“This used to drive my mom crazy,” I said, pointing at the lawn. “People paying to make their yard look like an abandoned lot. No wonder the neighbors have high walls. He has some nice gargoyles, though. I must admit, I’ve never seen them anatomically correct.”

Cassandra followed my gaze, and shuddered.

“It sure is dark in there,” I said. “Or are those blackout blinds? No, wait. It’s paint. He’s blacked out all the windows. Can’t be too careful with those fatal sunbeams.”

“The man is an idiot, Paige. If you doubted that last night, this house should seal the matter. We’re wasting our time.”

“Oh, but it’s so much fun. I’ve never seen a real vampire’s house before. How come your fence doesn’t have wrought-iron bats?” I grabbed the gate and swung it open, then stopped dead. “Hey, I missed those. Forget the bats. That’s what you need outside your condo.”

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 thedoor 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’-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.