Definitely Dead

colonial outfit: tricorn hat, knee breeches, hose, buckled shoes. My goodness. As I paused to listen, his eyes flickered over to me, took in my outfit, and sharpened with interest.
    “If you’re calling on Sophie-Anne, you can’t go in casual,” he told the group, and gestured to me. “This young lady is wearing proper dress for an interview with the vampire . . . one of America’s most prominent vampires.” He grinned at the group, inviting them to enjoy his reference.
    There were fifty other vampires just as prominent. Maybe not as publicly oriented or as colorful as Sophie-Anne Leclerq, but the public didn’t know that.
    Rather than being surrounded with the appropriate air of exotic deadliness, the queen’s “castle” was more of a macabre Disneyland, thanks to the souvenir peddlers, the tour guides, and the curious gawkers. There was even a photographer. As I approached the first ring of guards, a man jumped in front of me and snapped my picture. I was frozen by the flash of light and stared after him—or in what I thought was his direction—while my eyes adjusted. When I was able to see him clearly, I found he was a small, grubby man with a big camera and a determined expression. He bustled off immediately to what I guessed was his accustomed station, a corner on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t offer to sell me a picture or tell me where I could purchase one, and he didn’t give me any explanation.
    I had a bad feeling about this incident. When I talked to one of the guards, my suspicion was confirmed.
    “He’s a Fellowship spy,” said the vampire, nodding in the little man’s direction. He’d located my name on a checklist clamped to a clipboard. The guard himself was a sturdy man with brown skin and a nose as curved as a rainbow. He’d been born somewhere in the Middle East, once-upon a time. The name patch attached with Velcro to his helmet said RASUL.
    “We’re forbidden to kill him,” Rasul said, as if he were explaining a slightly embarrassing folk custom. He smiled at me, which was kind of disconcerting, too. The black helmet came down low on his face and the chinstrap was the kind that actually rounded his chin, so I could see only a little bit of his face. At the moment, that bit was mostly sharp, white, teeth. “The Fellowship photographs everyone who goes in and out of this place, and there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about it, since we want to keep the goodwill of the humans.”
    Rasul correctly assumed I was a vampire ally, since I was on the visitors list, and was treating me with a camaraderie that I found relaxing. “It would be lovely if something happened to his camera,” I suggested. “The Fellowship is hunting me already.” Though I felt pretty guilty, asking a vampire to arrange an accident to another human being, I was fond enough of my own life to want it saved.
    His eyes gleamed as we passed under a streetlight. The light caught them so that for a moment they shone red, like people’s eyes sometimes do when the photographer is using a flash.
    “Oddly enough, a few things have happened to his cameras already,” Rasul said. “In fact, two of them have been smashed beyond repair. What’s one more accident? I’m not guaranteeing anything, but we’ll do our best, lovely lady.”
    “Thank you so much,” I said. “Anything you can do will be much appreciated. After tonight, I can talk to a witch who could maybe take care of that problem for you. Maybe she could make all the pictures turn out overexposed, or something. You should give her a call.”
    “That’s an excellent idea. Here is Melanie,” he said, as we reached the main doors. “I’ll pass you on to her, and return to my post. I’ll see you when you exit, get the witch’s name and address?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “Did anyone ever tell you that you smell enchantingly like a fairy?” Rasul said.
    “Oh, I’ve been with my fairy godmother,” I explained. “She took me shopping.”
    “And the result was wonderful,” he said gallantly.
    “You flatterer.” I couldn’t help but smile back at him. My ego had taken a blow to the solar plexus the night before (but I wasn’t thinking about that ), and a little thing like the guard’s admiration was just what I needed, even if it was really Claudine’s smell that had triggered it.
    Melanie was a delicate woman, even in the SWAT gear. “Yum, yum, you do smell like fairy,” she said. She consulted her own