Christmas in Transylvania (7 page)

“That is some story!”

“You don't see any Viking nation today, do you?”

“I guess I never thought about it.”

“At the last minute, St. Michael the Archangel interceded on their behalf, and God gave the Vikings a second chance at redemption. Some of them, anyhow. Jasper, one of the fallen angels, was wreaking havoc on earth with his Lucipires, demon vampires. God commissioned Michael to turn a band of fallen Vikings into vampire angels to fight the Lucies.”

“Holy moly!”

“It's a lot more complicated than that, but I think I've given you enough information to digest, for now. You can see why secrecy is important to us, and why, at first, I tried to hide your presence here. The less you know, the less you can reveal when you leave.”

Karl mentioned her leaving in such a casual manner that it felt like a stab to the heart to Faith. She tried not to show her hurt. “Do you seriously expect me to believe you're a vampire?”

He made a hissing sound and turned to her. Fangs emerged from his mouth, and he licked his lips, like he was considering taking a good bite of her neck.

She shimmied over to the other pillow against the wall.

“See. I'm a true-­blue, blood-­drinking vampire.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, and his fangs receded into his gums, leaving only small, almost unnoticeable points on his incisors. “Still lust after me, baby?” There was an endearing vulnerability in his eyes as he asked the question.

“Probably,” she said. “You said vampire
angel.
Do you have wings, too?”

“Not yet. Maybe never. I do have shoulder bumps, though, where they might be someday.”

“This is amazing. Do you know what I thought? You'll laugh. I thought you were some kind of gang, like Hell's Angels.”

“More like Heaven's Angels. Or Heaven's Other Angels.”

She smiled. “I think I'll take my pills now.”

He went to the bathroom, where she could hear him opening the medicine cabinet and pouring water. She hurried and undressed, pulling on her flannel nightgown. When he returned, she was in bed, under the sheets. She took the pills and drank half of the glass of water.

“I really am safe here, then?”

He nodded.

“Would you lie down with me until I fall asleep?”

“That's not a good idea.”

“Why? We could bundle like the Amish do? Like we did that first night you brought me here, and you lay on top of the quilt.”

“You remember that? You appeared to be unconscious.”

“I remember bits and pieces.” She scrooched over and patted the top of the quilt on his side. “C'mon. I promise I won't jump your bones.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.”

She arched her brows at him in question.”

“Sweetheart, a concrete wall between us wouldn't stop me from making love to you tonight, let alone some friggin' blanket bundling.”

“Maybe I should borrow Alex's negligee.”

“Don't you dare!”

Faith was already falling asleep by then, but there was a smile on her face.

She thought she heard Karl mutter something about a five-­mile run followed by a cold shower.

 

Chapter Seven

It was a devilish time of the year, after all . . .

J
ASPER HATED
C
H
RISTMAS
with a passion. That's why he was holed up in Horror, his palace in the far north. Not that ridiculous North Pole of red-­coated fat guy, elves, and flying-­reindeer madness. No, this was the true Arctic wilderness.

“I brought you a bloody eggnog,” said Beltane, Jasper's French hordling assistant, in an attempt to cheer him up. “It's curdled just the way you like.”

Jasper was lying on a chaise, staring out the icy window of his bedchamber. The chaise was specially made with a hole in its center to accommodate his tail, so that it didn't make a lumpy bulge under him. Tails were the bane of all Lucipires. That and scales that were always flaking, and red eyes that burned, and claws that could do physical damage if one forgot and scratched a body part.
Can anyone say jacking off? Ouch!
Not that Lucipires couldn't morph into humanoid form when needed. Still . . .

“Thank you, Beltane.” Jasper took a sip. “Very good.” He sighed with boredom and set aside the mug, his favorite, with the logo, “Sin Rocks!”

“You should be in a good mood, master,” Beltane said as he began to tidy Jasper's massive bedchamber. “Your last big mission, the one in those gambling casinos, netted you almost three hundred and fifty evil humans. Most of them have already been turned into your loyal minions.”

“I know.” Jasper sighed again.

“Still, you are depressed.” Beltane sighed, too, in sympathy.

“Yes. You have to understand, Beltane, Christmas is the worst time of the year for a demon vampire. For any demon, actually. It is a time when humans celebrate goodness and generosity and cheerfulness and all that gagsome rubbish, not to mention the birth of He whom we Lucipires prefer not to mention.”

“And the music! Do not forget the constant jingle-­belling,” Beltane said. “And the Christmas movies that go on and on and on about giving and sharing.”

Jasper rolled his eyes in agreement. “Scrooge was a hero, in my opinion, before he went all goody-­goody, and the Grinch could be a role model for all children if they'd cut off the sickening, happily-­ever-­after ending.”

“I loved that movie! Until the ending.” Beltane began to sing the lyrics to the movie sound track, something about Mr. Grinch being a cruel man. At Jasper's frown, the boy stopped abruptly. “Sorry.”

“That's all right.” More sighing.

“Perhaps you would enjoy watching the torture of the remaining holdouts from Las Vegas. Malcolm is about to put pins in one man's eyeballs.”

“Not today.”

“May I make a suggestion, master?”

Actually, Jasper wished Beltane would just go away and leave him to his misery, but the boy was one of the few truly faithful followers he had left. “Certainly,” he conceded.

“The humans have a saying about turning lemons into lemonade. Why not turn this distasteful time of year to your advantage?”

“How so?”

“Well, there is still evil throughout the world for us to reap, even at this time of year. Perhaps a short mission would lift your spirits.”

“And you have an idea for such a mission?” Jasper asked skeptically. Beltane, bless his black heart, was not a warrior, although he would like to be one.

“I do. I do. I was reading something on the Internet.”

The boy spent entirely too much time on that blasted computer.

“There is this famous cathedral in New York City—­”

“St. Patrick's?”

“No. The other one. St. Ambrose's Cathedral. Five days before Christmas, they are holding a massive penance ser­vice, at which three dozen priests will be available to hear confessions. And you know that Christmas and Easter are times when the worst sinners come out of their closets, so to speak, seeking forgiveness.”

Jasper sat up with sudden interest. He was beginning to get the drift of Beltane's idea. And he liked it.

“What better opportunity for Lucipires to pick off sinners than just before they go to confession!”

Jasper clapped his clawed hands together and pierced the skin of his palms. He did not care. “I could station a few haakai and dozens of mungs at strategic places outside the cathedral. They can kill those whose sin scent is the strongest before they ever enter the holy place. Best to leave the imps and hordlings at home this time. They just create chaos. No insult to you, my boy.”

“No insult taken, m'lord.”

“It would have to be short and sweet, this mission,” Jasper mused as he stood and began pacing. He thought best when he paced. “All done and over with in a few hours. Mayhap a dozen haakai would be better and fifty mungs. Call Zebulan. He would be good person to head this venture.” Jasper paused and looked fondly at the boy. “And, Beltane, good job!”

Beltane smiled, which caused his fangs to show.

“Honestly, it's shameful that, with all my advisors, it came down to you, a mere hordling, to come up with a brilliant mission plan. Believe me, heads are going to roll at the next council meeting, and I do not mean human ones.”

“Shall I call for a council meeting, too?”

“Yes. And, Beltane, I believe I
will
come watch a little torture, after all. Plus, I need to clear the killing jars to make room for all our new arrivals.”

“It is good to see you happy once again.”

Jasper looped an arm over Beltane's shoulder, the two of them shuffling down the corridor, tails dragging, scales flying.

“Betimes, even at Christmas, it is good to be a demon vampire,” Beltane remarked.

Jasper said, ‘Ho, ho, ho!”

Their bells jingled, but not for long . . .

After almost a week of torture, being near Faith and wanting her so badly his fangs ached, and another body part throbbed, Karl decided it was time to get away from the castle. He asked Jogeir to ride along with him to Faith's trailer, so that he could drive Faith's VW back to the castle, assuming the bug was still there and Karl could get it to run.

Faith wanted to come with him, to get the remainder of her clothing and other belongings, but he wasn't taking a chance of her seeing Leroy again and maybe deciding to go back to him. She'd given no hint of wanting to do that, but still, Karl knew it was the pattern of abused women. Especially ones who might be pregnant and feel an obligation to the father.

They still didn't know for sure whether she was pregnant or not. Karl had purchased not one, but two pregnancy kits when he went to the mall with Alex, but he'd yet to give them to Faith. Why, he wasn't sure. But then, Faith hadn't asked for one, either. It was as if, once they knew for sure, things would change, and for now, the status quo was preferred.

One thing was for damn sure, Karl wasn't going to be jumping the bones of a pregnant woman, or even jingling her bells. Not that Faith wasn't attractive to him, but it was a line he wouldn't cross. He hoped.

“Man, it's getting cold again,” Jogeir commented. “They're calling for more snow tonight.”

“That's great. The last snow hasn't melted yet.” In fact, huge drifts were piled on either side of the narrow road leading to the trailer park, and once Karl got to Faith's spot, he saw that her VW was covered with about twenty inches of the white stuff. There was no motorcycle in evidence, which was kind of a disappointment. Karl was in the mood for a fight.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Jogeir observed.

“You have no idea.”

Karl grabbed Faith's empty suitcase, which she'd given him, and Jogeir picked up the empty boxes in the back of the trunk. The door to the trailer was unlocked.

“Holy crap!” Jogeir said on entering.

It was colder than a witch's tit in the Klondike inside, the last of the fuel probably having run out. Plus, it looked like a tornado had run through the place, or a mean-­ass dude bent on pathetic revenge.

Dishes had been tossed and lay broken on the floor. Sofa cushions ripped. The pitiful little Christmas tree ground into shreds, probably by a heavy boot. The small kitchen table was kicked over.

Pinned to the refrigerator with a Budweiser can-­opener magnet was a note in a near-­illegible handwriting:

Faith:

I'm off to Nashville where I might have a record deal. I hope you die, bitch, and our baby, too. If you try to nail me for child support, I'll come back and kill you. The landlord wants his rent or you're evicted. Ha-­ha. Have fun with that jarhead in the loser pickup. I'm sick of your skinny ass anyhow.

Leroy

Karl really, really wished Leroy was still around. He crumbled the note in his hands and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “Let's get this over with,” he told Jogeir.

Fifteen minutes later, Karl was crammed into the little VW bug, following Jogeir back to the castle. Karl was going to stop at the diner and tell Jeanette that Faith was safe, but beyond that he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He wouldn't give Faith the note. No sense adding to her shame, and she
would
feel shamed by Leroy's insults, even though Leroy was the shameful one. Plus, Karl didn't want her thinking she could go back to live in that miserable trailer by herself. There was always the chance that Leroy might come back, and even if he didn't, Karl didn't like picturing her in that squalor.

When Karl told Jeanette that Faith was in a safe place, under his protection, and that Leroy had left town to further his music career, Jeanette scoffed. “That ain't why the jerk left town. He came here lookin' for Faith and threatened me when I wouldn't tell him your name and where you live, not that I know anyway. I called 911 right in front of his face and reported that a man named Leroy Brown was in my diner, threatenin' to burn the place down and me in it. The coward was out of here so fast, he left skid marks on the linoleum floor. He put that dent mark in the newspaper rack on the way out by kicking it. I'm thinkin' about putting a plaque on it that says, ‘Leroy was here, and thank God he's gone!' ” Jeanette grinned with satisfaction.

When Karl got back to the castle, it was only four p.m., but the skies were already turning dark with the pending storm. He was late for choir practice . . . he could hear voices in the chapel singing “Angels We Have Heard On High” . . . and, yes, he'd been conned into the Christmas Eve hymn singing at St. Vladamir's Church, along with Vikar and his brothers and a half dozen others. It was that or be a Wise Man, freezing his ass off in an outdoor stable the Amish man with a talent for casket making had been commissioned to build.

Karl couldn't find Faith. What else was new? He went to the kitchen to ask Lizzie and found the cook baking. Again. With five empty bottles of rum lined up before her on the counter.

Uh-­oh!
“Lizzie! What are you doing?”

“Makin' cooshies,” she slurred out. “I mean, rummy balls. Whadja think I whash makin'? Musket balls?” Then she giggled.

In the years he'd known Lizzie, Karl had never once heard her giggle. “That's a lot of booze for just cookies,” he pointed out.

“Thassh silly. I put some on the fruitcakes, too. Yer s'pose to soak them buggers a li'l every night, but I figgered, what the hell! Why not do it all at once?”

He'd never heard Lizzie swear before, either. Then he noticed Esther dancing with a broom and Hester sitting on a stool with her face planted on the counter.

They were all snockered.

He smiled. “Do you have any idea where Faith is?”

“Yep,” Lizzie said, and belched. “Lash I saw her, she was in the storeroom gatherin' a bucket, Spic and Span, Lysol, a mop, and a toilet brush.”

“For what?” he asked, losing his patience. He was no longer amused.

“She's on the fourth floor, cleanin' bathrooms. Started down here and worked her way up. Twelve so far, lash I heard.” The old lady cackled and rolled her eyes and almost toppled over before righting herself.

“Why is Faith cleaning bathrooms? We have vangel helpers for that.”

“ 'Cause she wants to earn her keep. Says she ain't no charity case. I tol' her you would get your dander up, but—­”

He didn't wait for Lizzie to finish but was up the stairs in a flash. The exasperating woman . . . Faith, not Lizzie . . . was going to have a relapse. He found her on her hands and knees with a brush and bucket of soapy water in the middle of the large, old-­fashioned bathroom. She wore jeans and a pink T-­shirt, pink-­and-­white-­striped socks, no shoes. Her hair was off her face, plaited in a thick braid down her back, making her look like a Norse princess . . . a Norse princess scrubbing a tile floor. Or was that Cinderella?

“Are you crazy, woman?”

“What?' ” Her head shot up with surprise.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Because the mop doesn't get into the grout good enough.”

“That's not what I meant,” he growled. “You have no business—­” He was storming toward her when his foot slipped on the soapy surface.

Even as he was falling backward, Faith rose and tried to catch him. A ridiculous gesture, considering the difference in sizes. She slipped, too.

He went down hard, and she landed on top of him, equally hard.

“Damn!” he yelled, as his head hit the floor, and he saw stars for a moment. In fact, a whole frickin' constellation.

“Damn!” she yelled as she came down on him, arms and legs flailing.

It took him only a moment to realize that she had landed breast to chest, groin to groin, between his widespread legs. And he liked it.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

He put his hands on her butt and adjusted her even better against him. Better, as in,
I wonder if my eyeballs are rolling back in my head? I wonder if her bells are jingling yet. Mine sure are.