Louis-Cesare came up beside me and, before I could protest, lifted me into his arms and started toward the house. He’d done the same thing to get me into the car, but I’d been fading in and out and had hardly noticed. I would have told him to put me down, but my legs did feel a little wobbly.
Radu gave us a surprised glance when we got to the door, but refrained from comment. He was dressed in what counted as somber attire for him—black velvet and jet beads that glittered in the light from the old-fashioned lantern he clutched in one pale hand. The absence of electricity told me immediately how serious he was taking this. No plain everyday wards here—the big boys must be online to send us back to the days of candles and lanterns. It did make for a nice ambience, though, since Radu’s demented designer had not yet made it inside. Cathedral ceilings with old wood beams met us in the entryway, which featured a simple, open-tread staircase leading to a gallery landing. I spied an ominous sign for the future, however: the classic lines of a wrought-iron chandelier now dripped with a couple hundred rock crystals.
We went right, into a large living room with a huge fireplace that looked big enough to consume small trees. The only incongruous note in the old-California theme was the painting glowing over the fireplace. It was a copy of Bellini’s portrait of Mehmed II, the Ottoman sultan best known for conquering Constantinople and renaming it Istanbul. He’d thereafter considered himself the new Roman emperor, since Constantinople had been the last holdout of the glory-that-was-no-longer-Rome. He invaded Italy, but never managed to take the Eternal City. He did end up with a pretty nifty souvenir, though. I stood looking at it, but although it’s well-done—Bellini was no hack—it didn’t tell me much about the man who had been Radu’s lover and political patron. It told me more about Radu. I supposed it made sense that he’d want a memento, but still. I spared a thought as to what Drac would say if he saw it, and smiled.
“I fail to see anything amusing,” Louis-Cesare said stiffly, after laying me on the sofa. I was about to snipe back when I got a good look at him. His usually softly curling hair was a frazzled halo that crackled alarmingly whenever anyone got near it, and his normally pale face was dead white. His eyes were fever bright and there were tired lines near the corners. I hadn’t noticed when I was getting patched up, but he’d also been wounded, once in the thigh and again in the upper part of his right arm.
None of his wounds were serious for a vamp, much less a master, but judging by the state of his clothes, he’d lost a lot of blood. And that was after what had to be a strenuous day even by his standards. Yet the only time he’d fed was what you might call a light snack at the Hedgehog. I edged away slightly, perching on the end of the couch with Stinky. I put him down because the couch was leather and could be wiped clean, but he immediately crawled back into my lap. The creature seemed very needy, or maybe it was just scared. Either way, I wanted to get it a bath if I was going to continue to have it draped all over me. Having a supersensitive nose can be a problem.
“Sit, rest,” Radu said, fluttering about. “I’ll have refreshments brought.”
The advice had the opposite of the intended effect on me. “I’m not hungry,” I lied. “Is there anywhere I can clean up?”
The rambling old place was staffed by some of Mircea’s stable, several of whom came in as we were speaking. Like all good servants, they’d anticipated their master’s needs. The one carrying a tray and bottle was well-known to me—unfortunately.
“Geoffrey, can you show Dorina to the gold room?” Radu asked. “Be back in an hour, Dory, or Chef will sulk. He’s so pleased to have someone new to cook for, he’s been slaving away all day.”
“I’ll remember,” I said, giving Geoffrey the hairy eyeball. It’s hard to look dignified in a few rags, a pair of bloody boots and a velvet cloak, especially when you have a filthy fur ball wrapped around your neck, but I tried.
Ever the proper English servant, Geoffrey inclined his head without hesitation, nothing in his carriage giving away the fact that he’d vastly prefer to show me to the closest garbage heap. “Of course, my lord.”
I followed Geoffrey out the door as the second servant, a human, started undoing his cravat. He was handsome, with tawny hair and eyes and a healthy, youthful complexion. I hastened my steps, overtaking my guide in my hurry to get away before Louis-Cesare started in on his appetizer.
I took a wrong turn and ended up in a grassy courtyard with a small fountain and a couple of fruit trees. The night sky was dark blue overhead, soft with the glimmer of stars, but the illumination from the house made it possible to see without being obtrusive. A light breeze, cool but not cold, blew in from a small iron gate set in the wall, which was weighed down by a mass of overgrown honeysuckle. It was surprisingly charming.
“Your rooms are this way, unless you intend to bathe in the fountain, miss,” Geoffrey commented from over my shoulder.