Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

disguise. He was the height of fashion: a brilliant mirror in which people saw only what they expected to see.
    He stopped before Valentine and bowed with a flourish. The Wolfe heir nodded courteously in return, the heavy black eye makeup and scarlet mouth standing out starkly against his pale skin. That particular look hadn't been fashionable in years, but having found something that appealed to his inner nature. Valentine was apparently loath to change it. Finlay wondered with a sudden flash of insight whether the painted face might be as much a mask as the one he wore. And if so, what other, stranger, Valentine might lie behind it. A disturbing thought. Whatever lay behind the mask, it would have to be pretty damned strange to outdo his everyday persona. Finlay smiled dazzlingly.
    "You're looking very yourself, Valentine. I must say, I'm always surprised to see you actually up and about these days. Of course, if you were taking half the
    things you're supposed to be taking, I'd expect you to be wheeled in on a stretcher with a drip in your arm and tubes up your nose."
    "I try to maintain a careful balance between my inner and outer worlds," said Valentine easily. "I see my condition as a continuing work of art, with drugs the colors of my palette. And every work of art must be seen by an audience to be truly appreciated. Not that most people understand or appreciate the effort and hard work involved in an ongoing performance."
    "I do understand," said Finlay. "No one appreciates the sheer effort involved in being at the cutting edge of fashion. But you seem to be thriving on the pressure, Valentine. Perhaps you could give me the name of your chemist."
    Valentine studied him silently for a moment, his face entirely expressionless, and Finlay wondered what he'd said. Something had thrown the Wolfe heir off balance. Finlay decided to change the subject, whatever it was, rather than have it pursue some end he wasn't sure he wanted to reach.
    "I understand your wedding is scheduled to take place soon, Valentine. Any help I can offer, having been through the ghastly business myself?"
    "Why thank you, Finlay, but I think I have everything under control. The flowers have been ordered, the bridesmaids chosen, and I have designed a rather special fruit punch for the occasion that should open a few eyes. I myself shall be wearing white, with a veil, and perhaps just a dash of belladonna for scent.
    I've taken care to inform my intended of this, so that our outfits won't clash."
    "I'm sure she was very appreciative of that," said Finlay dryly.
    "The last I'd heard," said Valentine, "she was offering quite a handsome reward for anyone willing to assassinate me, and if that doesn't work out, I understand she has professed a complete willingness and determination to do the job herself
    with whatever weapons happen to be at hand on the wedding day. She's currently trying to stir up a vendetta between her Family and mine, but since her parents helped arrange the match in the first place, due to the rather large dowry that comes with me, she's not getting very far."
    "She sounds very… resolute."
    "Oh, yes. I do so admire a woman with spirit."
    "You must introduce me to her, Valentine. Someday."
    "No sooner said than done. Here comes the lady now. Doesn't she look splendid?"
    Finlay looked round sharply. A tall gangling woman in her late twenties was advancing on them, wearing a bright scarlet gown with gold and silver trimmings to show off her perfect pale skin and naturally red hair. Finlay had to wonder if perhaps the fashion for fluorescent skin and metallicized hair was over.
    Things changed so fast nowadays. The young lady slowed to a halt before him and Valentine, quivering with suppressed emotion, her eyebrows sunk in a truly ferocious scowl. Her mouth was an angry straight line that spoke of barely controlled rage. Finlay found his hand had dropped automatically to the sword on his hip. His instincts knew a genuine threat when they saw one. He bowed politely, and she shot him a look of undisguised venom. Finlay felt a sudden urge to check how far he was from the nearest exit. She had the look of someone who threw things. Heavy things. Valentine seemed entirely unperturbed and smiled courteously.
    "Finlay Campbell, may I present Beatrice Cristiana, soon to be my bride."
    "Eat shit and die, clown," said Beatrice. "And you can put that hand away because I have absolutely no intention of shaking it. I'd rather French kiss a