Where could we duck dead friars until the Vatican cops arrive? We were definitely dealing with thirty-nine bodies. Edward, the fortieth monk, could wait till he came out of hiding.
I sat on a cask being careful not to let it roll. If I were looking for a covey of corpses where’s the last place I would look? The cask rolled out from under my tushie and my legs paddled to keep my balance. That was it!
The wine casks!
All we had to do was empty thirty-nine barrels and insert one monk in each. We would have barrels of monks, something new from Milton Bradley.
My missing tooth ached and I felt as if I gone for a ride in a blender, but I managed to clap my hands and call the group to attention.
Kit lifted me up on a small tasting table so I could see them all in the dim, purplish light.
“Listen up. I have a plan. “Wesss… damn, darn.” I tried again to sound a ‘w’ but it came out a whistle. One tooth can make such a difference. I stuck my tongue where the tooth would be and tried again. “We can hide the monks in empty wine casks in the cellar until the VVI get here. If we work fast we can have them all barreled and corked before morning.”
“Brilliant!” Roger said, glowing with pride. “The alcohol vapors from the wine should slow up the decomposition of the bodies.”
I looked down on the team. The old non-pregnant, bossy Wendy was back under full power. The two shotgun-toting Louts stood at the top of the stairs glaring down at us and scratching their heads.
“Bram, please send those two villagers home for the day. And don’t let them know where we hide the bodies. I don’t trust them.”
The priest saluted me and left the cellar, scooting the Louts before him.
“Kit and Roger, start dumping the wine. Line up the empty casks at that big coal chute thingie.” I pointed in the direction of a stone slide that opened from ground level to where we stood.
“Mina, you are our muscle. As soon as the Louts leave, start pushing those barrels up the incline and into the cemetery. Renfield, help Mina.” The little man rolled his Marty Feldman eyes, or else they were slipping in their sockets.
Kit and Roger began tipping the wine barrels. The wooden casks thunked to the floor spilling their purple juice in a giant splash and then trickled as a slosh of wine remained in each barrel. The floors ran red with cabernet.
A wave of nausea washed over me. The fumes from the wine-spill were overpowering. I worried that Little Roger might be inhaling the alcohol.
“I’m going topside to check on Bram,” I called over the sound of slopping vino.
The graveyard resembled a demented OK Corral. Bram stood in a faceoff with the two Louts.
“We no go!” The taller villager said. Between them they redefined male sweat. Pee-yew!
“Please go!” Bram said, waving a sign of the cross as if to bless them on their way. John and Paul stood at the priest’s sides approximating alabaster bookends.
The Louts fidgeted with their gun butts. “We stay for treasure.”
Bram cut me a glance and shook his head. “There is no treasure here. Whatever gave you that idea? Leave now or I will send for your wives. You may come back tomorrow if you leave now.”
The Louts shuffled off grumbling like two fat trolls.
“That was weird,” Bram said.
“It will be weirder tomorrow when we have to explain the empty graves. They are sure to believe in the walking dead and tear apart the monastery looking for them.”
The first barrels thundered into the cemetery. Mina was half-skipping half-flying as she gave each barrel a kick with her tiny slipper. Zip, a barrel rolled in place and she was gone. Seconds later, she returned with two more casks lining them up like toys. Zip, they rolled in line.
Bram circled the graves blessing each body. Paul the postulant walked behind him and swung a censer, the smoke from the incense symbolizing the prayers of the faithful for the souls of the monks who had once been Bram’s foster fathers. The poor men now slumped in pits with wooden stakes through their hearts were a sad contrast to the dignified lives they had led.
Once there was a line of thirty-nine casks bordering the cemetery, the team of Mina and Renfield began the heavy lifting. Mina brushed John and Paul aside and leaned into the first grave. She grabbed a monk by the hair and lifted him in one swift move. The little vampire said his name as she slipped him into a barrel held by Renfield.
Mina’s personal relationship with each monk was obvious by the tenderness with which she spoke their names as she yanked them by the hair and dropped them in each vat.
John and Paul handed Bram rustic wooden lids for each cask. He slowly banged the tops into place. I kept my distance not knowing what effect the sight of pickled monks would have on Little Roger in utero.
“Hey babes!” Big Roger’s voice had a slight slur.
The world’s greatest archaeologist bumbled into the graveyard, followed by Miami Beach’s stellar drag queen. Roger plotzed into one of the graves and disappeared from view with a yelp.
Kit tittered on his wedges, wavering as he tried to bring his index finger to his lips. “I gosh this one!” He dropped to his knees, leaned over the hole Roger was in, and tumbled in after him. They were both drunk as skunks from the fumes. I’d never seen my fiancé plastered. Cute as he was, he was now loaded with grave germs.
Father Bram VVI joined the little vampire in rolling out the barrels. I’ll not soon forget the bone-jarring thud and thump of pre-pickled clergy bouncing over the rocky road.
Thanks to Mina’s super strength and her chipper attitude, despite the task at hand, thirty-nine monks were barreled and ready to be rolled back toward the monastery before evening. We set a world record for barreling monks.
Kit, Roger, and Renfield stood on the receiving end of the coal chute on the cellar floor as Mina launched each barrel with a swift hit of her tiny foot. She was better than an NFL kicker. We soon had thirty-nine barrels of monks on the floor.
Tension grabbed the back of my neck like a mugger’s fist. I wanted to take part in the monk corking but I had to think of the baby. I leaned down the chute, the heady smell of wine knocking me back as I caught a glimpse of the barrels standing at attention along the wall and back into the shadows.
The wine-spilling team of Kit and Roger stood in the courtyard, bent over with their hands on their knees. They inhaled in deep, syncopated gasps wheezing like two old geezers. “Feelin’ whoozie…” Roger groaned.
“Lesh go chick… check out the pavilion. The sea air might clear our yeads.” Roger and Kit leaned on each other, staggering drunk from the fumes.
“Don’t go near the edge!” I said. Hoping his ‘yead’ cleared up pronto.
“Course not!” Roger called over his shoulder.
Bram held Mina’s hand and took mine. He shook his head in disbelief. “I have a brother, and he’s a pretty nice guy even when he’s not sober.”
I smiled up at him. “Your brother is a great guy. And thank you for marrying us.”
“Tomorrow will be the happiest day of my life,” he said squeezing my fingers.
“Me too!” the little vampire looked up at him with such adoration. Between my feelings for Roger and the sizzle between Mina and Bram, I believed in love again. My miserable marriage to the Croc purged from my mind … almost.
The pavilion was perched in a clearing fifty feet from the cliff. Wild flowers encircled a stone crescent. There would be just enough room for Roger and me to stand on the semicircular with Bram in between.
The wedding party could stand in the grass. I hoped Kit brought a pair of flats, otherwise, he’d be grousing about his heels being stuck in the mud. I decided to invite Squirl to be another bridesmaid. It would make the little innkeeper happy and cost me nothing.
The splash of the waves on the rocks below was muted by the distance from the cliff to the sea. Holding onto Roger, I peeked over the edge. It was a long, long drop. Chicago was closer. The trees spun in a dizzying swirl. I clutched my guy with clammy han
ds. I have a thing about heights.
Bram stood next to us, with Mina clinging to his coat. He looked past me and up at the sky. “What was that? It looked like a giant bat.”
I caught a glimpse of the vulture thing struggling over a clump of stunted, broken trees. Whatever it was, it was fighting with the wind. An anguished eiii echoed off the cliff wall, and the creature fell from view, perhaps into the sea.
Kit leaned over the precipice.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
Bram yanked Kit back on terra firma just in time.
“I think that was Vlad,” I said.
“Well he’s no vampire,” Mina grumbled. “I’m the only vampire in Vulgaria.”
“What about Edward?”
She wrinkled her nose.
Chapter Sixteen
“We’ll be back before midnight. Keep a light on in the window,” Roger said.
Mina clung to Bram’s hand as she spoke. “The monastery has a guest room. I’ll dust it before you get back.” I noticed her tiny feet were inches off the ground. She was gliding with happiness.
“We just have to grab our gear and find a restaurant.” I had the hunger shakes.
“Don’t suppose there’s a Morton’s Steakhouse in Loutish?” Kit said.
Bram shook his head. “The only place that serves food is the Van Helsing.”
Renfield passed us a smoky torch and we tottered down the mountain path to the hotel. I kept my hand on Roger’s shoulder for balance. I was really pushing my luck, the law of falling averages might kick in any minute.
The Van Helsing glowed like a giant jack-o-lantern. Its windows looking like evil eyes. Could the night before the rest of our lives be any more unromantic? I held my breath, prepared for the stink of garlic.
Surprisingly the porch smelled of lilac and lavender. The garlic salt must have blown off in the wind and been replaced by a field of flowers.
Roger held the door and Kit went first, I followed, hands over my belly just in case.
“Squirl!” I called from the lobby.
No answer. I repeated her name louder touching my tongue to the space where my tooth had been, shushing the whistle.
We stepped cautiously through the lobby testing for the slippery garlic salt. It was swept clean.
The sound of a baritone voice drifted down the stairs in a blend of a Gregorian Chant and a chorus of Boys Just Want To Have Fun. Icy fingers tinkled down my spine. “Squirl!” I screamed balling my fists from the effort.
Still no answer.
We headed for the staircase—Roger in the lead, me in the middle, and Kit bringing up the rear. I grabbed the banister and hauled my tushie up the steps. I was tuckered out.
The weird singing came from Squirl’s bedroom. Roger gave the door a square kick and it burst open. Squirl was on her back on her bed with what looked suspiciously like a moldy young monk on top of her. The room stunk like Madame Bovary’s boudoir, not that I’d been there. Talk about catching someone in fragrante delicto! Barf!
The combination of lavender, lilac, and an underlying scent of soil threw my hungry stomach for a loop. I put my hand over my nose and stepped into the room.
The monk lifted his head and snarled. Blood dripped from his lips. He wasn’t bad looking if you liked movie star faces and hunky bods. The only things off-putting were his red eyes. I’ve never been a fan of the hangover look. I’m a dark-eye enthusiast. This guy was no Johnny Depp.
“Edward?”
He lunged at me crazed by the interruption.
Not about to wrestle him for the innkeeper’s honor, I reached in my pocket for Squirl’s religious cross and pulled out my dental floss instead. Damn. Darn. I groped around and finally found the cross and held it where Edward couldn’t miss seeing it.
He came to a screeching mid-air halt flinging his arm over his eyes in a theatrical move.
Roger jumped between me and the horny monk using his trademark hamster punches, totally ineffective.
Kit dashed to the foot of the bed and pulled Squirl by her tiny boots. She slid off the foot of the mattress into his hands. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close and whisked her to my side as Edward turned on us with the enthusiasm of a rabid dog. The monk’s fangs dripped and his nostrils flared.
Roger hurled himself at Edward. Had my guy learned nothing about vampire powers?
Touching Roger with the tip of his index finger the monk sent the world’s greatest archaeologist flying into the drapes where he clung like a kitten until the rod broke and he landed in a heap on the floor.
I held the cross at eye-level and advanced toward the vampire. Edward backed up shielding his face like a hammy actor in an old black and white movie. He stepped out of the window. I followed him with the cross. He crawled down the Van Helsing wall, face first.
Squirl came out of her trance as Kit stood her on her feet holding her by her shoulders.
“He bit you!” I said hesitating to come any closer.
“My momma didn’t raise no fool. I didn’t bite him back. I know men only want two things from a woman, sex and a blood swap. I refused his blood.”
“Edward is a nymphomaniac necrophiliac?” I asked.
“He may be dead, but I will have you know I’m not!” She straightened her dress and tightened her ponytail. “I needed a good roll in the hay.”
I shuddered. Imagine needing sex that badly. I had to get her out of here while she still had some sense left in her Loutish noggin.
“We’re spending the night at the monastery. Come with us,” I said slipping the chain of the cross over my head. I nestled the simple crucifix between my boobs. I had boobs! That was one of the upsides of being preggers. I peeped down my décolleté. Not bad.
“Will Edward be there?” Squirl chirped.
“Hell no!” Roger snapped.
I shot him a dirty look. “Heck. Mommies and daddies say ‘heck’.”
She shrugged. “Okay… Disappointed but they’ll be another time.”
What the heck? Was she enjoying the bloodletting?
“I’ll be right back. I have a surprise for you.” She skittered away as if she hadn’t just been lying under a handsome but deadly Nosferatu.
“Kit, you go with Squirl. Meet us in the lobby in ten minutes. I’ll get your dress.”
“Don’t forget my makeup and my wig!”
“Cher or Carol Channing?”
“I’m wearing a blue hat! The Carol Channing, of course!”
What do I know about hats?
Roger helped me up the third staircase to our room. I was starting to slow down. Vampire hunting can be a very tiring vocation.
Once in our suite, I stuffed my gown and red ribbon wedding shoes in my Louis Vuitton bag, grabbed Kit’s maid-of-honor dress, flung it over my shoulder, and plopped his floppy brimmed Downton Abbey hat on my head. Roger grabbed his bagged tux, our passports and credit cards, the Carol Channing wig, and Kit’s makeup case, which weighed a ton.
In less than ten minutes, we’d gathered in the lobby. Kit came from the kitchen pulling a little red wagon bearing a three-tiered wedding cake with red icing roses swirling from the huge round bottom to the tippy top. Nuts and blueberries scattered along the edge of each tier. It was a work of art and probably took hours of Squirl’s time. She was a sweetheart despite being confused about what qualities to look for in a potential mate.
I placed the maid-of-honor hat on Kit’s head and handed him his dress.
“Squeeee!” Squirl chirped as she came through the swinging doors bearing a knotted canvas bag. “How do you like your wedding cake? See the little bride and groom on top?
I looked closer. Yup, there were exact replicas of Roger and me wearing the traditional bride and groom outfits but with tiny red icing shoes on the bride’s feet.
“Would you be one of my bridesmaids?” I asked.
I thought she was going to jump out of her knickers. “Me? A bridesmaid? I’ve never been a bridesmaid before. I’ll do a good job. I
promise!”
My smile exposed my tooth-gap and I quickly converted it to a grin.
“I have more surprises later.” She jiggled her bag.
“Don’t suppose you packed us a dinner-to-go?” I said.
“Jonathan Harker raided the pantry before he left. It’s empty.” She frowned. “He even took the yucky canned lasagna. Not to worry about tomorrow’s wedding feast, I’ll gather nuts and berries from the forest and whip up a dinner from nature’s table. Unfortunately, tonight we’re screwed. That’s the proper American word, screwed?”
“Hang on junior,” said to my baby bump. I hoped being without food for long stretches wouldn’t stunt his growth or cause him any unusual cravings in later life.
Once we were all out on the porch with our bags, and Kit had the wedding cake secure in the little red wagon, Squirl locked the Van Helsing door and tucked the key in her bosom.
“How did Edward get in?” I asked.
“I let him in my window,” she said matter-of-factly. “You have no idea how long it’s been between hay rolls for me. He wasn’t half bad once I got passed the stink.”
“You should never let a vampire in,” Roger said falling into step with us.
“There is no stopping a sex fiend.” Squirl grinned.
I wondered just whom was the sex fiend. “You sure you didn’t take a little sip of his blood?”
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
We continued yet another trudge up the hill to the monastery of the dead. Loutish should seriously think about installing a cable car.
“I managed to get some pillow talk out of Edward,” Squirl said scampering over the stony path, her ponytail swishing to and fro.
“With all that singing and yowling what could he possibly have told you?”
“The villagers intend to attack the monastery tomorrow. They plan on a mass beheading followed by a torching.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’ve been alone in a crowd my entire life and yet I’ve always felt a connection to someone, something. I thought it was my religious calling. Now I wonder if it wasn’t my very own brother reaching out to me,” Bram said.
Claws of Doom Page 27
