Suddenly I could see Edna in a metropolis, wearing a perfect little black dress, a martooni in one hand, the other flung up as she laughed, those exotic eyes narrowed seductively. I wished she would tell me more, but I knew she'd just insult me if I asked. "I guess both of us are stuck here then, Edna."

She looked at the pastures, trees, and the incredible blue sky above. "I suppose there are worse places."

"A trailer park by the freeway?" I offered."I was thinking more of Istanbul in a heat wave," she said.

I got the distinct impression that she spoke from personal experience. "I can start working on the garden, but I won't accomplish anything if I don't have a fence to keep out the animals."

"Then go to the barn or the turnout and find Ernie. He can build one for you if he has the time." She turned and walked back inside the house.

Who was Ernie and what was a turnout? As I walked down the lane to the barn, I spotted the dogs barking and tumbling with one another in the field. When they saw me, they veered in my direction. All the dogs but Daisy abandoned me at the barn.

One ran off to harass stylish black-and-white-speckled chickens pecking the ground beneath an oak tree.

The barn's doors opened to a shadowy and cavernous interior. Thinking that Ernie was some shriveled, toothless Old World serf of the vampire clan, I steeled my nerves as I entered. There was a fecund scent, definitely animal, but not offensive. There was a row of doors on either side of the barn. Some of the doors were closed and some had the upper half open.

I looked into a stall and got spooked when a chicken suddenly squawked and flapped. "Hello?" I called out. "Hello?"

At the next stall, a horse swung its head over a half-door and glared at me. I stepped out of range of its dangerous teeth and said, "I don't suppose you're Ernie."

The T-shirt-clad torso of a meaty young man arose from behind the half-door. His hair was as slick and black as my own, but his skin was a much richer brown. "Yeah, I'm Ernie."

Pushing the horse to one side, he leaned over the door. He gave me a slow once-over and I didn't have to see the rest of his compact body to know that he was solid with muscle. He had sharply angular Mexican Indian features and an easy smile under a mustache that was remarkably suggestive. A porn mustache, Nancy called them. I could tell that he was trying to figure out what I was.

Because that's how it worked. You saw other Latinos and tried to determine if they were from here or not, if they were old country or assimilated, if they preferred Spanish or English. And what you really wanted to find out was: can we relax with each other, count on each other, understand each other?

I learned a lot about Ernie from the first thing he said to me. "You must be Milagro 'cause you look like a miracle to me." He had a slight modulation in his speech and spoke at a leisurely pace.

I'd heard the line before, but I grinned. "That's what they tell me."

He wiped his hand on his shirt and reached over to shake hands with me. "Mucho gusto."

"Encantada." He had nice, strong hands. Is it so wrong to appreciate men in all their wondrous variety?

I told him that Edna suggested I ask him about putting up a fence for the garden.

"Sure. How long you gonna be here?"

I wondered how much Ernie knew about the family. I supposed it was bad form to ask the ranch hand if he knew his employers were vampires. "Quien sabe?" I said with a shrug. "A few weeks mas o menos."

"Yeah, okay. I'm waiting for Oz to look at this horse, and then I'll come up to the house and do some figuring."

"Oz? You mean Oswald?"

"Yeah, he's good with the animals. This girl here, Stella, got an infection. See?" He bent out of view and I had to lean over the half-door to see him point to her swollen front leg. "With Oz around, we usually don't have to call the vet."

"Oh, he told me he wanted to be a vet."

"He's crazy," said Ernie, laughing. "He is good with animals, though." Ernie told me about the ranch, how only a few acres were used for alfalfa and how the crows ate most of the grapes in the vineyard. "We got about forty-five acres this side of the creek and another fifty on the other side into the hills that's only good for riding. This place is mostly just to be."

As I was leaving, I remembered to ask, "Ernie, what's a turnout?"

"That's what they call the corrals."

Near the barn, I spotted a large rectangular structure. When I swung open a wide door, I was astonished to discover an indoor pool. I guess vampires would need a protected recreation area. I dangled my hand into the water, which was far too cold for swimming even if I had been feeling well.

The ranch was set in a large valley and narrow ribbons of fog were draped on the hills around us. A few corrals held the usual collection of Old McDonald's farm critters. I followed a path around the fields that led to a briskly flowing stream. Redbud trees cloaked in pink blossoms and pines grew along the water's edge. On the other side of the creek, the land sloped up into a wood.

On the way back to the house, I detoured by Oswald's cottage. A black granite slab sculpture centered in the orderly garden didn't exactly scream "honest, simple countryfolk." I was peering through the lush plants, trying to see through the cottage windows, when I heard an amused voice say, "Looking for me?"

I turned in a guilty panic to see Oswald grinning at me. He had nice white teeth, but you'd expect that from a vampire, and dimples, which you wouldn't expect. It was probably a genetic trait to throw prey off guard. "Certainly not," I blustered. "I was merely examining your vegetation. Your soil must be very fertile to generate such growth."

"Yes, my soil is very good. In fact, it's volcanic."

He was staring directly into my eyes and I had the uneasy feeling that he knew exactly what smutty thoughts (involving eruptions, explosions, and all that) were percolating in my mind. I merely nodded my head, mumbled "Lucky you," and walked away as calmly as possible.

Ernie was pacing off the area around the kitchen garden. "The boss said to go ahead with this. Thought Edna would enjoy it this summer."

There was no reason for me to be happy about building a fence on someone else's property, but I was anyway and told Sam so when he came out of the house. "We'll need plants, too, and seeds. And I need to know what you would like here."

"I am sure your decisions about the garden will be acceptable to all of us," Sam said in his soothing voice.

"I hope you won't be disappointed," I said.

"I'm sure we won't. Also, the family and I would very much appreciate your including our grandmother in your project."

How suddenly a sunny day can turn stormy! "I thought she wasn't interested in gardening."

"My grandmother has never had the opportunity to garden, but I'm sure an endeavor like this could be satisfying to all parties."

I thought she might be more entertained by target practice on bunnies, but I didn't say so.

He continued, "There are several nurseries in the county. You two can shop together. I will pay for all the plants, of course." The clouds cleared away and the sun shone on me again. "I would be pleased to teach Edna how to garden," I murmured.

"Also, Sam, I need to be able to write here..."

"I haven't forgotten our agreement. I believe that trust is essential to a positive and stable relationship," he said. His brown eyes were as sincere as a dog's.

He was so very right: it was trust, not lust that was essential to a positive and stable relationship. "Sam, you and I are so alike on these important points."

He ducked his head modestly.

I asked Sam if he'd heard from Dr. Harding about my lab results. I felt as if I was improving, but I was still having periods of exhaustion and weakness.

He perked right up. "Winnie said something went wrong with one of the tests, so she's running it again. I promised to call her today and see if she's learned anything."

"You know," I said, "I want her to know that I feel awful about the accident with Oswald."

"I'll express your sincere regret to her."

I wanted to find out more about the layout of the house, so I asked Sam for a tour. As he showed me around, I found out that his own business was handling family investments. "That's what you do with a JD/MBA," he said. "It's not very exciting, but I like to think I'm contributing." In addition to the rooms I'd already seen, Sam showed me a large, comfortable family room, a washroom, and a delightful little reading room with built-in bookcases and a deep violet velvet loveseat that I would look fabulous on.

The upstairs bedrooms had an impersonal, hotel look, except for the luxurious master suite, which had striking modern art on every wall. "Grandmama is using this room while she stays," Sam said. He'd even given up his bedroom for the old bloodsucker. Glancing in, I saw exposed beams-she probably hung upside down from them at night.

I slipped into Sam's office to call my answering machine and check my messages. I had a momentary fantasy that my parents would have called to say hello. Instead I heard Sebastian's angry voice saying, "Milagro, I strongly advise you to return as soon as possible. It is in your best interest to do as I say. The world is a dangerous place and I wouldn't want anything regrettable to happen to you." He wasn't foolish enough to leave his name or an outright threat, but the tone of his message was enough to frighten me.

Everyone but Oswald showed up for lunch. I made sure to sit next to Gabriel and was happy when he started playing footsie with me under the table. Our meal followed a red theme, which I later learned was out of consideration for me. We started with purple-red borscht, which was delicious, then moved to thinly sliced rare roast beef.

"So, Mil," said Gabriel, "I'm off after lunch."

"You're leaving?" I asked with dismay.

"Back to fight the forces of evil and save the world from CACA," he replied cheerfully.

"Don't gloat, Gabriel," said his grandmother. "Some of us must remain here in this cultural wasteland."

Well, there's nothing like a happy houseguest. Sam cleared his throat and said evenly, "Grandmama, I know you will really enjoy your own little garden. Think of the vegetables you can grow!"

Slices of rare beef had left a pool of dark juices on my plate. When the others weren't looking, I used a piece of bread to soak them up. I quickly shoved the soggy mess into my mouth, savoring the taste of the rich, salty blood.

"Samuel," Edna said, "vegetables have their place, but I am not one yet, nor do I plan to spend my remaining years tending to them."

I felt an urge to help Sam out. "I want to create a garden so you will always have cut flowers for arrangements and soirees."

Edna looked up at the ceiling. "Why grow flowers if you can buy them?"

"Why cook if you can eat fast food?" I answered.

Gabriel stood and said, "Okay, I'm out of here before you ladies start drawing your knives."

We all said our good-byes to Gabriel. As he hugged me close, I whispered, "Be careful, Gabriel."

He whispered back, "I'm the security dude, babe. I've got mad skills."

He made me laugh, but I believed him. I felt guilty for suspecting he meant anything culinary when he'd talked about fattening me up. I would miss him.

We were eating our dessert, succulent Bing cherries, when Oswald entered carrying a dark case.

"This is for you, Milagro," he said. He set the case on the table and opened it to reveal a small gray typewriter. "It's a beaut and works perfectly." Silver letters on the contraption spelled out "Olivetti."

"Surely you jest. I can't be expected to write on that relic."

Edna seemed amused, Sam's expression was unreadable, and Oswald looked disappointed.

"Yes, Oswald," Edna said. "Who could be expected to write anything on that contraption? I'm sure that no reputable work of fiction has ever been written on anything quite so archaic."

Oh, she was evil through and through. Just to spite her, I said, "I'm sorry, Oswald. It's just that I've never used one before. It's fine. In fact, it's great."

Oswald smiled crookedly and I forgot to hate him for about five seconds.

"Good. I didn't want to get you anything ordinary, and this machine is special. It belonged to a wonderful writer."

"Really?" I asked. Sam and Edna seemed uninterested in the typewriter's provenance. In fact, Edna was busy staring out the window.

"Yes, Dena Franklin. She wrote short stories, very clever. She was one of the great beauties of her time." There was a mischievous glint in Oswald's eyes.

"The name seems familiar," I said, but maybe I was thinking of Ben Franklin or Franklin Roosevelt.

"I'm sure the young lady is not interested in a forgotten scribbler," said Edna. "That will be all, Oswald."

I wish I could have dismissed him so easily.

Chapter Twelve

a (ratless) room of one's own

That evening I found Edna in the kitchen, stirring a witches' brew in a blue cauldron.

"Nice of you to join the living, young lady," Edna snapped.

I swear that Edna was baiting me, but I resisted. I looked into the cauldron, expecting to see eye of newt and wart of hog and instead finding a lamb and red wine stew. It smelled delish. Edna assigned me menial tasks, like slicing bread, filling a pitcher with ice water, and washing lettuce. Then she said, "Set the table for four."

"Will Oswald be coming here tonight?"

"Oswald prefers to be in his shack this evening. I've invited Winnie to come stay with us."

I was sure Edna had invited the precious vampire princess just to put me in my place. "That's very generous of you," I said neutrally.

"Try to behave yourself-consider what you've put her through."

This was rich, when Oswald was the one responsible for this whole mess. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if I ate in the kitchen."

"You really are too much, young lady," Edna snapped. "Just be quiet and do as you're told."

Winnie arrived soon after. Sam greeted her with a cousinly embrace before he hauled her bags upstairs. I edged into the foyer and said, "Hi."

Winnie examined me with her eyes. "Your condition seems to have improved. Are you taking your iron supplements?"

Since Edna was out of earshot in the kitchen, I said, "I must have misplaced them."