The Librarian's Vampire Assistant Read online

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” She pauses, looking me over. “Speaking of outfits, why are you dressed like a Beastie Boy?”

  I give her a stern warning with my dark eyes. She knows I’m a suit man, not a trendsetting teen. “Answer the question.”

  “Fine. No clue who they were, but I’d recognize their scents and voices if I ever see them again. And you were right—they were young. I lost them after half a block.”

  I figured as much. Only young and stupid or desperate vampires would stomp into someone else’s territory unannounced. It’s difficult to explain, but older vampires have a sixth sense about each other. We know when one of our kind is near, especially one that isn’t part of our society, which makes sneaking around a bit tricky. Us older vampires know a few tricks, however. Myself especially.

  I look at Lula, feeling overwhelmed for a moment. I trap her in another bear hug. “I’m very relieved you didn’t die. Again.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She pushes me off. “I know you worship the ground I walk on, but show some dignity.”

  I laugh and gaze down at her. “You are a complete and utter pain in the ass. What’s not to love?”

  “Exactly. So what do you want to do about your,” she leans in to whisper, “human pet?”

  My eyes flicker with annoyance. “She is not my pet. And I need to go pay a few visits.” First to Viviana, so I can attempt to quietly charm her into telling me something about Clive’s death, a location perhaps. Second, to Bob Kline, the developer who sent his friends after Miriam. Third and lastly, the thugs themselves, who I plan to tell that Miriam Murphy has her own connections and is off-limits unless they would like to experience a mysterious string of disappearances with their members. I know I will have to kill one of them tonight to prove myself. Those type of men only speak one language: violence.

  “Think you’ll be hungry later?” I ask.

  “Uh…I guess?” She shrugs.

  “How’s Mexican sound?” I wink so she knows I’m not talking about the food.

  Lula’s eyes light up. “Oh, I haven’t had that for a long time. Will he—I mean, will the dish be extra spicy?”

  She’s asking if the person will be a violent criminal—they simply taste better.

  I smile. “Of course.”

  “Then I’m in.”

  “Great. You can help me do some hole digging later, too.” We’ll have to get rid of our spicy dish’s remains once we’re done. “As for Miriam, go down and catch her in the parking lot. Stay with her until I return.”

  “What do I tell her?” Lula asks.

  “You’ll figure something out, but try to make it look like it’s your fault I was kissing that other woman.”

  Lula rolls her eyes. “You’re the worst.”

  “You’re the worst, Mr. Vanderhorst,” I correct with a grin. “Now off you go. Scoot, scoot.”

  She shakes her head and then disappears down the stairwell to go find Miriam. Relief washes over me, knowing that Lula will keep my pet—I mean, Miriam safe.

  As for me, I will need to be very cautious and not leave behind more bodies with calling cards. Also, I will need to wait until nightfall so that I can enter and exit the thugs’ ranch.

  First things first, however. I must find out where it is.

  Wait, no. What is the matter with me? I must work on Clive’s murder first. I let out a breath.

  My priorities feel all jumbled, and I do not like it one bit. Family and loyalty are everything and must always come first. Nevertheless, something inside me wants to forget all that and ensure my librarian will be safe.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  This time when I show up to the office of my new family, the Arizona Society of Sunshine Love—that name is such an embarrassment to all things vampire—Viviana is waiting in a bright green suit that matches her eyes, with the door open.

  “Mr. Vanderhorst, what a surprise.”

  “You may call me Michael.” I take her hand and kiss the top. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. Mr. Aspen is still in Chicago.”

  “Car shopping?” I grumble.

  She nods and rolls her eyes.

  “Well, then I won’t waste your valuable time.” I turn to leave.

  “You can waste it anytime. You’re part of the family now.”

  I stop and look at her. “Funny you should mention that, about me being part of the family. I wonder if that makes it okay for you to share some information in Clive’s file with me.”

  Her green eyes widen. “You know that’s against the law.”

  “I’m not asking for details of the murder. I am simply having a difficult time saying goodbye and thought if I go to the place he died, I might say farewell and put this sad chapter of my life behind me.”

  “You really loved him, didn’t you?” she asks.

  “Of course. He was my friend,” I say with true sadness.

  “But he was your maker.”

  “Yes. And?” I wonder what she’s alluding to.

  “Some of us would be happy if our maker died.”

  Such an odd thing to say. Most of us experience struggle after we are turned, no doubt, but the majority find their way only with the aid of our makers. It’s a friendship bond like no other. “Who is your maker?”

  “Who do you think?” she snarls.

  She seems to hate the person, whoever it is, so I have to go with…“Aspen?”

  She nods.

  I understand why she’s unhappy. “And how did you two meet?”

  “At a party a few years ago.”

  So she is a baby. I wouldn’t have guessed it. She seems at least fifty or sixty.

  She adds, “But the fun ended there.”

  I bob my head, processing. “That is probably because fun is the last word I would use to describe this sort of existence.”

  “I wish I’d never met Aspen. I had no idea what was coming,” she says.

  “Someday you’ll come to terms with this life, just as I had to. You simply need to accept that it is done. With that, you will rise to the occasion and make the most of it.” Or you’ll stake yourself.

  She nods with a subtle sadness in her eyes. I feel sorry for her. I truly do. Which is why I do not tell her it took a few centuries for me to come to grips with being what I am. “You’ll find your way, Viviana. Just give it time.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Vanderhorst. But I’m so happy you’re part of our family now. You’re officially the eldest and only good can come of it—you care about your family.”

  It takes a moment for me to realize what she’s hinting at. If anything happens to Mr. Aspen, I would be in line for leader.

  I shudder at the thought. “Let us hope for long lives, happiness, and prosperity for all.” I wonder if I just sounded like that Spock fellow from that Star Trek show.

  Viviana nods solemnly. “160 Saguaro Lane in Phoenix,” she mumbles. “That’s all I can say. Nothing else.”

  I realize this is the location where Clive died. And it matches what he’d written in his book. This is all I need to start figuring out what happened.

  “Thank you, Viviana.” I take her hand and kiss the top. “You are truly a kind woman.”

  She shrugs at the tiled floor.

  “I hate to impose once more,” I add, “but since you’re from around here, might you tell me where to find the Carlitos crime family’s ranch?”

  Her red lips twist to one side. “Why? Are you hungry?”

  “Are they on the list of acceptable meals in this area?” This could be good news if the Carlitos people are on the approved kill list. Every territory has one, though the lists aren’t very long, and we must get prior approval. Poaching, as I did with Miriam’s attacker, is a serious crime, especially if you’re a visitor. Now that I’m a resident, it will come with certain perks, including where to dine. That said, most of us prefer to make arrangements with local blood banks or with a trustworthy human “pet.” I’m a bag-lunch man myself, though I drink v
ery little compared to others. In fact, I could really go for some aloo dum, spicy Indian potatoes, or some tofu tikka masala.

  “I think so, but let me check the list.” Viviana scratches the top of her head, displacing a few strands of her perfect brown bob. No, I do not have the urge to fix it like I do with Miriam. “It’s in Mr. Aspen’s office. One moment.” She darts upstairs.

  Viviana returns with a list. “I don’t see any Carlitos members on this list.” She hands it to me. “But there are some other good ones on there—a few pedis and a nice serial killer. I was thinking of taking him this weekend, but he’s all yours if you want. Just let me know so I can cross him off.”

  Hmmm. “No Carlitos people?” This is suspicious given our love of narco cuisine.

  “Maybe Mr. Aspen thought we’ve put our hands in that cookie jar one too many times lately,” she offers. “He doesn’t like being too conspicuous.”

  “I see,” I say. “Then could you tell me where I might find them anyway? I happen to be a fan of the taste, so I’ll want dibs once they are back on the menu.”

  “Of course.” She writes down an address. “Here you go. And if you need help with any disposal, I wrote down a number to call. Just be sure to always leave the leftovers in a secure place.”

  “So organized. Thank you, Viviana.” We have cleaners, too, but I did not think that vampires in this neck of the woods would be so together—they are a fairly new society compared to the others, and it takes a long time to cultivate relationships and services. “And regrettably, I don’t see anything I like on your menu. Can you point me to a good Indian restaurant?”

  She smiles. “I sure can—I’m a big fan myself.”

  “The spicier, the better. The hotter dishes remind me of a good wife beater.” No, I am not referring to the shirt.

  “So true.” She writes down the name and address of the restaurant. “There you go. Let me know how you like it.”

  I know I have completely won over Viviana. “I will. Have a good day,” I say and go to my car.

  I Google the address Viviana’s given me, the place where Clive died, and scratch my head when I see that it is in fact the home of…Bob Kline? What the devil is going on? I am definitely going to need some baigan ka bharta.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After enjoying a lovely brunch of fire-hot eggplant and vegetables, I text Lula and inquire how things are going. She informs me that she is at the library with Miriam.

  Me: So soon? Shouldn’t she be resting?

  Lula: She got the super V8 juice. I still can’t believe UR making me babysit UR .

  Me: Good things come to those who do not anger me. What did you tell her about this morning’s snafu?

  Lula: That you’re a chauvinistic . True. And that I pushed U into the arms of another woman because I banged five guys last weekend. Also true.

  I frown. What the devil?

  Me: So nice to hear you are getting your sexercise. So Miriam is not upset? I need that job.

  Lula: I told ya, got u covered, Mikeypoo! Who’s UR badass bitch? Huh? Huh?

  I shake my head.

  Lula: BTW, you missed story time. Disappointed tiny faces and lots of tears over here. What did you do to the children?

  “I tried to scare the living hell out of them,” I mutter to myself.

  Me: Off to see the man who’s been threatening Miriam.

  I am about to tell Lula that it’s the same house where Clive was killed, but I think better of it. The news will only worry Lula given the strange coincidence—Miriam’s bully is linked to Clive’s death—and I must try to remember that Lula is not me. I cannot assume she will handle everything the same way. Me? I am entirely intrigued. All right, and confused, outraged, and concerned. But remember when I mentioned that a vampire’s life is boring and that any bit of mystery is irresistible? This qualifies as heroin.

  I start my blue coffin and head to Bob Kline’s residence, preparing myself for anything.

  “What in carnations?” I mutter as I stand in the middle of Kline’s living room, immediately noticing there are three things wrong with the situation, aside from the fact his home is a twenty-million-dollar, Bill-Gates-worthy mansion in the most expensive part of town.

  Number one: Bob Kline’s home is in complete ruins. I do not mean that someone has entered and trashed the place. I mean that someone threw a rager and forgot to clean up. Plastic cups are strewn about and hors d’oeuvres sit uneaten on trays. The house reeks of sex and blood, and the home, very literally, looks like a scene from that show I so adore, The Leftovers, where everyone vanishes into thin air.

  Number two: I smell hundreds of scents, but Clive’s is not among them. For the record, I would know if Clive had been here because everyone leaves a trace, no matter how faint. Clive has never been here. At least, not inside. Outside? Possibly. Sunshine quickly dissipates vampire odors.

  Number three: more than one vampire has most certainly been here. If I had to guess, I would say forty. Perhaps fifty.

  I scratch my head, trying to make sense of it all. A party. Everyone leaves suddenly. Vampires in attendance. Clive supposedly died here, but no trace of him inside.

  “Excuse me. What are you doing here?” says a middle-aged woman wearing an apron, standing in the doorway and holding a vacuum cleaner.

  I opt for the old standby, which is acting like I belong and she is the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the cleaning lady.”

  “Well, I’m the…” Think, think… “A detective with the police department. Someone phoned in an anonymous welfare check for a Mr. Kline.” I step forward. “Have you seen or heard from him?”

  I have no idea why I said any of that. I look far too young to be a police detective. Luckily, she seems distracted by my vampire magnetism. Her face flushes and her eyes are batting.

  “No. I haven’t.” The woman sets down her vacuum.

  “Can you tell me how long you’ve been cleaning for Mr. Kline?” I wonder what she might be able to tell me about him.

  “About a year. Though, he only calls for service after these parties.”

  Oh. “So this isn’t the first time his home has looked like this?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “He has these parties all the time. Takes us two days to clean—I did the upstairs yesterday.”

  This is very interesting, and I won’t lie. My inner vampire child is jumping up and down screaming with glee. Mystery! Mystery! Mystery!

  She freezes as if thinking something over. “You know what? I think I saw him on the schedule for next week.” She slides her phone from her pocket and taps the screen a few times. “Yes, next Monday.”

  “So he’s having another party this weekend?” I ask.

  “I guess.”

  I will definitely be attending. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” I ask for her contact information and let her get to work while I inspect the rest of the home, and it dawns on me. I saw Viviana addressing party invitations for Friday night, which is tomorrow. It didn’t occur to me to look at the address, but could the party be here?

  Standing in the living room, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking the scents. There’s perfume, bite-size bacon quiche, and blood—a lot of blood, though I haven’t seen a drop anywhere in the home. Wait. What is this?

  It is faint. Very faint. But I am fairly certain I smell the scent of one vampire in particular. Mr. Aspen.

  I sample the air one more time to be sure, inhaling slowly through my nose. Yes. Aspen is not in Chicago. He was here. And something strange is most definitely going on.

  Whatever happened to Clive wasn’t random. It was related to this party, and Aspen was involved.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Knowing that Lula is not going to be enthralled over my discovery, I decide to stop by the library and speak with her in person. Our kind had a hand in Clive’s death, that’s for certain. Aspen was likely involved too.
Thirdly, Miriam is tied into the periphery of all this because Bob Kline is not simply some land developer who lives far beyond his means.

  Yes, I checked.

  A private land developer can make very nice money, but Bob’s business is extremely small, not some megacorporation that handles billion-dollar projects. From what I saw, he builds an apartment building here and there. A few condo sites, too. Nothing that would bring in the sort of money to fund a home listed at fifteen million dollars on Zillow.

  All this means that something is funding his and Aspen’s lavish lifestyles.

  My best guess? The obvious. Drugs. Kline has ties to the cartel, so what else could it be?

  I just wonder how Clive got caught up in all this. Perhaps he was looking for someone who’d gone missing and he showed up to the wrong place at the wrong time. All I can say is that my worry for Miriam has only grown.

  Does she feel it? Does she know what she is to me?

  I step through the front door of the library and am immediately hit with a warm, addictive sensation—heart flutters, stomach churns, brain twirls.

  Miriam. I inhale her scent wafting through the air, taking in as much as my lungs can hold. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known—a scent that brings the warmth of home on a snowy day. A place of delicious bliss where I am happy and content. It might just be better than drinking spicy blood from a nasty villain.

  All right, perhaps it’s not that good. But it is good.

  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.