As the woman descended the stairs, I became somewhat self-conscious about my silly zapatos with the broken strap, my torn pants, and my leopard-print jacket.

"Who is this, Gabriel?" Her voice was precise and icy. She was comfortable being openly hostile, little knowing that if there's one thing I'm used to, it's being unwelcome in a home.

When in the presence of an alpha female, one should never show fear or she'll attack like you're the slow gazelle at the watering hole. Stepping forward and extending my hand, I smiled in a blatantly insincere manner and said, "Milagro De Los Santos.

Pleased to meet you."

She ignored me and said, "Gabriel." It was a reprimand.

"This is the girl Oswald told us about," he said as if he'd been caught cheating on a test.

"She's alive, then?"

"Why don't you poke me with a stick and check?" I said.

She turned her luminous green gaze upon Gabriel. "You know I disagree with your cousin's decision to bring her here."

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but 'her' is standing right in front of you."

Gabriel put his hand protectively on my shoulder. "I barely managed to get her away from Beckett-Witherspoon. This is the best place for her..." Under his grandmothers stare, he faltered and added, "For now."

"We'll have a meeting to discuss this further." The woman turned to me. "Young lady, I will not pretend to be happy about this situation. I cannot stress how unfortunate it was that my grandson encountered you and succumbed to your unsafe overtures.

Your lack of wisdom indicates that you are not a person to be trusted. Frankly, I am not comfortable having you here."

It had been a long night and I was tired. "If you're going to trash me, at least introduce yourself. I'd like to be able to refer to you by name when I cuss you out later."The corner of her mouth twitched, but the movement was so brief that I couldn't ascertain whether she had smiled or sneered.

"Edna Grant. When you do cuss me out, refer to me as 'Mrs. Grant' or 'Edna.' Either will suffice."

"It will be my pleasure, Edna," I responded. Gabriel looked as if he wished the earth would swallow him whole.

"Gabriel, show this person to the extra room."

"Yes, Grandmama."

Gabriel opened one of the doors on the left and led me through a spacious dining room and into an enormous kitchen all done up in cheerful undead colors of blue and yellow. Pots and pans gleamed from a rack. There was a long trestle table and a restaurant-quality range with six burners. The vampire business must be pretty profitable these days.

Gabriel was saying something about importing the kitchen tiles from Tuscany.

"Gabriel, what about the sun? Does this mean I can never go out in the sun again?"

He sighed. "I don't know. No one from outside has been infected in... in my lifetime, at least. And, no, sunlight doesn't make our flesh spontaneously combust."

"I didn't mean..." Who would have guessed vampires would be so sensitive?

He sighed. "It's okay. Some of us are more photophobic than others. You'll probably be okay if you wear sunscreen and a hat."

"Is that what you do?"

"Hello?" he said, pointing to his head. "I'm a natural redhead. I always protect myself from the sun's damaging rays."

He led me into a short hallway behind the kitchen and opened the door. "Here's the, uh, here's your room."

Despite my limited experience as a guest, I knew what it really was. "It's the maid's room. You're sticking the Mexican girl in the maid's room."

Gabriel looked a little embarrassed. "Really, we all use it." I followed him a few steps into the room. "Believe me, sometimes you don't want to be too close to Grandmama." He pulled open the shutters to the murky, pre-dawn light and flipped on a lamp.

"Fine, whatever." The room looked more like a college dorm than a maid's quarters. There was a bed covered with a blue spread, a navy recliner, and a large wooden desk by a bay window. An old bicycle with a basket leaned against a bookcase filled with paperbacks.

"You've got privacy and your own bathroom," Gabriel said, opening a door to a spacious all-white bathroom with a claw-foot bathtub. It was one of those bathrooms that made you want to sing show tunes while soaking in bubbles.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, Gabriel slid open the closet doors. "There are some spare clothes here. You should be able to find something to wear and there's usually an extra toothbrush in the-"

I realized that I was going to collapse. "I'll just go to bed now. Thanks."

As he left the room, he said, "Milagro, I really am glad that you're okay."

"We don't know that yet, do we?""Good night," he said, and left before I was able to ask him where Oswald was.

Chapter Seven

wherein our heroine considers her options

Although I was exhausted, I was also uneasy and nervous in this strange house. Intending to rest for only a few moments, I lay down on the bed. But as soon as I closed my eyes, sleep overcame me.

When I awoke, a soft breeze came in though the slats. Had someone come in and closed the shutters while I was sleeping or had I done it myself and forgotten? I listened. No rats scrabbling in the walls. The clock radio said it was 10:17 a.m. Had I slept for only a few hours or over a day?

I got out of bed feeling grimy. After searching through the dresser, the best outfit I could find was a flannel shirt, baggy gym shorts, and tube socks. My shoes were beyond repair, so I looked in the closet and found purple flip-flops. They were several sizes too big. In order to keep them on my feet, I had to do a graceless clomp-shuffle, clomp-shuffle.

I locked myself in the bathroom and double-checked the lock before I stripped down. I decided against a shower because the theme to Psycho kept playing in my head, so I made do with a quick splash. After dressing in the clean clothes, I braided my hair and ventured back out to the bedroom.

Glancing in the mirror, I decided that I didn't need to see Oswald until I looked better.

My mother Regina would have been more horrified by the way I was dressed than by the fact that I'd been infected with vampirism. I was having problems thinking clearly, but I felt surprisingly okay, considering the situation.

In the kitchen, a place was set with a croissant, a bowl of strawberries, and a red beverage. I tasted the drink cautiously: it was red orange juice. Fancy schmancy. I poured a mug of dark roast coffee from an insulated carafe and added cream. A newspaper was folded on the table. I scanned it looking for a report about a brilliant and spectacular young woman who had been kidnapped by villains.

Through the window, I could see fields of tall grasses that spread across to a band of trees at the base of green mountains. The house was in a stand of beautiful old walnuts and live oaks that were just leafing out. An unhealthy climbing rose framed the window. A plot of land that must have once been the kitchen garden was now in an awful state of neglect.

"I see you're up," said a pleasant, manly voice.

I practically jumped. "Yes, um, yes, I was just admiring the view."

This man resembled Oswald, but his features were more regular and balanced. His polite smile was even and his light brown hair was brushed in an unsuccessful attempt to subdue the natural waves. His eyes were brown, too. Slim and neatly groomed, he looked like a really sexy mathematician unaware that he was a prime number. I wanted to unbutton his shirt, muss his hair, and exclaim, "Good heavens, Professor Dracula, you're stunning!" I despaired over my own state of severe unfabulousness.

"I'm glad to see you looking well," he said. "How do you feel?"

Danger comes in nice packages sometimes, so I was contemplating the damage my butter knife could do to this man if he suddenly sprouted fangs. "Okay, not bad, actually."

Previous "It's quite a relief to hear that, Miss De Los Santos."

"Call me Mil. And you are?"

"I'm Sam Grant, Gabriel and Oswald's cousin."

Now, Sam may seem like an ordinary name, but I loved it because I loved Sam Clemens. My fear seemed completely unwarranted in light of his pleasing manner and this positive association.

"Please don't let me rush your breakfast," he said, startling me from my contemplation of his nice jawline, "but we would like to have a little talk with you about this situation."

"We?"

"Yes, my grandmother, Gabriel, and myself."

Oswald was conspicuously absent from this group.

Sam continued, "We think it would be highly desirable to work out a resolution to this situation." His voice was as comforting and formal as a mortician's. "If you're ready..."

I wasn't, but I found myself clomping after him through a door adjacent to the living room and into a masculine study. Edna Grant and Gabriel sat on a loveseat. "Milagro," said Sam, "you've met my grandmother, Mrs. Grant."

She nodded curtly, but Gabriel smiled and said, "Morning, Mil."

Sam gestured to an armchair. "Milagro, why don't you sit here?"

"Should I have my attorney present?" I said, joking nervously and wondering if an attorney could actually help me in this situation.

Sam laughed politely and said, "It's nothing like that. We'd like you to tell us in your own words what happened the night you met Oswald."

"Which begs the question, where is Oswald?"

Edna spoke up. "Oswald has been asked to remain in his shack until this matter is resolved."

"Shack?" I said.

"It may as well be a shack," Edna said, "considering the mess there. You expect that a grown man will live like a decent human being."

I had no idea vampires had such high standards of housekeeping.

Sam explained, "He's not here because we want to hear your side of the story."

"First, I need some answers. Am I going to die?"

"Death and taxes are certainties," Edna snapped.

Sam looked at his grandmother and she shrugged unapologetically. "Mil," he said, "you told me that you're feeling okay. That's wonderful." He looked genuinely pleased. "There's a chance you haven't been infected at all. Perhaps you've only had a common virus that coincided with your encounter with Oswald?"I thought about the hamburger blood, the fever and chills, my enhanced vision, and shook my head regretfully. "What's my life going to be like, medically speaking?" I asked.

"You have to understand that this is a unique situation," Sam explained patiently. "There hasn't been another incident of accidental blood contamination in generations. We can only make educated guesses about your health after we've performed a few medical exams."

I immediately pictured a large slab, boiling test tubes, and demented lab assistants. They were going to examine me over my dead undead body.

"I've scheduled an appointment for you this afternoon with our family physician," Sam said. "She can answer all your questions about your physical condition."

"Can we move on?" said Edna tersely. "I have things to do."

Sam nodded to his grandmother. "Certainly. Milagro, please describe the events of the evening you encountered Oswald."

I could tell from Edna's attitude that she was on a blame-the-victim mission and it really ticked me off. "Fab food, impressive floral arrangements, lackluster guests, and a deplorable literary reading."

"We asked for what happened, not a review," Edna said.

My mother Regina had often said, "I'm sure you won't be making smart remarks on your deathbed." I wanted to call her and tell her she was wrong, but then I'd have to talk to her.

"Milagro," Sam said calmly, "you were at Sebastian Beckett-Witherspoon's reading. According to Oswald, you and Beckett- Witherspoon were already acquainted."

" 'Were' being the operative word," I said. "We knew each other in college."

Edna looked surprised and asked if I had attended F.U. I told her that yes, I was an F.U. alumna.

"Where have the standards gone?" she said, and I wanted to tell her where she could put her standards.

"How well did you know Beckett-Witherspoon?" Sam asked me.

"That's inconsequential."

"I'm afraid it is important since he kidnapped you in order to get to our family," Sam said.

"We were mere acquaintances," I said. "We'd lost contact." This was as much as they needed to know. "Oswald introduced himself, told me he was in publishing, and suggested we continue our conversation about my writing at his hotel."

"Anyone with one iota of common sense would not go to a hotel room with a man she had just met," Edna said.

Things were bad enough without this old bloodsucker maligning my iotas. "I saw no harm in a conversation about literature."

Also, he was fabulous.

Edna let out a derisive snort. "Oh, I'm sure that's just what you wanted."

"Yes, it was," I said defensively. "When we were at the hotel, Oswald kept asking about Beckett-Witherspoon. I realized that was the real reason why Oswald wanted to talk to me and decided to leave." Here's where my noble authoress tale got tricky.

"I tripped against the coffee table and Oswald attempted to catch me. We collided and cut our lips."Edna blew out a breath as if it was a preposterous story.