She took the tissue wrapping off the tiny shelves and admired the miniature kitchen replicas. "Muchas gracias, Young Lady."

Oswald led us in singing "Happy Birthday," Edna blew out the candles on the table, and we clapped. It was as swell as the birthday parties I'd had when I was living with my grandmother. In fact, the only thing missing was a pinata to whack to smithereens. Too bad Sebastian wasn't around.

Ernie brought a few bottles of blood to the house that night. The evening became one big lovefest. Cornelia sat beside Sam, listening to him like he was revealing the secrets of the universe when he answered a question about tax shelters. Winnie drank more than usual, finally getting some color into her face, as Oswald sat beside her. I'd never seen her so affectionate toward Oswald; she held his hand, refilled his glass, ruffled his hair.

Oswald said, "Ian, tell me where you and Cornelia will be next month and maybe Winnie and I can arrange to visit with you on our honeymoon."

Ian glanced across the room at me. "I haven't confirmed any plans yet."

"Ian," said Cornelia, "I like it here. Let's lease a house for ourselves."

Sam brightened at the idea. "I would be happy to help you locate a suitable residence," he said.

"Would you?" Ian said. "The hotel is quite nice, but I appreciate privacy."

Edna said, "Do I hear correctly? You, in the country! You're the most urban creature I've ever known."

"And you are the most urbane creature I've ever known, madam," Ian riposted. "If you can adapt, I can, too. At least for awhile."

Everyone saw the way he looked at me. "I think I'll turn in early," I said.

They all bid me good night, and I went to my room. "Daisy," I said to my perra. "I am seriously and sincerely conflicted." She wagged her tail and that helped. I opened Jane Eyre at a random page and found her being taunted by Mr. Rochester, a powerful, worldly man who actually did love poor, penniless Jane. Why was I feeling ashamed when my interlude with Ian had been one of mutual consent?

Still, I was relieved when he did not come to the ranch the next afternoon. Cornelia, Edna, and I had our own pool party. We wanted Winnie to join us but she said she'd rather sit and read.

We made a pitcher of mimosas and played Frank Sinatra and Dionne Warwick songs. I felt a wave of sadness that we could not open the retractable roof to the clear blue sky.

After dinner, Cornelia pulled me from the family room and said, "Ian just called and he's found a party.""Is Pepper having a party?" Bikers in the daytime are one thing; bikers at night are another.

"No, not Pepper. Some new people."

Cornelia insisted on selecting my outfit. She went through my humble wardrobe and said, "How sad-making." She pulled out the puce dress and said, "Someone hung this rag in your closet," and tossed it on the floor. Then she selected the black chiffon skirt and white beaded sweater. "These will have to do. I'd loan you something, but I don't think my clothes would fit," she said, glancing at my chest.

She did some snazzy tricks to my hair, making it tousled and wild, and applied thick black liner to my eyes. "Don't make me look like a cheap hooker."

"No, you look like an expensive one." She laughed.

I thought that to someone as lighthearted as Cornelia, Winnie might seem prissy. Cornelia didn't perceive the important distinction between being a priss and having a serious and sincere nature.

Sam looked years younger in a black T-shirt and jeans. "What kind of party is this?" he asked Cornelia as we got into the car.

"Does it matter?" she answered.

"Don't Winnie and Oswald want to come?" I asked.

"They've got 'work' tomorrow," Cornelia said disdainfully.

Life seemed much more flexible when you didn't have a job or you ignored your obligations. Mercedes would not approve. I promised myself that I would return to my writing tomorrow.

Ian drove as though he knew the area well. "What I like about the country is that people have privacy. You can do what you like."

"You've mentioned privacy before, yet you're very social," I said.

"All things in proportion, Young Lady." He smiled at me. "You look very beautiful tonight."

"Big hair," I said, and when he laughed, I relaxed.

The isolated old house was painted a dark reddish purple. Now that I knew what puce was, I saw it everywhere. The only light visible was a dim bulb over the porch. "Are you sure this is the right address?" I asked. "It doesn't look like anyone is home."

Then I noticed the rows of cars parked in the field. "I'm sure."

When we got out of the car, I could hear low music throbbing from the house. Ian knocked on the front door and a white- faced waif peered out. He handed her a card, she glanced at it and said, "Welcome, Brethren Vampyres." I could tell she said it with a "y" like that because it was a hard vowel.

Candles didn't do much to illuminate the living room, which was filled with other white-faced, heavily made-up creatures in interesting black leather and satin costumes. I did not understand the whole American Goth thing, you know, romanticizing death and lugubrious poetry and all that. That's because Mexicans are sort of exuberant Goths. They keep altars to the dead, celebrate Dias De Los Muertos, have black hair, and daydream merrily about their funerals.

Ian should have looked out of place in his light-colored suit and snowy shirt, but he seemed perfectly comfortable. "How quaint," he said when he saw the black-clothed table set against a wall with an inverted cross over it. Atop the table were black candles, a knife, a plaster skull, a chalice, and a bell. "Simply marvelous," said Cornelia. "Do you really think so?" asked Sam. "Why are we here?"

"Local color," answered Ian. "Wait, they're starting." The room grew quiet and everyone faced the altar. Some awful John Cage music started, and I wished Mercedes was there to scold whoever put it on. From a doorway on the other side of the room came a woman dressed in a shiny black vinyl halter top and hot pants, black fishnet stockings, and platform boots. A huge silver pentagram hung from a chain around her neck. She was trying to hide her years with makeup and enormous breast implants. No wonder everybody stared.

She began to do a ritual cha-cha-cha of ringing the bell and turning around. Then she picked up the knife and pointed it toward the inverted cross and intoned, "In nomine dei nostri Satanas Luciferi Excelsi! In the name of our Master Satan, his High Excellence Lucifer, I call upon the forces of darkness and the infernal foundation of power!"

Ian put his finger to his lips because I had started laughing. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and Cornelia was enjoying herself, too. Sam, however, looked pained. He leaned to me and whispered, "This is grotesque."

The High Breastess did a whole lot more chanting, yammered about the gated community of hell and the forces of Dracul. I spaced out. I'm not big on rituals, and besides, Ian's hand was roaming around my posterior.

A figure came forward in a long, hooded cloak. The priestess declaimed, "I drink from this chalice, drink the prana, wellspring of all energy and strength, drink to fill my spirit so that my being can increase and be mighty and awful for all to behold. I drink of the essence of Tiffany," and with that she pulled away the figure's cloak and exposed the hotel girl who looked pasty as dough and really should have known better than to wear a white lace bra and panties if she didn't have a decent tan. I could see the gauze bandage wrapped around her wrist when she picked up the chalice, accidentally sloshing some viscous red liquid, and handed it to the priestess.

"I drink your essence, Tiffany, and you are a mere vessel of my desires, of my power. You are an empty shell and must do my bidding, so say the powers that I command here tonight..."

"Speaking of drinking, I'm getting one," I told Ian. He followed me out of the room into the kitchen. It had cute little cafe curtains with a barnyard scene and a marvelous old O'Keefe and Merritt stove. A huge punch bowl filled with red liquid sat on the butcher-block island.

I sniffed and knew it was the house drink in hell: Hawaiian punch and cow's blood with a pineapple ice ring garnish. In the fridge I found a six-pack of beer. "Want one?" I asked Ian.

"Thank you. Were you amused by the ceremony?"

"If I wanted to see a bad drama, I'd buy a theater ticket."

"I appreciate their naivete. The innocent confusion of vampires, I mean vampyres," he said with a smile, "and Satanism."

"Yeah, it's real cute," I said. "Calling upon the devil to increase your own power. When most people want to be immoral and have power, they just get an MBA."

"So young to be so cynical," he murmured.

I shrugged. "When you said party, I expected dancing."

Sam came into the kitchen, pulling Cornelia along with him. "Good heavens," he said, "I think they really did drain the blood out of that poor girl. I can't believe that's legal."

Cornelia caressed his arm. "Sam, you've been hiding in an office too long. She looked fine. But if you're bored, we don't have to stay."As we were leaving, Tiffany spotted Ian and her dull eyes brightened. I'd bet that she had given him the invitation. "Ian," I said as we stepped outside, "Tiffany has a crush on you."

"I told you, I'm not interested in children," he said. "If you want to dance, we shall dance."

He drove down various roads, meandering back toward the ranch until he saw a brightly lit estate with valets parking cars.

"Who lives here?" Sam asked.

"Haven't the slightest, Sam." Ian pulled into the drive, stopped the car, and we got out. "What is this event, my good man?" he asked the valet, and I saw him palming a bill with his keys to the valet.

The valet checked to make sure the bill was a big one, shoved it into his pocket, and said, "Fund-raiser for the local children's hospital."

"That will suffice."

We were underdressed for the gathering, and I might have said something, but I heard fabulous live salsa music coming from the back of the house. "Let's go," I said, and this time I was pulling Ian along. We passed lemon trees in large urns, olive trees draped in tiny fairy lights, and round tables with guests sipping wine. My preliminary check showed two black couples, one possibly Latino man with a blond woman, and no Asians. A dance floor had been set up on a back terrace and a ten-piece band was playing some really hot rhythms.

Mercedes had patiently spent many evenings teaching me about Afro-Cuban music and how to dance to the heartbeat of the clave. I had struggled to learn the moves, but Ian danced them like a Caribbean, effortlessly guiding my steps, twirling me, leading me.

It was exhilarating, but I thought it was too easy. Ian maneuvering me so smoothly that I felt manipulated. Looking over at the other vampires, I saw that Sam was trying not to step on Cornelias feet and struggling with the rhythm of the music. She was coaching him through the moves. I realized how unreasonable it was for me to take offense at Ian's graceful dancing.

When the song ended, Ian excused himself and found the hostess. I saw him write a check and flash his white, white teeth at her and she nearly wet herself with delight. I thought of Sebastian's accusation that I had been using him.

As the party progressed, Ian and Cornelia made several new acquaintances and received invitations for exhibits, wine tastings, brunches, golf. I was invited, too, but I knew these people never would have paid attention to me if it hadn't been for the sophisticated vampires.

Though the hour was late, the band played on and we danced, Ian's swarthy face close, his hips directing the movement of mine, his lips nuzzling my neck. "I can't wait to be alone with you," he murmured in my ear. "Let's go."

After searching high and low for Cornelia and Sam, Ian said, "They'll manage to get home. Cornelia's quite resourceful."

Ian expected me to spend the night with him, but I wasn't ready to verify what the others suspected, that I was having sex with Ian. I agreed to go with him for an hour. In that time, he again touched me and stroked me in a way that was exquisitely pleasurable, and, drunk with sensation, I allowed him to make tiny incisions on my shoulder, which he sucked until they closed over.

After he dropped me off at the ranch, I sensed a presence in the darkness on the drive. "Who's there?"

Oswald stepped forward. "You're back late."

"The party just ended."He simply looked at me. His features were so clear and open compared to Ian's worldly, shadowed face. "Milagro, it's not my place to give you advice, but think twice, hell, think three times before you get involved with Ian Ducharme. You have no idea what he's capable of."

"Actually, I do. Good night, Oswald." I went to bed feeling awful about the expression I'd seen on his face. Why did this damn man affect me so? The sooner he got married, the sooner I'd be able to move on with my life.

Chapter Twenty-six

pardon my french (panties)

I'd remembered my promise to Mercedes, so I spent the day writing. Later, I caught Edna in the family room as she was watching an Italian comedy in Italian. She said, "The subtitles are missing half the jokes. Come sit beside me, Young Lady."

When the show was over, she turned off the television and faced me. "I dread asking this, but is there anything on your silly little mind?"

"Edna, I know that Sam doesn't approve of Winnie and Oswald having the wedding now because of everything that's going on with CACA, and he's feeling obligated to stay with me while you go off to Prague for the festivities, but I think his mood is upsetting Winnie and Oswald."

"Yes, I would say that it is." Her emerald eyes sparked in curiosity.

"Well, maybe you could say something to him."

She sighed. "Young Lady, I cannot describe to you the anguish it puts me through to see my grandchildren behaving foolishly.

However, it is my experience that people must make their own decisions in matters of love and marriage."

"But Sam is not the one getting married! If Oswald and Winnie have made up their minds, then he should respect their decision."

Edna looked to the ceiling for heavenly guidance. "Sam is a very smart man. I am hoping that he will allow his heart to lead him instead of always doing what is responsible."

"Maybe Cornelia can convince him to go."

She paused before speaking. "Cornelia and her brother are charming people and can be very persuasive. I enjoy their company when they visit." She left the rest for me to infer.

I completely agreed with her that Sam should let his heart lead the way. Then I decided that he needed some encouragement. I lurked around until he was alone in the study. "Hi, Sam," I said, closing the door behind me.

"Hi, Young Lady," he answered quietly.

I pulled a chair beside his. "Sam, do you mind if I speak honestly?" He didn't say no, so I continued: "Don't you care for Winnie's feelings? And Oswald's, too?"

My comment took him aback and he sputtered, "Of course, of, I mean, yes, I mean, what do you mean?"

Previous "If we're their true friends, then we celebrate their love, right? You need to put your preoccupation with CACA aside long enough to show that you're happy for them."

Sam looked gloomy and said, "Yes, I guess you're right."

"And now that you and Cornelia are getting along so well, you empathize with how Oswald and Winnie feel about each other."

Sam fiddled with his pen before speaking. "I've always wanted to marry for love, Milagro. Not because the rest of the family thinks it's a good match, but because I love someone and she loves me and nothing else matters. If I found a girl who felt the same way, I would stand up to the family and demand that they accept the relationship."

Did he mean that the family might not approve of a match with Cornelia? "Sam," I said as I remembered Edna's words, "let your heart lead you." I left him to think about my suggestion.

I had just walked into the garden when I saw Daisy come crouching toward me. "Hey, girl..." I began before I noticed the crimson staining the snowy blaze on her chest. She looked at me with her golden eyes. Bending down, I saw a large gash below her neck. The blood seemed to be coagulating, but the torn flesh looked bad. I said, "It's okay, girl, it'll be okay, girl," as I gathered her carefully in my arms.

I hoped that either Oswald or Winnie would be home as I ran toward the cottage, with Daisy quietly enduring the jolts as I stumbled over the clumps and pits in the field. "Help!" I shouted as I struggled with the gate. "Help!"

Oswald opened the front door and hurried to me. "Oswald, she's hurt! Do something, please." I didn't cry until he took Daisy from my arms and carried her inside.

"Calm down-it's just a cut. I can take care of it." He pushed aside books and newspapers on the long plank table and laid her down. He pointed to his "command center" and said, "Get my bag."

A black leather satchel embossed with OKG leaned against the side of the metal desk. I took it to him.