I refused to think of the place as Dahlia's house. When I'd first entered the grounds it had been Cyrus's home, and he had been my sire. He'd wanted me to consider it my home, as well, though I'd never been truly comfortable in the palatial rooms full of armed bodyguards. So I must admit it was a shock when, upon meeting Clarence at the back gate, I found no watchful, black-clad men with walkie-talkies and grim faces. Clarence looked behind him, to where my gaze sought any sign of a trap, and he shook his head. "She ate them. Or fired them. Mostly ate them. I got to keep their building, though. More room than I had in the house, and I can get away from her for a few minutes if I want."

"Is she treating you well?" I asked as I followed him up the path toward the house.

He stopped and gave me that "stupid vampire" look. "Of course she is. Didn't I just say she gave me a house? And she's been giving me days off. Not just one a year like you."

My old man. I snickered at the thought of Cyrus being in any way fatherly to me. Then I remembered my grim purpose for being there, and sobered. "If she's so great why are you helping me break into her house?"

Clarence stiffened at that, pulling his noble dignity around him like a suit of armor against my scurrilous accusations.

"What you're doing tonight isn't going to hurt her. It's going to hurt the big man. I've got no love for him."

"So, what's going on? Did you send her out so I could snoop, or what?"

He shushed me urgently. "I drugged her, but I don't know if it took yet. She's got a resistance to most things."

"Try to poison her often?" Clarence had definitely had no love for Cyrus, but as far as I know, he'd never tried to kill him. And if he was so damn fond of Dahlia, he wouldn't have tried to kill her.

He shook his head, a look of sadness on his creased face. "No. She's tried to kill herself, though. It's a shame, she wasn't a bad girl. She wasn't a nice girl, but nobody should want to take their own life."

Dahlia had tried to commit suicide? Color me surprised. "Well, how will we know if she's drugged or not?"

"You'll know if she doesn't kill you when you go in there." We'd come to the terrace, and I found myself looking guiltily over the flagstones, wondering if there would still be a stain from the night Ziggy had been killed. I'd been back to this house once after he'd died, but I'd been too preoccupied with my status as noble human sacrifice to think of looking. To my relief—and oddly enough, disappointment—the stone was clean, and I waited patiently for Clarence to unlock the French doors to the foyer.