Daisy whined softly as he tenderly probed the cut. "This is wrong," he said in a worried voice. "But it isn't bad."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a clean incision. Barbed wire or a nail would leave something more jagged. I'm going to clean it and close it up. Infection's what we have to worry about."

He told me to get him a razor and a towel from the bathroom. After grabbing a thick white towel, I went to the cabinet and shoved aside bottles of Swiss skin care products before I found a jar holding disposable razors. I hurried back to Oswald, who had filled a bowl with warm, soapy water.

"I need you to hold her still," he said.

I couldn't watch what he was doing. I turned my head and focused on the room while holding Daisy. The furniture had been rearranged, everything was clean, and there were fresh flowers on a side table.

"You're letting her wiggle," he said firmly.

I tightened my grip on Daisy and pressed my face into the soft fur on her back. To distract myself I said, "Where did you get all this weird furniture?"

"I bought it as a lot in an auction. The auctioneer hinted that it might contain interesting American country antiques and this is what I got.""Oh. It looks like my old furniture."

He said, "I'm almost done," but several minutes passed before he finally announced, "There."

I looked at Daisy. There was a bare patch on her chest and the wound was closed by tiny black stitches. "It looks awful."

"Awful? This is possibly the best cosmetic surgery that has ever been performed on a canine. I also gave her an eye-lift, and once the swelling goes down, she'll look like a puppy again."

I laughed out of relief. "Why do you do it?"

"What?" He put Daisy on the floor and she waggled her back end gallantly.

"Cosmetic surgery."

He shrugged. "I'm good at it. I told you I have excellent small motor skills. Let me guess-you think it's decadent and self- indulgent."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," he said with a tight grin.

"My mother Regina has had a lot of plastic surgery. Her face is like a mask."

"Some people would rather wear a mask than show their face to the world," he said as he walked toward the bathroom to wash up.

I heard the water running and I glanced down at myself. My blouse was smeared with bright red blood, but for the first time since I'd been infected, I felt no desire at the sight. I went to the kitchen sink and sponged soap on the fabric so that the stain wouldn't set, and then I washed my hands.

Oswald returned to the room with a damp hand towel. He began wiping the blood and grime from my face with the same heartbreaking tenderness I recalled from my fever dream. What was wrong with me that I couldn't feel this way toward Ian?

"Milagro," he said, "it's easy to be dismissive of cosmetic surgery when you're naturally beautiful."

"It's not a moral judgment..." I began, wary of his compliment. I knew that his ideal was Winnie. "I don't have to defend my beliefs to you."

"No, you don't. I don't have to defend my profession to you, but I will say that it's not all about vanity. It's about making people feel that they're not outsiders or freaks. It's about fitting in. Yes, I also perform surgeries for spoiled women who have more money than common sense, but that income allows me to do the other work for people who've been in fires or accidents or wars, for those who were born with problems."

I was going to say something about the tyranny of the media in defining a vacuous and unreal standard of perfection, when we both heard a clear "ahem."

Winnie stood in the doorway watching us.

"Hi, Winnie," Oswald said quickly. "Daisy had an accident and Milagro brought her here."

The dog was nowhere to be seen, and Winnie sighed heavily. She looked sallow and unwell.

"Daisy!" I called out, and the dog trotted back into the house with muddy paws.One glance at her was enough to change Winnie's expression. "Poor Daisy! What happened to you?"

"I don't know. It was a clean incision so she sliced herself on something razor sharp," Oswald answered. "She'll be fine." He went to his desk and took out an amber prescription bottle. He counted out pills into a tiny manila envelope. "Here are some antibiotics. Give them to her twice a day-once in the morning and once at night."

"Okay," I said as I took the envelope from Oswald. "See you later, Win."

As I walked out of the shack, Daisy scampered into the vegetables after a bird. "Make sure to keep that wound clean until it heals up."

Mumbling, "Thanks for all your help with the dog," I took Daisy back to the house, washed her paws with a hose, and led her to my room. I closed the door firmly. Daisy sprawled on the bed as if she was perfectly fine.

I took a shower and put on my cute aqua silk capri pants and shell, did my makeup, painted my toenails a glittery pink, and slipped my feet into leopard-print slides. I parted my hair on the side and dried it slick and straight. I looked in the mirror and noticed that my breasts and hips had returned to their rounder, more succulent shapes. "Welcome back, girls," I said. "I can always use your company."

Chapter Twenty-seven

we don't need no stinkin' badges

Ian and Cornelia showed up for cocktails. As twilight fell and drinks were refilled, we all enjoyed espiritu de los cocteles, except for Winnie, who only played with her drink. She looked like an anemic angel in a pale yellow raw silk sheath. My own ensemble seemed hopelessly gaudy.

While Cornelia openly showed her affection for Sam, Ian sat with Edna instead of me. Glancing at me, Ian said to Edna, "She reminds me a little of you."

Edna rolled her great eyes and said, "Are you insulting me or complimenting her?" and he laughed.

"Maybe he's insulting me and complimenting you," I said.

"She's a dreadful girl," Edna replied with a smile.

"I think so, too. I'd like to take her out after dinner, if it's acceptable to you."

"I'm not her mother Regina," Edna replied.

"I am an adult and can make my own decisions, thank you very much," I said.

"They're frequently dreadful decisions," Oswald offered with a cool smile directed at Ian.

For Winnie's sake, I held my tongue.

Before we left, Ernie brought over a bottle of mutton. I was sitting in the corner, and Winnie came to perch on the arm of my Previous chair. I took a sip of the mutton-tainted drink. It was unlike any other blood I'd had: deep and pungent. It revolted me and I put down my glass.

"It's strong stuff," Winnie said. "But the older members of the family like it."

"Winnie," I said very quietly, "is Edna's husband still alive?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Alive and living in Nova Scotia."

"What broke them up?"

Winnie glanced at Edna, who was chatting with Ian, one languid arm stretched out with a glass of crimson liquid, her sleek legs crossed. "Edna's one of the last great femme fatales," Winnie said, so earnestly that I almost laughed.

"What?"

"Men find her irresistible and do stupid things to impress her. My mother says an infatuated admirer told her he was going to kill Uncle Allen, that's her husband, and she thought he was joking and said she'd be delighted." Winnie's blue eyes grew wide in the telling and we both glanced at Edna again.

"What happened?" I whispered.

"So her admirer challenged Uncle Allen to a duel, and when he refused, the admirer tried to shoot Uncle Allen, missed by a mile, and then committed suicide. It was a huge scandal."

"Well," I said, "Edna shouldn't have been held responsible for one deluded guy..."

"It wasn't one deluded guy. Men were always falling for her. There was an incident that no one will tell me about, and after that, Uncle Allen said enough is enough."

"I think she still has that effect," I said.

Winnie sighed. "What's it like, Mil, to make men do crazy things over you?"

The question was ridiculous. "I don't know what you mean. I'm generally the one doing stupid things."

"If you say so," she said skeptically.

"Winsome, they may want to boink me, but you're the kind of girl they want to marry," I answered. "You're the one they take seriously."

She thought before speaking. "I don't want to be the careful choice, the cautious choice, Young Lady. I want to be the passionate, irrational choice."

I thought that she should be satisfied by having someone as fabulous as Oswald in love with her. "You've just got wedding jitters." I took her hand-it seemed so finely boned and soft-and wanted to protect her from her own insecurities. "You must be excited about getting married."

"What girl wouldn't be?" She smiled a little, but her tension seemed to spread to others, so I didn't mind leaving after dinner with Ian. "I have a special surprise for you," he said.

"You don't have to buy me things."

"It's not a thing. It's an experience, one that I expect you to find very pleasurable."When we arrived at the hotel's carriage house, he opened the door to reveal dozens of candles flickering inside. "For you." The room was filled with flowers, their scent heavy in the warm air. It took me a moment to see the girl on the bed, lying in her underwear on a plastic sheet, her watery blue eyes blinking lashes thick with mascara. Sharp implements glittered on a silver tray on the table beside the bed.

"Tiffany?" I said.

"Hi, I am your vessel. Take your prana, energy, from me and drink of me and restore your dark power and stuff."

I turned to my companion. "Ian, what exactly do you mean by this?"

"A treat for you. Human blood is so far superior to animal blood and, yours, ah, Milagro." He took me in his arms. "I didn't even know anything like it, like you, existed." He caressed my body. "Of course, this girl's is not nearly the same quality, but still interesting. I would offer myself to you, but the effects might be deleterious."

Okay, all men are perverts. Any man you know, get him comfortable enough and he will reveal some warped desire. Case in point: Sebastian. It's their nature and I understand even if I do not concede to all their demented requests.

Ian went to the bed and picked up an old-fashioned razor. Tiffany quivered and her mouth opened. He was about to slice into her flesh when I said, "Stop it!" and yanked his arm away.

"What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled. "There's no harm in it. She wants it. She likes it, don't you, Tiffany?"

Tiffany bobbed her head in acquiescence. "My dark lord may do what he's into. My only wish is to serve his desires and everything and be his vessel."

"This girl doesn't know what she wants," I said. I took her hands and made her sit up. "Tiffany," I said sternly, "he is not your dark lord. He's just a guy who wants to use you."

Ian poured himself a brandy. "Is this necessary, Milagro?" he asked. "Why can't you face the reality of your role in the world?

Some are predators and some are prey."

"It's cool," Tiffany said. "The dark lord can use me to nourish his internal, I mean infernal, power."

"No, it's totally not cool," I said to Tiffany. "One, you could get blood-borne infections. Two, you could get scars," and I saw that I was too late, her arms bore old pale marks as well as fresh scabs. "Three, he doesn't like you the way you like him, muchacha," I said, and finally saw a flash of something in her eyes. "And, four, if you got out of this little village, you might find enough to interest you so you wouldn't have to dabble in devil worship nonsense. And you should find a decent religion. I've heard great things about the Unitarians."

"Are you about done?" Ian asked in a bored voice.

"Yes."

Moving so swiftly that I couldn't stop him, Ian crossed the room and lightly slashed Tiffany's breast with the razor. The blood rose quickly in the cut and he said, "Drink, Milagro, drink!"

I shook my head and he said calmly, "How is this any different than what you've allowed me to do?" He bent over the girl to suck at her blood. I couldn't bear to watch as Tiffany-writhed in ecstasy, but when I tried to leave, Ian reached out and grabbed my wrist hard. Her blood was still on his mouth when he drew me to him for a kiss.

"No!" I cried, twisting away and struggling to be free of his embrace.He released me, and his dark eyes searched my face. "You have no idea what you mean to me. I offer whatever you want. I will care for you and give you all the pleasure you desire, all the things that amuse you. I will treasure you as the rare creature you are. You only have to tell me what you want."

He was charming and persuasive. He was an entertaining visitor. "What I want, Ian, is to earn something on my own. I'm not quite sure what that is yet, but I know I don't want to be treated like a vessel or a vassal, like a possession or a pet."

"If that is what you'd like..." He didn't bother looking at Tiffany, but said to her, "Girl, get dressed and go."

She slowly began gathering her clothes. Her face bore the same glazed expression the biker Artie had had.

"Ian, it's not going to happen. I'm saying good-bye now."

Tiffany was fumbling with her boots. I helped her put them on. Ian watched me struggling to shove Tiffany's floppy arms into her sweater.

"My heart," he said finally. "I asked if you would endanger my mind, my body, or my soul. The answer is my heart."

I remembered my dream of listening to Oswald's heart beating; I wanted to feel that perfect unity again, even if it was only a fantasy. "I don't know if you're a bad man, Ian, but I don't think you're a good one."

I opened the door and waited for Tiffany. Her eyes finally focused on Ian, and she whimpered, "Please let me stay, Master."