George Martin: Down These Strange Streets

By that time, she and Katamori could hear the police surging through the mansion.

“I can’t be found like this,” Dahlia said, disgusted, looking down at her dress.

“Then take it off,” Katamori said, holding the maintenance panel open. “I have an idea.”

When the police came out to search the garden, they found Katamori and Dahlia frolicking in the fountain stark naked. The sight froze them in their tracks. Not only was it fall and chilly, but in the moonlit garden Dahlia was white as marble.

“All over,” said one of the cops, awestruck. “And he’s just a shade darker.”

“Did you need to talk to us?” Dahlia asked, as if she’d just noticed their presence. Katamori, at her back, wrapped his arms around her. “I hope not,” he said. “We have other things to do.”

“Cold hasn’t affected him much,” muttered Cop Two. He was trying to keep his eyes off the vampires, but he kept darting glances in their direction. Dahlia could feel Katamori’s body shake with amusement. Humans were so silly about nudity.

“No, no, you two are okay. No bodies in that pool?” asked Cop One, smiling broadly.

“Only ours,” Dahlia said, trying to purr. She did a credible job.

“Probably a prank call,” said Cop One. “Sorry we’re interrupting your evening. We would have been here twenty minutes ago if there hadn’t been a wreck on our exit ramp.”

That was interesting, but they had to stay in character. “You’re not disturbing us at all,” Katamori said, bending his head to kiss Dahlia’s neck.

“Let’s look through the bushes,” said Cop Two, scandalized, and the two policemen dutifully searched the paths and parted the bushes, trying not to watch the activity in the waters of the fountain while checking any place a body could be concealed.

Except for the one place it was.

But they made a slow job of it because they kept looking back to watch Dahlia and Katamori, whose cavorting progressed from warm to simmer to boil.

“Oh my God,” said Cop One. “They’re actually . . .”

“Did you know how fast they could move?” muttered Cop Two. “Her boobs are shaking like maracas!”

By the time the two marched back to the mansion’s French doors, the two vampires were perched on the edge of the fountain, Katamori’s legs hanging over the maintenance door while Dahlia sat in his lap. They both looked pleased and were whispering to each other in a loverlike way.

Dahlia was saying, “I’m much refreshed. What a good idea, Katamori.”

“I enjoyed that. I hope we can do it again. Even out here. Perhaps without an audience next time. How many police were lined up inside, watching?”

“At least five, plus the two out here. Did you see what I found in the hiding place?”

“Yes, I saw. Joaquin will be so pleased with us. Surely the humans will leave soon. I think we did an excellent job of distracting them. Thank you.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” Dahlia said sincerely.

In half an hour, Joaquin himself came into the garden to tell them that the police had left. He was only slightly startled to find them still naked.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed each other’s company,” he said. “Did you have any problems concealing the body?”

“Let me show you what we found under the fountain when we opened it,” Dahlia said, and reopened the panel to pull a bundle of clothing out. It was not her clothing, or Katamori’s. She shook out the garments and held them up for Joaquin’s viewing. He was silent for a long moment.

“Well,” he said. “That’s settled, then. Bring them in when you’ve readied yourself. Later tonight, I’ll send Troy and Hazel out here to dispose of the body for good. I regret this whole incident.” The new sheriff seemed sincere, to Dahlia. He turned and went into the mansion.

The two pulled on their own garments, though Dahlia hated resuming her stained dress. It had been a gamble leaving the clothes in a heap by the fountain, but it had been the right touch. Katamori and Dahlia checked each other to make sure they were in order. She tucked his shirt in a little more neatly, and he buckled her very high heels for her. They followed Joaquin back in through the brightly lit French doors.

The crowd had thinned.

“Where are the demons?” Dahlia asked Taffy, who was sitting beside Don on a love seat.

“They left when the police did,” Taffy said, running her fingers through her huge mane of hair. “They were smart to go while the going was good.”

“There’s no harm in that,” Dahlia told her friend. “Diantha was the only one involved, and we know she didn’t do it.”

“Melponeus looked sorry to be leaving without seeing you again,” Taffy said slyly. “He did a little looking out the windows when the police seemed so interested in the garden. I think it sparked a few memories he enjoyed very much.”

“You’ve had the demon?” Katamori was intrigued.

“Yes,” Dahlia said. “The heat and texture of his skin made the experience very interesting. Nothing compared to you, of course.” Dahlia could be polite when it mattered.

Joaquin and his bodyguards were waiting for Dahlia and Katamori to present their findings. All the Rhodes vampires gathered around when they entered. Joaquin, who had resumed his seat in his massive chair, waited impassively for their report. Cedric was still drinking Red Stuff and seemed even more unhappy, and Glenda, now completely healed, glowered at Dahlia. But they joined the throng with the rest. Even Don and his enforcer rose to join the crowd when Taffy did.

“That was an excellent strategy to distract the police,” Joaquin said. “Now tell us what you’ve discovered.”

“We found a bundle of bloody clothes hidden in the base of the fountain,” Dahlia said, and a ripple ran through the crowd. “If we hadn’t had to hide the body, if no one had called the police, we might never have found them. Since Arthur Allthorp’s murderer was the one who called the police, hoping to get the nest in trouble, you might say he cut his own throat.”

Joaquin held up the bloody bundle. The smell was really strong now, and the Weres’ upper lips pulled up in a snarl of distaste. Even Weres liked their blood fresh. Joaquin, with a certain amount of drama, shook out the garments, one by one.

“Cedric, I believe these are yours,” he said.

“That’s not true,” Cedric said calmly. He swept a hand down his chest. “Someone is trying to incriminate me. This is what I have been wearing all evening.”

“Not so,” retorted Dahlia. “The flowers on your vest were golden at the beginning of the evening. After the death of the human, the flowers were blue.” She was almost sad to have to say the words, but out of spite Cedric had almost condemned the whole nest to hours in the police station, days of bad press, and the end of the regime of Joaquin before it had even really begun. “The clothes you have on now are your clothes you wear when you garden, the clothes you leave hanging on a peg outside. Including the boots.”

Everyone looked down at Cedric’s scruffy boots. They were certainly not footwear anyone would choose to wear to a reception, not even Cedric.

For a second, fear flashed in Cedric’s blue eyes. Only for a second. Then he charged at Dahlia, a wild shriek coming from his lips.

She’d been expecting it for all of a couple of seconds. She stepped to the left quicker than the eye could track her, seized Cedric’s right arm as he went past her, twisted it upward at a terrible angle, and when Cedric screamed she gripped his head and twisted.

Cedric’s head came off.

There was silence for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to Joaquin. “I didn’t intend his decapitation. The mess . . .”