Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula (8 page)

“But of course,” Ian said.

Ilena let her wrap slip down to the chair and slightly rotated her left arm so that I could see the purple and ochre bruise on the inside of her elbow. When she was sure that I’d noticed it, she leaned against Ian. His hand went to the bruise, and his thumb stroked the mark. Satisfied that she’d claimed her territory, she said, “Ian, no one sees me here. I will be at bar for nob-hob with pretty boys and girls.”

“Have fun, darling.” When she was gone, Ian said, “How have you been?”

“Good. Busy. I’ve been writing, and then there’s the wedding at the end of summer.” Oswald and I hadn’t discussed the guest list and I didn’t know if Ian would be invited.

“You’ll understand if I don’t offer my congratulations.”

“Not really,” I said. “You’ve obviously moved on with your new thrall.”

“Ilena isn’t a thrall. She’s what you might call a compatriot. Her people have been allied with ours for ages.”

“But she lets you take blood from her.”

“Don’t be jealous, darling,” he said in his rich, sonorous voice. “I’m not.”

Before I could respond to his ridiculous comment, Pally’s other friends came into the kitchen and joined us. Soon we were all talking away. The woman, who wore a perfect little black dress, said, “Ian, how is your sister?”

Cornelia Ducharme, who’d been adopted by Ian’s family, was high-maintenance and low-tolerance. She’d been furious with me when I discontinued my role as Ian’s love poppet. The vampire world being a small one, she’d had some sort of relationship with Oswald, but I didn’t know if it had gone beyond socializing.

Ian said, “Cornelia is very well, thank you. She’s coming into town soon.”

The woman said, “Wonderful. I want to introduce her to a friend of mine. He’s just her type.”

Probably Type O, I thought, and Ian said, “I’ll tell her to call you.”

Ilena returned from the bar, somewhat enlivened, and I was shocked to learn that she was not in fact an international airline hooker, but a model. She contributed comments to a discussion about the international monetary fund that was completely over my head, leading me to suspect that she must be an idiot savant.

Plates of food and bottles of wine arrived at our table. There were cured meats, grilled fish, spring vegetables, and delectable, barely seared lamb and venison. Small plates of pasta appeared, curved orecchiette and luxurious pappardelle.

Pally, whose job seemed limited to cleaning spills on the edges of plates before they were sent out, kept offering his opinions to the chefs. They were surprisingly tolerant of him, especially since he frequently left his station to hang out with us.

I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room, and when I returned, Pally caught me in the hallway and said, “I like that caboose you’re hauling, mamacita. Wanna party with me later?”

He had a strong carnal appeal, and I thought he’d be a fantastic, drunken, lusty, messy lay, all orgasms and crazy laughter. “I’m not available.”

“You mean you and Ian and Ilena…We could all have a good time.”

“Pally, how do the dishwashers say ‘bleach’ in Spanish?”

“El Clorox. Why?”

“I’m going to ask the dishwasher for a bottle so I can pour it into my brain,” I said, laughing as I pushed past him.

The meal concluded late, after Pally joined the dishwasher to croon a love song in Spanish and we’d finished a plate of tiny almond cookies and drunk liqueur the color of garnets.

As we left I saw Ian’s Town Car was out on the street. I said, “Ian, thank you for dinner. It was incredible.”

“You’re welcome. Pally liked you.”

“I liked him, but I can’t believe he gets to have his own parties at work. Every time I tried to bring a little life into a workplace, I got fired.”

“What would you like to do now?” Ian asked.

“I’ve got to go back to a hotel and see if they have a room for me. My reservation got canceled.”

“I wondered why you were carrying around that case. Come stay at the Council’s house. We’re the only ones there now and there are several guest rooms,” Ian said.

He’d said “we.” Was he living with Ilena?

Ilena said flatly, “Is good house. Excellent plumbing with very much hot water.”

I liked hot baths. Besides, what if I went to the hotel and they told me again that no rooms were available? “Okay, thank you for offering.”

“Good,” Ian said. “Let’s have a nightcap first.”

Ian had the driver take us to a small jazz club. We sat on bar stools lined against the back wall and listened to a modern quintet. The sound was so beautifully balanced that I said to Ian, “Mercedes would love this place.”

“She’s the one who told me about it.”

I remembered that they’d discussed music when I’d introduced them, but didn’t recall them talking about this place.

I hadn’t slept much on the plane and I’d had a long day. When my eyelids began drooping, Ian suggested we go home. The driver took us to a tree-lined street and stopped in front of a white stone Beaux Arts mansion with arched windows trimmed in black. A tall black wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and enormous black jardinieres held boxwood topiary. Flames burned in antique gas lanterns over the entrance.

Inside the front door, a two-story entrance led to a circular staircase made of black marble. Ilena did one of those slinky model walks up the stairs and I followed her. Ian came behind us, lifting my bag so that it didn’t bang on the stairs.

I saw a living room with paneled walls and traditional furniture, and a formal dining room. Ilena walked down a hall and up another flight of stairs. On the landing of the second floor, she said, “Good night, pretty little chubby pickle.”

I stood there stunned, trying to decipher if she had meant that I was pretty and a little chubby, or pretty chubby.

Ian put his arm around her scrawny waist and said, “I’ll be just a moment.”

Ian and I went up the next flight of stairs. He walked down a hall and opened a door, “Here you are.”

The guest room was charming, with pink-and-white linens on the four-poster bed and a beautiful floral-patterned rug. A vase of pink and white tulips graced the mirrored vanity table.

I asked, “What did Ilena mean by calling me a pickle?”

“It was a compliment. She has a very high regard for pickles.” He was trying not to smile as he lifted the suitcase onto a bench at the foot of the bed.

“No one has a very high regard for pickles. Where is she from, anyway?”

“Her parents are in the diplomatic service and she’s lived in many countries.” He came close, then leaned in and kissed my neck in an intimate way that set off those strange sensations. “Sleep well, Young Lady.”

He left the room and closed the door. He’d once told me to dream of him. It had been like a spell, or a curse, and I hoped that he would stay the hell out of my dreams tonight.

I turned my thoughts to many irksome matters, the first of which was the Rules Committee’s no-boinking edict. I’d also have to deal with some nasty vampire wedding consultant. Finally, the Committee wanted me to sign the loyalty oath. I kept my mind on everything but Ian and Ilena in their bedroom doing whatever it was they did together.

The next morning I awoke feeling more cheerful than I had in ages. It took me a moment to figure out why: I hadn’t expected Daisy to come waggling up to me in this strange place.

There was a knock on the door. I pulled the comforter up and said, “Come in.”

A woman entered, carrying a tray with a silver pot, a red beverage, and a croissant. She looked like Mrs. Smith, but much younger and smiling. “Good morning, miss.”

“Good morning. It’s just Milagro.”

“I’m Ms. Smith. Would you like a bite?”

I didn’t know if she was joking or not. “I’d love coffee. Are you related to Mrs. Smith?”

“She’s my mother,” the woman said as she placed the tray on my lap and poured coffee from the silver pot into the cup. “Our family has served the Council for several generations. Does sunlight bother you?”

“Not at all.”

She smiled. “I always ask. Everyone has varying degrees of sensitivity. Although some seem to fuss for the sake of tradition.” She opened the drapes over three bowed and arched windows. “Lord Ian and Ilena have gone out, but he said you’re to take the car if you like. He’ll be back this afternoon.”

“I think I’ll explore on my own.” I looked around the room for a clock. It was almost eleven.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the office on the main floor.”

I thanked her and she left the room. I tasted the juice. It was tart-sweet blood orange. I had just bitten into the croissant when my phone rang.

“Hi, Milagro, it’s me.” Toodles coughed at the other end of the line. “It wasn’t food poisoning. I’ve got the flu. Did you get a decent room at the hotel? I’m sooo sorry.”

“It’s fine. Actually, I ran into a friend of my fiancé’s family and I’m staying with him and his girlfriend,” I said, thinking of how aboveboard it was.

“Good! I wish I could have gone out to dinner with you. I’ve wanted to go there for ages. Was everything perfect?”

“Oh, the reservation got canceled.”

“Just a sec.” I heard her yelling, “Did you cancel the reservation yesterday? What?” Then Toodles came back on the line. “My brother is horrible. I’m soooo sorry!”

“It’s okay. The place was packed, but my friend knows one of the kitchen staff, a guy named Pally, and he let us eat in the kitchen.”

She coughed so severely I thought she would choke on her outrage. “You ate at the chef’s table with Paolo?”

“His name’s not Paolo, it’s Pally. I think he’s the garnish inspector. Friendly guy, and the food was amazing.”

“Pally’s his nickname and he owns the restaurant! People would kill to eat at his table.” She coughed violently.

When she finished hacking, I offered to pick up some chicken soup and visit, but she told me to enjoy myself in the City. “I’ll see you at your wedding!” she said, and I felt glad that I’d have a few old friends on my side of the aisle.

Oswald was an early riser, so I called him. “Hey, babe.”

“How’d the rest of your evening go, babe?” he asked.

“There was one glitch,” I said, trying to sound breezy. “The hotel insisted that I’d canceled my room, but they were nice enough to offer me a midnight check-in special.”

“Are you there now?”

“No, I’m at the Council’s house,” I said. “Ms. Smith has been very kind.”

“It’s a beautiful old place,” he said.

“It’s pretty fab. Ian and his girlfriend, Ilena, are here, too. They invited me to stay when they found out about my situation.”

I waited and then he said, “Goddamn Ian Ducharme. What’s he doing there anyway? Why didn’t you go to the hotel?”

“I was tired and didn’t want to deal with the hotel. Look, Oswald, I didn’t have to say anything about Ian, but I think we should be honest with each other, don’t you?”

“I don’t trust him with you.”

“I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me, Oswald. Besides, Ian and his Euroslut-slash-model seem very happy together.”

After a few seconds, he said, “I’m overreacting, right?”

“Not compared to the way I feel about the Council’s latest condition.” I ranted about the loyalty oath and then I told him I was sightseeing on my own today.

Then I called Mercedes and told her about the meeting and the vampires’ underground lair. “I could have sworn that I heard someone crying out from behind one of those doors.”

“I know this hacker who’s obsessed with the tunnel system,” she said. “He’s been making a subterranean map of the City for years. He even tracks rat populations to discover tunnels.”

“You know how I feel about rats, ugh. Do you think he could figure out an alternative way to get to the vamp nest?”

“Persecuted peoples tend to have escape routes,” she said. “Give me the address.” I gave her the details and she said she’d call me as soon as she learned anything.

I went downstairs to tell Ms. Smith I’d be out. She was in a small office off the hall leading to the living room.

“I should be back in a few hours,” I told her as I looked at the old sepia-tinted photos of the house and neighborhood on the walls. “Have you worked for the Council long?”

“For about ten years now. I’m always happy when Lord Ian comes to visit.”

“Does he stay here often?”

“Not often enough. Although we spent a lot of time together when…But you know all about that unfortunate situation with the Project for a New Vampire Century and his house arrest.”

She meant the time the Council had reprimanded Ian for slicing up the man responsible for the attack on me. “So he was here with you and not in other quarters? I thought the Council might have a place to detain someone in their underground chambers.”

She smiled and said, “You must have read The Count of Monte Cristo. But I’d heard you liked books. You’re quite well known in our circles, you know-the only known survivor! I wish I could become one of them like you.”

“Being a vampire is overrated,” I said. “It’s better to be able to enjoy the sun, have kids, and live as a normal.”

“You’ve only been one for a short time. You’ll learn to appreciate the advantages of having the condition.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? See you soon.”

“Bye, Milagro. Enjoy your afternoon.”

This was advice that I could follow. Now that I had mastered the subway system, I set forth to visit interesting neighborhoods, marveling at how familiar and yet how different everything was. I was people-watching at a sidewalk café and drinking a strawberry smoothie when my phone rang.

A man’s voice chirped, “Miraculous one, I dreamed about you last night!”

“Hello, Don Pedro. I hope it wasn’t a scary dream.”

“I shared hoasca, a sacred herbal tea, with enlightened friends, and we journeyed together to the spirit world. I saw many things. I saw you opening your moist new wings!”

“I was a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis,” I said, amused.

“No, your wings were dark and webbed like a bat’s! You flew out of a black cave, into the sky, and there were three-no! There were four creatures watching you, but sometimes they had faces like people. One loved the beautiful bat, one watched guard over the bat, but two others wanted to crush her. I sensed much danger and desire and knew I must warn you to be careful!”