Home > VAMPIRE MAN (The Librarian's Vampire Assistant #6)(5)

VAMPIRE MAN (The Librarian's Vampire Assistant #6)(5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I head down the dark sidewalk, the warm night air offering little comfort as I attempt to process what just happened. It never occurred to me that my dark heart and evil soul would make me irresistible to my own kind. The spiciest, most delectable treat on two legs ever to live.

But I am still a vampire on the inside. One of them! All Bob saw was my blood. To him I was Mr. Nice-and-Fresh Meat.

I wonder if Vanderhorst was ever tempted to nibble on me.

Of course he had been. If I were a vampire, I would want a bite of me. So what kept him from acting if he could smell my spicy blood all along? Probably his ridiculous moral code. Wimp!

I decide to make one more attempt at contacting an old friend, though I do make the strategic choice to skip a few names on my list. The ones I used to admire for their heartless ways are a no-go. It would likely end up a repeat of Bob.

But that still leaves eleven names, and one is in Houston, a ten-hour drive.

 

The next evening, after being forced to accept my human need for sleep, I finally arrive to Houston.

Julia is a madam and runs a famous whorehouse in Texas, though it is strictly limited to immortals. Unless you are on the menu.

I park along the curb and unload from the SUV to stretch my tired body. My black leather pants are stuck to my ass, and I make a note to change into jeans if this visit proves unsuccessful. Leather pants and vampire skin are like peanut butter and jelly. Perfect together. But human skin creates moisture. I think my balls are chafed.

I tug on my wrinkled black button-down shirt and head to the darkened front porch of the home. For lack of a better term, the place looks like a crack house—weeds in the front yard, broken windows covered with cardboard, garbage bags piled up on the side. It is the type of neighborhood where no one asks questions and people mind their own business.

I ring the doorbell and notice someone looking at me through the peephole. “Julia! It is I, zi Mr. Nice. I have zi business propoosal for you!”

The door flies open, revealing Julia in a long black dress. She has shiny red curls just past her shoulders and bright green eyes. I believe she is about two hundred years old, turned by the famous Madam Frenchie, who died several decades ago in a tragic wood-chipping accident. Frenchie had a tree trimming business on the side—part of her human cover story. All vampires are required to have one. Human papers, social security number, and an official source of income commensurate to their standard of living. I believe Julia’s official occupation is interior decorator. A very, very bad one.

“Mr. Nice, such a lovely surprise.” She flashes a set of sharp fangs with bright red lipstick smudges. “Won’t you come in.”

“I warn you, I smell varrry delectable, so do not even think of eating me. Not until you’ve heard my propoosal.”

She dips her head, stepping aside so I can enter. “I have just dined on tender spunky woman and am quite full. You are safe.”

“Excellent.” I enter the living room, and the scent of death hits my nose. Out of respect I maintain a smile, but I want to retch. “I believe your inventory might be a little old?” I glance at a thin woman in a T-shirt and skirt slumped over in the armchair next to the sofa. Her skin is blue. Yesterday’s meal.

“Oh, that.” Julia swipes a hand through the air. “Garbage day is Thursday. I’ll toss her out then.”

Nasty. Today is Monday.

She goes on, “I have some fresh ones in the back room. Just arrived today.” Julia’s green eyes light up with excitement. “Oh. I also have a shipment from the south. Not spicy, but I seem to remember you like Mexican. Care for a nibble? You still eat people, yes?”

This is a prime example of how my Mr. Nice persona functions. Julia knows I am human but assumes I am still just as wicked and depraved as ever, running around consuming people. Because that is exactly what an evil man would do. It is also the sort of lie I feed to maintain my feared status among vampires.

“No, sank you,” I say. “I’ve already eaten. Had a mini-mart clerk on the way over.” I pat my stomach. Really, I had a turkey sandwich with extra pickles and lettuce.

“May I interest you in some wine, then?”

“Jessss…Thank you.” We go to the kitchen, which, now that I am seeing it with human eyes, looks like a diseased war zone. Dried blood on the floor, dirty dishes piled high on the counters, rat droppings on the windowsill.

Julia grabs a dirty glass from the counter, fills it with some red wine in a box from the putrid-smelling refrigerator, and hands me the glass.

First of all, no one refrigerates red wine. Second of all, what self-respecting vampire drinks anything from a box? Third, this glass looks like it hasn’t been washed in two hundred years. I doubted I would have cared as a vampire. Cooties and grime do not scare us. Mortality changes your perspective on all that.

I thank her and hold the glass in my hand, away from my face. “As I said, I have a propoosal for you.”

“How much?”

I stare.

“How much?” she repeats. “We all got the message from the king. I know he’s prohibited anyone from turning you. So how much will you pay me to do it?”

Ah, I knew Julia would be the right choice. She speaks the language of money. “Name chor price.”

“I want a thousand dollars.”

I try not to laugh. This is the thing about some vampires, the older ones, anyway. They have no concept of inflation. They still think a soda pop costs a nickel.

“And I want a new house,” she says. “This place is falling apart, and it’s being condemned.”

“Any house in particular?” I ask.

“You have that sweet pad in New Orleans. I want it.”

That could be problematic. I rented it out to some Irish vampires. A one-hundred-year lease. I hadn’t been living there for a while and felt it was best to have the place occupied. Also, it simply makes financial sense. I personally own over four hundred properties, most managed by a firm. I am quite the investor.

I dip my head in agreement. “I will have to come to an understanding with zi current residents, but I’m sure it can be done. The house is yours,” I say.

“Great. So, you want to do this now?”

“Jesss…That would be wonderful.” The process is quite easy. I must drink some of her blood, and then my heart must stop. Death.

Death. Death. My heart starts pumping faster. I do not fear death, but at the same time, the human part of me is a little uncomfortable with the idea of pain. “I need a moment. Bathroom is…?”

“Right through there. To the left.” Julia points toward the doorway.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll wait in my bedroom.” She winks. “You remember where that is, yes?”

“Jesss…” I wink. We had a few fun times in there. Mostly back when she was running her ten-for-one specials. Ten humans and one hell of a fun night!

I turn and head down the hallway to find the bathroom. I’ve never been in here before. Surprisingly, it is the only room in the house that isn’t filthy, with an all-pink tile floor and counters and a blue shower curtain. Yep. The worst interior decorator ever.

I relieve myself and wash my hands, staring at my face in the mirror. I am still not used to my reflection. Gone are my hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. My long skinny neck has been replaced by a normal-looking one that slopes down into strong shoulders and a powerful chest. My full lips and dark eyes are the same though. Also, I can grow quite the beard now.

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