The Bride Wore Black Leather

the first time, they’d allowed in a small camera crew from the Nightside Television Centre. Immortals do move with the times, but only slowly and very reluctantly. I recognised the reporter from the
Night Times
, a tall and bulky oriental fellow in a smart tuxedo. Brilliant Chang was an investigative reporter (not a recipe for long life in the Nightside), but fortunately he was also sharp and tricky and knew no fear. Plus, he could run like an Olympic sprinter when the occasion demanded it. He knew me, too, and nodded briefly in my direction. We’d worked some of the same cases, from different directions. On one side of his face, he still carried the dragon tattoo that marked him as a combat sorcerer. An old Dragon Clan enforcer, in fact, before he saw the error of his ways and abandoned gangsterism for the slightly more reputable trade of journalism. He made a point of casually wandering in my direction.
    “Hello, Chang,” I said. “What are you doing here, covering this jumped-up bun-fight? I thought Julien Advent reserved you for the really important stories these days. Like hot celebrity action, and who’s having whom . . . When are you going to get a proper job?”
    “When are you?” said Chang.
    Honours even, we relaxed a bit.
    “I’m surprised the immortals’ security people aren’t trying to throw you out,” said Chang.
    “What security?” I said. “People who’ve lived as long as these scumbags take a pride in being able to look after themselves. Standing tall and laughing defiantly in the face of danger as a matter of principle, that sort of thing. Even if they’re not allowed to bring personal weapons to a supposedly civilised gathering like this. I’m here mainly because they can’t be bothered to exert themselves.”
    “And because they’re scared of you,” said Brilliant Chang.
    “That, too,” I said. “Really, what is an experienced crime and corruption writer like you doing here?”
    “Julien Advent was very insistent that someone experienced should cover the Ball this year,” said Chang. “And he wanted it to be someone who wouldn’t be easily impressed or intimidated. I didn’t run for the door fast enough, so I got the job.”
    I had to frown at that. “Why would he do that? What does he think is going to happen, this year?”
    “Beats me. Normally, this whole do is nothing more than fodder for the society pages and the life-style supplements. Pick up a bit of gossip, get the prettier ones to pose for a few photos, then stuff your face with the free food. Maybe it’s something to do with the television people being allowed in for the first time.”
    “No,” I said. “Julien knows something . . .”
    “So do you,” said Chang. “Or you wouldn’t be here. Are you going to kill someone?”
    I had to smile. “The night’s barely started . . .”
    The
Night Times
photographer saw us both smiling together and stepped forward to take a photo. I gave him a cold look, and he quickly changed his mind and retreated.
    “Don’t mind him,” said Chang. “He’s new. Somebody’s nephew, I think. I do hope he isn’t mine.”
    The other journalist seized her chance to move in for a quick chat. I knew her, too—Bettie Divine, demon girl reporter for the
Unnatural Inquirer
. She slammed to a halt right in front of me and struck her best confrontational pose: tall and rangy and drop-dead gorgeous. Long jet-black hair fell down around her high-boned face as she fixed me with dark green eyes and a pouting scarlet mouth. Two cute little horns poked up through the dark bangs hanging across her forehead. Demon girl reporter, oh yes. Her last big assignment had been to follow me around the Nightside on one of my cases. She then spent a lot of time afterwards loudly claiming she was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, but I gave her my best I’ll-be-nice-if-you-will smile.
    “Don’t you smile at me, John Taylor,” said Bettie. “I’m not here for you. Didn’t even know you’d be here. I’m only here in case Elvis turns up. What are you doing here?”
    “I already asked,” said Brilliant Chang. “But our new Walker is being very tight-lipped. Perhaps you have more . . . personal ways of persuading him to talk? I am right in believing that there is history between you two?”
    “In his dreams,” said Bettie, tossing her long hair dramatically.
    “Really? Because a little bird told