Haunted Honeymoon (4 page)

The character was more real to me than most people. She’d been my friend ever since I was a lonely girl shut away in my bedroom a million years ago. I saw Jane small, plain, and watchful, wearing her simple governess dress, yet equal to anyone.

When Ian came in an hour later, his dark curls wet from a swim, I placed the first volume carefully on the bed table and smiled. He knew exactly those things I loved.

I said, “I was happy enough with the earrings, but this … Thank you, Ian. It is the best present anyone has ever given me.”

“I have another gift to give you now.”

“Is it in your pants?”

“As a matter of fact …”

He was strong and I was strong.

Rosemary woke me early by whining forlornly at the bedroom door.

No matter how quietly I got up, Ian always opened his eyes. I liked him this way, drowsy, warm, and affectionate.

He smiled and said, “My own girl.”

“We’re going out for a run,” I said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, deliciously rough with morning beard. He reached out for my hip, but Rosemary was waiting, so I pushed Ian’s hand away.

I dressed in shorts, a tank top, and running shoes. I caressed the covers of
Jane Eyre
on the way out, the very sight of the books making me smile.

The hill was extremely steep and there were no sidewalks, so I kept to the far side of the road and enjoyed the challenge of avoiding branches and patches of loose rocks. It was going to be another sunny day, and I breathed in the resin-scented dew evaporating off the redwoods and firs.

My dog and I explored a few trails and I spotted the glossy dark leaves of a madrone and lacy fronds of wild ferns.

Rosemary began lagging, so, after checking to see that no one was around, I picked him up and began the journey uphill to the house.

I came in the opposite direction that I’d left. As I got close to Ian’s house, I put down Rosemary. I saw the service parking lot that Cricket had mentioned. A stand of gorgeous black bamboo blocked it from view, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before.

I stepped into the driveway of the lot and saw a middle-aged couple getting out of a new Volvo wagon.

He was tall, with graying brown hair cropped close to his head, wearing a black suit and a white shirt. She was nearly as tall, with a neat brown bob, a black dress, a white apron, low-heeled shoes, and a black leather handbag.

When they saw me, I smiled, said “Hi!” and gave a wave, and they smiled and nodded at me.

I continued on my way back and slowed to look at the Poindexters’ house. A drive of old granite bricks led between dense privet hedges. I could see the corner of a roof, but nothing else.

I heard footsteps and glanced back to see that the man and the woman were a few steps behind me. I wondered where they worked and was surprised when I turned right at Ian’s courtyard and they followed.

Turning to face them, I said, “Hi, can I help you?”

“Morning, miss. We have an appointment with Lord Ducharme.”

Their complexions were normal; I surreptitiously took a sniff but I didn’t smell the herbal-scented sunblock many vampires used.

“I’m Milagro. I’ll take you in.”

The woman and man looked at each other with delight and then grinned. She said, “Miss de Los Santos, what a tremendous honor to meet you!”

Their enthusiasm and attire clued me in that they were thralls, normals who subjugated themselves to vampires. I had achieved some fame among them since I’d managed to do what they could only dream of doing: become a vampire. Or vampirish. Whatever. “So you’re here to visit Ian?”

“We’re here to work, Miss de Los Santos,” the woman said. “I’m Anna and this is Cal Kogalniceaunu. At our last position,
they called us Mr. and Mrs. K, but please call us whatever you wish.”

As we came to the front of the craptastic house, their eyes widened.

“Such an impressive estate!” Mrs. K said.

Thralls lived to serve. Some believed in the vampire myth (undead vamps with supernatural powers), others were role-playing in what they thought was an S and M game, but the most trusted were those whose families had been allied with the vampires for generations.

We went into the house and were met by Ian, who was wearing a navy silk robe open over his bare chest and drawstring pants. I supposed this was proper attire for interviewing feudal staff.

“Look who I found out on the street,” I said. “Mr. and Mrs. K.”

“Lord Ducharme,” they both said, and Cal took Ian’s hand and bowed.

I shot a look at Ian, who was, as always, annoyingly comfortable with people falling all over him.

“Welcome,” he said, all lord-of-the-drug-king’s-manor mannerish. “I trust your trip was pleasant.”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. K said. “Our hotel was very comfortable and our things are being delivered later this morning.”

“Wonderful. I’ll show you your rooms.”

Ian led them down the hall and I heard them going downstairs. I took Rosemary with me to the not-so-great room and scooped kibble into his bowl. “Someone has earned my displeasure,” I told my dog. “Not you. You’re an excellent dog.”

There was a bottle of dark crimson calf’s blood in the fridge. I poured about a quarter cup into a tall glass, filled the glass with icy water, and squished in some lime juice.

I was thirsty and the drink was cold and mineral and savory.
As I tipped back the glass to catch the last drops, warmth suffused my body, making me feel both relaxed and revived.

It was tasty, but animal blood didn’t have the effect on me that Ian’s blood did. Nothing did.

As I was pouring coffee beans into the grinder, Mrs. K came into the room. “Please allow me to take care of that for you. Would you like espresso or filter coffee?” She glanced around at the appliances as she came to stand beside me.

I held on to the canister of coffee beans. “I can make it myself.”

“Miss de Los Santos, it’s my pleasure to help.”

I sighed and let her take the canister. It was no use arguing with someone determined to serve. “I’ll have a cappuccino, please.”

I got my laptop and went outside to the bulky stone table and adjusted the white canvas umbrella over it to shade my screen. There were dozens of new letters from
Paws to Reflect
subscribers on the current controversy. I began choosing those to be included in the next issue of the newsletter, and Mrs. K brought my frothy drink out to me.

Ian came out a little later, now dressed in slacks, a French blue twill shirt, and a Panama hat.

Looking up from my work, I said, “You could have told me you were hiring thralls.”

“Have you forgotten that I said I would have household staff?”

“I thought you meant a cleaning service. The kind that comes in once a week and vacuums, not indentured servants.”

He had the nerve to laugh. “Really, Young Lady, they earn far more than you do and are assured lifetime employment with many benefits.”

“I
would
earn more at my writing if that sneaky little nut job Don Pedro had paid me properly and given me credit for my fauxoir. Which is beside the point, because I love what I do.”

“As do my employees.” Ian reached out to cover my hand with
his own. “Milagro, I may disagree with some—or many—of your decisions, but they are yours to make. Let others decide how they want to live their lives.”

“It’s the duty of those who think clearly to protect the vulnerable against self-destructive behavior.”

“Spoken like a benevolent dictator, which I believe you are at heart. Thralls would find it insulting that you think yourself more capable of determining their lives than they.”

I closed my laptop and said, “I’ve got to get back to the City. Thanks for every—” I began, and then remembered the beautiful books and the delightful earrings. “I’ll consider what you said. It just goes against my ideas of an egalitarian society. I know you think it’s silly that everyone should be treated equally.”

“Everyone should be treated well, but many don’t want to be treated equally and some don’t deserve it.”

I kissed him and just the taste of him made me want to stay.

“I don’t see you enough.” He ran his fingers along the inside of my thigh and upward. “I’ll be here for a few days. Come back tomorrow. Mrs. K is a graduate of the Cordon Bleu.”

“I’ll try. I really do have work.” My girly parts were clanging as madly as wind chimes in a storm. “Bye, Ian.”

“Adieu, Young Lady.”

I got my things together, and Rosemary and I headed back to the City. Once we got to the bridge, the fog began rolling in. The day was gray and chilly by the time I arrived at my place.

My fourth-floor loft had been one of the early conversions in the eighties. I liked the cheesy pink, gray, and black color scheme and the glass block partition by the kitchen space. The pièce de fabulousness on my pink granite counter was a professional-quality, lime green Margaritanator 3000.

Nancy, my best friend from F.U., had given me her old furniture: a shocking pink velvet sofa and armchair, a rose-colored
shag carpet, and a variety of froofy throw pillows. It was flagrantly feminine and silly, just like Nancy.

I went through my mail, hoping for a response to the query letters I’d sent out on the novel I’d written. I read a form rejection letter, then tore it up and tossed the pieces in the recycling bin. Then I saw the thin envelope from my co-op association and was filled with dread.

My ex-fiancé had given me the loft as a wedding present, hoping that I’d want to renovate it and start a career in real estate. I hadn’t. When we’d broken up, I repaid him with a settlement that I’d received from the Vampire Council after one of their members had tried to kill me. Though I owned the loft, I couldn’t really afford the property taxes and monthly condo fees.

I opened the letter and my eyes went directly to the large sum in bold type in the middle of the page. It was a bill for my share of upgrading the electrical work, a sum roughly double my annual income.

My eyes fell on the
Jane Eyre
volumes. Ian had given me many gifts, but I couldn’t bear to think of selling any of them.

I set aside this problem and finished my newsletter, e-mailed it off, and took Rosemary on his afternoon walk. When I returned, I phoned Gabriel Grant, my ex’s cousin, who was also a security director for his family.

“Young Lady! I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Nice things, I hope. Want to have a drink tonight, or dinner? Maybe I can make dinner for you and Charlie.” Charlie Arthur, his vampire beau, was a hotel manager. “I can fire up the Margaritanator 3000 for strawberry margaritas.”

“Charlie’s at a conference, but I’m free. Can we go shopping first? I need new shirts.”

“You are a dream date,” I said, and we arranged to meet at the mall downtown.

I put on a dress, a jacket, and cute flats, and walked on the gusty, busy streets to the mall. I rode the dizzying circular escalators up to the top floor and waited for Gabriel.

I liked watching the crowds. Frequently I saw girls who looked like me, curvy brown-eyed girls with dark hair and olive skin, gossiping with their girlfriends and wearing sexy outfits. I imagined being with them, talking about normal things like how we hated our jobs and cool clubs and hot guys.

I spotted Gabriel’s pretty copper-gold hair as he rode the escalators up, and then he got off and saw me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, giving me a kiss. He was a small, lithe man with fine features and green eyes. “I envy that tan.”

“I’ve been swimming stark nekkid at Ian’s new place.”

In unison we said, “The Dark Lord!” The nickname was the sort of joke no one was brave enough to say in front of Ian. Gabriel claimed not to know Ian’s full role with the Vampire Council, and Ian claimed that all he did was attend meetings.

Gabriel and I walked into a favorite department store, and I said, “The Dark Lord hired a married couple of thralls to work as his butler and housekeeper.”

“You sound annoyed.” Gabriel took my hand, and we strolled toward the men’s department.

“I’m annoyed to the nth degree.”

“You don’t expect him to do his own mopping and scrubbing. He probably needs a full-time person just to care for his suits.”

“He’s got a place in town that does that for an astronomical fee. You know I have Major Issues with thralls. It seems so exploitive. You should have seen them kissing his ass.” I saw Gabriel’s expression and said, “No, hold that thought.”

We laughed and he said, “It sounds as if your problem is with their desire to please, not the work they do. Most people don’t want to be in charge.”

Gabriel pulled a vintage-style slate blue polo off a rack and showed it to me.

“Love it,” I said. “Ian told me it’s insulting to assume that the thralls aren’t capable of self-determination.” I considered my ex’s ranch hand, Ernesto. “I always thought of Ernesto as Oswald’s buddy, but … but is there an emotional master-servant component to their relationship that I didn’t see?”

“If you asked Ernie that question, he’d laugh in your face. Did you hear that he just bought twenty acres of old cabernet vines?”

“Ernesto’s going into winemaking? I feel so left out of family news.” I sorted through a pile of graphic print Ts so Gabriel wouldn’t catch my expression.

“Sorry, babe, I’ll try to share more.” While we chose two more shirts, he filled me in on the health of the horses, his niece’s tumbling class, and his grandmother’s latest cookbook project, recipes that used local wines.

“Do you know that your grandmother hasn’t answered my last phone call?”

“She’s in a tizzy.”

“Edna? She is the most tizzyless person I’ve ever met.” I loved his snarky grandmother so madly that Ian had accused me of wanting to marry Oswald just to be near her.

“Well, you should see her now. Oswald has been in contact with our grandfather and he’s coming out to visit. He’s spending time with all the grandkids and then he’s going to stay at the ranch.”

“What! What!” I said, and grabbed Gabriel’s arm. “That’s what you should have opened with, Gabriel. The mysterious AG Grant at Casa Dracula,” I said. “Spill the frijoles. What’s he like?”