Cyrus looked more petulant by the minute. "Why not let me go in and speak with Dahlia on my own?"

"Because she filleted you the last time you were alone together and… " I blinked. "You're just trying to get sex from anyone, aren't you?"

"Well, someone has been bombarding me with pornographic dreams." He pointed down the street. "That's him!"

"It's not him. That man is six feet tall at least, and probably twenty years younger than Clarence."

"At least," Cyrus repeated, giving me an unreadable look. "I'm sorry, he just looked so similar."

"Why? Because he's black?" Of course I'd have to sire a white supremacist.

"Because it's dark and I can't see that well. Apparently, losing both eyes in a past incarnation has that effect." He raised his hands helplessly. "I'm as surprised as you."

"We should get you some glasses," I mused, scanning the sidewalk. "That's him!"

I could tell by the way the figure hunched over and kept close to the wall. His clothing was anachronistic to say the least—in the mansion, he didn't seem out of place when paired with antique furnishings, but on the street he looked positively Victorian—and he scurried like a spider toward the house.

"That is him," Cyrus observed. "I never realized how very strange he looked."

"You stay here," I commanded, pushing open the door. "I'll be back."

I didn't give him a chance to argue before I slammed the door. Clarence had nearly reached the gate to the servants' lodgings, and I had to jog to catch up with him.

"Clarence!" When I called his name, it was as if a shock went through him. He saw me, and for a moment I thought he would bolt. Something in his servant's nature seemed to stop him, and he waited patiently until I reached him.

"Doctor, what are you doing here? Are you trying to get killed?" He cast a worried glance at the house. "She's out of her head over something you did. I can't tell what, but she is not happy."

"That's why I'm here," I explained. "I need to speak to her."

Clarence's deep brown eyes widened. "Didn't you hear what I said? She'll kill you. She's been ranting and raving and doing God knows what. If you go into that house, you're dumber than I thought you were."

I ignored the implication that he'd apparently thought I was dumb before. "That's why I need your help."

"What kind of help?" He eyed me suspiciously. Then the meaning became clear, as glass, and he started to turn away.

"No, I don't want you to kill her! Just waylay her a little bit. Cyrus said—"

"Cyrus?" His voice leaped with fear. "He died."