Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (20 page)

She gathered lacecap hydrangeas and pretty spirea branches. I saw how she selected the flowers and sought out things that balanced their color and texture. “You have an eye for gardening,” I said.

“I used to garden with my mother. My first mother. She was a wonderful homemaker.”

“Was it hard going to live with Ian’s family?”

She thought before saying, “Quite different. His parents, our parents, were in their adult world and we were in ours. Ian took care of me.” She turned to me and said, “I would do anything for him.”

I got the distinct feeling that “anything” included everything from picking up his mail when he was out of town to slaughtering his enemies. “Were you raised in the children’s quarters?”

She pulled her hand back sharply from a bush. A drop of red blood appeared on the tip of her finger. She eyed it lovingly, then put it to her mouth, sucking for a moment. When it had stopped bleeding, she said, “Didn’t Oswald tell you?”

“We don’t talk about Ian or his family.”

“Would you like to know the family shame?”

“You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”

“Our parents are addicts,” she said bluntly.

“But how? If they’re like Ian,” I said-and thought, like me, too-“they wouldn’t really feel the effects of alcohol or drugs.”

“They don’t have his level of resistance to drugs, but that’s not their problem. They’re addicted to blood.”

“But it’s just a craving.” A strong, sometimes overpowering craving.

“They were always looking for the most exotic taste, traveling everywhere, drinking from heroin addicts, the terminally ill, virgins, whores, monks.” She watched my face and I didn’t bother to hide my horror. “You know where the most exquisite blood was, don’t you, Young Lady? In their son’s small body.”

I wanted to tell her to stop talking, but I didn’t.

“They used to call him to their room every night. They told him he was sick and they needed to check his blood, just take a small vial. Then they’d lock themselves up and we wouldn’t see them until the next afternoon.”

So that’s what Mrs. Smith was alluding to when she mentioned his difficult youth. “They’re monsters,” I said.

“Don’t be so squeamish, darling. They were only human, our type of human, and otherwise they’re very loving and thoughtful. Ian put a stop to it when he was old enough to realize what was happening, and he’s never let anyone else taste his blood since then.” She smiled and said, “Except you. But you’re always the exception, aren’t you?”

All my life, all I’d ever wanted to be was an ordinary human chica, to be part of a larger whole, to be normal. “Yes, I am always the exception.”

She sighed and said, “I shouldn’t have shared that with you, but secrets can be such a burden.”

Poor Ian, I thought. Poor Cornelia. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“I’m relying upon you, darling. Now where are your vases?”

to kill a mock-orange

I had time to shower and change into clothes that didn’t reek of pesticides. The scoop-neck blouse I wore revealed lots of interesting pulse points to attract Oswald’s attention. I wasn’t sure of many things, but I was sure of this: life was too precarious to give up lovemaking with a fabulous man in the hopes that blood-drinking bureaucrats would give you vacation time-shares.

Oswald came home carrying his suit jacket. I was in the dining room, setting the table. “Hi, babe,” he said and then stopped and took a longer look.

I lifted my chin to lengthen my neck. I would learn to relax and satisfy my future husband’s needs. After all, I’d done it before. “Hello, Oz.”

He gave me a kiss, but pulled away when I tried to prolong it. “Why did you invite this guy to dinner?”

“Cornelia really likes him and I like him, too.”

“Cornelia likes a lot of men. So do you. He must be good looking.”

“You know me-I’m happy to talk to anyone about horticulture. It doesn’t hurt that he has a totally rocking body.”

“I’m glad that’s cleared up.” Oswald kissed me again, and then his lips traveled just below my ear. I shifted my body toward his, pressing against his hips. I closed my eyes and enjoyed his warmth, his delectable Oswaldy smell, his beautiful lean body.

The dogs began barking as a truck approached the front drive. I nipped Oswald’s pink earlobe. Ears were full of blood, and normal people pierced ears every day. Later tonight, I’d give cutting his lobe the old F.U. try and prove that I was capable of being everything he desired in a wife.

The buzzer for the front gate sounded.

Oswald took his arms from around me and looked down at the front of his trousers. “Why are you getting me all revved up?”

“It’s in my job description. You save that, uhm, revving for later, and I’ll get the gate.”

I took one last look around the house. Everything seemed in order. The crystal wineglasses gleamed and the silver had a lovely warm sheen. I’d even ironed the napkins. Well, not ironed in the technical sense of the word, but I had thrown them in the dryer until they weren’t wrinkled anymore.

I walked up the drive and opened the gate for the truck with the Lupine Fields Nursery sign on the side and waved Joseph in, closing the gate after the truck. He waited a few yards on, and I hopped into the passenger seat and said hi. He was looking particularly spiffy in a blue polo with an organic compost company logo and olive green pants. His dark hair was loose and smelled marvelous, like pine-scented shampoo.

I directed him to the car park, and when we got out of the truck, the dogs surged toward us. Just as quickly, they backed down, slinking away. “That’s odd,” I said. “They’re usually delirious to meet a guest.”

Joseph shrugged his rangy shoulders and said, “Dogs always keep their distance from me.”

“Me, too, lately. They’ve decided they belong to the ranch hand, Ernesto.” I slipped my arm through his. “Let’s have dinner first and then I’ll show you around.”

He looked around at the magnificent oaks and walnut trees, the vistas out to the mountains, the small vineyard, and the barn and pool compound. “This is all yours?”

“Not hardly,” I said and laughed. “The ranch is Oswald’s. I own some of the plants in the garden. That’s about the sum total of my worldly belongings.”

“This will be yours when you get married.” Even though I’d worn the low-cut blouse for Oswald, Joseph was not oblivious to my charms. “You look real pretty, cookie.”

“Thank you. So do you. That shirt makes your eyes look as blue as bachelor’s buttons.”

The wind was really blowing this evening and the trees rustled loudly and my skirt blew up around my hips. I laughed and pulled it back down. “We’re having cocktails inside tonight,” I said.

My friend suddenly started and looked around. “What was that?”

I listened, but the only thing I heard beyond the wind was a creature chittering in one of the trees, probably a squirrel. “Nothing, just the wind,” I said, leading him inside. I closed the door against the dust and leaves swirling on the ground.

Oswald was already in the living room, and I introduced the two men. I could tell from Oswald’s expression that he was surprised at Cornelia’s current beau. I filled glasses with ice, poured in pomegranate syrup, tequila, and grapefruit juice, and garnished the drinks with a slice of lime.

“What’s this?” Oswald asked.

“I just made it up. It’s like a Tequila Sunrise, but with pomegranate syrup and grapefruit juice. What should I call it? A Tequila Moonrise? But it has red streaks. Maybe a Blood Moon.”

“Blood Moon is another name for Xquic,” said Joseph. “I learned about her because there’s a corn hybrid named for her.”

I made him repeat the word and spell it. He added, “She was a Mayan deity, a maiden of the underworld. She had to gather corn to prove that she was a virgin even though she was pregnant. She had twins who defeated the death gods.”

“What is it with goddesses of the underworld and seeds, or seeded fruit?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of that myth, although I know a little folklore. I’m using some of it for a writing project now.”

Joseph said, “Does this have to do with that nut Don Pedro?”

I couldn’t tell him that he was right. “I’ve always been interested in folklore. I use it as inspiration for some of my stories.”

“Milagro writes fiction, you know,” Oswald said. He mentioned rather proudly that I had a degree from F.U.

I was thinking of how I’d like to write a story that connected the myths of Xquic and Persephone. I’d modernize it, and perhaps the underworld would be represented by the scary new sovereign wealth funds and the maiden would represent-

“Good evening, darlings!” Cornelia glided into the room so smoothly it was as if she was on rails. She was in one of her fantastic outfits: a narrow black skirt, an ivory blouse with a froth of ruffles at the cuffs and neckline, and elegant sandals with high heels. Her lipstick was as deep red as the ruby earrings that dangled from her lobes.

And damn if Joseph and Cornelia didn’t look smitten with each other. Oswald and I exchanged amused glances as they kissed hello and gazed into each other’s eyes.

We learned a little more about Joseph. After getting his degrees in plant botany and genetics, he’d worked for a large lab.

“Did you leave because you objected to creating Franken-foods?”

He looked amused. “Nah, doodlebug, I just hated being inside all day long. It makes me wound up.”

“You’re an outdoors type,” I said. “Oswald gets stuck in his offices for ages.”

“But I like what I do,” Oswald said. “I’ve got my weekends to stretch my muscles here. Joseph, if you like to ride, you’re welcome to use one of my horses and ride with Cornelia. She’s a wonderful horsewoman.”

“I bet she is, but horses and I don’t get along.”

“What animal does like you?” I asked.

“Human animals,” Cornelia said playfully.

We began a long discussion on animal psychology, and pack versus herd mentality. Joseph seemed to know as much as Oswald about animal behavior and physiology, but when Cornelia looked bored, he started asking her questions about her travels.

Our conversation was comfortable, but Oswald was exhausted. I saw it in his gray eyes and the distracted way he’d stare off. Joseph asked Oswald about his job.

Oswald said, “I talked to someone today about joining my practice. It would give me more time for other things.”

My heart jumped a little at the idea of Oswald spending more time with me.

“Such as expanding?” Cornelia said.

“It’s too soon to say,” Oswald answered.

“You can’t mean it!” I said. “Why do you need to expand? I thought a partner would let you cut back on the time you spend…”

Oswald gave me a tight smile. “We can talk about this another time.”

I hated that. I hated when people treated me as if I shouldn’t bring up an important subject, or make an observation. For a moment, I longed for the freedom of my haphazard single life, when I’d said whatever came into my head without worrying that I was violating someone’s sense of propriety.

“Let’s talk about it after dinner,” I said and returned my fiancé’s tight smile.

Joseph saw that I was upset and said, “Any chance I can see your garden before it’s too dark?”

I took him outside and we strolled down the paths that led between the planting beds. The breeze had settled a bit and only a few birds called now, turning over the evening to the chirping of crickets.

Joseph recognized most of my plants but asked about a few of the older rose varieties. He stopped in front of the mock-orange shrub and said, “Isn’t it too cold here for this?”

“Probably. I thought it would be protected against the frost here by the wall, and I’ll mulch and insulate it if we get a really bad spell.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in trying to impose your will upon nature.”

“I’m just imposing my will on this one shrub,” I said. “I’m not trying to do any DNA splicing with an iceberg. I’m just trying to help it survive.”

“Things are always best in climates that suit their nature. You can keep something alive, but you can’t force it to thrive.”

“Are you talking about life, not just plants?”

“Is there a difference? I hope your mock-orange makes it through the freezes, kitten.” He put his arm around me and we went back inside.

As I closed the door behind us, I thought I saw something, someone, among the trees. But the image vanished immediately. What the hell was going on with my eyes? I kept peering and finally spotted something very small, perhaps a squirrel, shifting through the shadows and leaves above.

We had coffee and a plum tart for dessert, and afterward Oswald and I left the other couple and went to the family room. “Are we going to have an argument?” he asked as he sat in an armchair.

“Yes, but first I want to ask you something. Something’s going on with my eyes.”

“Let me guess. Now you have X-ray vision. Can you see through my clothes?”

“I wish. But, no, it’s as sharp as before.” I could barely remember what it was like not to have perfect vision. “You know how I see outlines of living things at night? There’ve been a few times lately when I see something, but when I focus, it’s something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like just now I thought I saw a person in one of the trees, but it was only a squirrel or something. I mean, they’re not even close to the same size or shape.” I realized I was nervous when I began arranging the pillows on the long sofa.

“It’s happened before?”

“Yes, once, in the City. I thought I saw a person, but it was just a dog. Again, there’s the disparity of size and shape. Is it my eyes, or do you think…”

He stood and came to me, taking a pillow out of my hand and putting his arms around me. “I think you’re the craziest girl I know, but I don’t think you’re going crazy. I’ll call our ophthalmologist and see about an appointment for you.” He sat me down. “There are lots of causes, but the most likely one is stress, babe.”

I’d been under stress before and nothing like this had happened. “Is my vision changing again maybe?”

“It sounds more like a momentary visual distortion. We all have them-our brains misinterpret visual information until we focus. We’ll get it checked out. I want you to be able to enjoy our honeymoon.”