The vampires talked of the news, current events, and what-not. Winnie had a radiance that I attributed to her being in love and being loved. Meanwhile, I was badly dressed, penniless, and alone-and my former boyfriend wanted to drive a stake through my heart. I vowed not to think of Sebastian and to enjoy the peaceful sunset, but then Gabriel's truck came trundling down the drive.

After all the vamps had greeted Gabriel, he gave me a warm hug. I was enjoying his lies about how marvelous I looked when I saw Oswald strolling across the field toward us.

We poured more drinks as the sun slid behind the mountains beyond and the sky turned a pure sapphire. Oswald sat between Winnie and me, and he took her hand. I turned away to look at Gabriel, who was standing in front of me, leaning back against a pillar. "Milagro, thought you'd want to know that Beckett-Witherspoon's driver, Peters, has almost fully recovered."

"Perhaps he will learn from this incident," I mused. "Perhaps he will see the error of his ways and not insult and kidnap innocent girls."

The vampires exchanged skeptical looks with one another.

My espiritu de los cocteles was ruined entirely when Gabriel told me that my landlord had had all my things hauled away by Goodwill. Had my bosoms meant so very little to him? Perhaps their only power lay in their proximity. So far from the City, they had no influence.

"From thrift store you came and unto thrift store you shall return," I said sorrowfully. My things were meager, but they were still mine: salvaged chairs, fake jewelry, chipped coffee mugs, and used books. Most could be replaced, but I couldn't replace the photos I'd loved most, those of my abuelita.

Winnie reached across Oswald and put her hand on mine. Her gesture pushed us all together a bit and I could feel Oswald's body tense. She said softly, "I'm so sorry, Milagro."

Edna stood up and said, "Come help me with dinner," even though I hadn't finished my drink. When I was cutting the basil and inhaling the pungent herby scent, she said, "Maybe it is a good time for you to start over, young lady."

"It's harder to start without anything to start with."

"On the contrary, it's easier to begin when you're not dragging around the past," she said. "Don't burn the rice."

During dinner, I thought about starting with a clean slate, and I remembered one of the short stories I'd just read. A young woman loses both her bank account and wardrobe when her transvestite boyfriend takes off with an heiress. Instead of succumbing to self-pity, the young woman seduces and marries the heiress's father and has him disinherit the wayward couple.

Thinking about the character's pluck and ingenuity cheered me.

"Edna, I am very much liking these stories by Dena Franklin," I said. "What's her connection to this family?"

"She was someone we knew," Edna said in her marvelously informative way.

"And?""And she wrote fiction. It's rather silly stuff, don't you think?"

"No, not unless you think Henry James is silly. She deals with the same issues of European and American cultures clashing, of new riches and old money, of class, of trust, and betrayal."

"But James was very serious, right?" said Sam.

"Sure, but he's hilarious, too. Franklin's style is light, but that's what she's trying to achieve, like a great flan, you know." They all looked at me as if I was an idiot, so I elaborated. "I mean, flan tastes delicate and silky, but it's got tons of eggs and cream- it's substantial."

"Yum, flan," said Gabriel.

Edna lamented that my opinion was the result of a substandard education. I did not rise to the bait and ask for her academic credentials. I was sure she'd claim that she had been a Rhodes Scholar or transcribed the Bible from the original Aramaic or invented gravity or something.

Oswald stroked his forefinger in a distracting way along his neck, down to his collarbone, and said, "I think Franklin is a delightful writer. You read her stories and can imagine her perfectly. It's as if you know her."

It was odd how he echoed my feelings. "There is something about her writing that seems so... I don't know, identifiable.

Whatever happened to her?" I asked.

"Marriage, children, no time, the usual," Edna said. She then began talking about the vineyard and the possibilities of actually making wine. I didn't listen. I was thinking about marriage and children and writing.

Oswald's presence changed our dynamics more than Gabriel's visit. Instead of being a group, he and Winnie were a couple, and we were extras. After dinner, he sat with his arm around his fiancee's shoulders as we watched The Philadelphia Story.

Kate Hepburn was a wealthy young divorcee about to marry a dullard, while suave Cary Grant glowered in the back-ground and cynical Jimmy Stewart began to fall for her. A sassy but poor reporter-girl was completely ignored by everyone. Isn't that the way it always is?

After Edna went to bed, Oswald looked at Winnie and said, "Shall we?"

I knew they were engaged, but it still sounded like a lewd proposition. I would rather not think of them together that way.

Winnie frowned and said, "I've got a terrible headache."

Oswald's expression of irritation was brief. "Good night, then," he said tersely, and left.

Sam touched Winnie's shoulder and said, "Go to bed and I'll bring you chamomile tea." He really was the most considerate of men.

I was feeling left out from all the guy attention when Gabriel grabbed my hand and said, "Let me tuck you in."

He sat on my bed and told me about a new boy he'd met while I brushed my teeth, washed up, and changed into my sleep tee.

"Not that I have a spare moment to do anything about a pretty boy," he said with exasperation. "It's all work, work, work with me, you know."

Before I got into bed, I vented all my frustration at what was happening. "Gabriel, what exactly is the plan to conquer CACA?

Isn't there any way I can help?"

Gabriel scrunched his face one way and then the other. Finally he said, "What's your handwriting like?"I shrugged. "Boring. I write exactly the way I was taught in grade school. But I'm very good at copying other styles, if you have samples." My best part-time jobs at F.U. had been in the fund-raising office, where I created poignant and inspired "personal"

letters from department chairs to major donors. My supervisor had wept openly when I left.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" he said brightly. "Let me check with Sam and we just might have a project for you." He turned out the lights and said, "Sweet dreams, baby." Wishing doesn't make it true: I dreamed of rivers and fountains and pools of thick crimson liquid.

Chapter Twenty-one

the lady is a vamp(ire)

The next morning, Winnie came to the kitchen looking fresh and elegant in an apricot silk blouse and a navy skirt. "Would you like a cup?" she asked as she went to the coffee.

"Thanks. How's your headache?"

She smiled. "All gone."

"How is it," I asked, "that some people are so perfectly groomed, and others are always a bit of a disaster?"

Winnie considered my question and said, "Maybe some people are very careful and others are more impetuous."

"We both know which camp I fall into."

To my surprise, Winnie said, "Sometimes I worry that I am too careful. I think one would be happiest with a balanced approach to life, a happy middle ground."

"Why don't we try for that?" I asked.

Cheered by the idea that Winnie and I were beginning to be friends, I spent a blissful hour tending to the garden before Gabriel asked me to come to the study.

An open briefcase sat on the desk, filled with files. "Hi, Mil," said Sam. "Gabriel says you've offered to help us."

"I'd love to do whatever I can," I said.

Sam directed his sincere brown gaze to me. "Milagro, you are under no pressure or obligation to participate in any activity. If you have any qualms, please tell Gabriel. There is no need to discuss any details of this matter with me." He left the study and closed the door behind him.

Gabriel said, "You know how lawyers are. They don't want to know you've done anything illegal so they can maintain deniability."

"Whatever," I said.

Gabriel removed a folder from the briefcase. "Okay, here are copies of documents that CACA has been gathering. These jerks want to present these lies about predatory vampires, human blood consumption, and slaughter as historical evidence against us.

Previous Have I said how much I hate these guys today?"

"How much do you hate these guys?" I asked as I took the folder and flipped through copies of letters in old-fashioned script.

"Way more than a lot," Gabriel answered. "So the deal is that we want to switch the originals with our own forged versions and they gotta look authentic on first and even second examination."

"They need to be perfect?"

"Close, but not perfect. An experts got to be able to tell they're fakes. If things escalate to the point where CACA's bringing the documents to the public, forgeries will totally discredit them."

Gabriel provided me with supplies and videos on the history of penmanship, forgery techniques, and forensic handwriting analysis. I discovered that I loved forgery and was quite good at it. Gabriel was thrilled with my fraudulent documents.

I was not the only one with a new activity. Oswald started leaving the ranch in the mornings and often didn't return until well after dinner. He would wear grown-up clothes and looked surprisingly stylish in jackets, slacks, and ties. I wondered what in the heck he was doing, but I wasn't going to ask and give the impression that I gave a fig about him.

I felt almost normal so long as I remembered not to ignore my hunger pangs. Tragically, I couldn't regain my more extravagant curves. I tried to fatten up by eating rich, sugary products, but they held no appeal for me. At least not compared to the hunks of meat, glistening in their own ruby juices, that called to me from the refrigerated bins at the market.

Some evenings we watched movies and others we played cards or read. While I missed my life of cheap amusements, I enjoyed Gabriel's company, Edna's cooking lessons, and the respectful friendship that was developing between me and Sam. I was seeking the happy middle ground. Oddly, this was not much comfort when I awoke alone in my bed, longing for a man's warm body next to mine.

It was then that my undisciplined mind wandered to Oswald. I resisted lingering on the image of his smooth body holding me close, his hands on my bare flesh... Instead I envisioned a life with someone serious and the mature joy that could be shared listening to classical music and playing chess. Someone like Sam, perhaps.

As Winnie and I became more amiable, my admiration for her grew. The only time I ever saw her self-conscious was when she slipped into my room to borrow some feminine hygiene products.

"Thanks," she said. "It's just that..." She paused. "It's just that I don't have a regular cycle and it's a surprise."

"As long as you're around me, you're going to be like clockwork." I relayed the heartwarming tale of my supposedly infertile roommate who lived with me for four months, got pregnant, and was now happily married with two children.

Winnie said patiently, "Anecdotal evidence can be persuasive, but it is irrelevant to my situation."

Fine, I thought, go ahead and bake a little Oswald bun in the oven and then try to find a wedding dress to cover that. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Still, I appreciated her formal manner. In fact, I came to respect all the vampires and what I considered their refined ways.

One night when I was particularly restless, I got out of bed, dressed, and decided to walk off my discontent. I felt as though I'd missed something, like when you're going on a trip and you've checked your suitcase several times, but you know you've forgotten something. Espiritu de un mal viaje. But it was also a nameless longing, a yearning for a fabulous man of one's own.

Espiritu de spinster. And, of course, a feeling that I would never be taken seriously even if I was talented. Espiritu de Charo.

Daisy dashed ahead of me toward the barn. "Daisy, Daisy," I called in a low voice as I followed her into the barn. I peered into the darkness and heard her scratch and whine. Then a stall door opened midway down the barn beyond Ernie's apartment. Oswald appeared, looked down at Daisy, and said, "You are a nuisance." Daisy wiggled by him, there was laughter from inside, and then the door closed.

What in the hell was Oswald doing having a party in the middle of the night in the barn? I crept into the gloaming, expecting the swishing of bats, unearthly howls, the cacklings of a madman.

Once by the door, I felt a shiver run down my spine, but not of fear. It was some primitive, savage reaction that I had no control over. Suddenly bold, I flung open the door expecting to see an awful vision of carnage. I don't know who was more surprised, the vampires lounging in old-fashioned armchairs or me, shouting, "Aha!"

The stall had been converted into a cozy sitting room. Ernie and Oswald stood beside a sideboard set up with a few slender green bottles, a variety of mineral waters, and glasses. I said, "You're having a wine tasting and didn't invite..." but I stopped because there was a scent I recognized. I was horrified. I was disgusted. And, worse, I was excited.

"This isn't what you think," said Sam nervously.

"Oh, puhleeze," Gabriel said. "Give the girl some credit."

Ernie looked at me and shrugged. "Hey, it's just a job to me."

"A job?" said Oswald, offended. "You're an artist, Ernie, and don't ever forget that."

I walked to the sideboard. Edna shrugged and said, "Oh, go ahead, Ernie, give her a glass if she wants one."

"Which one?" he asked, indicating the green bottles of dark liquid.

Winnie spoke tentatively. "Maybe she would like the one with the hint of lavender."

Ernie poured a small portion of crimson liquid into a wineglass, and then filled the glass with Evian, saying, "Non-carbonated water works better with this one." The blood colored the water dark rose. "I don't drink this stuff, so I just have to take their word for it."

"You'll enjoy it more if you let your hand warm the glass," Sam started to say, but I'd already begun to drink. I shuddered with delight at the taste and the sensation of the liquid flowing into my mouth and down my throat. I held the glass upside down, trying to get the last drop. I thought that this must be the way morphine feels, so potent that a tiny amount can infuse the body, starting from one point and blooming until every nerve ending tingles.

I dropped into a chair and savored the moment, even though a small, sane voice inside my head was screaming that I was a monster. I felt a little dizzy, but I didn't know if it was the blood or the self-loathing. "It's not human, is it?" I whispered while thinking, too late, too late!

Sam came to me and took my hands; I was so sensitive that his touch set off a throb of desire. He must have felt it, too, because he quickly released me. "Of course not. That was lamb. We raise animals specifically-"

"We don't hurt our animals," Oswald said evenly. "We take only minimal amounts, far less proportionately than you'd give if you were donating blood. Our animals are treated humanely and kept in the best health possible."

Sam looked at me anxiously. "We enjoy a glass or two now and then, in moderate amounts. We observe the strictest quality control..."

"Samuel, she doesn't care," said Edna. "She just wants another glass." She turned to me. "And if you're going to swill it again, young lady, we'll just give you the swill."

"Oh," said Gabriel, "don't even talk about the turtle. It tasted like algae.""Gabriel," Winnie said delicately, "Ernie only made that because you suggested it."

Ernie picked up another bottle. "This is the angora rabbit. Crisp and grassy with a clean mouth feel, so they say."