scene, I begin to drift in search of her. She’s out there. She is alive. She feels confusion and betrayal, though she is not afraid.
But I am. I could not be more fearful that they will hurt her.
My mind drifts like a leaf in the night wind, and I pray for anything that will tell me where Aspen has taken her—a smell, a sound, a specific emotion, or even an image.
Suddenly, I am no longer here in the library, but walking in the dark desert, the crunch of gravel and dirt beneath my feet. I look up, and the sky is bursting with stars. Someone is walking beside me though I cannot see their face. Why are those people after us? I wonder. Who are they?
Dear God, are these Miriam’s thoughts? I cannot tell if this is real. But when I see a pale hand reaching out, pushing on an old wooden gate—
Something smacks me in the face.
“Vutt are you doing?” Nice barks from across the library, seated in Miriam’s story-time throne.
I look down, and there’s a Dr. Phil book lying at my feet.
“Did you just throw that at me?” I ask.
“Yes. I am bored. That book is like his last one. Nothing new.” Nice flicks his wrist.
“Well, I’m sure there are other things to read. This is a library,” I say, trying to mask a snarl. He broke my connection, and who knows if I’ll be able to get it back.
“I am over a thousand years old,” he yawns, “and I have read everything here. Take me back to zat house and my men. I weesh to go.”
Nobody says no to Nice if they want to live, but time is of the essence. Miriam cannot be far, and Aspen may choose to get rid of her for no other reason than to lighten his load on the run. Or if he gets hungry.
“I have a book you might like. I shall return in a moment.” I rush through the double doors in the back, to Miriam’s office, going straight for her messy desk—Blech! I must clean this for her! I slide open the drawer, grab the book, and hurry back to Nice.
“Here.” I hold it out.
Nice’s predatory, dark eyes look down at the paperback in my hand. “What is that?”
“A vampire romance.” I shake the thing at him. “The librarian’s copy. She happens to have excellent taste in books.”
He stares for a long moment as if contemplating removing my scrotum. “Okay.” He shrugs and takes it.
I release a sigh, this time going back to Miriam’s office. Though the dust and clutter offend my OCD vampire senses, I believe it may help me return to her.
I leave the lights off and sit at her desk. I feel her all around me—her essence, her love of everything in this room. Come on, Miriam, I think. Where are you? Tell me where? I get nothing and start to panic.
No. Dammit. No. What if I am too late?
“I loved it! Where is di next one?” Nice is staring at me from the dark doorway.
I open my eyes. “Sorry, sir?”
“Zi book! Fanged Love part two—Two Fangs are Better Than One! Where is it?” He sighs contentedly. “Zi first book is so touching… She loves him. He loves her blood. Then he shows her his fangs and she rejects him, so he kills her.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, but it does not end there. There iz a cliffhanger! Where is di next one?” Suddenly Nice is standing in front of me, gripping me by the front of my cowboy shirt.
I hold up my hands. “Let me look.”
“Make it snappy, Vanderhorrssthsst!”
I slide open her top desk drawer but don’t see anything besides some snack bars and office supplies. I go for the large bottom drawer, and there is another book. I’m praying it is the sequel to Fanged Love because my night is about to get much worse if it is not.
As I am grabbing the book, I notice a framed photo beneath it. Even in the dark, I can see it is of Miriam and two other people.
“Aha!” Nice snatches the book from my hand and zips from the room. I dart to the doorway and flip on the light switch next to it. In my hand is a photo of Miriam and her parents. She has her mother’s sweet oval face but her father’s blond hair. The three are standing together in front of a house with a red tile roof that looks like a hacienda with a wooden gate.
This is it. This is where she went. It’s a place us vampires wouldn’t think to look because it doesn’t belong to Aspen, and no one, not ever, looks to a human for sanctuary.
I rush back into the main section of the library and go to the computers. I take the first one and jiggle the mouse to wake up the screen.
I stare anxiously at the little spinning donut. “Come on. Come on…” It has been years since I worked for Clive, but he taught me that when looking for people (or fugitive vampires) always start with the family’s assets. Then to go to friends, coworkers, lovers, and so on. “Someone always has a cabin, beach house, or something that makes a good place to hide out,” he’d said. There’s even a national database that compiles public records from every state.
The page pops up, and I enter Clive’s old password and ID. “Please work.” The search page appears. Thank you! I enter Miriam’s full name and the state, overjoyed to see several listings appear.
The library. The address for her house… “She has a cabin in Alaska?” I will have to see if she rents it out. Focus, Michael. Focus.
I scan the list, noting several properties that appear to be investments, like a condo and a small bookstore, but no hacienda.
Wait. There is a parcel of land, fifty acres, an hour southwest of here. This has to be it. They built on it. And it’s the perfect place for Aspen to lie low while he figures out what to do.
I take a deep breath, praying that Miriam is all right and the reason I cannot connect with her is because I’m simply new to all this.
“Can you believe diss woman!” Nice yells, suddenly appearing at my side. “Another cliffhanger. I will find diss writer woman and compel her to finish di damn story!”
“Sorry, sir?”
He holds up Fanged Love two. “Look at di note! It says the next part doesn’t come until next year! The writer must be turned so I can command her to write faster.”
I crinkle my nose. Nice is mad. Genuinely mad. And apparently he’s a closet romance fan. Who knew?
“I may have found something to dull the pain of having to wait for your next book fix.” I point to the screen. “I found Aspen.”
“Not nearly as interesting,” Nice says blandly. “But I suppose I must occupy my endless existence with something.”
“Sir, I just want your continued word that no one will harm the librarian.”
His dark, evil eyes narrow. “She is an ally of Aspen. Why would I spare her?”
“She’s merely an innocent human who’s been dragged into all this.”
“And you know this because…?”
I cannot tell him that I gave her my blood. I do not know the repercussions. On the other hand, if I lie, he is too ancient, too powerful. He might know. And he’s in a really b
ad mood because of that cliffhanger.
I have to risk saying something. “I believe she might be my…” I search for the perfect words, something that will sway his decision in my favor. “I think she might be my fanged love.”
His eyes widen. “You will petition to turn her?” he asks. “You? Michael Vanderhorsssthst?” He starts to laugh, doubling over.
I honestly have no idea why.
He points to my face, trying to speak, but is unable to form a single coherent word.
“Sir?” I say.
“You! You…”
“No disrespect, but the clock is ticking, and I must go before they harm her.” If they haven’t already.
He stands up again, stifling a chuckle. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell di other council members.”
“What is so amusing, if you do not mind me asking?”
“That the coldest, deadliest, most unfeeling vampire to ever walk the earth has a crush on…a librarian!” He bursts out laughing.
I am beyond lost. “I am not cold or unfeeling, and my deadly track record certainly doesn’t compare to yours, sir—with all due respect.”
He breathes deeply and then shakes his head. “Vampires have nightmares about you, Vanderhorsssthst. If our kind had children, they would tell them stories of choo to keep them in line.”
I haven’t a clue what he means. Yes, I’ve killed. Yes, I’ve done things I am not proud of. But my past certainly doesn’t warrant the reputation he claims I have.
“Fine. I’m a cutthroat, right bastard,” I say. “Can I have your word that no one will harm her?”
He stares for the longest moment. “Then why have choo not petitioned to turn her, eh?”
He knows that the council almost always grants each vampire at least one turn. Most ask for their soul mate or spouse if still alive. As for his question, the answer is simple. I would not wish this life on my worst enemy. Miriam is living the life she was meant to.
“She is perfect as she is,” I say.
“She is dating Aspen’s son—so I say not perfect!” He whips his hand through the air, and I know from centuries of “Niceties” that disagreeing with him only leads to decapitation.