The house Cyrus described wasn't far. Despite the rain, I walked. The wet had never bothered me, at least not since I'd learned in med school that it wasn't wet hair but a virus that caused the common cold. In fact, I kind of liked the rain.

As Cyrus instructed, I went to the back door, which opened onto a bare landing. My choice was up or down, and both passages were illuminated by lightbulbs swinging from cords.

"Snazzy," I whispered with a little amusement. Truly, it was a case of the mighty falling far.

At the bottom of the stairs was a laundry room with no door, and a single apartment marked B. I was about to knock on the door when it opened.

There was a weird second when my brain registered that it wasn't Cyrus standing there. My first thought was, It's the wrong apartment. My second was, Oh shit.

Dahlia seemed to be having the same thought process. Hers ended just a bit before mine. Her reflexes were better.

She grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the wall.

Chapter Nine
In the Flesh

I had no time to react. Dahlia's face hovered centimeters from mine, and her hand at my throat tightened. The tips of her nails dug into my skin.

"What are you doing here?" She slammed my head into the wall. I felt the plaster crumble beneath my skull.

I pulled my feet up and kicked her, kangaroo style, so hard she bounced off the opposite wall. "I was invited, bitch!"

"Lucky you." She held up her hands and formed a flaming blue ball of energy. I lifted my arms to shield my face. Before she could release her spell, the door beside me flew open.

"Dahlia!" Cyrus strode into the hallway, a towel slung around his hips. I don't know if it was a reflex left over from her days as Cyrus's obedient pet, or if she was as overwhelmed as I was by his presence, but Dahlia condensed the murderous energy between her palms. When she opened her hands, it was gone.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she demanded, planting her fists on her wide hips in a bizarre imitation of an exasperated housewife. The gesture seemed all the weirder owing to her vampire face, which she made no move to cover.

In the tone Cyrus had used to placate me many, many times, he asked, "Why so jealous now? You know the history between us. She's an acquaintance, nothing more."

I made a point of ignoring his remark. I'd seen him wheedle Dahlia this way before, and it nauseated me. Not to mention the fact that I found myself slightly bothered by the label "acquaintance."

We'd been enemies. We'd been lovers. We'd been friends. Sometimes all at once. I loved Nathan, but a part of me wouldn't, would probably never, give up loving Cyrus.