Free Casa Dracula 3 - The Bride Of Casa Dracula by Marta Acosta Page A

at the end of summer.” Oswald and I hadn’t discussed the guest list and I didn’t know if Ian would be invited.
    “You’ll understand if I don’t offer my congratulations.”
    “Not really,” I said. “You’ve obviously moved on with your new thrall.”
    “Ilena isn’t a thrall. She’s what you might call a compatriot. Her people have been allied with ours for ages.”
    “But she lets you take blood from her.”
    “Don’t be jealous, darling,” he said in his rich, sonorous voice. “I’m not.”
    Before I could respond to his ridiculous comment, Pally’s other friends came into the kitchen and joined us. Soon we were all talking away. The woman, who wore a perfect little black dress, said, “Ian, how is your sister?”
    Cornelia Ducharme, who’d been adopted by Ian’s family, was high-maintenance and low-tolerance. She’d been furious with me when I discontinued my role as Ian’s love poppet. The vampire world being a small one, she’d had some sort of relationship with Oswald, but I didn’t know if it had gone beyond socializing.
    Ian said, “Cornelia is very well, thank you. She’s coming into town soon.”
    The woman said, “Wonderful. I want to introduce her to a friend of mine. He’s just her type.”
    Probably Type O, I thought, and Ian said, “I’ll tell her to call you.”
    Ilena returned from the bar, somewhat enlivened, and I was shocked to learn that she was not in fact an international airline hooker, but a model. She contributed comments to a discussion about the international monetary fund that was completely over my head, leading me to suspect that she must be an idiot savant.
    Plates of food and bottles of wine arrived at our table. There were cured meats, grilled fish, spring vegetables, and delectable, barely seared lamb and venison. Small plates of pasta appeared, curved orecchiette and luxurious pappardelle.
    Pally, whose job seemed limited to cleaning spills on the edges of plates before they were sent out, kept offering his opinions to the chefs. They were surprisingly tolerant of him, especially since he frequently left his station to hang out with us.
    I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room, and when I returned, Pally caught me in the hallway and said, “I like that caboose you’re hauling, mamacita. Wanna party with me later?”
    He had a strong carnal appeal, and I thought he’d be a fantastic, drunken, lusty, messy lay, all orgasms and crazy laughter. “I’m not available.”
    “You mean you and Ian and Ilena…We could all have a good time.”
    “Pally, how do the dishwashers say ‘bleach’ in Spanish?”
    “El Clorox. Why?”
    “I’m going to ask the dishwasher for a bottle so I can pour it into my brain,” I said, laughing as I pushed past him.
    The meal concluded late, after Pally joined the dishwasher to croon a love song in Spanish and we’d finished a plate of tiny almond cookies and drunk liqueur the color of garnets.
    As we left I saw Ian’s Town Car was out on the street. I said, “Ian, thank you for dinner. It was incredible.”
    “You’re welcome. Pally liked you.”
    “I liked him, but I can’t believe he gets to have his own parties at work. Every time I tried to bring a little life into a workplace, I got fired.”
    “What would you like to do now?” Ian asked.
    “I’ve got to go back to a hotel and see if they have a room for me. My reservation got canceled.”
    “I wondered why you were carrying around that case. Come stay at the Council’s house. We’re the only ones there now and there are several guest rooms,” Ian said.
    He’d said “we.” Was he living with Ilena?
    Ilena said flatly, “Is good house. Excellent plumbing with very much hot water.”
    I liked hot baths. Besides, what if I went to the hotel and they told me again that no rooms were available? “Okay, thank you for offering.”
    “Good,” Ian said. “Let’s have a nightcap first.”
    Ian had the driver take us to a small jazz club. We sat