Christmas in Transylvania by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

sniped.
    Oh, Lord! Another sourpuss! “Wouldn’t it be easier to use a nutcracker?”
    â€œHmpfh! This way I get to release my temper.” Whack, whack, whack! “On nuts, instead of someone’s head.” She looked pointedly at his head. Whack, whack, whack!
    Maybe Lizzie isn’t be the best person to make calls on Faith’s behalf. “Hey! I didn’t do anything.”
    â€œYet.” She glared at him for a moment, then remarked, “You look paler than a ghost.” Whack, whack, whack!
    When vangels went too long without killing Lucies or saving sinners, their skin got paler and paler. He wasn’t sure if that was the reason for his pallor or the shock of the situation he found himself in. Either way, he went over to the commercial-­size fridge and took out a carton of Fake-­O, the synthetic blood that provided a temporary fix for vangels. He took a long swig and grimaced. Fake-­O tasted like curdled cat piss.
    In an emergency, vangels could also take small amounts of blood from ceorl vangels, like Esther and Hester, which was equally distasteful to Karl. He really felt like a vampire then, which he was, of course, but he liked to think he was more angel than vampire.
    What a crock! Karl thought at his mental rationalization. “What is this?” he asked then, grabbing a warm cookie out of one of the plastic storage bins lined up along the counter. “Wow! It’s really good.”
    â€œSnickerdoodles,” Lizzie grumbled. Whack, whack, whack! “And don’t you dare snicker. Look at this.” She shoved a piece of flour-­smudged notebook paper at Karl. “The Missus expects me to make ten dozen of each of these cookies for Christmas.”
    He did, in fact, have trouble stifling a snicker as he read the list. Fruitcake, snickerdoodles, gingerbread men (and women), chocolate chip cookies, decorated, cut-­out sugar cookies, snowballs, shortbread, rum balls, sand tarts, thumbprint cookies, and macaroons. “Um. That’s a lot of cookies.”
    â€œI told her to just buy out all the Keebler cookies in the supermarket, and she said it wouldn’t be the same thing. Hah! The vangels here could live on those stupid Oreos.” Whack, whack, whack!
    â€œI’m sure if you asked Alex for help, she would assign more vangels here.”
    Lizzie slammed her cleaver into the cutting board. Luckily, it was a really thick cutting board. Putting her floury hands on both hips, she gave him the evil eye, probably learned from Regina. “Are you insinuating that I can’t run my own kitchen?”
    â€œNo, no, no! I just meant . . .” Oh, this was a losing battle. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Look at the time. I need to go . . . do something.”
    As he left the kitchen, he heard Lizzie telling Ester and Hester, “If any of them vangels refuse to eat my fruitcake after all this trouble, I’ll personally shove it down their barmy throats. With the wooden end of my axe. They think I got rid of my axe, but I save it for special occasions. Hee, hee, hee.” Whack, whack, whack!
    Karl escaped to the front living room, where he pulled a wingback chair up closer to the hearth fire so that he could prop his feet on the brass fender. Even though there were other vangels in the large room, which was now dominated by the enormous blue spruce tree, everyone was somewhat quiet, except for the occasional laugh, or grunt, or yawn. And the Christmas music, which had been playing nonstop ever since the word escaped that the castle would be getting in the holiday spirit. Luckily, someone had turned down the volume on the sound system so that Nat King Cole’s crooning about chestnuts on an open fire was only a minor distraction in the background. While the kids had been awake, the song du jour had been by Alvin and the Chipmunks. At one point, Vikar had threatened to wrap a hula hoop around Armod’s neck for