by Marta Acosta
He licked his bloody lips. “It’s my right as her master.”
“It’s no one’s right to exploit another human being.”
“I knew you were faking amnesia,” he said. “I’m going to file a complaint with the Council and have you locked up until you’re as old as you are crazy.” He reached for the phone on the end table.
“Pick up that phone and I’ll beat you with it like you’re a snare drum at Mardi Gras,” I said. “Nettie, move away from that creep.”
She slid to the other side of the couch and said, “Milagro, you’re having a relapse. You don’t know what you’re doing. You need to get back to the ranch and have a session with Dr. Lily. I can take you back.”
“Tell me where your father is.”
“Why?”
“Because he murdered Wilcox Spiggott.”
Her shock looked real. “My father didn’t murder anyone!”
“That’s not what Wil says,” I answered.
I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Matthews.
He held a long, sharp knife. He gripped it like a man who knows how to efficiently French-trim a rib roast.
“You again, you troublesome woman.”
“Daddy, what are you doing?” Nettie said. “You promised me that you didn’t hurt Wil.”
“Natalie, I didn’t. Not that he’s of any consequence. He was nothing but a disgrace to his noble people.”
“Daddy!” Nettie said, and stood up. “Wil was wonderful. He loved me.” She stepped forward until she was beside me. “I loved him, too. I wanted to be his thrall.”
“You’re too good for the likes of him,” Matthews said to Nettie, but his eyes didn’t waver from mine. “You deserve a respectable master, like Mr. Grant here.”
I said, “Wilcox was trying to make a positive difference in this world!”
“We don’t need a ‘positive difference,’ you disgusting half-thing,” Matthews sneered, “with your graphs and charts, your timelines and your American ideas about equality and progress! You would have destroyed our whole world.”
“Then you should have come for me, not Wil.”
“That I would have, but I couldn’t very well kill Lord Ducharme’s favorite whore, could I?” Matthews set his feet and adjusted his grip on the knife. “But now that that’s done with, he won’t care if you have an accident, or disappear.”
Time slowed in the moment that Matthews lunged for me. I waited so that I could move away from the knife and grab his wrist.
But Nettie jumped in front of me, and the sharp blade slid into her flesh.
We were silent as we took in the horror of what had happened. Matthews’s face froze. AG stood and then stumbled back to the couch.
Nettie looked down at the knife in her chest and the blood leaking out over the handle, and then at her father.
I held my hand in front of Matthews and said, “Don’t pull it out—you’ll cause more bleeding. We’ll call nine-one-one!”
Nettie’s knees buckled. I caught her before she fell, and I remembered catching Ford as he fell. Her eyes were fixed on her father’s and she said, “I love you, Daddy.”
He screamed “Nettie!” and grabbed her hand.
Wilcox came running into the house then and saw the dying girl. “Nettie!”
He reached for her and I handed her into his thin arms. “Nettie,” he said. “I love you.”
She smiled as she looked at him and then I saw the light fade in her eyes, as it had faded in Ford’s, in Daisy’s, and in Average Joe’s. I knew she was dead before I checked for a pulse, but I was saying, “No, Nettie, no!”
Matthews wailed, “My beautiful girl! My beautiful baby!” He fell to his knees and began keening, a sound that tore through me, the sound of a father’s anguish, while AG sat and stared in shock.
I said, “It’s not her time,” and then I ran outside, down the street to the truck. I flung open the passenger door and grabbed the woven shroud. I was already back in the house when Wil, still weak, staggered with the girl’s body.
I spread the cloth on the floor and said, “Set her down on it.”
When Wil did this, I told Matthews, “I’m going to take the knife out now and she’ll bleed. Then we’ll wrap her and she’ll come back, like Wil came back. All right?”
Matthews finally noticed his former employer. “You’re alive?”
“Alive enough. Say yes.”
“Yes, do it!” Matthews said. “Please do it.”
I braced myself and pulled the knife out of Nettie’s chest. Blood gushed from the wound, and I tried to be swift and gentle as I wrapped Nettie in the soft, fragrant while cloth.
Her blood soaked through it, as bright red as an Iceland poppy. I was terrified that the magic had been used up, but suddenly the blood stopped spreading on the fabric. Then it seemed to be absorbed back into the cloth as the scent of spring grasses and flowers filled the air.
The Grant family’s security guards barged into the room, and I was glad to see them because they were able to divert the cops, who arrived a few minutes later.
eighteen
Dead Reckoning
AG remained at the rented house, and the rest of us returned to Casa Dracula. The guards drove Matthews, Wilcox, and Nettie. I took my truckasaurus and was the first one through the gate.
I remembered why I’d come to hide out at the ranch, desperately wishing that I could turn back the clock to the time before I had blood on my hands.
The day was dawning, as it had been then. The dogs bounded forth to greet me, as they had then. I remembered my new dog, Rosemary, now, and deadlines and bills and all the big and little things that I’d been able to ignore as an amnesiac. I remembered why Oswald and I had broken up.
And I remembered what had happened to me when I was at the military contractor’s compound.
I parked the truckasaurus and went into the house through the back door. Gabriel’s guards must have called the Grants, because everyone was in the kitchen waiting.
“Babe,” Oswald said, but I walked right past him into Edna’s arms.
“The bitch is back, Edna,” I told her.
“I’ve been expecting you, Young Lady,” she said, and kissed my cheek. Then I gazed around the room. Oswald stood looking dignified, while his accomplice in the horizontal hokey-pokey was wide-eyed and nervous.
That’s when Wil came in, struggling as he carried Nettie’s shrouded body. Matthews stayed outside with the guards.
I said to Wil, “Take her to the living room. Once I leave, she can have the maid’s room. She’ll be able to smell the flowers coming in on the breeze.”
Things quickly became chaotic. Everyone was asking questions about the green-tinged man and the body. I told them about Wil’s murder and reanimation, and how Matthews had accidentally killed Nettie and the magic of the gift from Don Pedro.
“That’s impossible,” Oswald said.
“I’m sure there’s a rational scientific explanation, but I’d rather think it’s magic,” I said. “Oswald, I’d like Nettie to stay here until she recovers. Lily, if you decide to extend your vacation here, I think you can help her cope with the transition.”
“But you still have underlying emotional problems,” Lily said.
“I’ve got important business to take care of now. I’ll deal with my personal life later.”
Oswald said, “You’re leaving? To do what? Milagro, haven’t you learned anything? You’re not actually going to rush off and do something foolish and dangerous, are you? I’m trying to take care of you!”
“Actually, I have learned something, Oswald. I can’t run away from things, or run back to the past. Maybe I haven’t figured out what my purpose is yet, but I know it’s bigger than my little life, and you can’t protect me from it, because I’m a catalyst—things happen wherever I am.”
Oswald and Lily glanced at each other, and then he said, “Milagro, I’m willing to honor my promise to marry you.”
I stared into his
storm gray eyes. “That’s very good of you, considering what you and Lily were up to last night.”
“We didn’t do anything,” he said. “Lily and I have a purely professional relationship.”
I looked at my psychiatrist and said, “What do you think about that, Lily?”
That’s when she lifted her hand and slapped Oswald across his face.
Oswald clapped his hand to his cheek and said, “What the hell!” and Lily said, “Oh, my God, I can’t believe I did that!” and I said, “If you didn’t, I would have,” and Edna said, “I tried to warn her about the quicksand.”
Edna caught up with me as I was putting my packed sports bag into the truck. She said, “Lily hasn’t confessed to anything yet, but I foresee cheap melodrama by nightfall.”
“Guilt and anger will do her a world of good. Being perfect must be exhausting.”
“You’ll never have to bear that burden.”
“We can start a club,” I said. “I’m thrilled that you made the irrational decision to keep your addled young paramour over your cranky ex, and not just because Thomas is prettier, but because he adores you.”
“You did say addled,” she answered with a slow smile.
“I may have contributed to AG’s departure by requesting that he be more respectful of you.”
“Oh, is that what you call assaulting and threatening him?”
“I thought that’s what I said.” I tried raising one eyebrow, but both went up. “What is it about Grant men?”
“Do you mean Oswald and Lily? I wondered when you’d notice.”
I shrugged. “It was Marx who said things happen twice, first as tragedy, then as farce.”
“I didn’t know you studied political theory, Young Lady.”
“I didn’t. I studied farce. I’d love to chat, but now I’ve got to kick serious military contractor ass.”
“I could ask you to be careful.”
“Careful is for other people, Edna, not for superheroes.”
“I give up,” she said. “Go on and be a superhero.”
I drove back to the City, and the scenes out the window were like a slideshow of my life with the vampires: here was where Edna had taken me to buy clothes, here was where Oswald worked, and here was where my sabotaged car had plunged off the mountainside.
It was too early for Mercedes to be up, so I went to my loft, anxious about what I would find. I unlocked the door and pushed it all the way open so I could see inside. The place smelled stale and a layer of dust covered the surfaces.
I set down my sports bag and walked in slowly, listening and peering around. Things were moved fractionally and drawers weren’t completely shut. Even though Wil’s murderer had been apprehended, I was still uneasy being here. After searching the apartment, I locked the front door and used the bolt lock.
I had to act fast while Ian was still with Ilena. How could one chica, albeit one who had recovered her fabulous style, defeat a building filled with men who were trained in battle?
I came up with ten plans in half an hour, each more convoluted than the last. It occurred to me that I hadn’t slept last night, what with the excitement of reanimated corpses and catching killers. I wrapped myself in a comforter, lay down on the pink sofa, set my alarm for noon, and passed out.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the overcast sky outside my windows. The Grants had sent me home with a care package, so I drank a calf’s-blood spritzer while I fried fresh eggs and topped them with salsa.
As I was washing the dishes, the buzzer sounded from the front entrance.
“Yello?” I said.
“It’s me,” Mercedes said.
“Come up.” I pressed the button to open the building’s entrance and waited in the hallway. In a few minutes, my friend came from the elevator, holding a paper bag. My brown dog, Rosemary, trotted at her side.
Mercedes smiled broadly and said, “You should have called me. Gabriel phoned as soon as he got the news from his family.” She hugged me, and I kissed her cheeks and mussed her dreads until she pushed me away and said, “Cut that out.”
I scratched Rosemary’s back and he wagged his tail and licked my hand, but he didn’t seem as elated as I thought he should be.
Once we were inside my place, I locked the door and said, “I’ve missed you like crazy.”
“I’m glad to see you looking healthy again.” She went to the kitchen table and put down the paper bag. “I’ve got to go to the club in an hour. Can you tell me what happened in that time?”
“I can edit for brevity, I suppose, but you’ll miss out on my insights.” When I’d finished telling my story, Mercedes sat openmouthed.
“So?” I asked.
“You seem very blasé for having resurrected Wilcox.”
“Once you’ve seen a wolf shapeshift, you get a little jaded.”
Mercedes paused and I could see that she was deliberating. After a minute, she said, “Are you still going to marry Oswald?”
“He’s a fabulous man, the sort of man any sincere and serious young woman would want to marry. The top item on my to-do list, however, is stopping a mad scientist from creating an army of zombie slaves.”
“Let it go, Milagro. Ian called late last night and I told him everything you told me.”
“Does he know the location of the facility? Did he say he was going to do anything?”
“He was still with Ilena when we spoke. You never gave me much to go on. I hope he does find those bastards.” She bent over and rubbed Rosemary between his ears, and he gazed up at her with devotion.
I watched my friend’s expression and said, “Rosemary’s as crazy about you as I am. Take him home.”
“Milagro, you already lost a dog.”
“Rosemary and I have given it a good try, and we could keep trying to be right for each other. But the thing about dogs, Mercedes, is that you know when you’ve met the right one. And the dog knows, too.”
“Are you still talking about dogs?”
“And more, perhaps,” I said. “What’s in the bag?”
“A laptop and a phone. You’ve got a new number, and it’s set up to relay your calls through overseas hubs, so it’s hard to trace. For the computer, I uploaded your data from the last time you brought it to the club.”
“How do you know I don’t regularly back up all my data?” I recalled the flash drive I’d taken from Mercedes’s trash bin—the flash drive with a worm so poisonous that Mercedes wouldn’t even look at it.
“Please, mujer,” Mercedes said, “the day you start being tech-savvy is the day I’ll start flirting outrageously with every pretty boy I see.” She was grinning, though, and so was I.
After Mercedes and Rosemary left, I put the composition books with my second fauxoir on my desk and turned back to my cogitating.
As I was musing, I noticed that one of my first dog’s toys, a chewed-up squeaky bear, was on my windowsill. Ford’s mother must’ve been suffering from the loss of her son and her cat, and I knew she was the only one who could influence Professor Poindexter.
I made a phone call to Don Pedro. He said, “My sweet little bat, I have been sending my spirit guide to help you. I am very worried!”
“Don Pedro, I definitely needed a spirit guide, but the blanket you gave me was very useful. What are my chances of getting more?”
“Chula, I will answer a question with a question. Have you finished transcribing the riveting story of my adventures among those who are in the twilight world before death?”
“I’ll finish it in two weeks,” I said. “I composed the story in my head while I was being held captive by a mad scientist, and I somehow was able to access that part of my mind while I recently had amnesia. I recovered from the amnesia when a zombie kissed me.”
“Your adventures are almost as exciting as my own, little bat! What will you give in exchange for the weavings?”
“What about the second installment of my payment?”
“The weavings are
so especial and valuable, are they not?” he said. “What price is life?”
“Real life is priceless, but zombified life should be on the clearance rack.”
“Or is it even more precious for having almost been lost?”
“Don Pedro, you are a shifty little bastard. Yes, you can keep the second installment in exchange for two cloths. I need them as soon as possible. Where are you?”
“The second and final installment of your payment,” he said. “I came to the City because I knew you would need me. Let us meet in thirty minutes at the same restaurant as the last time.”
Last time, we’d met at a waterfront bistro. “Somewhere else?” I asked.
“It must be there, little bat, or not at all. Bring what you have written so far.”
I said good-bye to the crafty little fellow and took a quick glance at the notebooks. I would have liked to clean up the story, add interesting metaphors, delete redundancy, and develop the imagery, but perhaps I could do that if Don Pedro gave me a chance at the copyedited manuscript.
I put the composition books in my backpack and walked quickly toward the restaurant.
Because it was the middle of a chilly gray afternoon, the restaurant’s deck was empty except for Don Pedro. He was sitting at the table nearest the bay, dark green water lapping only a few yards away.
I glanced around and saw one of his bodyguards/followers, leaning against the wall of the building. I took a deep breath and walked toward the table. I kept my eyes on the gray wood planks beneath my feet and took a seat that faced away from the water.
“Good afternoon, Don Pedro.”
He had a pot of tea in front of him, and he poured a cup for me. “Mijita, I am quite delighted to see you well again.”
“I’m glad to be well.” I took a sip of tea and then reached into my backpack and took out the notebooks. “I’m about halfway through. The weavings?”
His old brown leather shoulder bag hung from the chair. He placed it on his lap and withdrew a package wrapped in plastic. “Use them wisely, Milagro de Los Santos.”
“I will,” I said. “Also, I’m available to line edit for a reasonable fee.”