The sound of classical music drifted in fits and starts down the majestic stairway that led to the grand ballroom on the third floor. It sounded like a string quartet rehearsing rather than a party in full swing, which is what I’d encountered the last time I’d been here. Periodically the music would stop, and we could hear someone issuing arcane instructions that hovered on the verge of audibility.

The doorkeeper returned. “Lady Eris will receive you in her sitting room,” he announced. “She is not pleased by the early hour of your visit.” He flashed another hint of fang tip. “You recall what passed the last time you displeased her, Hel’s liaison?”

“I remember.” Not as much had happened as he thought, actually, but I’d let Lady Eris save face in front of her minions in exchange for a temporary no-hunting decree. “But it was just after sunset that time, too.”

The vampire heaved a sigh, a disconcerting sound in someone who breathes only in order to speak. “When the nights are short, we make the most of them. As they begin to lengthen, we enjoy a more leisurely pace.”

“Some of us daywalkers don’t have that luxury,” Cody said in one of his more laconic tones.

The vampire glanced at him, his eyes narrowing again. At a guess, he’d identified Cody as eldritch, but hadn’t placed him yet. “Follow me.”

We followed him up the staircase to the second-floor landing, turning off down a hallway lit by sconces with fluted lamps of mauve glass. It made Cody’s healthy complexion—and probably mine—look sickly, but it created a pleasing effect on the bloodless alabaster pallor of our guide. I wondered how any non-Caucasian vampires in the House of Shadows felt about Lady Eris’s choice in lighting.

Our guide halted before the door of the master bedroom, knocking on it once. “Hel’s liaison,” he intoned. “And some cop.”

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t quite so ye olde world as he acted.

The door was opened from within. Lady Eris—which, no, I don’t believe for a moment is her real name—was seated on an ornate padded stool being groomed for the night’s revels. She wore a deep crimson satin dressing gown trimmed with black lace that, frankly, reminded me a lot of what the Fabulous Casimir was wearing tonight. One attendant was brushing out her long, jet-black hair while another knelt with one of her ladyship’s elegant white feet in her lap, assiduously applying toenail polish.

“Daisy Johanssen,” she said in flat acknowledgment. At least she wasn’t pretending not to remember my name.

“Hi,” I said.

Her ebony-dark gaze shifted to Cody, one eyebrow arching. “And Officer . . . ?”

Cody’s nostrils flared. “Fairfax.”

“Fairfax.” She echoed him, smiling a little. “How very interesting! A lycanthrope on the local police force?”