“We’re here to work, Miss de Los Santos,” the woman said. “I’m Anna and this is Cal Kogalniceaunu. At our last position, they called us Mr. and Mrs. K, but please call us whatever you wish.”

As we came to the front of the craptastic house, their eyes widened.

“Such an impressive estate!” Mrs. K said.

Thralls lived to serve. Some believed in the vampire myth (undead vamps with supernatural powers), others were role-playing in what they thought was an S and M game, but the most trusted were those whose families had been allied with the vampires for generations.

We went into the house and were met by Ian, who was wearing a navy silk robe open over his bare chest and drawstring pants. I supposed this was proper attire for interviewing feudal staff.

“Look who I found out on the street,” I said. “Mr. and Mrs. K.”

“Lord Ducharme,” they both said, and Cal took Ian’s hand and bowed.

I shot a look at Ian, who was, as always, annoyingly comfortable with people falling all over him.

“Welcome,” he said, all lord-of-the-drug-king’s-manor mannerish. “I trust your trip was pleasant.”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. K said. “Our hotel was very comfortable and our things are being delivered later this morning.”

“Wonderful. I’ll show you your rooms.”

Ian led them down the hall and I heard them going downstairs. I took Rosemary with me to the not-so-great room and scooped kibble into his bowl. “Someone has earned my displeasure,” I told my dog. “Not you. You’re an excellent dog.”

There was a bottle of dark crimson calf’s blood in the fridge. I poured about a quarter cup into a tall glass, filled the glass with icy water, and squished in some lime juice.

I was thirsty and the drink was cold and mineral and savory. As I tipped back the glass to catch the last drops, warmth suffused my body, making me feel both relaxed and revived.

It was tasty, but animal blood didn’t have the effect on me that Ian’s blood did. Nothing did.

As I was pouring coffee beans into the grinder, Mrs. K came into the room. “Please allow me to take care of that for you. Would you like espresso or filter coffee?” She glanced around at the appliances as she came to stand beside me.

I held on to the canister of coffee beans. “I can make it myself.”

“Miss de Los Santos, it’s my pleasure to help.”

I sighed and let her take the canister. It was no use arguing with someone determined to serve. “I’ll have a cappuccino, please.”