Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (17 page)

I went upstairs to ask Cornelia if she wanted to go with me. She was lolling in bed, wearing some lacy confection of a bed jacket and talking on the phone. Her face, bereft of makeup, was surprisingly pretty and she looked much younger than she usually did.

I stood at her door while she made arcane arrangements to visit friends in Corsica or Kosovo or Cozumel. She mentioned all three, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d included the high-security prison at Corcoran.

When she finished the call, I told her, “I’ll pick up the cake ingredients the next time I go to the City. I don’t know where to get the ‘green wine.’”

“Ernesto has some out at the barn,” she said. It didn’t strike her as odd that she knew the contents of the property better than I. “You shouldn’t wait to get started on the cake. You should go to the City and buy those things today.”

“Do you want to come along?”

“I’ve got far too many phone calls to make. Take my car if you like.”

I was happy to, since her rental car had a working sound system. “Thanks, I will. Did you have a good time with Joseph last night?”

“He’s got a lovely surliness. I almost want to see him again tonight,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to give him the impression that I like him excessively.”

“Heaven forbid. Oswald won’t be back for dinner, but I should be back in the early evening.”

“I shall keep myself entertained,” she said.

I changed into jeans, a white cotton tank, and sandals. The City could easily be twenty degrees cooler, so I took along a light sweater.

Cornelia’s car was a pleasure to drive. I settled onto the cushioned leather seat, adjusted the numerous features, turned on the music, a bruising jazz mix, and got on the two-lane highway out of town. The engine was so quiet and the car so insulated that I felt cocooned inside.

The car was much more responsive than my truck, and once I got on the mountain, it took the curves effortlessly. I put down the window because I loved the smell of the forest. At this time of day, midweek, there was very little traffic. I was looking forward to a few hours of shopping by myself.

The music suddenly stopped.

When I glanced at the dashboard I saw that the lights had all gone out. The quiet engine was completely silent. There was a sharp turn ahead. I turned the steering wheel but it didn’t respond, and then I futilely jammed down on the brakes as the car flew off the side of the road.

The car crashed through branches and the air bags inflated, protecting me, but blocking my sight lines. I heard the shriek and tear of metal, and the car was bumped and battered roughly on its downward trajectory, bashing me from side to side.

After a few seconds, the car crashed into something and stopped, leaving me squeezed between the side and front air bags. The car seemed to be at a sharp angle, tilting forward. It felt as if it was shifting gently back and forth.

With my free right arm, I reached around my seat and felt for my tote. I pulled it close enough to fumble around inside until my fingers found the cool, hard surface of the penknife Oswald had given to me. Opening it with one hand took a long time. My short gardener’s fingernails kept slipping on the groove to open the blade, and I realized the genius of automatic switchblades.

When I finally succeeded, I slashed the air bag in front of me, which deflated with a prolonged hiss. Through the cracked windshield I saw the hood of the car dropping off into the air, which I sensed was not a good thing. I reached for my phone, but there was no signal here on the mountain. I shoved it in my cleavage for now.

I couldn’t unbuckle my seat belt, so I sawed through the thick nylon webbing, making my movements small and careful.

I needed to get a better view of my position. The automatic locks had trapped me inside. As I shifted my body, slowly moving to the backseat, I heard an ominous creaking. I didn’t wait for more. Bracing my back against one back door, I covered my face with my arms and kicked the side window across from me as hard as I could.

The safety glass shattered and when I uncovered my face, I saw a scatter of small pieces on the car seat. The car teetered, and I twisted around as quickly as I could and launched myself out the window, into the soft red dirt.

The car creaked again and then fell slowly over the precipice. Branches snapped loudly, metal crunched, and there was a loud bang and the rumble of rocks falling.

And then it was quiet.

I wormed forward on my stomach and peered over the hillside’s edge. Far below me, the mangled wreckage of the car lay in a rocky creek bed. My phone, dislodged by my wriggling, slipped out and tumbled forward into the ravine.

I hoped that Cornelia had bought rental insurance.

Cornelia.

Cornelia had declined to come along. Cornelia had said that the cake ingredients must be bought today. Cornelia had told me to take her car.

That evil Eurotrash, spa-slut, vampire bitch had tried to kill me. She was after Oswald! I would wrap my fingers around her bony chicken neck and squeeze until breathing was just a memory to her. I would beat her with her own stilettos until she had more holes than a summer eyelet frock.

Furious, I squirmed backward to firmer ground, and then stood. I was shaking with rage and adrenaline. The remaining shards of glass on the window had slashed my arms and the tops of my feet. I had dozens of fine cuts on my collarbone.

The blood dripped along my skin even as the wounds quickly mended themselves. The seat belt had yanked harsh red welts across my torso, and my ribs and knees hurt as if someone had hammered them.

I looked up toward the road. All I could see was a steep incline and dense forest growth. I heard the faintest hum of a car every few minutes. I attempted to scale the slope, but the ground kept sliding beneath my smooth-soled sandals. I grabbed at shrubs to pull me up, and their shallow roots would give way, and I’d slide back down with a handful of branches.

I’d heard that it was always easiest to find victims who stayed close to the site of an accident. Perhaps someone had seen the accident. I called out, “Hellooo! Help!” until my throat was so hoarse I could only rasp.

While I waited to be rescued, I sat on a mossy stump and thought of terrible things I would do to Cornelia. When the pleasant coolness of the afternoon turned chilly, I lost patience with waiting.

I was about halfway over the mountain, so I turned back in the direction of the ranch and began struggling through the brush on a path roughly parallel to the road. I tried to remember James Fenimore Cooper’s Deerslayer stories, in which broken branches were always relied upon for tracking. I snapped twigs as I walked, in order to leave a trail for rescuers. If I was in here long enough, I’d have to learn to weave clothes out of bark.

The straps on my sandals broke and I abandoned them. I’d start trying to make my way through one area, only to have my route blocked by impenetrable brambles or boulders. My clothing was ripped and filthy, covered with splotches of blood. My fingernails were broken, my feet hurt from the repeated cuts and healings.

When darkness came, the temperature plummeted. I still couldn’t see any signs of civilization ahead, and I no longer heard any traffic in the distance. Thirsty, hungry, and severely cranky, I decided to sit for a few minutes and reassess my situation.

My biggest worry was that Oswald would get home before me and walk right into the clutches of diabolical Cornelia, who might tell him anything-that I’d stolen her car and run away from home to join a circus, or that I’d gone off with Pepper on a cross-country crime spree.

I had to admit, she’d come up with an effective little plan, one that wouldn’t ruin her manicure. My mother Regina could have learned a thing or two from the vampiress.

The nighttime animals came out. Branches shuddered in the wind that kicked up every evening. As I sat there listening to the forest sounds, I heard a howl in the distance. I stayed motionless, wondering if it was a dog or a coyote. It came again, far off, but clear enough to cause all the other animals to fall silent.

I stood up, took as much air in my lungs as I could, and howled back.

The creature responded.

I forgot the murderous women in my life and walked toward the sound. The wolf howled and I responded. I stumbled and fell many times in my rush to find him.

Then there was a loud crashing through the bushes and the wolf ran toward me, his golden eyes shining even in this deep darkness.

“Pal!” I cried. I crouched down and put my arms around his big body, sank my face into the thick warm fur of his neck. When I released him, he danced around me happily.

Suddenly he raced off. I screamed, “Pal! Pal!” I tried to go after him, but he was much faster than I.

I began crying in sheer frustration. But if he could get here, then I could get out. I wiped my dirty, wet face with my dirty, grimy hands and began walking again.

As suddenly as Pal had disappeared he was back again. “Forget it,” I told him. “You already ditched me. Fool me once…” I continued on my way, but he took the bottom of my shirt in his big, sharp teeth and held me to my place. I smacked his head. “Let go, you stupid dog.”

He growled slightly.

“Same to you,” I said, but he wouldn’t let go. “Fine, have my damn shirt.” I jerked forward and my shirt ripped.

The animal ran around me and blocked my way.

I stared him down, calculating my chances of winning a fight without suffering grievous injuries. I dashed to one side and the animal knocked me down. I grabbed for his snout, but he leapt out of my reach.

We began a dance then of feints and strikes as I tried to get away and he tried to stop my progress. He never bit me, but he did nip and I did swat. It was more like a physical version of bickering than a screaming argument.

I had picked up a rock and was about to throw it at the wolf when I heard an amplified voice: “Is anyone there?”

Dropping the rock, I shouted, “Hello! Hello! I’m here! Please help me!”

When I turned to Pal, he gave me one last look and then trotted off into the underbrush.

“Stay where you are!” came the voice. “We’re coming down.”

The rescue crew took half an hour to get safely down from the road. The brawny man who clambered down turned the beam of his flashlight on me, and I became aware of my torn shirt, dirt-covered tatas, and filthy, bloody clothes. “Jesus Christ!”

“Thank God you’re here!” I said, and then remembered that I was engaged, so I crossed my arms over my chest with ladylike modesty.

“We’re going to get you to a hospital right away. I’m going to do a quick check of-”

“I’m fine. I just want to go home. My car crashed.”

“Where is it?”

“Somewhere down in the creek.”

He looked astonished. “And you made it out?”

“It took a while.”

“The blood…was there anyone else in the car?”

“Just me.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, yes, I don’t think so, but I’m fine.” I saw his flashlight playing over the blood on my clothes and skin. “I had a nose-bleed, but it stopped. Can you get me out of here?”

He radioed up that I wasn’t hurt and then he tied a rope around my waist, and I was soon hauled up the steep slope. When I reached the roadside, there was a sheriff’s car with flashing lights and an ambulance.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I kept telling the paramedics, and I gave the sheriff my name and address. While the paramedics were trying to convince me to let them examine me, the sheriff walked out of hearing distance and began making phone calls.

Finally, the paramedics gave up and said, “She seems to be okay.”

They wrapped me in a blanket and the sheriff came over and said, “You’re lucky we got that call.”

“What call?”

“Someone called a little while ago and gave us your location. He gave us the road marker and said there had been an accident. How’d he know that, when you said your car went off this afternoon?”

“Someone called you? Who?”

“You tell us,” the sheriff said as he put me in the backseat of his car. “You live at Doc Oz’s place, right?”

“Yes. I’m his fiancée.”

“I just called there. He didn’t answer.”

“He’s still at his office. He’s not coming home until later.”

“You sure he’s at his office?”

“No, I staged a car accident to murder him and his body is at the bottom of the ravine,” I said sarcastically. When the officer’s eyes widened, I said, “Of course, he’s at his office. He’s always at his office.” I gave him Oswald’s cell phone number, but he didn’t answer. Then I gave him Oswald’s clinic number and no one was there either.

“You better hope that Dr. Grant shows up,” the sheriff said. “You got an awful lot of blood on you for a person with no injuries. That must have been some nosebleed.”

That’s when it occurred to me that Oswald might be in trouble. Hell hath no fury like a vampire bitch scorned. What if Cornelia had planned the crash to keep me permanently out of the way so she could hurt Oswald?

“Hurry.” I had to get home and make sure Oswald was all right.

“I’m going the limit. Or do you have a reason to hurry?”

“I’m the victim here, you jackass.”

“You know, I’ve spent years dealing with victims, and you, little lady, don’t strike me as one.”

There are times when it is best to shut the hell up. I grew more and more anxious on the ride. My stomach cramped with nerves and I broke into a cold sweat. The sheriff had a look of satisfaction when he saw me clutching the blanket tightly. I wanted to smack the snide right off him, but he’d probably interpret that as a propensity for violence.

Oswald, Oswald, Oswald, I thought, please be okay.

like a rat in a trap

W e got to the gate of the ranch. I fumbled frantically with the car door until the sheriff said, “Let me unlock it first.” I jumped out and quickly pressed the code that opened the gate.

I didn’t wait to get back in the car. I ran down the drive to the house, not caring as I stepped on the sharp edges of gravel or the broken walnut shells from last season’s crop. “Oswald!” I screamed. “Oswald!”