I scoff. “How so, woman?”
“Because you don’t see you’ve been given a gift. You don’t have to accept being anything you don’t want to be.”
“I have been alive for over three hundred years, Brandi. So, while I applaud your valiant effort to enlighten me about the fine art of breaking molds, you are out of your depth. I have reinvented myself so many times, I cannot recall all of the faces I’ve worn.”
“And yet you still don’t know who you are.” She points to herself. “But I sure as hell do. So figure that one out, Racker.”
She marches from the kitchen, leaving me to stew in the juices of her words. “I know who I am! Thank you very much, human!” I am a vampire man! Vampire on the inside. Man on the outside.
But as I say the words, my mind fills with heavy thoughts. Yes, I know who I am, but so what? I am stuck in a body that will soon die, and I wonder what’s been the point of this long, long life if it’s all led to this moment. I have wasted my entire existence, planning for something that will never happen. No world domination. Had I known, I could have been out there, enjoying my life. Living instead of dreaming.
I tilt my head toward the ceiling. If I somehow get out of this, I vow not to waste another moment on such ridiculous goals. I will live life to its fullest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that morning, I shower and dress in a low-effort outfit. Jeans, black T-shirt, biker boots. I barely had the energy to condition my wavy locks but somehow muscled through the task. Mostly because I know the days are numbered for us. Soon I will find clumps of shiny strands on my pillow when I wake.
I get in the SUV and start the engine. Day one of the last year of my life. I will make the most of it.
“Hey.” Brandi slides into the passenger seat, dressed in a peach-colored sundress that makes her skin look more golden brown than olive. Her long hair is in a high ponytail, exposing her long neck, and she’s wearing a pair of flip-flops we have for guest use around the pool. Her cute little toes are sticking out, the nails painted pale pink.
I stare at her inquisitively. She looks adorable, which is entirely inappropriate. I’m on a quest to fulfill my final wish before I die. Could she at least try to look less picnicky and cute?
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I am not in the mood to quarrel again. If she wishes to come along dressed like that, then fine.
I hit the road and take us to the library that has become like a second home to me. Miriam’s parents founded this place, likely as a justification for their book-collecting addiction—something passed down for several generations. Her parents hadn’t expected her to make the library her calling, but she did. I think it was something I admired about her. She chose a path different from what others demanded of her.
“So your mom is the librarian here?” Brandi asks as we park in the lot. Oddly, there are several other cars here.
“My mother died long ago.” True. But really I do not wish to hear Miriam referred to that way. Not anymore.
“All right then. So the woman who took care of you these past five years is the librarian here?”
“Something like that,” I grumble.
“I love my family, so don’t get me wrong, but you kinda hit the lottery with your adoptive family.” Brandi hops from the SUV. “They sound pretty cool.”
“Sure. Cool.” I shut off the engine, get out, and dig for the library key in my jeans pocket. When I get to the door, Brandi is already on her way inside. I spot a woman waiting next to the empty checkout counter.
Hold on. Miriam is on “vacation” for a year. Who let people in?
“I’ll be over in the travel section.” Brandi turns for a nearby aisle, almost getting run over by a tall blonde with a huge bun atop her head. She’s wearing the chunkiest glasses I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, pardon me,” says the blonde.
Brandi gives her a quick nod, flashes a strange look my way, and then disappears.
The blonde glances at me, too, and then heads behind the counter, where she hands a book to the waiting woman. “All right, sweetie pie! Here is your book. It’s due back next Wednesday. Now don’t you forget, ’kay?”
“Tell Miriam I hope she enjoys her time off,” the woman says, “but we want to see her back soon for those awesome story times.”
Wondering what’s going on, I stare at the blonde. Her sweater is three sizes too large, and she looks like she applied her pink lipstick while four-wheel driving on the moon.
Yum… The nerdy mess before me is so over-the-top sexy that my heart stops beating for two entire seconds. I love the hot bookworm look. It’s right up there with naughty nurses.
Suddenly, her hand moves lightning fast to scratch her nose.
Gasp! She’s a vampire.
I wait until she is alone and walk up to the counter. “Who are you?” I whisper.
“Sorry, sir?” she says with a chipper tone.
“I know what you are, but not who or why you’re here when Miriam is out of town.”
“Oh. Well, Miriam and Michael are friends with my aunt Myrtle. They asked her to help out with the library for a few months, but something came up at the last minute, so my aunt asked me to come.”
Aunt, huh? She means one of her coven friends, possibly. “So which society do you belong to?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t believe we are acquainted. You are?”
I love that she’s pretending to have no clue who I am. “Nice.”
She giggles. “Aren’t we all. And even if we aren’t, who would admit to it?”
I frown. “Me. I would.”
“Ha! You’re funny. Well, I’m Liza.”
I nod, trying to puzzle her out. “And you have no idea who I am?”
“No. Should I?”
“It is simply that I…” I am about to say that I am a notorious vampire, but if she doesn’t know me, this could be the miracle I’ve been hoping for. Is it possible there is a vampire in the world who has never heard my name?
“You are…?” She arches a blonde brow.
“The name is Racker. And I am familiar with your kind.” I lift the sleeve of my shirt to show the black bat tattoo on my bicep.
“Oh!” Her blue eyes go wide. “Wow. I never would have guessed it.”
“Why?”
“Well, the way you came in and just spoke to me. Very confident. You don’t strike me as,” she lowers her voice, “a human slave.”
“That is because I am not. Not any longer.” I lift my chin.
“Ah! A free bird. Congratulations. I never liked that practice. It’s forbidden by law, anyway.”
“True, but laws are really more like just guidelines when it comes to our—I mean, your kind.”
“I suppose.”
“So which society are you from?” I repeat. She has never heard my name, so it must be somewhere remote.
“I am what you would call a nomad. Sans société. I’ve been living as a yak herder in the Himalayas for the last few decades. Before that, I spent time on this really weird island in the Bahamas with this monk named Mr. Rook, who…”