We entered a corridor. Long windows cast silvery squares of moonlight on the floor. Through the darkness I saw a painting on the wall that depicted the grim shape of a giant clutching a headless corpse.

“Is that…Goya?” While his subjects were gory, an original work by Goya was priceless. With a house like this, his decadent clothing, and round-the-clock security, I supposed I could have wound up with a worse sire. Remembering that Nathan was probably at that moment rooting through the ashes of his ruined shop, I instantly regretted the thought.

“You know your art, Doctor. Very good.” Cyrus let out a melancholy sigh. “It’s only a copy. The real one hangs in the Prado, despite my numerous attempts to purchase it.”

“Well, it’s a really good copy.” I reached out to touch the surface of the painting, and he caught my wrist with an apologetic smile.

“Please, don’t touch. A number of years ago, I had a pet of exceptional talent. He’s also responsible for the bacchanalian orgy depicted on the walls of my bedroom.” His thumb stroked the nearly translucent flesh beneath the cuff of my sleeve, sending a shiver up my arm. “Perhaps you’d like to see that next?”

I jerked my arm away. “Let’s not press our luck, now.”

He chuckled and slipped his arm through mine. “This way.”

At the end of the hallway were large double doors. They opened to the ballroom I’d seen on my first visit, though we entered on a different side. The room had been converted into a makeshift garage, with rows of motorcycles parked on sheets of canvas laid out to protect the floor. Cyrus viewed the objects with some distaste. “I’ll never understand the compulsion some people have to drive themselves anywhere.”

“Had chauffeurs all your life, huh?” I asked, running my hand across the chrome tank of a motorcycle.

“Not quite. I was born six hundred years before the advent of the modern automobile.”

“Six hundred—” I swallowed noisily. “So you were alive during the age of knights and armor and all that crap?”

“Yes, Carrie, all that crap.” I thought I saw him roll his eyes, but he didn’t make any further comment. Instead, he led me quickly through the room.

The dining room had been rearranged to accommodate a larger number of people and reminded me of a great hall from a medieval movie. I followed him to the kitchen where the huge, industrial stoves were cold. Pots and pans hung gleaming from the ceiling. The only person present in the room was the elderly black butler, who watched us intently as we entered.

“How can you afford all this?” I asked as we passed through the room.

“Good evening, Clarence,” Cyrus tossed off casually, as though he didn’t notice the man’s apparent animosity. Cyrus turned to me and replied, “I’ve killed some very wealthy people in my time, and invested the profit wisely. Your room will be in the family quarters, of course,” Cyrus explained as we climbed the back staircase, “but we’ll go through the servants’ area first so you’ll know where everything is.”