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’-nine-tails. 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&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.”