Christmas in Transylvania by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online

help her brother-­in-­law physician, along with one of the female vangels who assisted Lizzie in the kitchen. It was just as well. Karl had trouble breathing when he heard Sigurd remark on the various injuries.
    â€œLooks like the bastard kicked her in the ribs with a steel-­toed shoe.”
    â€œThe bum must wear a ring. When he slapped her, the metal scraped a gouge in her cheek.”
    â€œOne of her teeth appears to be loose.”
    â€œDo you see how crooked that little finger is?”
    It was enough to make a grown man weep!
    Vikar got the boot, too. He said, “Mike is going to have an angel fit,” way too many times. Alex ordered her grumbling husband to put their children to bed. If he knew the usual pattern, Karl guessed that Vikar would fall asleep, too. The two rascals had a way of wearing a person down. Which was just as well; Karl didn’t need to hear any more pronouncements of how much trouble he was in.
    Heading toward the electronics room, which had been set up by Harek, one of the seven brothers, who was a computer genius, Karl decided to put his free time to good use. Booting up one of the simplest of the PCs, he googled, “Women’s Shelters” within a fifty-­mile radius of the castle’s zip code. There were fifty. Pulling out his cell phone, he began to dial.
    After fifteen minutes, he hung up in the middle of yet another call. They wanted to know his name, telephone number, address, practically everything including his criminal record, as if he were the abuser.
    â€œAll I want to know is what measures you take to protect a woman’s identity if she gets dropped off there,” he’d finally yelled at one young woman, who sounded bored as she asked questions from a crib sheet.
    â€œDropped off?” she asked with sudden alertness. “You would need to bring the woman inside, sir.”
    Yeah, right. So the cops could arrest me.
    He knew there were good ­people, volunteers mostly, at these shelters and that he was handling this all wrong, mainly because he was trying to be secretive when that raised red flags of suspicion. He needed to go about this in another way. Maybe if a woman made the calls . . .
    He went out into the hall and saw Regina approaching. Not his first choice under any circumstances. Regina had been a witch back in the 1200s, a real, cauldron-­brewing, broom-­riding practitioner of the black arts. Regina was always threatening to put curses on the male parts of the vangels who annoyed her. Karl had always wondered if she might have been a lesbian, not that the word was used then, but she was probably just an unpleasant, male-­hating female. She wasn’t that nice to her fellow females, either, come to think of it.
    â€œHey, Regina,” he said with as much warmth as he could muster. “Would you mind doing me a favor?”
    â€œDrop dead, lackwit,” she said, swanning by. The black cat riding on her shoulder hissed at him, too.
    So much for that woman helping him.
    He walked down to the kitchen. Maybe Lizzie would be more amenable.
    The kitchen smelled wonderful. Lizzie and two of her vangel helpers, the sisters Esther and Hester, were baking cookies. Dozens and dozens of cookies.
    Lizzie wore her usual Victorian, upper-­class attire. White, high-­necked, lace-­trimmed blouse, tucked into a full-­length black skirt. Over that, a long white apron. Her gray-­threaded brown hair was tucked in a bun on top of her head. She was whacking walnuts on a cutting board with the flat side of her meat cleaver. Whack, whack, whack! Shells were flying everywhere. Every time she whacked, Esther and Hester jumped and scurried to pick up loose shells.
    â€œUm, what are you doing?” Karl asked.
    â€œShelling walnuts.” Whack, whack, whack! “For the bloody damn fruitcakes I’m making.” Whack, whack, whack! “What does it look like I’m doing?” she