For a few minutes I sat in the car with the box I’d taken from the clinic beside me. My hands were on the standard ten and two position, but I was gripping the wheel so tightly I could feel the plastic beginning to crack beneath my hands. Not good, destroying your own car, Torrance.
I consulted my watch. It wasn't too early to go to the castle. I had a three-pronged reason for doing so. Number one: I wanted to check on Marcie and make sure she was fine after the transfusion. She and I had talked on the phone, but that wasn't as good as seeing somebody up close and in person. Secondly, I wanted to deliver my birthday present to Antonia who was turning six this week. And thirdly: maybe one of the doctors at the castle could help me out with my acute hearing problem. I didn't want to go around wearing earplugs for the rest of my life.
I had to go through two circles of security to get into Marcie’s home. I wasn't surprised. After my encounter with Niccolo Maddock, rabid vampire, I understood the need for precautions. I imagined that at night it was even more difficult to pass through the gates.
For the last two weeks, whenever I had to leave Graystone, I made sure I was home by dusk. I’d never worried about vampires before. I'd never given them any thought. Now my entire life had been upended and changed and it was all because of Maddock’s obsession with Marcie.
I didn't like that the Master Vampire knew where I lived. I especially didn't like the fact that whenever I woke up in the middle of the night and heard something strange my first panicked thought was, “Vampire!”
My Brood wasn’t any help, either. The three dogs had been terrified by Maddock and I couldn’t blame them one bit since I’d felt exactly the same way. They stuck with me like they were attached by Velcro. None of them ventured very far away even when we went for a walk. They’d never been that timid before.
I parked in the guest parking lot in front of the castle, grabbed the box, and left the car.
Arthur's Folly had been built by Marcie’s grandfather in law, I guess you would call him. Arthur was her husband’s grandfather and the founder of Clucky’s Fried Chicken.
Not only was Dan the heir to a chicken fortune, he was also an ex-Ranger. I wasn’t sure you could be an ex-Ranger. I knew there was no such thing as an ex-Marine. What most people didn't know about Dan was that he was also a powerful wizard. I'd learned that when I’d won the lottery and had first come here.
People either called the building in front of me Arthur's Folly or the castle because that's exactly what it looked like, a gray stone medieval castle in the middle of the Texas Hill Country. The structure was huge, but there were also two sublevels that I knew about. I suspected there were more.
I didn’t know how many people were employed at the castle. The few times I had asked Dan some pointed questions, I’d gotten generic answers in response. In other words, don't go on a fact-finding mission about the castle. They weren't all that eager to share statistics.
All that I was certain of, from information I’d gleaned from my original meeting and subsequent visits, was that the security and protection arrangements were done to safeguard Marcie and her children.
Before my transfusion I’d had to sign a contract that I, too, would aid in their protection should I ever be called upon to do so. It was the price I paid for being Pranic. The transfusion bound me to Marcie and her family. I’d agreed to come to their aid if the castle was ever under siege by vampires. At the time I hadn't fully understood all the ramifications of that agreement. Two weeks ago I’d discovered how bone deep terrifying a vampire siege would probably be.
In the past two weeks I’d been determined to learn a little bit more about Maddock and I’d done a number of Google searches. All I’d accomplished was to learn enough to spark even more questions.
If Maddock was infested with rabies, why hadn’t someone supplanted him as the head of the Texas vampires? Were people that loyal to him? How loyal could you be to someone who was foaming at the fang and might pop off and do something bizarre at any moment?
For that matter, why wasn’t there any information about Maddock having rabies anywhere? Believe me I’d looked, but there was nothing about his medical condition. He was lauded for his gifts to charity, his civic mindedness, and his recent donation to the City of San Antonio of a section of land near the old cement factory. It was to be used for a city park and a petting zoo, with accessibility for handicapped children.
Yep, he was a veritable Saint Nick all right.
The crunch of gravel beneath my feet sounded like boulders dropping from the sky, thudding against an asphalt mountain road. I walked slower, hoping to mitigate some of the sound, but it didn't make any difference. Maybe I should just sprint across the courtyard. A little hard to do with the box in my hands.
I heard an airliner overhead and tilted my head back. I couldn't see it, but it was there, probably climbing, coming out of San Antonio International Airport. The breeze whistled around the castle turrets at the top, slapping the pennants there like sheets on a clothesline.
One of the massive entry doors opened and a small figure raced over the drawbridge, heading directly for me.
“Did you bring him? Did you? Oh, Torrance, I’ve been waiting ever so long."
I looked beyond Antonia to where Marcie stood in the doorway.
“Let me talk to your mother, first," I said.
“Oh, Torrance, you don't need to. We talked about him morning. I've named him Jack. Because he's a Jack Russell, you see.”
I shouldn't have been surprised. With all of Antonia’s talents, of course she’d seen me bringing the puppy to her. Unless, of course, she was the one who’d given me the idea in the first place. I wouldn’t have been surprised about that, either.
But she’d saved my life two weeks ago, so I was inclined to forgive her a lot.
She stood there in the bright light of a perfect autumn Texas day, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at me.
In all honestly, I hadn’t been around many five — almost six — year olds, but I knew Antonia was well above her age range in comprehension and conversation. I wondered, however, if she ever acted like a child. I’d never seen her play. Or appear with a stain on her clothing. She’d never had a grape juice mouth or a candy green tongue. Now she was wearing a pale yellow dress with embroidered daisies, her hair flowing down her back and ending at her waist.
She’d always been as polite as she was perfect, and when I said that to Marcie once, she laughed.
"Not perfect, Torrance. She can be stubborn with a mind of her own. She’s almost perfect, however.”
I didn't give Antonia the puppy. I meant when I said. I needed to talk to Marcie first.
Jack, however, was peering over the edge of the box, staring down at his potential new owner with joy in his eyes. I’d treated the puppy for Parvo a few weeks ago. Now healthy, he was ready to go to a new home. I’d sincerely considered incorporating him into my Brood, but three dogs were enough.
I reached Marcie, still holding the box. Jack didn't look away from Antonia who walked beside me. It was love at first sight.
"I'm about to break my rule," I said. “I advise all of my clients not to do this. Pets aren't really good presents. You should take time to consider the person and the animal and try to make a good match.”
Marcie was dressed in jeans with a faded blue shirt rolled up at the elbows. She stood there with her arms folded in front of her, a faint smile gracing her face.
"But?"
"I don't remember seeing a dog at the castle," I said.
“We have dozens and dozens of labs and Dobermans," Marcie said.
"Yes, but do you have a Jack Russell?"
Jack turned his head and looked up at Marcie, making a tiny little yip of a bark as if saying hello to her.
She shook her head.
“Please, Mommy.” Antonia didn’t whine, but she was coming close.
"You remember what we discussed?" Marcie asked her daughter.
Antonia nodded. "I will walk him every day and take him out to the yard. I will make sure that he's fed and has water. I will take him to the vet myself."
Marcie sighed. "Very well."
I handed the box to Antonia. She scooped Jack up, gently holding him next to her chest.
“My name is Antonia," she said. "I'm going to be your best friend."
She walked past us and back into the castle, leaving Marcie and I standing there.
I really had broken my own rule, but I didn’t feel bad about it at all.
“Forgive me?”
Marcie linked her arm with mine.
“Nothing to forgive,” she said, taking the box from me and putting it inside the foyer.
In seconds some employee would whisk it away. The staff at the castle were well trained, fanatically loyal, and fast.
“How are you?” I asked, deciding to get the most important part of my visit out of the way.
Marcie had, in addition to her daughter, saved my life. She’d given me a second transfusion at great cost to herself. I was glad to see that she looked well, but I wanted to hear her reassurances before I relaxed.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’d ask the same of you.”
I decided to be honest. “Physically fine. Emotionally jumpy.”
Honesty had its limits, however. I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d just been fired. I wasn’t into playing Poor Pitiful Torrance.
“I don’t like nights all that much anymore,” I said.
“It’s not my favorite time, either,” she said and it seemed to me that her smile held an edge of sadness.
“It sucks that you have to live your life always watching over your shoulder,” I said. “Can’t we do something about him?”
“I’ve already tried,” she said. “Look how well that turned out.”
She led me through the impressive hall. As I had the first time I’d seen the place, I studied the armor arranged on each wall, each separate piece perfectly restored and making it seem as if knights stood on guard, ready and willing to protect the castle.
Arthur Peterson, the Chicken King, had certainly liked anything to do with medieval England.
The ultra high ceilings seem to echo our footsteps. I was in my sneakers, but Marcie was wearing flats with leather soles. I could hear the cool air leaving the ventilation ducts high up on the walls. Arthur Peterson might have liked the medieval life, but he wasn’t about to go without air conditioning in South Texas.
“Can’t you go to the authorities? Claim harassment?”
“It’s a vampire on vampire crime,” she said, “since I’m a vampire as well.”
I kept forgetting that. Marcie was a special vampire, the first Pranic, which meant that she could do oodles of things other vampires only longed to do, like walk in the sun, have children, and eat anything she wanted. Other than blood, that is, which she definitely didn’t have a taste for.
Since I’d gotten two transfusions from her, I had a similar nature. My Furry physiology, however, would probably always have the upper hand, cell-wise.
“Vampire crimes aren’t adjudicated in human courts. We’d have to go to the Vampire Council.”
“Okay, but wouldn’t they do something about him?”
“Maddock heads the council,” she said matter of factly, entering a corridor leading to less spectacular and more welcoming rooms.
Once we hit the carpeted runner in the corridor, I relaxed a little bit. The excessive noise – or my acute reaction to any kind of noise – made me tense. Added to the events of this morning, I wasn't my usual suave and urbane self.
The library we entered was one of my favorite places in the castle and it must be Marcie’s too, because we almost always sat here in the comfy wing back chairs, the mullioned window view overlooking the expansive garden Arthur had created for his wife.
The flowers were still going strong, the early fall heat seeming to have no effect on the blowsy blooms dancing in the breeze. Either that, or they were irrigated every morning.
In Texas water was never taken for granted. San Antonio sat over an expansive aquifer, the same one whose fingers reached deep beneath the castle. There was an underground cistern there, too, filled with enough water to outlast a siege of several years. That much I’d learned from Dan.
Evidently, he wanted to reassure me that they were fully prepared.
After seeing Maddock in all his glory I wasn’t sure I was.
“That must make for some exciting council meetings,” I said, trying to imagine Maddock being sane for that amount of time.
“He doesn’t actually attend, I understand,” Marcie said, waving me into one of the wing chairs. “He Skypes.”
She pressed a small button on the table and in moments a feast would arrive via a smiling girl dressed in dark blue and white. Everything on the tray would be things I’d liked from previous visits, along with a few of the newest treats their cooks had devised.
The best hotel and restaurant in the world had nothing on the castle.
“He Skypes?” I asked. Next Marcie was going to tell me that Maddock had an Instagram account and a Facebook page and he tweeted every day. “That’s just wrong on so many levels,” I said.
She only smiled at me.