12. A Warning Between the Shelves
Chapter twelve
A Warning Between the Shelves
Nicolette
“ T hank you. Thank you for helping me. I know you’re a newlywed and you’d rather be home with your sexy husband.
But none of my volunteers showed up today, and Ethan just quit with no notice.
” Daphne sorted the books on her cart by classification and call number, the soft clack of spines and the low buzz of the overhead lights filling the quiet stacks.
I absentmindedly mirrored her movements.
I’d had a lot on my mind since Julian’s request two nights earlier. And since we’d been “sleeping” together.
“You don’t have to thank me. I love re-shelving books.
It’s my favorite pastime,” I teased. Though honestly, it was.
There was something magical about being in the library after it closed—like the stories on the shelves might stretch, yawn, and come to life once the last patron left.
Back in high school, Daphne and I had spent most Friday and Saturday nights volunteering there.
Some things never changed. And for that, I was grateful.
I needed some normalcy in my life. I needed my best friend.
“Seriously, you’re the best. So how is married life?” Daphne asked.
“Great,” I lied. Lying was my new pastime. But I’d realized how necessary it was—and how it might be the key to my freedom.
And honestly, things were a lot better now that I had hope—hope that one day I wouldn’t be married to Julian or have to resort to murder.
Or have a mother-in-law who could apparently tell whether I was having sex or not.
I wasn’t sure which possibility I was more grateful for.
Assuming, of course, I could cure Julian.
I had to admit, the prospect of discovering something so groundbreaking was as thrilling as it was ominous. The library’s after-hours stillness only amplified that feeling, as if the shelves themselves were holding their breath with me.
“I’m glad. I know you’ve been so worried about what everyone’s been saying about your marriage.”
Daphne was the one person I vented to about all the whispers—how my marriage was a convenience, a business transaction, a deal. Which it totally was, but people didn’t need to say it out loud.
“They’re obviously wrong,” Daphne spat. “I mean, don’t they see the way Julian looks at you? Uh, hello. He’s so into you.”
“Yeah, he is,” I exaggerated. “I can hardly keep him off me.”
What was I even saying? Though to be fair, he was quite the cuddler at night.
And don’t even get me started on the goodbye kisses he insisted on giving me—all in the name of making sure I “smelled like him.” Yesterday, I’d tugged at his shirt so hard, trying not to throw myself at him while he administered a kiss for the books, that I’d popped two buttons clean off.
He couldn’t stop laughing, and he’d had to change his shirt.
He told me someday I’d find it funny too. I highly doubted that.
Daphne fanned herself dramatically. “Ooh la la. I have holy envy.”
“Don’t. Someday you’re going to find an amazing guy, and he’s going to adore you.”
I hoped that was sooner rather than later.
I wanted to see my best friend get her happily ever after before I disappeared.
The thought of never seeing Daphne again made something inside me shrivel.
It almost made me rethink my whole assuming-a-new-identity plan.
But I couldn’t live a lie forever. And I was probably putting everyone I cared about in danger.
I mean, a psychopath had sent me flowers with a threatening note.
And Julian was no closer to figuring out who it was.
So now I carried pepper spray everywhere—like that would do anything against what I was pretty sure was another vampire.
The whole you look good enough to drink part in the note was a pretty good clue.
Honestly, my only real hope was to find a cure and carry the treatment around with me.
Though it probably wouldn’t be portable, and it would definitely need to be kept at the perfect temperature.
Maybe I’d just carry a syringe and shout, I’ll make you human if you come any closer.
Yeah. I was ridiculous.
Daphne sighed and leaned against her cart. “I’m not so sure. Look at me—I’m turning into a dowdy librarian.”
I totally loved her overalls. I wished I were wearing something cozy and sensible right now.
But being Mrs. Rossi unfortunately came with its own dress code.
Which was why I was wearing some designer slacks and an off-the-shoulder blouse.
Which was probably not the best idea when you were married to a vampire.
Maybe I should have invested in some turtlenecks.
“Are you kidding me? You’re gorgeous. And so fun. I mean, you work at a library, and you have after-hours privileges at said library. That’s so hot.”
“Oh, yeah. All the guys are like, Daphne, show me how to work that new 3D printer. ”
I giggled. “Sounds pretty sexy to me. Think of all the fun things you could print—or not print. The tables in the printer room are pretty big and sturdy,” I teased.
“Ha ha. You’re the only one here having office relations.”
I coughed, thinking about all the made-up stories I’d told her about Julian and me. “Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and the city will hire a hot library director.”
She blew out a long breath. “Even if that happened, he’d probably look down his nose at me.
Like this super hot guy who came in today asking if we kept any books about breeding horses.
I tried to chat him up, and he looked at me like I was dirt on his fancy Italian shoes. It’s the same way Cyrus looks at me.”
My blood pressure spiked just remembering how he’d behaved toward her at the reception. “Listen, you don’t want someone like him. Believe me. He’s a jerk.”
Daphne blinked heavily behind her glasses. “Does Julian know you think that way about his brother?”
“Oh, he’s aware.”
“I know it’s stupid, but I just can’t stop thinking about him. There’s just . . . something about Cyrus.”
Oh. No. No. No. My best friend was not going to fall for a freaking vampire.
They were the worst. And believe me, I understood why she found him attractive.
Whatever their mutation was, it came with a hefty dose of what I could only assume were super pheromones.
I was absolutely analyzing that once I got a sample of Julian’s blood.
Which would be next weekend, when he was due for his next plasma-treatment infusion.
That was going to be real fun. Just me and my vampire off his “meds” with a healthy case of bloodlust.
“Listen,” I said, more urgently than I meant to. “Cyrus has his allure. He’s foreign, beautiful, rich, smart. But other than that, he doesn’t have anything going for him.”
Daphne tilted her head and eyed me as if I were the one who’d lost it. And honestly, given my circumstances, maybe I had. “You just named four out of seven of my top qualities for a man.”
“Well, he’s missing the other three. That’s almost half.”
“Do you know for sure he doesn’t give amazing foot rubs, love Lord of the Rings , or know how to do the Wobble?”
Picturing Cyrus doing the Wobble made me giggle, even though panic was already creeping up my spine.
Not that I actually worried anything would come of Daphne’s sudden obsession with my broody, possibly deadly brother-in-law.
Cyrus obviously wasn’t interested. But I couldn’t let Daphne think she was attracted to him.
It was only his vampire charm. And everyone in Julian’s world was a suspect to me.
For all I knew, Cyrus had sent me the deadly note.
“I can’t say for certain,” I admitted, “but I’m telling you right now, you do not want to go down this road. Like I said, he’s a jerk, and you deserve so much better.”
Unfortunately, she wouldn’t let it go.
“I know, it’s just . . . I keep thinking about him, and I get this feeling he’s putting on an act. Like underneath it all, he’s actually a teddy bear.”
Oh. My. Proctalgia.
Seriously, these vampires had to be stopped.
“I guess. Maybe.” I had a sinking feeling there was nothing I could say or do to make her see otherwise. “Why don’t we go shelve some books? And then let’s order pizza and watch a movie in the media center.” The library still had old DVDs available to check out.
“Yeah, okay,” she said, like a woman who had just snapped out of the dreamiest of daydreams.
Oh, I’d been there. After every date with Julian, I would come home and fantasize about my life with him. Let me just say it wasn’t living up to the hype.
We wheeled our squeaky carts out, the sound dampened by the carpet that should have been replaced years ago.
Daphne veered toward the children’s section, where the overhead lights always seemed a little warmer, while I headed for Mystery/Thriller.
I probably should have taken Romance instead, considering my life was a thriller wrapped in a mystery right now.
Regardless, the library soothed my soul.
The faint scent of paper and ink, the whisper of pages settling on shelves, even the rattle of the old HVAC system—there was just something about it all.
Maybe it was knowing I was surrounded by so much knowledge.
Knowledge truly was power, and I was going to use it to figure my way out of my current circumstances.
With that thought, I went to work re-shelving everything from Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca to Freida McFadden’s The Housemaid .
I was getting into my groove, the familiar rhythm of sliding spines into place calming my nerves, when I reached for The Mother’s Secret .
As I went to put it back on the shelf, I paused.
An envelope sat exactly where the book belonged.
Weird, I thought—until I picked it up and saw my name written across the front in red. And unless I was losing my mind, the handwriting matched the threatening note I’d received on Monday.
A cold rush of panic shot through me. I whipped my head around, scanning the aisles, half expecting someone to step out from behind the stacks. How did they know I was here? That I’d chosen this section to re-shelve?
“Daphne,” I called out, my voice falsely cheerful and one breath away from a scream. I just needed to make sure she was alive and well.
“Do you need something?” she shouted back.
I definitely needed something. Preferably to wake up from this nightmare.
“I just thought I heard something. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Peachy keen, Jolly Green,” she chirped. Her dad used to say that. It had always made me laugh.
“Okay,” I managed, though it came out strangled.
For a moment, I stood frozen, my cart a flimsy shield between me and whoever had slipped this envelope onto the shelf.
They had to be close—close enough to break in, close enough to watch me.
My hands shook so hard that my teeth began to chatter.
I tried to channel the version of myself who talked big to Julian, but she was nowhere to be found.
All I could think was: I don’t want to die.
But I couldn’t call the police. What would I even say?
Hi, I think a vampire is stalking me . In Savannah, land of the ghost tours, that probably wouldn’t be the strangest call they’d ever gotten.
Plenty of locals believed this town was haunted.
But it still wouldn’t get me taken seriously.
And as lovely as a stay in the psych ward sounded right now, I didn’t have time for it.
Somehow, with trembling fingers, I managed to open the envelope. I pulled out the linen paper that smelled faintly of bourbon and shoe polish.
Written in red ink were these chilling words:
Are your mother’s secrets buried deep?
Or do you keep them safe, my sweet?
I will find out what you know.
Then you’ll meet your mother below.
I dropped the note, my insides twisting so violently I thought I might vomit. What secrets had my mother kept? Was this person referring to the things she said I needed to know during our last phone call? Were those secrets hidden on her laptop?
All I knew was that whatever she’d kept from me . . . it was deadly.
Deadly for her . . . and now me.