“He is a fake.” Vanderhorst points at me. “As I told you a thousand times, woman. He is still Mr. Nice, the very vampire who stole you from me when you were pregnant with our child.”
For the record, Stella is a half vampire and was born shortly after I saved Miriam from death. But Stella received around-the-clock nannying and security. It was the sort of childhood I wish I’d had. No one protected me when Narcissismo murdered my parents. No one made sure I was fed and safe. I lived like a ship rat, surviving off scraps while tethered to a vicious vampire.
Ah, but my sweet Miriam and her child were treated like queens. I even changed Miriam into a vampire so she could be strong and always protect herself and Stella no matter what. She was a little miffed about that, but I knew with time she would come to appreciate my gift and see that I did it out of love.
Of course, Vanderhorst just had to come along and ruin everything with his ridiculous “rehumanization” project. Always have to be the hero, don’t you, Vanderhorst? Miriam took the cure—one drop only—the same day as I and ended up back with him. Blech!
Luckily for her, though, I am no quitter. After they brought me into their home, I found myself in a unique situation to bond with Miriam in a new way: snuggled close to her bosom while being bottle-fed, bathed with her warm loving hands, and taken for long walks in the stroller. Good times. Even better, my constant care took attention away from Vanderhorst. Ha!
Miriam’s eyes float to mine, searching for the truth, but I have danced this tango of lies many times. “No, Mom. He’s lying. Dad’s just jealous of this man he calls Mr. Nice, but I don’t remember him. I don’t know who he is.”
As I’m preparing to pound the final nail in Vanderhorst’s coffin, a beep sounds on my phone. Miriam’s jeans pocket lights up.
I look down at my cell on the small table beside the lounge chair. The text is from Vanderhorst.
Huh? I pick it up and read it. The messages says, Gotcha! And there’s a sound bite attached. No. No. No! He recorded our conversation just now and sent it to Miriam.
I glare at him, taking note of the joyful gleam in his eyes. My heart blisters with rage. “How could you?”
“No.” Vanderhorst steps forward, pressing his chest to mine. “How could you?”
“I’ll kill you. I’ll shred you to pieces and—”
“Bring it, human,” he snarls. “Just give me one excuse to remove your head.”
“Michael, no. Don’t hurt him. It’s not even a fair fight.” Miriam grabs his arm. “Let’s just…get some sleep and discuss this in the morning like civilized people.”
Vanderhorst backs off, his face red, nostrils flaring. He is upset because Miriam protected me.
“There. You see? She understands the true complexity of our love,” I say.
Miriam slowly turns, hate filling her eyes. “Yes. What I felt for you was love. Love for a tiny, helpless baby who needed a family. And I don’t know what you feel for me, but I guarantee it isn’t love.”
The rage in her soft brown eyes sends a cold shiver down my spine. I watch as she and Vanderhorst enter the house and slam the back door. The gesture feels big, as if they are shutting the door on me forever.
Is it possible I have miscalculated? Does Miriam truly not care for me?
No, impossible. The Nice does not make mistakes.
Then why do I suddenly feel so alone?
CHAPTER THREE
After a long and restless night on the lounge chair outside, my sore human body and I have awoken with a new perspective on things.
All is not lost! World domination is still within my grasp if I play my cards right.
Regarding the ban on me becoming a vampire again, I can appeal to the king’s senses. In other words, I will blackmail him.
Little-known fact: “Dad” is the true vampire king, the original Michael Vanderhorst. But five years ago, around the time I took the cure, Michael wished to vacate the throne without destabilizing the vampire kingdom, which had just gone through a dicey coup. He convinced his twin, the reclusive Freddy Vanderhorst, to take his place so that Michael could live a quiet peaceful life with Miriam, Stella, and me.
Now Freddy sits on the throne, pretending to be Michael, and the entire vampire world believes that Miriam left the king for his kinder twin brother. The old twin switcharoo! Such a cliché if you ask me, but also my win.
I will threaten to disclose their little twin secret if they do not turn me, which solves that problem.
As for Miriam, I have decided the best course of action is to tell her my side of things. No doubt, Vanderhorst has filled her head with lies. When she hears the truth, she will forgive me and see that he is nothing but a weak man, unworthy of her love.
I jostle the back door and find it unlocked. Miriam must’ve left it open for me so I wouldn’t miss breakfast. She loves cooking for me. Farm-fresh eggs, organic orange juice, whole wheat toast, strawberry protein smoothie, sausage, and my vitamins. She knows I must eat well to fuel my powerful, manly body.
I walk into the kitchen, noting the dimmed lights. The air lacks the scent of a homecooked meal and coffee. The house is quiet.
“Miriam? Vanderhorst? Stella?”
No one answers. Something is off.
Panicked, I rush to the library, which is situated in a separate wing of the house. Three stories high with a stained-glass dome for a ceiling, it is filled to the brim with thousands of books. This is where Miriam spends most of her time.
No one? The room is empty. But where could they be?
Of course! The other library! Miriam’s parents founded a public library downtown. Vanderhorst has been running things while she’s been occupied with me and Stella, but perhaps today is one of her book fairs.
I will go to her and make my case, but first I must bathe and look presentable. I rush upstairs to my room and stop on the red carpet. My entire room is decorated for a prince. Dark prince.
There is a note on my bed, and I recognize the handwriting as Vanderhorst’s.
Dear Mr. Nice,
You are a monster who has lived up to every despicable word that has been said about you over the centuries.
We offered you a home and a family. You betrayed us all—the only ones willing to give you a second chance.
Words cannot express our disappointment. Maybe soon, when you take your last breath, you will comprehend what you have done and what you have given up.
We will not return until after you are dead and gone. Please water my plants.
Goodbye,
Michael
P.S. Miriam never wishes to speak to you again. She has texted you a video in case you have delusions about it. Stella hopes you die on an iceberg of loneliness.
I drop the note on the bed. This cannot be. Miriam never wants to speak to me again? Nor Stella? I have been her playmate for longer than I care to admit. Does anyone know how hard it is to dress a Barbie?
Traitor!
I pull my phone from my pocket and check my messages. I see something from Miriam.
I must’ve missed it while passed out. I had way too much whiskey last night for a five-year-old. No, no. I am not actually five. Think of me as a very old soul trapped in a fresh new body that can’t hold its liquor.
I tap the message and stop it before it plays in its entirety. One look at Miriam’s red face tells me all I need to know. Vanderhorst has told the truth in his letter. He has won. And my family has abandoned me.