Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (15 page)

It had gotten late and I’d missed my run. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. There was an extra piece of chicken I could take to Pal.

“One of your many dogs?” Cornelia asked.

“Somebody else’s dog,” I said. “But he comes round in the evening.”

“He’s not a dog,” Oswald said. “I’m fairly certain that it’s an Eastern timber wolf.”

Cornelia turned to me. “Really? May I see him?”

“Come on.” I picked up the chicken breast, getting sauce all over my fingers. Cornelia hadn’t a spot or smudge on her white clothes.

We all went out the front door and I called, “Here, boy.” I scanned the fields and a moment later I saw him loping toward us. He stopped about twenty feet away, looking wary. “Come,” I said, and I moved toward him, holding the chicken aloft. “Got a treat for you.”

He approached slowly, keeping watch of my companions.

“Milagro,” Oswald said, but then Pal gingerly took the chicken from my fingers. He swallowed the meat in about one bite and then carefully licked the sauce from my fingers.

“See, he’s a good fellow.” I scratched the area between his ears. He took another look at us and loped toward the cover of trees.

“A magnificent creature,” Cornelia said. “I can’t remember the last time I had wolf’s blood, Oswald. Can you?”

“I’d rather have his than the other way around.”

“Neither of those situations is going to happen,” I snapped. “Pal is better behaved than most people I know.”

Oswald said, “Sure, if you’re talking about people like Pepper’s crowd. But I’m the one who’s legally and morally responsible for everything that goes on here, and I don’t like you encouraging that animal to come around.”

I was furious that he didn’t trust my judgment. “So my human friends aren’t good enough, and neither are my canine friends! I didn’t realize that I’d become incapable of making my own decisions.” I walked angrily into the house, seeing Cornelia’s amused expression, and I shouted over my shoulder, “And in conclusion, you can go to hell, Oswald.”

While I was putting away the food and dishes from dinner with much banging and stomping, I realized that this was perhaps not the best display of marital compatibility we could have set forth. Well, I couldn’t help that Oswald was behaving like a complete jackass.

I kept expecting him to come into the kitchen and apologize. But he hadn’t by the time I’d cleaned everything. I glanced at the clock. Where were he and Cornelia? They hadn’t come back into the house and they weren’t on the terrace.

I stepped outside and looked toward the barn. Lights glowed there. They’d gone for a nightcap in the tasting room. Why did I feel excluded when I was the one who’d stomped off?

I spent a few hours reading and writing, expecting them to return at any moment. I felt foolish and worried despite the fact that Oswald hadn’t shown any inappropriate interest in Cornelia.

I closed the door to my bedroom and called Winnie, Sam’s wife. Sam answered groggily. “What is it, Young Lady?”

“I need to talk to Winnie.”

“She’s sleeping. Can I help?”

Sam wasn’t exactly the sort of person I naturally confided in, but he was trustworthy and smart. “The Council appointed Cornelia Ducharme as the wedding consultant. She’s here now.”

“Oh,” he said. It was a weighty “oh.” He’d had his own close encounter with the she-devil.

“‘Oh’ exactly. Sam, could the Council have done this just to break us up?”

He chuckled. “I can’t see the Council entrusting Cornelia to do anything like that,” he said. “She’s actually a good fit for the job. It’s not a big commitment, but requires someone who’s social and comfortable with all branches of the family.”

“Why would she even want this job?”

“Maybe she wanted some independence. The position has an expense account and great perks.” In the background, the baby began crying. “I’ve got to go,” Sam said. “I’m still negotiating with the Council about the loyalty oath, and if you can give Cornelia a chance, things will go smoother.”

After we said good-bye, I cogitated on Cornelia’s situation. Perhaps she, like Nancy, was trying to do something with her talents, such as they were.

My pledge to give Cornelia a chance was tested later that night when I heard the low murmur of her and Oswald’s voices and laughter as they came in the house. Their footsteps faded as they went down the hall toward the stairway and then up to bed.

half-baked and fully cooked

O swald looked as innocent as a bunny the next morning. But while bunnies appear innocent, their reproduction patterns belie fluffy purity. He had already made coffee when I got up and went into the kitchen. He gave me a sideways glance and said, “Are you over your tantrum?”

“I don’t have tantrums,” I said. “I occasionally express outrage at injustice.”

He had the nerve to smirk as he handed me my coffee. I went to the table and saw a book there. There was a photo of a wolf on the cover. “I was wrong,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”

“That creature is not an Eastern timber wolf. It’s a Mackenzie Valley wolf.” He came to the table and flipped the book open to a bookmark.

There was a picture of a wolf that looked exactly like Pal. “There is a vague resemblance,” I admitted. “Something of a similarity around the muzzle perhaps.”

“A vague resemblance?”

“A strongly vague resemblance. Which is nothing at all in the general scheme of the animal world. Dogs and wolves are practically the same genetically.”

“Small alterations in genes can result in drastic differences in character and behavior.”

“I’m aware of that. And your point is?”

He gave me a hard look.

“All right, all right,” I said. “But he’s been around all this time and nothing has happened.” I moved closer to Oswald, running my hand over his yummy firm thigh. “Oswald…”

“Good morning!” Cornelia walked into the kitchen wearing a slinky black nightgown with a matching robe that wafted back as she walked. The word “negligee” came to mind.

Oswald took my hand, which was moving northward, and held it. “Morning, Cornelia. Sleep well?”

“Like the dead.” She looked around the room, her eyes falling on the coffeepot as if it had personally disappointed her.

“I could fire up the espresso maker,” Oswald said when he noticed her expression. “Or would you like orange juice?” He went to the fridge and took out a pitcher of blood orange juice.

“Juice only.” She shook her head at the muffins I took from the cupboard.

“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked.

She sipped her juice before answering. “We went over the plans and requirements with Ernesto last night. He has the arch and platform from Sam and Winnie’s wedding in storage, and he’ll give them a new coat of paint.”

“Is there anything that I can do?” I asked.

“Of course!” Cornelia said. “You’ll be sewing the traditional marriage costumes, the bride and groom’s tunics.”

I tried to catch Oswald’s eye, but he was suddenly fascinated with the scenery outside the window. Turning to Cornelia, I said, “I don’t sew. I can sew on a button, but that’s about it.” My few needle skills were learned from my abuela, who had shown me how to hem dishcloths and darn socks. My mother Regina always threw away anything that was imperfect in her eyes, yet another reason she had frequently forgotten to pick me up from the library.

Cornelia said, “They are such simple garments. A child could sew them.”

“Oswald has excellent needle skills,” I said. Sure, he usually worked with human flesh, but his technique was renowned. “Can’t he sew his own tunic?”

Cornelia and Oswald exchanged a look with each other and laughed. “No, darling,” she said. “The bride does this as a display of her love and wifely skills. The Council expects our tradition to be honored.”

I sighed. “Cornelia, are you telling me that you’re going to sew the wedding tunics when you get married?”

“Membership has its privileges. I shall hire someone to do it for me and we’ll all pretend that I’ve done everything myself from shearing the sheep to weaving the cloth.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “That is, if I ever decide to marry. Oswald, you should have seen the last fellow the registry matched me up with,” she said. The vampires had a dating service that matched up members based on their fertility levels. “One of the Van Burens, I can’t remember which because they all bore me to distraction.”

“Now, Corny, don’t be mean. The Van Burens aren’t flashy, but they’re good, honest men.”

She started laughing. “If I ever fall into a coma, I’ll be sure to look them up, dear.”

Oswald glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run. Are you two going to stay around here, or will I have to bail you out of jail this evening?”

“Ha ha and ha,” I said. “Will you be back for dinner?”

“I’ll call later.”

He kissed me good-bye and then kissed Cornelia, too. It was only a kiss on the cheek, but I didn’t think he needed to get quite so close to her.

When he’d gone, Cornelia said, “Come upstairs and I’ll give you the drawings of the tunics.”

I accompanied her to the guest room and she gave me a sketch of a dark red, hooded cloak, embroidered at the cuffs and hem with flowers and fruit, for Oswald, and a simpler red gown, for me. I asked, “How am I going to make these?”

“It will take a few hours, but isn’t Oswald worth a little effort? Here is a detail of the needlework.” She gave me another sketch with an illustration of intricate embroidery.

“Are these pomegranates?” I asked.

“Yes, and grapes, figs. You should use a heavyweight silk fabric and silk thread. Let’s go into town and buy your supplies.”

She seemed to accept that I would drive her car. I flicked on the stereo and was surprised to hear an intriguing modern tango. “This sounds familiar,” I said. “I think my friend Mercedes had this band at her club in the City. Have you been there? It’s called My Dive.”

“Not yet, but I’ve heard of it.”

“You should check out the schedule before you go. Her taste is very eclectic.”

“Ian is so passionate about music, you know, and he’s always introducing me to new things.”

At an antique store in town, Cornelia bought a variety of tiny objects, including a china pillbox and silver hair combs. “Ilena will like these, don’t you think?”

“They’re pretty. I don’t know much about her taste.”

“Very chic, which is to be expected with most of Ian’s women.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said, unable to resist adding, “But she did seem a little…bloodless.”

“Not everyone can be a pretty, chubby little pickle like you.” Cornelia laughed merrily.

“I can’t believe Ian told you that,” I said, even more embarrassed to feel my cheeks grow hot.

“Not Ian. Ilena told me. She couldn’t believe that you and he…Well, it was unlikely.”

“Yes, especially since Oswald, who is so handsome and smart and successful and a decent human being, is more my type.”

“Then aren’t you lucky to marry him!”

We stopped at a quilting and crafts shop, and the sales clerk sold me fabric and silk embroidery floss for the wedding tunics. I signed up for a beginners’ sewing class that met twice a week.

Then we went to a small café on the outskirts of town. As I parked, I noticed that the For Sale sign was gone from the nursery next door. A wholesale grower’s truck was parked in the drive, and a guy was unloading flats of bright annuals. This was the nursery I’d considered buying, but I’d been unwilling to deal with the chore of running a business.

And now I was stuck with remodeling a loft.

We were shown to a table on the back patio under the shade of old pear trees, their ripening fruit hanging pendent.

We shared small plates of food and a bottle of a light, fruity red wine. “Cornelia, is this your first job?”

“Hmm?” She was sorting through a fruit salad, picking out all the juicy blackberries, and popping them between her crimson lips. “I’ve always seen my life as my job. Ian thought I’d like it.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself,” she said.

Curiosity overcame caution and I asked, “What was Ian like as a child?”

“He was the same,” she said, and then her expression softened. “After my parents died, I was sent to his family. He was just a boy, but he took my hand and said, ‘Now you will be my sister and I will be your brother forever.’ He took me up to the bedroom next to his. He’d brought in all his favorite things, books, toys, a globe, his old teddy bear. He stayed close to me, making sure I wasn’t alone or scared. He liked to spin the globe and tell me about all the places in the world we’d visit when we grew up.” She smiled. “He kept his promise and we have visited all those places.”

I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I heard the catch in her voice as she said, “That’s why I’m so happy that he’s found someone who makes him happy.”

“So you think she’s the one, then?”

Cornelia smiled. “What I think isn’t important. He believes she’s the one. I hope to help coordinate my brother’s wedding.”

“Won’t the Council object if Ian marries an outsider? Even if her family is associated with your people?”

“They’ll be furious. But Ian doesn’t let them dictate his life,” she said. “Enough about my family. Let’s talk about your wedding. Oswald will want to make improvements, naturally. What procedures have you planned?”

“I’m not having any procedures. Oswald loves me as I am.”

“How sweet of him to say that! But Milagro, do be realistic. He is in the business of beauty.”

“That’s his business, which is not my life. I’m not going to be anyone’s showroom exhibit.”

“Don’t be so touchy! I was obligated to ask in my capacity as the wedding adviser,” she said soothingly. “How are your baking skills?”

“I can make cookies and brownies. Why?”

“You’ll have to make the traditional bride’s cake.”

“Why does the bride have to make…? Never mind. It’s a display of her wifely skills, right?”

“You do catch on. You’ll have to start immediately since the dried fruits must soak in the alcohol for two months, and the cake itself must be aged for an additional month so that its flavors ripen.”