Cassandra stepped into the gate opening, looked inside, and swore.
"I didn't think that word was in your vocabulary," I said. "Guess now we really know why the neighbors put up high fences."
There, flanking either side of the walkway, were a pair of raised fountains. The base of each was a shell-shaped bowl filled with water and lily pads. Standing in each bowl was a masculine version of Botticelli's famous "Birth of Venus." The man stood in the same pose as Venus, left hand coyly drawn up to cover his chest, right hand down by his genitals, yet instead of covering them, he held his optimistically endowed penis, pointing it upward. Water jetted from each penis and over the path into the basin of the twin statue opposite. The water didn't flow in a smooth stream, though. It spurted.
"Please tell me there is something wrong with his water pressure," Cassandra said.
"No, I believe that's the desired effect." I followed the path of the water over the walkway. "So, are we supposed to duck or run through between spurts?"
Cassandra marched around behind the left-hand statue, following a path undoubtedly created by countless delivery men.
"Hey," I said as I ducked between the statues. "That looks familiar."
Cassandra fixed me with a look.
"No," I said. "Not that. The face. Check out the statue faces. It's John, isn't it? He had them modeled after himself."
Her gaze flicked down. "Not entirely."
I grinned. "Cassandra, you and John? Say it isn't so."
"May I never be so desperate. I meant that if he was that gifted, I'd certainly have heard about it. The vampire community isn't that big."
"And neither, apparently, is John."
We climbed onto the porch, then both stopped to stare at the door knocker, an iron Nosferatu-style vampire head, teeth bared.
"You know," I said. "We might not be giving John enough credit. All this could be a clever example of reverse psychology. No one would ever suspect a real vampire would be stupid enough to live like this."
"One would hope that no person would ever be stupid enough to live like this."
She lifted the door knocker.
"Hold on," I said, putting my hand out to stop her. "Is this really such a good idea?"
"No," she said, wheeling and heading down the steps. "It is not. I saw a nice little boutique on the corner. Why don't we do some shopping, wait for Aaron to phone back-"
"I meant it might not be wise to announce ourselves. If he bolted last night, he might do the same again."
"Only if we're lucky."
"I think we should break in."
"Quite possibly the only suggestion that would make this excursion even more unbearable. If this involves crawling through a broken basement window, may I mention now that these pants are dry-clean-only, I didn't bring another change of clothes, and I'm certainly not going to-"
I finished murmuring an unlock spell and opened the door. Inside, all was dark and silent.
"It's daytime," Cassandra murmured. "He'll be asleep."
Guess I should have known that. I needed to brush up on my vampire lore.
The house was cool, almost cold compared to the warm fall day outside. I could chalk up the drop in temperature to an otherworldly chill from stepping into the abode of the undead, but I suspected John just had his air conditioner cranked too high.
I cast a light spell and looked around. The walls were covered in crimson velvet-flocked wallpaper, and decorated with paintings that probably violated obscenity codes in a dozen states.
"I didn't know goats could do that," I said, casting my light over one picture. "And I'm not sure why they'd want to."
"Could you dim that thing?" Cassandra said. "Please?"
"Sorry, it's a single-wattage spell," I said. "But I could blindfold you. Hey, look, there's a leather hood right there on the coatrack. Oooh, check out the cat-o'-ninetails. Think John would notice if I scooped it?"
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"It's just so refreshing to see a vampire who fully embraces his cultural heritage." I waved my light-ball toward the stairs. "Shall we see whether we can wake the undead?"
Cassandra shot me a look that said she was seriously reconsidering her thirty-and-up policy. I grinned back and headed for the stairs.
Upstairs we found more red velvet wallpaper, more paintings of questionable artistic merit, more S amp;M-themed knickknacks, and no John. There were four bedrooms. Two were furnished as sleeping quarters, but seemed to be used only as dressing rooms. The third could best be described as a museum of vampire-fetish, and is best left undescribed in further detail. The fourth door was locked.
"This must be his," I whispered to Cassandra. "Either that, or the stuff in here is even worse than the stuff in the last room."
"I doubt that's possible." Cassandra's gaze darted toward the fetish room. "Perhaps, though, I should wait in the hall. In case John returns."
I grinned. "Good plan."
I cast a simple unlock spell, assuming it was a normal interior door lock, the type that could be sprung with a hairpin. When that failed, I moved to my next stronger spell, then to the strongest. Finally, the door opened.
"Damn," I murmured. "Whatever he's got in here, he really doesn't want anyone to see."
I eased open the door, guided my light-ball around the corner, and found myself looking into… an office. An ordinary, modern home office, with gray carpet, painted blue walls, fluorescent lighting, a metal desk, two computers, and a fax machine. A whiteboard on the far wall held John's to-do list: pick up dry-cleaning, pay property taxes, renew cleaning contract, hire new dishwasher. Not a single mention of sucking blood, raping the local virgins, or turning his neighbors into undead fiends. No wonder John didn't want anyone coming in here. One glance through that door and all his image-building would be for naught.
I stepped out and closed the door behind me.
"You don't want to go in there," I said.
"Bad?"
"The worst." I looked along the hall. "So he's not here, and it doesn't look like he's slept up here in a while. So where does a culturally faithful vamp sleep? You didn't see a mausoleum out back, did you?"
"Thank God, no. He seems to have had the sense to draw the line at that."
"Probably because he couldn't get the building permit. Okay, well…" I looked at her. "Help me out here. I'm not vamp-stereotype savvy."
She paused, as if it pained her to answer, then sighed. "The basement."
We stood in the center of the basement. My light-ball hung over the only object in the room, a massive, gleaming, ebony black, silver-trimmed coffin.
"Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, huh?" I said. "At least it's not a mausoleum."
"He's sleeping in a box, Paige. It doesn't get any worse than that. A mausoleum, at least you could fix up, add some skylights, perhaps a nice feather bed with Egyptian cotton sheets…"
"He might have Egyptian cotton sheets in there," I said. "Oh, and you know, it might not be as bad as you think. Maybe he doesn't sleep in there. Maybe it's just for sex."
Cassandra fixed me with a look, "Thank you, Paige. If those pictures upstairs weren't enough to taint my sex life for weeks, that image will certainly do it."
"Well, at least we know he's not having sex in there right now. I think it'd need to be propped open for that. So what's the proper etiquette for rousing a vamp from his coffin? Should we knock first?"
Cassandra grabbed the side of the coffin and was about to swing it open when her head jerked up.
"Paige-!" she called.
That was all I heard before a body struck mine. As I pitched forward, pain shot through my torn stomach muscles. I twisted and caught a glimpse of a naked thigh and a swirl of long, blond hair. Then a hand grabbed me from behind and a head plunged toward my neck.
I reacted on instinct, not with a spell, but with a move from a barely remembered self-defense class. My elbow shot up into my attacker's chest and my other hand slammed, palm first, into the nose.