Christmas in Transylvania (5 page)

Since when do I get stressed out by little things?

A baby is not a little thing!

“You said
might
be pregnant,” Karl said hopefully.

“Yeah. If she is, it's only about one month.”

“Couldn't you do a test or something?”

“I didn't happen to bring one of those little sticks with me,” Sigurd said sarcastically. “I'm not an obstetrician. And don't even think of going out to some drugstore tonight. Like you said, driving's already hazardous, and I doubt Mike would consider a pregnancy test enough of an emergency to teletransport.”

Karl groaned at the mention of Mike. He had been hoping . . . he still was . . . that their archangel mentor wouldn't have to find out about his bringing a human into their midst.

That hope was shot dead in its tracks when Sigurd stood and stretched before picking up his bag, and said, “Speaking of Mike. Vikar got a message that there will be a meeting of the VIK here at the castle a week from now. Something about some new trouble brewing from Jasper.”

The VIK was the ruling council of all the vangels, comprised of the seven Sigurdsson brothers. Vikar, Trond, Ivak, Mordr, Sigurd, Cnut, and Harek.

“A new mission?” Karl guessed.

“Sounds like,” Sigurd agreed.

That's all they needed. The vangel holiday madness that Alex was no doubt planning on top of St. Michael the Archangel arriving on the scene, not to mention Faith up in Karl's bedroom, and Karl possibly having to leave on some Lucie mission.

Karl held Sigurd's gaze for a long moment. The unanswered question was: Would Faith be gone by then?

And where would she go?

And why did he suddenly care so much?

 

Chapter Five

It's beginning to look a lot like . . . vampires? . . .

A
FTER TWO DAYS
confined to Karl's third-­floor bedroom, Faith was bored. Still sore, of course. What else was new? And so weak that when she got up to use the bathroom, which was just across the hall, it felt like a marathon to her wobbly legs.

All she did was eat and sleep and watch TV, mostly reality shows that were downright depressing. She had enough reality in her own life . . . and depression.

More than anything, she was itching to explore the castle while it was still her temporary abode. God only knew how much longer she would be permitted to stay. Karl was searching desperately for some women's resource place that would find her a safe home. And while Alex and Vikar were not rude to her, they were clearly worried about her meeting the other ­people who lived in the castle. Why, she wasn't sure. It was almost as if they were some weird cult that lived here secretly. As if Faith cared!

No one had actually said the words, that her welcome was a short-­lived one, but Faith sensed it in the way they pushed for her speedy recovery. In fact, Karl had told her that he would get her car and have it ready to go whenever she was ready

Faith appreciated Karl's efforts to find her a safe haven, but she had no intention of leaving her future in anyone else's hands. She'd done that for too long. Now that she had escaped Leroy, for good, she planned to “disappear.” Once she was a little bit stronger. Maybe next week.

There was one thing that held her back, and it wasn't the growing affection she felt for the sweet young man who'd saved her. No, it was another “person” all together. She put her hand to her belly. If she was pregnant . . . well, that would create a whole new obstacle for her plans. Not that she considered a baby an obstacle. A complication, that was all.

“Are you talkin' to yourself?” a small voice asked. “I talk to myself when I hafta do quiet time.”

Faith jerked around from where she was standing by the window, looking out over the snowy terrain. Dizziness swept over her at the quick movement, and she had to hold on to the back of a chair to keep from toppling over.

A child was peeking through the partially open doorway. No, it was two children. Blond-­haired twins, by the similar looks and size of them. A boy and a girl. About three years old and adorable. Wearing matching denim coveralls over long-­sleeved white T-­shirts with blinking-­light, neon-­colored athletic shoes on their little feet.

“Maybe she's talkin' to us, Nora,” the boy said to the girl.

“Maybe. That means we hafta go in, Gun. To be polite,” the girl replied. “We wouldn't be botherin' her then.”

“Nope. We gotta go in.” The boy looked at Faith, hopefully. “Do you want us to come in?”

“Sure,” she said, glad for the company.

The two little scamps rushed in, causing the door to swing inward and slam against the wall.

“Hullo! My name is Gunnora, but you can call me Nora,” the little girl said. “I brought these for your owies.” She handed Faith a half dozen Winnie the Pooh Band-­Aids. “Momma said you're sick in bed from all your owies, and we shouldn't bother you.”

“I'm Gunnar, but everyone calls me Gun. Like a weapon. Bang, bang! I brought you these.” The boy shoved some lollipops at her. “When I'm sick, lollipops taste good.”

“Thank you so much,” Faith said, placing her “gifts” on the dresser. “Would you like to sit down?”

Before the words were out of her mouth, the boy was on the bed, bouncing up and down, and the girl was crawling up onto the edge of the chair, her little legs hanging only halfway to the floor.

“I doan think you look like you been through a meat grinder,” Gunnar said. “Thass what Poppa tol' Lizzie.”

“That was not nice, Gun,” Nora admonished her brother, then turned to Faith. “Do they hurt?”

“Not so much anymore,” Faith said, putting her hand to her face, where her lip had healed but was still puffy, and her eye had finally healed enough that she could open it. She must look awful to the little kids, though.

“The vangels look worser than that when they come back from missions sometimes. They even bleed when they get stabbed,” Gunnar told her.

Faith had a hard time thinking of a little boy by the nickname
Gun.
It might just as well be
Rifle
or
Pistol.

“Vangels?” Faith asked.
Stabbed?
She was right. They were some kind of cult or something. Or a gang. Like Hell's Angels. Maybe even the mob. Did the Mafia exist in Pennsylvania?

Nora nodded. “Everyone here is a vangel, 'cept for me and Gun, and Momma.”

“And Aunt Nicole and Aunt Gabby and baby Michael and Aunt Miranda and their kids when they come to visit,” Gunnar added.

“Yep,” Nora agreed.

Faith decided to ask Karl about it later. It probably wasn't wise to pump the children for information.

“Can we watch television?” Nora asked. “We're allowed to watch cartoons. As much as we want. Even at nighttime.” The little scamp was clearly lying.

Gunnar's head shot up with interest, and he was off the bed in a flash, crawling up on the big chair to sit next to his sister. When they shifted their little butts back, their legs didn't even hang over the cushion.

“How old are you two?”

“Three,” Gunnar said.

“Almost,” Nora added.

“Where are your Momma and Poppa?” Faith asked while she flicked through the channels.

“Poppa made Karl drive Momma to the mall to buy Christmas decorations. Karl didn't wanna go to any blasted mall with all the crowds and noise, but he's in trouble, so he had to go. Poppa said so,” Nora told her. “We wanted to go, but we're in trouble, too, because we played songs by Alvin and the Chipmunks too many times and gave Poppa a headache.”

“And where is your poppa now?”

“Poppa is watchin' us so Momma can shop 'til she drops, but he had to go down to the dungeon for a minute to help the vangels sword fighting, and he tol' us to stay put or die. He was just kiddin',” Gunnar contributed.

“Have you ever been to this . . . um, dungeon?”

“Uh-­huh,” Nora said. “It's where most of the vangels sleep.”

Oh, Lord! This just gets worse and worse. “What exactly are vangels?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Viking vampire angels,” the two children said, as if that were an everyday normal thing for someone to be.

“Poppa says you're prob'ly a Viking, too.”

“Me? Why? Do I look like a Viking?”

“ 'Cause of your name,” Nora said with a giggle.

“Faith? My name Faith makes me a Viking.”

“Your other name,” Gunnar explained. “Larson. In the long-­ago time, when Poppa was a boy, it meant son of Lars. Just like Poppa is Vikar Sigurdsson, or Vikar, son of Sigurd.”

Faith had no idea if she had Norse blood in her veins or not. Her father had skipped town when she was five, not much older than these kids here, and her brother Zach had been eight. Their mother had apparently just been diagnosed with cancer. When she died soon after, Faith and Zach been sent to different foster homes.

The twins were apparently bored with the chitchat by now. Their eyes kept darting to the TV set.

Faith soon found the Nickelodeon Channel for them. A short time later, they sat with their eyes glued to the screen, lollipops in their mouths, when an adult voice could be heard yelling, “Gunnar! Gunnora! Where are you? I'm going to paddle your little arses if you don't come out. Right now!”

“Uh-­oh!” Gunnar and Gunnora said as one. Looking at each other with some silent message, they jumped off the chair and scooted behind it.

Soon Vikar loomed in the doorway. He was wearing slim black pants and hiking-­style boots, no shirt. Perspiration beaded his chest and forehead, as if he'd been engaged in some strenuous activity. In one of his hands, he carried a huge sword.

“You wouldn't? Surely, you wouldn't strike a child with that?” Faith said indignantly.

“Huh?” Vikar said. Then he realized what Faith meant and grinned. “No, I wouldn't use my sword on a child. Or my hand.” His quick glance around the room took in the cartoons on the television, the lollipop sticking to the arm of the chair, and the Winnie the Pooh Band-­Aids on the dresser. With a slow drawl, he added, “But I might have to cancel Christmas if two naughty children continue to misbehave.”

“Poppa! You can't!” Nora exclaimed, darting around the chair.

“Santa has to come. He has to,” Gunnar added. “I already sent my list.”

“You mean that three-­page greedy treatise?” Vikar inquired, leaning on his sword, the tip of which was buried in the hooked rug.

His sarcasm passed over the boy, who corrected, “It was four pages.”

Vikar rolled his eyes and pointed to the open doorway. “Out! Your mother will be back any minute, and she will blame me if you are not in your bedroom practicing your numbers.”

The two munchkins ran out the door and could be heard clomping down the steps, laughing and shouting the whole way.

“I hope Momma remembered the candy canes. I'm gonna eat ten of them,” Nora said.

“I'm gonna eat so many, I'm gonna puke,” Gunnar countered, as if that were something to be desired.

When they were alone, Vikar said, “Sorry I am that my children bothered you.”

“Don't apologize. They were no bother at all. And, please, don't punish them for coming up here. They were a welcome distraction.”

Just then, from a distance, they heard the blare of a car horn, or maybe a truck horn, and a commotion of shouts and running feet down below.

“That would be my wife returning from her shopping spree. I must go help unload her purchases,” he said. “Why don't you take a nap? Or something?”

When he was gone, Faith thought.
A nap? Again? I don't think so!
She made her way carefully across the room and through the door, down the corridor toward the front of the castle, where she could hear the sounds of many voices on the lower level. Her ribs hurt more than anything, but she hated taking so many of the pain pills because, frankly, they made her sleep even more.

Most of the bedrooms and the hallway on this third floor were furnished in the same no-­frills way as Karl's, but when she got to the second floor, she saw evidence of restoration in progress. Ornate mirrors over heavy, antique-­looking tables. Gilt-­framed paintings. No portraits, she noticed, but lots of landscapes or pictures loaded with Cupids. In some of the bedrooms, she could see heavily carved, high-­posted bed frames with matching furniture from about a hundred years or so ago, which was the age of the castle, according to Karl.

When she got to the top of what became a wide staircase leading down to the first floor . . . so wide it would fit in some grand hotel . . . she stopped and leaned on the banister. From this second-­floor landing, she could see a lot, and, besides, she was winded already.

­People were laughing and chattering as they came in carrying boxes and shopping bags with logos from Macy's, Home Depot, Walmart, Best Buy, Target, and Interior Décor. One of the ­people even wore a Santa hat, it was Alex. Elvis was crooning “Blue Christmas” from somewhere. And the smell of evergreen filled the air. Probably the tree she'd seen on the flatbed truck the day they'd arrived. The children were so excited, they kept jumping up and down and clapping their hands with delight. In the midst of it all, she saw Karl, whose face was half-­hidden by the tall box he held in both hands.

She eased halfway down the staircase and sat on a step, still unnoticed by those below. There were about two dozen adults, mostly men, and the two children, who'd moved into the room where the giant Christmas tree held center stage. Unadorned, but beautiful.

Alex was displaying some of her purchases. Lights, ornaments, tinsel, a star. Each one drew oohs and aahs. Meanwhile, a young woman came in with a tray carrying an assortment of cookies, while another young woman brought in a tray of hot chocolate . . . Faith could tell by the rich smell that wafted up to her . . . and what someone said with a groan was something called “Fake-­O.” Faith recognized the two young women as Ester and Hester, who sometimes brought meals to her bedroom.

Faith realized in that moment that this was the kind of holiday home she'd always dreamed about. Oh, not a castle. Her dreams were never that lofty. But a large family full of Christmas cheer, safe in the love that surrounded them, that was the ultimate fantasy to her. Foster homes, at least the many she'd resided in, had never provided this sense of belonging. In fact, she'd always felt like an outsider, even when there had been large families.

Suddenly, Faith noticed something else. Every single person, except for Alex and the two children, had pointy incisors. In fact, on some of them they appeared to be actual fangs. She frowned as she tried to concentrate. What had the twins told her about almost everyone in the castle being vangels? Viking
vampire
angels? She didn't see any evidence of wings, but fangs. Oh, yeah!

Had she landed in a vampire enclave or nest or cult or whatever you called it? Like that
True Blood
or
Twilight
? She knew that the town of Transylvania was kind of crazy with all the Dracula nonsense, but this was different. Was it possible? For some reason, she wasn't frightened, just puzzled.

Just then, Karl glanced up and noticed her staring at them. He quickly looked around and must have seen what she'd seen. The fangs. Turning back to her, he shrugged, as if to say, “Now you know.”

He came up, two steps at a time, and sat down beside her, placing the box in front of them, down two steps. “I bought this for you,” he said.

“For me? A present?”