As I said, I need him alive.
I will then take Nice back to my plane, keep him sedated, and transport him to the jail in Cincinnati. There, I can run my experiment. So far, I only have theories that work on paper. But if Nice’s blood is as powerful as I think, it will change the world.
I grab my rental SUV and start toward Nice’s hotel. It is midday and far too early to make my move, so I will do a little prep work, mostly scouting out the ideal sand dune to conceal myself.
I love how simple and clean this plan is. Nothing can possibly go wrong.
Suddenly, I realize my hands and arms are pulling the steering wheel toward the wrong turnoff. What the devil? It as if some part of my brain is doing its own thing. I would panic, but I am more intrigued than anything else. How can my subconscious take over when I am sitting right here! The conscious me is being overridden!
The SUV goes in the opposite direction from the hotel and toward the location where Lula was staying in prior weeks. What is happening?
I reach deep and come up with the only conceivable explanation.
I want to see her? The librarian?
No. No. That cannot be right. I must be feeling protective. Someone tried to kill us yesterday, and I worry they are following the librarian. I worry they might make another attempt on her life while she sets up her own trap.
Yes. That is it. I am merely feeling a deep-seated need to ensure she is all right.
My logical mind starts to fight with my subconscious. No. You will go and prepare to capture Nice. That is what’s right. That is what your people need you to do.
Or…or! I argue with myself. I could tell the librarian why I need Nice alive and simply trust she will see the sense in it?
But what if she does not agree? What if she merely pretends to be on board with my plan and then moves to kill him? She is quite the actress, and her disdain for Nice runs deep.
I decide it is best to keep my objective to myself. As for this other dilemma, I do not know what to make of it. My body seems to have a mind of its own.
I groan and take the turnoff, heading toward the house where Lula and Nice were staying. After I ensure my librarian is safe, I can only hope my brain will allow me to get on with my plan. Everything is at stake.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Miriam
It’s early evening, and the winter sun is setting over the horizon, just west of the crashing waves before me. A man with huge headphones, wearing rainbow shorts, jogs by on the sidewalk in front of the bench where I’m seated. An elderly woman, wearing a bikini top and miniskirt, passes with her lime-green poodle.
Oddly, I’m thinking about how I wish I could be normal—like them. My mind is human except for the intense vampire emotions; my need to be a good mother is still human; even my taste in food is still basically human. In every aspect of my life, except for the physical changes to my cells, I feel like a human trapped in the body of a vampire.
What’s it matter, Mir? I ask myself. You can’t change it. Still, my heart keeps protesting over being this way forever. Sooner or later, I’ll have to accept what I’ve become and set the example for Stella. She’s half-vampire, and if she’s going to love herself, she can’t see me hating myself. The problem is I feel like this is all a mistake. I was never meant to be this way. Stella, on the other hand, is a beautiful mystery.
Did someone say mystery?
Oh, fuck off.
I check my watch to see how much longer until sundown. Just a few more minutes. My stomach does a flip. Everything has to go right tonight, or Stella will grow up without a mother.
Don’t say that. Think positive thoughts. Visualize the target. Just like my mom taught me.
I’ve already procured a crossbow from the local sporting goods store. I have changed into black jeans and a long-sleeve black T-shirt so I can sneak into the yard of Nice’s rental. I drove by earlier and spotted a ficus tree that looks perfect for setting up.
Nice will rise within the hour, take a two-hour shower, dress for another hour, have a snack, and then hit the town. If I don’t have a clear shot as he’s leaving the home, I’ll get him when he returns at dawn.
To mask my scent, I’m wearing Midnight Fantasy by Britney Spears. To a vampire, it smells like sour, rotting plums mixed with cow dung and mothballs. Any vampire who comes within ten blocks of me will pinch their nose and curse whichever human left the lid off their stinky old trash can, but they will not smell me.
“Smelling rather putrid tonight, aren’t we, librarian?” says a deep, familiar voice.
I turn my head and find Michael standing there in a black suit that’s tailored to his lean muscular build like his second skin.
“Dammit. Alex told you, didn’t he?” I say.
“No,” Michael replies.
“Then how…never mind. Doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. I hate
