CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time I’ve taken care of a few things, such as exchanging my red Ferrari for my blue Skittle and getting a rather exciting love-life update from the rental guy—who loves his haircut and asked for my business card for future trims—I have read the letter from the council.
Remember all of those vampires Aspen created? No one seems to know where they went. And remember when Aspen said Bob Kline had been killed? No one can find any proof of that. But the interrogation with Viviana has led the council to believe that there are over five hundred new vampires unaccounted for and that Bob Kline was doing more than just helping Aspen throw parties. Several emails between the two men refer to “Project Paradise” and that its initial funding, hundreds of millions of dollars, came from a more discreet source: the cartel.
I guess Bob and Aspen didn’t want to pay them back. Instead, they brought their newbie vampire party to the ranch and ate them. As for why they’d leave behind so many vampire calling cards? Perhaps they wanted to send a message to the cartel leaders. Perhaps something happened and they couldn’t finish the task. Either way, it is now my job to find out.
No, my inner vampire child is not jumping up and down, screaming Mystery! Mystery! Mystery! When I find these missing vampires, the council wants them executed, and I simply don’t know how I feel about it. Should they all die because they were created illegally? Some might actually be good people who have a chance of becoming good vampires with the proper guidance.
But I have very clear orders, and if I told you they were unexpected, that would be a lie. For the record, I am done with lying, and it is not how I want this story to end. Because if I’ve learned something these past few days, it isn’t the challenge that defines a man, but how he faces it.
He may choose to hide from it.
Some men may choose to fight.
But I am Michael Vanderhorst. I choose to live and be happy, and that means coming out of the shadows and letting others in.
Every journey starts with one step in the right direction.
I ring the doorbell and hear footsteps approach before the iron door swings open.
A set of wide brown eyes greet me. “Michael? What are you doing here?”
I hand Miriam a box wrapped in red paper. “I bring a peace offering. You can open it later.”
She takes it. “Thanks,” she says stiffly.
“Okay. It’s a copy of Zorro. First edition. Thought you might like it.”
“It’s my favorite,” she says begrudgingly.
I knew it! “Miriam, I just—”
“I can’t do this right now, Michael.” She starts closing the door, but I wedge my foot inside to stop her.
“Wait. I know you’re mourning Jeremy and still trying to process what happened at your hacienda. And that is why I am here.” The letter from the council included the report from our team, who had Miriam’s hospital records. Apparently, there was a heavy dose of flunitrazepam in her blood. In other words, she was roofied. It explained why she told the doctors and police, in a delirious fit at the hospital, that her boyfriend and his brother had been murdered at a party by a strange man dressed as a cowboy.
I was at the party, but that is not where things went down, and I did not have the honor of ending those men’s lives. I wish. The assumption is that the drugs confused her and she was made to think she saw something, possibly in order to support a well-planned getaway.
What do I think? Yes. Aspen and Jeremy got out of that party a little too easily. They had a plan. And a witness—albeit a roofied one—left behind to tell a story and paint a picture.
Add that to the list of demands from the council: Find the two men and bring them back alive. Not highest on my list of priorities, however. In all honesty, there is only one: my twelve months with Miriam. Nice will not be letting it go, and I have to figure out how and when to break the news to her. Become a vampire or die.
I continue, removing my foot from her door, “I am not here to upset you or BS you, Miriam. In fact, I promise I won’t ever lie to you again, and there will never be a repeat of what happened in the restaurant.” She walked out that day because I wouldn’t let her in and it made her feel like she wasn’t worthy of trust. At the time, I told myself I merely wanted to protect her, but that is the story I have told myself over and over and over again. No one ever got in because I was afraid if they saw my true self, I would have to see it too. Now that Clive is gone, I’ve learned that I cannot hide from the world at the expense of living.
“What are you trying to say?” she asks.
“That when you’re healed and ready, really ready to hear the truth, I will tell you everything I know.”
She blinks at me, and this time she feels something. I can see it in her eyes. Shock, confusion, and a sense of familiarity.
“And?” she asks sharply.
“And nothing.”
“That’s it.” She shrugs. “You don’t want anything.”
“Nope.”
“Then why this big overture? Why the speech?”
“Okay. I do want one thing,” I say.
She stares expectantly. “Well?”
“I want to be your assistant.”
She stares up into my eyes. I can feel her trying to figure out what is happening between us—this odd connection. But what I’m looking for will come after she has healed and my blood is no longer in her system. There was a connection beyond all that, and it led me to her. I want to know why. Why her? I want to know what it means, and as I said before, there is nothing more enticing to a vampire than a good mystery.
Her pink lips curve into a smile. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“You can be my assistant.”
“Excellent.” I turn and start heading to my car.
“Where are you going?” she calls out.
“I’m going to clean your office!”
Profession #9: Librarian’s vampire assistant.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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