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

introducing the little ones to what had to be the world’s most irritating singing group.
    He considered asking some of the vangels in the room for help, or at least advice, on getting rid of Faith . . . rather, finding a safe place for the poor woman, other than the castle. But then he decided to wait and discuss the situation with Alex.
    Jogeir and Svein were playing a game of chess before one of the wide bay windows. Even from here, Karl could see that snow continued to come down in flakes the size of golf balls. Twenty inches were expected to accumulate by morning.
    Tofa, a fine artist, was touching up one of her wall murals, which had been scratched when they brought in the tree. She was not a happy camper.
    Moddam, who had been one of the stoneworkers on the Roman Coliseum, was fast asleep in one of the more comfortable upholstered chairs, his arms folded over his burly chest, his booted feet resting on a hassock. The poor man did hard labor, day after day, trying to restore the stonework on this crumbling castle.
    Bodil, a former slave in the Byzantine emperor’s Imperial Gardens, knelt before a low coffee table, where she was arranging pine boughs with holly berries and a red bow into a massive wreath to be hung on the front door. She’d already made about fifty feet of garlands to be hung in swags, whatever the hell swags were, along the staircase.
    For more than an hour, Karl just sat. He’d never felt more like having a smoke, but he was determined to stay off the cigarettes. Not that he was concerned about dying from the nicotine, a morbid joke if there ever was one, but it was a filthy habit. Enough about his addiction!
    If it weren’t for his worry over Faith, Karl would have found the fresh pine scent, the warm fire, the soft music, and the unusual quiet . . . unusual for vangels, that is . . . to be soothing. As it was, he couldn’t relax with all the questions hammering in his head.
    Finally, Sigurd came up and dropped his bag to the floor with a long sigh of exhaustion. Tugging another wingback chair closer to the fire, Sigurd plopped down in it and leaned back, closing his eyes for a few moments. “That feels so good!”
    With his long blond ponytail and day-­old whiskers, he didn’t look like any doctors Karl had ever known, but word was that Sigurd had a great reputation at Johns Hopkins Hospital, where he worked, when he was not off on vangel missions.
    Karl was almost afraid to ask about Faith’s condition. Instead, he said, “Thanks for coming tonight, Sig.”
    â€œNo problem,” Sigurd replied, eyes still closed. When he opened them, he stared at Karl through eyes that were the same as all the vangels, clear blue, sometimes morphing to silver-­gray when in some high emotion. “Faith is going to be all right, Karl, provided she gets rest and food and a little TLC, none of which she appears to have had for some time now. And provided she doesn’t go back to her abuser, of course.”
    â€œI’ll make sure she doesn’t go back.” The anger that had been boiling in Karl all day simmered to the surface again.
    Sigurd shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time a victim returned to her partner. Codependency is a symptom of abused women. You don’t have to be a psychiatrist, or a physician, to see that this isn’t the first beating Faith has had.”
    â€œI’ll make sure she doesn’t go back,” Karl repeated. “How bad off is she?”
    â€œSome cracked ribs, which are very painful but should heal on their own, in time. I’ve given her some painkillers and left more behind to be taken, as needed. That should help her to sleep through the night.” Sigurd made a sound of disgust, and remarked, “You know about the initials carved on her thigh?”
    Karl nodded.
    â€œWhat kind of man does that to a woman?” Sigurd asked. “Never mind. You and I both know