"Do any buses go by here?"

"Not tonight. In the morning."

"Like what time? Or is there a train?"

"Where you going?" said the rough voice behind me. The woman had selected a bag of Cheez Doodles. I was going to hell eventually, but now I told her I was heading for the City.

"I can take you most of the way there, princess, no problemo."

She told me her name was Sierra Madre, so I told her my name was Dolores. I left the bicycle where it was and got into her battered pickup. As we headed over the mountain, the forest obscured the indigo sky that had witnessed my sins.

Previous Sierra Madre sang along with folk songs on the radio, songs of desolation, survival, hope, and lost love. I tried not to cry. It was still dark when we entered a small city. She dropped me off at a bus stop in front of an open diner and said, "Nice knowing you, doll. It'll get better. From the look of you, it couldn't get any worse, right?"

"Thanks. You're a treasure."

I'm sure she'd heard it a hundred times before, but she chuckled anyway as she drove off. I bought a cup of burnt, watery coffee from the diner and drank it while I waited for the bus.

The bus was slow and the ride jarring. How could I have believed Oswald's blatant lie that he'd never had sex with Winnie when I should have noticed that she was pregnant? I was a low-down selfish bitch. I was beneath contempt.

Cunning, insidious sleep overwhelmed me. My respite was short. Forbidden, erotic images of Oswald came to me, but then he was not Oswald-he was Sebastian and he was Ian and this composite creature was ravishing me in impossible, hideous, wonderful, horrible ways.

When I arrived in the City, the smells and noises hit me like a wall. It was not yet morning, but big rigs and delivery trucks rumbled by spewing exhaust. A police siren wailed in the distance, and voices shouted down the road. There was an ambient buzz that I had never noticed before from millions of gadgets and appliances. A Dumpster reeked of rotting garbage, and the bitter odor of roasting coffee beans hung heavy in the foggy air. I shivered a little. I'd forgotten how chilly the City was.

I thought about going to Nancy's, but I didn't want to inflict myself on Todd, who was in contact with Sebastian and had never been a member of the Milagro Fan Club. Another bus took me within a few blocks of Mercedes's house on the edge of the Latino district. The narrow older structure stood shoulder to shoulder with similar houses. Mercedes had the neatest house on the block. Her steps were swept clean, the gray and white paint was fresh, and on the landing, two big pots held bright orange geraniums and ivy. Tenants lived on the first floor, and she lived in the tidy one-bedroom upstairs.

The sky was beginning to grow lighter and I realized that I hadn't brought sunscreen. I pressed the buzzer for her flat and stood away from the door so I would be visible from upstairs. After a minute, I saw the amber velvet drapes on the second floor move. The lock buzzed and I opened the door and walked up the narrow stairs.

My pajama-clad friend stood at the top, looking both annoyed and curious. "Milagro, what the hell are you doing here at this time of the-"

I put down my backpack, the typewriter case, and the paper bag. When I fell into her arms, she immediately tried to comfort me, patting me firmly on the back, saying, "Get hold of yourself, mijita."

Trying to compose myself, I released her and struggled to stop sniffling. Mercedes shook her head. "You're a disaster. Maybe we need some coffee." She led me through a small living room into a smaller kitchen. I sat down on a wooden chair in front of a table pushed against the wall. The kitchen was painted a cheerful aqua and gleaming pots hung from a rack. Shelves displayed pretty souvenirs from her parents' homelands.

"May I use the bathroom?"

"You know you don't have to ask," Mercedes answered gruffly. "Go ahead and take a shower if you want. The towels are in the closet."

In the mirror, I saw the face of a selfish bitch. Poor, poor Winnie-why had my own transient pleasure been more important than her happiness? Poor, poor Sam-why had I forgotten him so easily? Turning the shower on so hot I could barely endure it, I scrubbed myself harshly, trying to clean away any traces of lying, treacherous Oswald.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mercedes had made strong, sweet Cuban coffee. She poured a cup for me. "Okay," she ordered, "spill it."So I did. I told her everything from the beginning and I didn't hold back. When I said "vampires" the first time, her hazel eyes widened, but I continued with my story. I told her how both Sebastian's family and the vampires had come from towns with unspellable names and had once been allies. I told her about CACA's plan to exploit the vamps' DNA, about how my skin healed and how I lusted for another woman's fiance and why I adored Edna. I described the layout of the garden, Ernie's blood tastings, and the way the sun rose above the mountains. I told her the sordid details of my liaison with Ian, the vampyre party, the slaughtered animals, and my ugly, selfish behavior. I concluded with, "And then I took a bus here."

We were on our third cup of coffee and I was shaking with nerves and caffeine. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"No, but I needed to tell someone I trust."

"I think what you really need is to sleep," my amiga said. She made up the sofa for me. The room was dark behind the thick drapes, and I let her fuss over me, tucking a comforter around my feet, putting on a recording of Cesaria Evora's plaintive crooning.

Self-loathing and despair are exhausting. When I awoke in the afternoon, Mercedes had gone to My Dive. She left me a note telling me she'd be back late.

I didn't expect Winnie to ever forgive me, but I wondered if she would, if she could, forgive Oswald this time. Would she have to for the sake of their child? Why had Oswald lied to me about their relationship? Was I one last fling or one in a series of flings for a man who could have had any number of women? It was humiliating to know that he had used me so easily.

At least Sam had been saved last night; now he wouldn't be trapped in a relationship with a cheap harlot.

I was too depressed to get up. The hours passed and I wondered what the vampires were doing. It seemed impossible that they could be sitting on the terrace, drinking and chatting. But then, what did I really know about their lives?

Chapter Thirty-one

artist in (ratless) residence

Early the next morning, Mercedes pulled the drapes open and yanked the comforter off me. "Your grandparents didn't work in the fields just so you could feel sorry for yourself," she said inaccurately, since my grandparents had worked in canneries, textile factories, and a welding shop.

I sat up and said, "I feel horrible about what I did."

She pulled a big plastic clip out of her jeans pocket and snapped it around her frizzy auburn hair. "You should. That was really low."

I got up and we started folding the blankets together. "Why did I act like such a selfish puta?"

"Let's not psychoanalyze you just yet." She took the pile of bedding to her bedroom and returned with a sheaf of papers.

"You know how I think you're irresponsible and unmotivated?"

"Um?"

Previous "Okay, you've never struck me as especially neurotic. You're kinda stable, considering your mother Regina." Mercedes had once insisted on meeting my mother Regina because she said that it was impossible that any Latina could be as heartless as my description.

"Thanks, I think."

"Anyway, I did some research yesterday and found out lots of interesting stuff." Mercedes's own dark secret is that she had been a hacker in her youth; if anything had ever been entered in a computer, she and her renegade buddies could find it. She'd explained her skills to me by saying math and music were intimately connected.

Now I joined her on the sofa and she put the papers on the coffee table. "Look," she said, "there is a genetic disease that causes extreme photosensitivity. It doesn't cause cravings for blood, the pica you mentioned, but it isn't weird to guess that a variant of this condition or a similar genetic condition might have that symptom."

"They kept telling me they weren't vampires," I said.

"Of course not," she said. "There's no such thing." Mercedes waved a few stapled pages. "Myths about blood-drinking demons show up on every continent. We've got our own chupacabra."

"I've always liked the chupacabra. I mean, what's not to love about a goat-killing flying monkey?"

"Milagro, focus," said Mercedes. "Okay, those vampire stories developed out of ignorance. But your mutant friends might have crossed paths with the mythology somewhere in the Old World, and we got the whole Bram Stoker Count Dracula thing out of it."

"I've never read Stoker, but I did see Blacula at a film festival."

"You're hopeless. Read the book. It kicks ass." While Mercedes brewed up a pot of Java, I sorted through the papers and found Sebastian's photo.

Mercedes glanced at it and said, "That's the CACA guy who came to the club looking for you. There's a secret society that came before CACA-I think that's the Old World connection between Beckett-Witherspoon's family and your vampires.

CACA's just the latest political tool of this group."

I read aloud: "'It has long been speculated that the founders of CACA are members of a secret society that can be traced back to a ninth-century clandestine alliance called Chalice of Blood. This alliance between pagan and Christian clans was in violation of the schism between the Eastern Orthodox Church and the western Roman Church.'"

Mercedes said, "That must be the alliance the vamp doc told you about. Go on."

I continued to read: " 'Chalice of Blood was disbanded during the occupation of Serbian territories by the Austrian Hapsburgs in the early 1700s, but was resurrected in the United States. While the reformed Chalice of Blood rejected most pagan practices, they continued to conduct initiations on...'"-and here I paused-"'... on the Eve of St. George's Day, April 22 on the Julian calendar.'"

"What?" Mercedes asked.

"Nothing," I said. My one-night romance with Sebastian had been on April 21. I continued to read: "'The initiate was abducted by members and subjected to gruesome physical and mental tests. If he passed, he swore a blood oath of fealty to Chalice of Blood.'"

"What a bunch of nuts," Mercedes said. "They excavated some of the old ceremonies for a new rich boys' club and then they went after your bloodsucking pals.""'Bloodsucking' is such a limiting definition, Mercedes. That's just a part of who they are. I mean, that's as demeaning as calling me a 'tortilla eater.'"

"You are a tortilla eater."

"Yes, but I'm more than that. Back to the subject of Sebastian, what do you think I should do?"

We decided that I should stay with her until the vamps and CACA hashed out their differences. Mercedes suggested that I call the vampires just to tell them that I was okay.

"I'm sure they wish I was dead instead of just undead or whatever I am," I answered.

"From what you've told me, it sounds as if they liked you," Mercedes said.

"Maybe they did for a little while. Before I ruined everything."

Mercedes gave a huff of exasperation, so I said quickly, "Okay, I'll call them. But not yet. I need more time."

The highlight of the next few days was making a midday meal for Mercedes and myself. I cooked the dishes that Edna taught me, but they didn't taste quite the same. To my great relief, I didn't crave blood anymore.

I decided to test my photosensitivity and went out on Mercedes's back stairwell for a few minutes. My tan deepened, but I failed to find solace in the outdoors and suffered from the aggressive noises and smells of the City.

When Mercedes was at home, she spent much of her time in front of one of her computers in her bedroom. When I asked what she was working on, she said, "Mostly spying on CACA. Knowledge is power."

I set up the typewriter on the kitchen table and tried to write. I was unhappy with the optimistic tone of my story. I started it all over again. This time my tale was mournful and grim. The zombies had a nameless yearning for a life well lived. However, they could not escape from the nothingness of their existence. It became a Jamesian tale.

Mercedes was always gone at cocktail hour, so I would pour a glass of wine for myself and stare out the window. A feeling I had never known came over me. It took me a long time to identify it: I was homesick.

The night sky was a dullish, reddish nothing color, a puce, at the edges. Thousands and thousands of city lights and the dense covering of fog blocked the stars. I slept on the sofa and left the television on to drown out my thoughts, especially those tempting images of Oswald. My desire for him was part of my moral corruption.

I was miserable. I deserved to be miserable.

I couldn't stay with Mercedes forever, so I decided to ask Nancy for help. I hadn't talked to her since her party, but I didn't dare call her. I waited for a Wednesday morning, when she had her weekly manicure and pedicure at a Vietnamese salon across town.

I was soaking my feet in hot water and feeling bad about enjoying the vibrations of the massage chair when Nancy swished in.

She was wearing darling purple sandals, jeans, a snug F.U. T-shirt under a leather jacket, and giant sunglasses, as if she was expecting a stampede of paparazzi at any moment.

She grabbed a bottle of shell-pink polish from the display and was slipping off her shoes when I said, "Hey, Nancy-pants, fancy-pants."

Turning toward me, her mouth made an "O" of delight. "Mil, I am about to completely kill you! Where have you been? I'm unbelievably furious that you left my tea so presciently.""Precipitously," I said.

"Exactly. Do you like this color, or should I go for something more pearlescent?"

"That color is nice, and you know I'm trying to stay away from Sebastian."

Nancy rolled up her pants legs and sat in the chair next to mine. Her sandy curls had been cut and styled into a chic crop. She turned her head to the right and to the left. "Critique, please."

"Too marvelous for words."

Nancy waited for the manicurist to turn off the water that was filling the foot bath before she continued. "I saw Sebastian last week at a fund raiser for children or animals or endangered diseases. He said wonderful things about you and how he's so crazy to see you again and just be good friends, but not to tell Tessie because she's insanely jealous."

"'Crazy' and 'insane' being the operative words. Nancy, he's out of his mind and friendship is the last thing he wants."

"I think he probably meant he wants to be good friends with your boobs, which are looking quite boobalicious by the way, and I can see why Tessie would be mental. Also, Sebastian looked fabulous. I was completely smitten. You told me he'd gone to hell."

"I think I meant that he should burn in hell. Anyway, have you ever heard of a group called Corporate Americans for the Conservation of America?"

Nancy tilted her head charmingly. "Natch. What color are you choosing?"

I loved Nancy, but it seemed to me that ever since she had quit her job so that she could concentrate full-time on wedding plans she had become really silly, and not the good kind of silly. "Scarlet-it's so classic. Sebastian is a top-level member of that group."

"Strong colors look good on you, Mil. It's fab that he's so established with CACA. He's going places." She winced and pulled her foot away from the young woman sitting by the bath. "I told you before, not so rough!" she said sharply before turning her bright smile to me. "These people can be so careless."

I could see the manicurist's embarrassment at Nance's rebuke. I gave my F.U. friend the benefit of the doubt; perhaps the woman had been rough. "Nance, I don't think you understand everything CACA does. They aren't interested in conserving anything but their power. They see the earth as their private treasure trove and all third-world people as merely chattel for exploitation."

She gave me a patronizing smirk. "Mil, you mix up patriotism for bigotry. You're always hyper-oversensitive like there's this big conspiracy or something, and you know how I adore your whole ethnic thing, but let's not overaccessorize. Be a dear and pass me the new Cosmo."

It was no use trying to have a serious conversation with Nancy while she was getting a beauty treatment, so I pretended to read an ancient copy of Good Housekeeping. When our nails were done, Nancy suggested we get potstickers at the dinky Chinese restaurant next door. She kept peering at our feet under the table. "Next time I'm going to get something more puce, I think.

You haven't even asked me about house hunting."

"How's that going?" I said politely.

"Todd and I found a fantastic place across the bay. A three-bedroom, one-bath on four acres."

"I thought Todd wanted a gargantuan house.""Who doesn't? We can't wait to tear it down and build something amazing. Once we clear out a boring old oak grove, we'll have oodles of room."

"You might want to check the city ordinances before clear-cutting. A lot of places have restrictions on removing old trees."

Nancy snatched the last dumpling with chopsticks. "Really, Mil, you are becoming quel major drag. Todd won't have any problems because he knows people in the planning office. In fact"-she looked up at me with a challenge in her eyes-"the city planner is a member of CACA and Todd just joined."

I practically spat out my jasmine tea, even though I should have seen this coming. That explained Todd's renewed relationship with Sebastian. Todd had always talked about ethics while justifying anything that increased his personal portfolio. "And that's okay with you, Nance?"