Christmas in Transylvania by Sandra Hill Page B

floor.
    â€œI doan think you look like you been through a meat grinder,” Gunnar said. “Thass what Poppa tol’ Lizzie.”
    â€œThat was not nice, Gun,” Nora admonished her brother, then turned to Faith. “Do they hurt?”
    â€œNot so much anymore,” Faith said, putting her hand to her face, where her lip had healed but was still puffy, and her eye had finally healed enough that she could open it. She must look awful to the little kids, though.
    â€œThe vangels look worser than that when they come back from missions sometimes. They even bleed when they get stabbed,” Gunnar told her.
    Faith had a hard time thinking of a little boy by the nickname Gun. It might just as well be Rifle or Pistol.
    â€œVangels?” Faith asked. Stabbed? She was right. They were some kind of cult or something. Or a gang. Like Hell’s Angels. Maybe even the mob. Did the Mafia exist in Pennsylvania?
    Nora nodded. “Everyone here is a vangel, ’cept for me and Gun, and Momma.”
    â€œAnd Aunt Nicole and Aunt Gabby and baby Michael and Aunt Miranda and their kids when they come to visit,” Gunnar added.
    â€œYep,” Nora agreed.
    Faith decided to ask Karl about it later. It probably wasn’t wise to pump the children for information.
    â€œCan we watch television?” Nora asked. “We’re allowed to watch cartoons. As much as we want. Even at nighttime.” The little scamp was clearly lying.
    Gunnar’s head shot up with interest, and he was off the bed in a flash, crawling up on the big chair to sit next to his sister. When they shifted their little butts back, their legs didn’t even hang over the cushion.
    â€œHow old are you two?”
    â€œThree,” Gunnar said.
    â€œAlmost,” Nora added.
    â€œWhere are your Momma and Poppa?” Faith asked while she flicked through the channels.
    â€œPoppa made Karl drive Momma to the mall to buy Christmas decorations. Karl didn’t wanna go to any blasted mall with all the crowds and noise, but he’s in trouble, so he had to go. Poppa said so,” Nora told her. “We wanted to go, but we’re in trouble, too, because we played songs by Alvin and the Chipmunks too many times and gave Poppa a headache.”
    â€œAnd where is your poppa now?”
    â€œPoppa is watchin’ us so Momma can shop ’til she drops, but he had to go down to the dungeon for a minute to help the vangels sword fighting, and he tol’ us to stay put or die. He was just kiddin’,” Gunnar contributed.
    â€œHave you ever been to this . . . um, dungeon?”
    â€œUh-­huh,” Nora said. “It’s where most of the vangels sleep.”
    Oh, Lord! This just gets worse and worse. “What exactly are vangels?” she asked before she could stop herself.
    â€œViking vampire angels,” the two children said, as if that were an everyday normal thing for someone to be.
    â€œPoppa says you’re prob’ly a Viking, too.”
    â€œMe? Why? Do I look like a Viking?”
    â€œ ’Cause of your name,” Nora said with a giggle.
    â€œFaith? My name Faith makes me a Viking.”
    â€œYour other name,” Gunnar explained. “Larson. In the long-­ago time, when Poppa was a boy, it meant son of Lars. Just like Poppa is Vikar Sigurdsson, or Vikar, son of Sigurd.”
    Faith had no idea if she had Norse blood in her veins or not. Her father had skipped town when she was five, not much older than these kids here, and her brother Zach had been eight. Their mother had apparently just been diagnosed with cancer. When she died soon after, Faith and Zach been sent to different foster homes.
    The twins were apparently bored with the chitchat by now. Their eyes kept darting to the TV set.
    Faith soon found the Nickelodeon Channel for them. A short time later, they sat with their eyes glued to the screen, lollipops in their mouths, when an adult voice could