CHAPTER EIGHT
After an hour of breathing assistance and the medical team’s effort, Miriam is up and running. I cannot describe the relief. There will be no new vampires in Arizona today.
The nurses shoo me off and tell me to come back later, so I take the opportunity to follow the scent of the man who disappeared into the stairwell. His track is thick with garlic—Blech!—and cheap cologne. I’m not surprised, given his shady appearance, until it leads me ten blocks away.
“What the devil?” I stand in front of the library, where his trail ends. My best guess is that the man is related to Miriam’s boyfriend. Both men had the same broad shoulders and sinister look in their eyes.
“Brianna! It’s time to go!” a woman yells from inside the building.
I push on the library’s doors and find it vacant of the man’s scent but not of people.
“I don’t know where Miriam is,” yells a woman to her small daughter. “We’ll leave a note so she knows what we’ve checked out.”
Books overflow from the return slot to the side of the U-shaped counter, and it dawns on me that while Miriam has been fighting for her life, the library has been left unattended since yesterday, doors unlocked.
“I’ll help you with that.” I stride behind the counter and hold out my hand.
“Who are you?” the woman asks.
“Miriam’s new assistant.”
The woman looks me over, smiles, and hands me the books. “Well, I wasn’t aware she had a new helper—or such a handsome one.”
“Your card?” I continue holding out my hand, not wishing to encourage any flirtation. Besides, I’m still full from yesterday.
“Oh, sure.” She digs in her purse and produces a plastic card with a bar code and numbers. I have no clue what to do with it, but I assume there’s a system linked to the computer and wand-thing on the counter.
“Um, looks like the computer is down again. I’ll enter it manually later.” I gather the important information and hand back the books. “Here you are.”
“Are you going to do story time at one o’clock?” the woman asks.
“I, uh…” My eyes gravitate to the enormous ladybug sign on the wall that reads Storytime with Princess Miriam! Every day at 1 p.m.
It is noon.
I sigh with exasperation. “Yes. One o’clock,” I say blandly.
I contemplate finding a gory vampire story to scare the devil out of the children so they’ll never come back.
“See you then.” The woman winks and sticks out her chest.
I give her no notice and begin to berate myself for saying yes to story time. Why would I agree to such a ridiculous thing? Perhaps part of me is thinking of the poor librarian and how disappointed she would be if her library fell into shambles under the care of a cantankerous old vampire.
I do not like that idea. If anything, I am a perfectionist. I do things well or I don’t do them at all.
I rummage in the drawers behind the counter and find a laminated sheet with user names and passwords to the system. Aha!
I quickly get to work, playing around with the software, which is quite simple. Scan in, scan out. Within an hour, that’s all done, and I get to work loading the cart with returned books for shelving.
“Hey, mister,” says a tiny voice.
I look down to see a little blond boy with wide blue eyes.
“Yes?”
“It’s story time.” He points to the red carpet with colorful little chairs and the enormous plastic palm tree. “We want our story. Now,” he barks.
Oh, you want a story from the nice vampire, do ya? “Be right there.” I snarl under my breath.
He skips off, and I quickly run through my memories of favorite books. Well, there’s the Brothers Grimm. I’m liking Rumpelstiltskin today.
I quickly find the title on the shelves and take a seat in the makeshift throne in the corner. It looks like an old armchair that’s been covered in white faux fur. There are five children—two boys and three girls—all seated on the mat in front of it.
“Hat! Where’s the hat?” yells a little brunette girl, pointing to a pink cone with a flowing scarf on the top, hanging off the back of the chair.
“So you’re all regulars, then?” I say.
They nod, and one of the mothers, who’s sitting at a table reading something on her phone, pipes up, “A day without Miriam is like a day without sunshine.”
“All right, well, Miriam is not well today, and I’m filling in. My name is Michael, and I don’t wear hats or radiate sunshine.”
The children crinkle their noses at me.
“Let us begin.” I start reading the story with the dreariest of voices—the miller’s daughter, the lie of her supernatural gold-spinning abilities, her becoming a prisoner. So barbaric. When I get to the part where the king threatens to cut off the miller’s daughter’s head if she doesn’t spin the hay into gold, I stop and look up. I’m hoping that my scary, deep voice has them all trembling with fear so they’ll stay away tomorrow. But no. Their little eyes are wide with delight, and their tiny mouths are gaping open.
What is wrong with children today?
I keep going, now trying to make Rumpelstiltskin sound like a horrible monster. “Give me your firstborn child, and I’ll help you!” I roar and look up.
Still nothing.
I sigh and finish the ten-minute story, feeling like I’ve truly lost my touch. I’m centuries old. I just killed a man yesterday—drank his blood and threw him in a damned dumpster. Yet I cannot scare a bunch of children? I’m definitely losing my touch.
“And that’s all for today, everyone,” I say.
“Again! Again!” the kids yell.
All right, I’ve had about enough. I quickly make sure none of the parents are watching and flash a look at my audience—it’s the sort of look that spikes terror into the hearts of the most ruthless of vampires.
The kids shut their tiny pieholes, but then start to laugh. “Again, again, again.”
Oh, I give up! I stand and set down the book. “Michael has work to do. Have a pleasant day, everyone.”
I quickly get back to my cart and start reshelving books. This is the most tedious work in the world. I cannot believe anyone would go to college for it let alone choose it as their lifelong profession.
I look at my watch and realize that despite my abhorrence, I’ve managed to spend an hour and a half here.
What am I thinking? Miriam is unguarded. Tonight, once visiting hours are over, she’ll be safer, as strangers aren’t permitted to roam freely, but this moment is another story.
I go into Miriam’s office in search of her keys to lock up. Instead I am greeted by her monster piles of books and dust.
I resist the urge to clean up for her. Dust and clutter are a sign of disrespect of one’s self.
I dig through her top drawer and—
“What is this?” I pull out the book. It appears to be one of those explicit romance novels—if one could dare to call them novels, which implies they are a form of literature.
I chuckle. There’s a woman with long blonde hair on the cover, in the embrace of a man wearing a black cape.
“Fanged Love?” I laugh at the title. “Well, well, well, seems our little librarian has a thing for vampires.”
It makes me wonder what she would say if she knew the truth about me.
Not happening. I pull myself back. I am here for Clive. That is all. As soon as justice is served, I am back to my life in Cincinnati, where I am respected and comfortable.
I return the book to its hiding spot and notice her brown leather purse sitting on her chair. Inside are—“Oh. Those things.” They are of the monthly womanly sort, so I try not to touch them. “And those things?” A pack of birth control. I snarl at the flat round plastic container. I cannot stand the thought of her, or any woman, seeking comfort in the arms of a man like Miriam’s boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend, I think proudly. Oh, keys! I grab them, slide her purse under her desk, and dash out.
“The library is closing early today! Please head to the exit,” I yell and go to the door.
“Excuse me?” says a young woman in a baseball cap. “I still have books to check—”
“It is an urgent matter. Life or death. Please come back tomorrow.” I hold open the door, tapping my foot as the patrons clear out. “Chop-chop, everyone. Chop-chop.” Do not make the mean vampire cranky.
With everyone out, I lock the door behind me and head back to the hospital on foot. While I’m hating the feel of my tennis shoes and cooking in my black jeans, I realize I’m walking faster than I should in broad daylight.
It is not what you think. I do not do lust, love, or engage in romance of any kind. Miriam now has my blood, which has created a special bond.
Then it hits me, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
I stop walking and my breath freezes. She’s awake. I can’t see or hear her, but a part of me keenly feels her worry and pain. Her skin is cold, too.
I run my hand through my hair. Why didn’t Clive ever tell me that this is what a bond feels like? Four hundred years, and he never thought to say anything more than to “be careful” whom I give my blood to. Yes, I am partly to blame for not asking, but shouldn’t he have insisted on educating me about the basics? I will forever worry for this woman more than I care for myself.
This is not good.