The Librarian's Vampire Assistant Read online

  I look up and see Miriam on the second floor, standing on top of a tall ladder, reaching to put away a book. She’s wearing a pair of horrible khaki pants and a white golf shirt.

  Dear God, woman. I must take you shopping.

  I’m about to say hello when I see her losing her balance. Suddenly, she’s falling backwards, over the railing, hurtling toward the first floor.

  Crap! There’s no time to think, so I bolt underneath her and extend my arms, catching her just in time.

  “Ooph!” I grunt loudly, trying to make my strength less obvious. I look at Miriam’s face, and her eyes are open, but nobody’s home.

  “Miriam? What happened?” I ask, noting how light she feels in my arms and how petite her body is next to mine. She fits perfectly in my grasp.

  “What…what…” she groans.

  “Ohmygod! Did she just fall?” A woman with a brown ponytail rushes over. I recognize her as one of the mothers from yesterday’s story time.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “But how did you catch her?” the woman questions.

  “I pump iron. Lots of it,” I add, knowing I sound like an idiot.

  WHAT ARE “PEOPLE” SAYING ABOUT THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT?

  “What did I just read? A mystery? A platonic clusterf**k? A vampire novel? Mind blown.”

  – An anonymous Mimi Jean fan

  “Happy ever after? Don’t hold your breath. These characters are completely against the idea, though I’m not giving up hope.”

  – Minky, world’s best pet

  “The ending lacked proper vengeance.”

  – Carlitos Crime Family

  “Vampires are real? Shut the front door!”

  – Miriam, Head Librarian, Phoenix, AZ

  “F**ck love! I’m over it.”

  – Vampire Viviana

  “Mystery. Heartbreak. I’m going to strangle that Michael!”

  – Lula, the Librarian’s Vampire Assistant’s Assistant.

  “Romance is for fools, and love is for the ignorant. I’m a vampire. We live, we take, we exist. Belonging to a respectable family and loyalty are all that matter, but one can hardly call that love.”

  – The Librarian’s Assistant

  OTHER WORKS BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF

  COMING SOON!

  Skinny Pants (Book 3, The Happy Pants Café Series)

  Digging A Hole (Book 3, The Ohellno Series)

  Check (Part 3, Mr. Rook’s Island Series)

  THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

  (Paranormal Romance/Humor)

  Accidentally in Love with…a God? (Book 1)

  Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book 2)

  Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book 3)

  Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)

  Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Book 4)

  Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Book 4.5)

  Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)

  THE FATE BOOK SERIES

  (Standalones/New Adult Suspense/Humor)

  Fate Book

  Fate Book Two

  THE FUGLY SERIES

  (Standalones/Contemporary Romance)

  fugly

  it’s a fugly life

  THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES

  (Standalones/Romantic Comedy)

  The Happy Pants Café (Prequel)

  Tailored for Trouble (Book 1)

  Leather Pants (Book 2)

  Skinny Pants (Book 3) SPRING 2018

  IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC., SERIES

  (Standalones/Paranormal/Humor)

  The Immortal Matchmakers (Book 1)

  Tommaso (Book 2)

  God of Wine (Book 3)

  The Goddess of Forgetfulness (Book 4)

  THE KING SERIES

  (Dark Fantasy)

  King’s (Book 1)

  King for a Day (Book 2)

  King of Me (Book 3)

  Mack (Book 4)

  Ten Club (Series Finale, Book 5)

  THE MERMEN TRILOGY

  (Dark Fantasy)

  Mermen (Book 1)

  MerMadmen (Book 2)

  MerCiless (Book 3)

  MR. ROOK’S ISLAND SERIES

  (Romantic Suspense)

  Mr. Rook (Part 1)

  Pawn (Part 2)

  THE OHELLNO SERIES

  (Standalones/New Adult/Romantic Comedy)

  Smart Tass (Book 1)

  Oh Henry (Book 2)

  THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT

  The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant

  Book 1

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  A Mimi Boutique Novel

  Copyright © 2018 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms (www.earthlycharms.com)

  Creative Editing by Latoya C. Smith (lcsliterary.com)

  Line Editing and Proof Reading by Pauline Nolet (www.paulinenolet.com)

  Formatting by bbebooksthailand.com

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  CONTENTS

  About the Book

  What are “People” Saying about The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant

  Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Important Society Business

  Acknowledgments

  Coming 2018!

  About the Author

  THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” says a blonde at the front of the coffee line, forcing my attention away from the phone in my hand. She’s wearing a rather unattractive red coat and has apparently rammed into a UPS guy carrying a hot cup of tea.

  “Serves him right. Only weak men drink tea,” I growl under my breath and return to my screen.

  My name is Michael Vanderhorst, and I am not usually this grouchy or this close to doing something
terribly unwise—throats torn, heads lopped, appendages removed. Unwise. However, today is quite possibly the worst day of my life, and a silent rage is brewing inside me.

  But let us not start off on the wrong foot. I am actually a nice guy. Some might say I’m a classic gentleman, and they don’t mean I know which fork to use, though I do. They mean gentleman in the true, old-fashioned sense. I open doors for ladies and stand when they rise from the table. I keep my word, pay my debts, and believe in being polite to others, even when they don’t deserve it.

  Do not get the wrong impression. I am no pushover either. I get my hands dirty when the situation warrants, but generally I am an agreeable man.

  Or I used to be.

  A man.

  Now I’m a vampire, and like most of my kind, the journey hasn’t been an easy one.

  No, this is not the reason I’m in a foul mood. Neither is the fact that I’ve been in line for over ten minutes, waiting to order coffee.

  Oh, yes—pause of deep appreciation—coffee.

  “Oh, dear me! I’m so sorry!” I look up again, and the same blonde woman, who I see only from the back, has just knocked over a towering pile of coffee cup lids onto the floor.

  The employees rush to pick up the mess, and when she bends over to help, she hits her forehead on the counter. “Ouch!”

  I am about to step forward to assist, but she seems all right, rubbing her head and apologizing to the entire world.

  I hope she doesn’t stab herself with a straw or spontaneously combust. Then I’ll never get my coffee. I cannot start my day without it.

  Do not be shocked. There are many things people don’t know about my kind. For example, we don’t live exclusively on blood. In fact, I prefer spicy vegan dishes. Indian food is delicious.

  Another myth? Vampires cannot go in the sun. Also untrue. We are merely averse to it. Right now, it’s a cool spring morning in downtown Phoenix, and while I am sweating through my Italian suit and can’t get home to Cincinnati fast enough, the sunny sky outside is merely an annoyance.

  So now you’re wondering just why I’m so angry. It is something so ghastly, I can hardly say the words. Two days ago, someone killed the most upstanding person ever to walk the planet. Clive was a give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back sort of man, which is the likely reason his detective agency wasn’t making money. I once worked for Clive—also a vampire—but his generosity toward his clients, giving away his services, got to a point where he could no longer employ me.

  So I went back to school, obtained yet another degree, and started my eighth profession, this time in biotech research. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you get bored. I find changing occupations every fifty years keeps a man on his toes, and if you’ve guessed that would make me over four hundred years old, you would be correct.

  “It’s your turn, dude,” says the pink-haired man behind me.

  “About time. Thank you.” I step up to the counter, where I order my usual—a nonfat latte with an extra shot of espresso. “No make that two extra shots,” I say to the barista and pop five dollars into the tip jar.

  “Coming right up.” The young redhead attending to me smiles, but it’s the sort of smile that says she wants to bed me. Little does she know that while I am a handsome man—six feet one, deep brown eyes, and a very charming smile—she can’t help herself. Yes, that myth is actually true. Humans find us irresistible.

  I offer the barista a polite nod and step aside to await my coffee, but something outside catches my eye through the plate-glass window. It’s that same blonde woman with a paper cup in her hand, playing Frogger with oncoming traffic.

  Oh! Watch out. Dear woman, what are you doing! She’s nearly run over by three separate cars. I’m about to run after her, but she makes it across to the other side of the street.

  What the devil was she thinking?

  My cell vibrates in my hand, and I sigh with relief. “Finally.” It’s a text from the local society granting me a meeting at one o’clock. Society is the modern term for coven, which is made up of a collection of families. Each territory has a different society and, since vampires are very territorial, I cannot stay longer than a day without a visa—not that I plan to since I’m not permitted to have anything to do with investigating Clive’s death.

  Sadly, I am here to collect Clive’s ashes and take the good man home to his final resting place.

  Regardless, whoever hurt him must pay. Not death, but entombment, which is far worse and the only outcome I’m expecting to hear at today’s meeting with the society’s head. “We’ve caught the bastard. He’s been sentenced to life.” Anything shy of these exact words will cause trouble. From me.

  My order is called at the counter, and I grab my hot coffee, immediately going in for that first delicious sip. “Ow!” It burns my tongue. Why do I always do that? I’m far too eager when it comes to caffeine. Especially in the morning.

  I take a seat at the counter along the window that faces the street. Immediately, my reflection catches my eye. My brown hair is a mess, and I apparently forgot to shave this morning at the hotel. My tie is also crooked.

  I straighten myself out and glance at my watch, a fine antique Clive gave me on my birthday over a hundred years ago.

  Clive… I feel the red-hot rage build again. He was my best friend, my brother, my father, and my maker.

  Nobody touches my family, I snarl on the inside. My strong hand squeezes my coffee cup, threatening to send the piping hot liquid up in the air.

  Dammit all to hell. I need a distraction, something to keep me calm until one o’clock. Otherwise, I won’t stand a chance of keeping a level head when I walk in to meet whoever runs this sunny, pleasant dump of a town.

  My eyes gravitate back outside. I remember passing a library one block down. I’m sure I can find a quiet place there to get some work done on my laptop, which will keep me out of the sun and occupied for the next few hours.

  With coffee in one hand, I grab my things and head to the library.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I enter the gray cement building, immediately impressed by its massive interior. From the outside, it looks like your standard, boring, underfunded library, but I quickly see it is not.

  There are three floors, two of which are above me and open in the center, looking down upon the first floor. There’s a reading area for children with colorful furniture and a giant plastic palm tree—Annoyingly cute. There’s a section of music and listening stations—Why? Everyone has a damned smart phone these days, yes? I even see they have a computer lab and a lounging space in the middle with red couches—Trying to make the library hip, are we? Try again. The only thing here that impresses me is the collection of books. It’s twice as large as any library I’ve seen.

  “May I help you?” says a voice so soft that I’m certain it’s come from a mouse beneath the table to my side.

  I turn and am surprised to find a set of inquisitive brown eyes staring up at me. Her dirty blonde hair is in a lopsided bun that’s more of a ponytail gone wrong, and her wrinkled white blouse is equally uneven, as it appears she’s paired the top button with the second-to-the-top hole. Her brown sweater is moth-eaten, and thick black glasses hang around her neck on one of those beaded necklaces often used by the elderly.

  I suddenly notice a red mark on her forehead. It’s Frogger! I realize. And I don’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the poor thing. She can’t be a day over twenty-nine, yet she dresses like a cliché of the crotchety old librarian, almost like a child might for Halloween. Her oval face with delicate features and cupid bow lips is not unattractive by any means, so my curiosity is instantly piqued. Why would a woman intentionally go out in public looking like this?

  I smile and remind myself to be a gentleman. And a gentleman always makes a woman feel special no matter her appearance.

  “Hi. Good morning…” I glance at her scuffed plastic name tag. “Miriam. That’s a lovely name—”

  “Weren’t you just in line a
t the coffee shop down the street?” she asks, in her tiny little voice.

  I didn’t realize she had noticed me. “Yes, how is your forehead?”

  Seeming self-conscious, her small hand moves to the lump and covers it. “You can’t have that in here, you know,” she says in her pint-sized voice and glances over at the big red sign on the wall that reads No food or beverages.

  I gaze at the cup of warm beloved liquid in my hand and debate guzzling it down or throwing it out. “I’ll just finish it outside.” I’m about to wish her a nice day, but she quickly cuts me off.

  “Okay. There’s still time, so just holler when you’re ready.”

  “Ready for…?”

  “Oh. With the suit, I thought you were here for the assistant librarian position.”

  I’m a suit man. Always have been. Always will be. And given my very youthful appearance—I look about twenty, my age when I turned—I can see why she’d make that mistake.

  She continues, “Interviews start in ten minutes, though the last time I posted it, only two people showed up.” She wiggles her pink lips from side to side. “And then they never called back for our follow-up.”

  “My apologies, but I am not…” I notice a look of instant disappointment in her wide brown eyes. Something tells me that this library is her life, and for some reason she now feels personally rejected by my reply. Normally, I wouldn’t care—I’m far too old for all that sentimental garbage, but for reasons unbeknownst to me, I feel shockingly sympathetic, and it’s enough to intrigue me.

  Why her?

  “Yes. Of course I’m here to interview. I’m sorry I’ve been so rude,” I say with a dip of my head. “I wouldn’t want to make you wait since you’re ready now.”

  Her eyes light up, and I cannot lie. A sense of satisfaction wells in my cold stomach, which only adds more intrigue.

  “Right this way,” she says.

  I carefully set my treasured coffee in the trash can near the door and bid it adieu. We shall meet again. No, I do not plan to pick it out, but I do promise myself another as soon as this “interview” is over.