Neli groans and walks over to the thing.
I hold out my hand. “Do not touch it! You do not know what sort of witchcraft those tiny people are capable of.”
She ignores me, presses something on the side of the box, and the people disappear.
Where did they go?
“It’s not witchcraft.” Neli faces me. “It’s called a TV, one of many inventions you’ve missed out on—” she raises her voice and continues “—while you’ve been asleep for five hundred years!”
I stare at her, wondering where my sword is hidden. Clearly, Cornelia has gone mad. I must put her out of her misery and remove her head.
“OMG. What’s it going to take for you to believe me?”
“Why do you keep calling me OMG? That is not my title. I am Prince Bozhidar, same as yesterday, girl.”
“Ugh. Fine.” She marches over to the wall and grabs a beveled mirror that has been placed there for some odd reason. Mirrors belong in the dressing chamber, not in the parlor. She marches back and holds it up in front of me. “Look! Look at your face, Boz.”
“But why would I…” I glance at my reflection. Gods of the night! What has happened to me? My normally dark eyes are sunken, and the silver flecks have faded to a dull gray. My cheeks resemble animal hides stretched over bone, and my jaw looks like it has a giant woodland critter napping on it. “Get me my razor immediately! The servants cannot see me in such a state. And where the devil is my dinner? Plainly I need nourishment!”
Neli sets down the mirror on a little table next to the chair I was just poking. “Boz, there are no servants—they’re all long gone. We have employees now, and they went home for the day. As for your supper, I’m sorry to say that we’re fresh out of virgins.” She inhales sharply and raises her voice again. “Because you’ve been asleep for five centuries! Hellooo!”
“Hello? But I am right here. Why are you saying hello?”
“Ohmygod. You’re impossible.” She takes my hand and drags me to the window. “Look outside. You see there? You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
“I do not know what a Kansas or Toto is, but—” I gaze at the rolling hills bathed in the golden rays of the late evening sun. Rows of grapevines stretch as far as the eye can see. “Those are mature vines.” And mature vines take at least three years to grow. I know this because we have always made wine and grown grapes on my land. We are quite good at it, actually. However, last year a fungus wiped out our entire vineyard, which was why we had to increase the rents. The peasants who farm the rest of my land, growing grains and a variety of vegetables, cannot expect me, their lord, to go without. And a few of them starved. So what? People die. It is what they do.
“Now do you see?” Neli asks.
I raise one brow. “Yes. Very clearly. And I have warned you against asking favors of that witch. Now we will have to burn the entire vineyard and start over. I am not about to drink cursed wine from magic vines.”
Neli throws her hands in the air. “Fine. You win. Those are magic witchy vines. People are living inside that flat box.” She points to that TV thing on the wall. “And you were not poisoned by the village witch. You also haven’t been asleep for five hundred years while I struggled to keep us safe, put myself through college, and built a multimillion-dollar award-winning winery.” She exhales sharply. “Oh, and I didn’t have to move you and your stinking castle, brick by brick, to California because your land in Transylvania was seized under eminent domain laws and used to build a huge mall. Nope. None of that happened.” She taps her foot.
Neli is a bit of a rascal, but this story goes far beyond her usual tricks. I am beginning to believe her. “So you really have no virgins for my supper? What am I going to eat?”
CHAPTER THREE
Stella
I’m practically a virgin with my current dry spell. It’s the only explanation for why I keep having these intense dreams that leave me hot and aching. I lie in bed a moment longer, trying to remember the scraps of dream. A mysterious stranger made me levitate with all the incredibly good orgasmic vibes. I never saw his face, just felt his powerful presence. Sigh. Back to reality. Now that I’m back home from college, I’m not likely to meet a man like that anytime soon.
I get out of bed, opening the bedroom curtains wide to another sunny June day in Napa Valley. I brighten at the view as I keep my gaze focused on the neat lines of well-tended vines. I love neatness and order. Probably the planner in me with my penchant for lists and checking things off them. Most every problem can be solved with the right plan.
Hmm, maybe I should make a plan for meeting a guy. But first I need to focus on my new job here at my family’s vineyard.
My gaze is inevitably drawn past the vineyard, rolling hills, and oak trees to the monstrosity on the other side of the road, a medieval stone castle—complete with towers, turrets, and an actual moat with a drawbridge. Castle Sangria was constructed about five or six years ago and is definitely out of place here. Rumor is an eccentric reclusive billionaire built it as an homage to his ancestral home in Italy. Personally, none of us have ever met the man, but the vineyard manager, Neli, seems friendly enough. And very young—about my age, twenty-two. I have only met her once, about a year ago, when I was home for Christmas break. My mom had me deliver homemade sugar cookies in yet another attempt to make nice with the antisocial neighbors who are rarely seen in public. My parents are the opposite; they’ve been active members of the community ever since they moved here to start Stellariva Vineyards when I was little (Stella—me; Riva—Italian for creek).
I spend a few moments looking for signs of life across the road like usual. It’s really strange that their winery just showed up out of the blue, started growing grapes, making wine, and winning awards left and right, while my family’s been at it longer with zero awards. But it’s kept our family going for years. I mean, sure, my parents haven’t had the money to maintain our old Victorian house, but that’s just because they reinvest in the business. Plus, they were paying for my college tuition.
And now I’m back home, after graduating from UCLA, to work at the family winery as their manager. If Neli can be successful at it, then why can’t I? I’ve been preparing for my role for years. Still, I plan to shadow my father, the master winemaker, to be sure I’m up to date on the production side. Next I’ll spend time with my mom, who does the marketing. We’re close, and I’m proud to work for the family business.
I turn from the window and shut off my white noise machine that I sleep with every night to ward off ghosts. Ha! Kidding. No such thing as ghosts. I’m much too practical to believe in the otherworldly. It’s just that this old Victorian house settles at night, and lately it’s been making all kinds of creaks and ghostly moan-like sounds. The white noise machine is to cover those completely explainable noises.
I take a quick shower and then dress in my favorite short-sleeved, pale pink floral maxi dress with black sandals. I love wearing maxi dresses that drape loosely to my ankles. So much more comfortable than jeans or pants. I leave my hair down since I’ll be working indoors today. First stop, the kitchen. I’m hoping the twins made something good for breakfast. My seventeen-year-old identical twin sisters—who will be seniors in high school this fall—are culinary geniuses.