The Bride Wore Black Leather

even.”
    “But something is bound to happen,” said Charlotte in her best hot and smoky voice. “You’re here! That has to mean something! Why would the freshly appointed Walker of the Nightside come to the Ball of Forever unless there were bad guys to pursue, villains to put down, and injustices to be avenged! I’ve followed your career for years, and I know what it means when you turn up somewhere unexpectedly. Blood and guts and entrails hanging from the chandelier! You’re news!”
    “Not if I can help it,” I said.
    “You must have a reason for being here,” Charlotte insisted, taking a deep breath to better show off her cleavage. “Can’t you even give me a hint?”
    I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice so she had to lean in close. She looked eagerly at me, her face straining to show some emotion through the Botox.
    “If it all does kick off,” I said solemnly, “be first out the door. Avoid the rush. Those cameras are expensive.”
    The man with the camera sniggered loudly. He was so anonymous behind his shoulder-mounted apparatus, I’d almost forgotten he was there. Charlotte glared at him, and he shut up immediately.
    “Be sure to get my good side,” I said to the camera-man.
    “You find it, chief, and I’ll get it,” he said.
    Charlotte ap Owen made a point of turning her back on me and striding away. The camera-man lingered for a moment. “I’m Dave. Don’t mind her. She’s desperate to get out from behind a desk. She’d defenestrate her own granny for a good story. Bit desperate in other ways, too, if you catch my drift, chief. Never let her back you into a corner unless you like it rough and sudden. I’m not really a camera-man, you know.”
    I looked at him. “Oh yes?”
    “I’m an actor, really. I’m pointing this camera at things till something better comes along. Filling in between acting jobs, you know how it is. Sometimes I pretend I’m actually in some reality show, where I’m pretending to be a camera-man.”
    “Does it help?” I said.
    “Not really. Hello; she’s coming back. Little Miss Up Herself. Brace yourself; she’s got the light of battle in her contact lenses. She looks like she knows something. Would anyone here have an interest in dropping you right in it, chief?”
    “Oh yes,” I said. “Really. You have no idea how many.”
    Charlotte ap Owen gestured airily for Dave to start filming, then stuck her microphone in my face again. “This is Charlotte ap Owen, reporting from the legendary Ball of Forever at the MEC. I’m here talking with the very recently appointed Walker, the infamous John Taylor. Mr. Taylor, I’ve been hearing some very interesting things about your connection with one of the most far-reaching disasters to hit the Nightside in recent times, namely, the destruction of the independent power plant, Prometheus Inc. Its sudden and unexpected loss plunged much of the Nightside into chaos and cost many lives. Would you care to comment on your involvement in this catastrophic event?”
    I thought for a moment. “No,” I said.
    “But you do know something, Mr. Taylor. I have my sources . . .”
    “No, you don’t,” I said. “I can say that with complete confidence because I know for a fact there aren’t any sources remaining as to exactly what happened at Prometheus Inc., except me. I’ve no doubt someone here has been telling tales out of school and passing round the gossip, but they don’t know. Only I know. I could tell you what happened, but then I’d have to kill you, too.”
    Charlotte opened her perfectly sculpted mouth to ask another question, caught the look in my eye, and thought better of it. She jerked her head at Dave the camera-man, and he stopped filming and trailed after her as she stalked off into the crowd, presumably in search of some less obviously dangerous exclusive. She might try to use the footage she’d already got to embarrass me, but her editor would only spike it. He knew better than to annoy Walker. Or worse still, my Suzie. Who once sent an over-enthusiastic gossip-columnist back to his editor in thirty-seven separate parcels. Gift-wrapped. Owing postage.
    I watched Charlotte ap Owen, Bettie Divine, and Brilliant Chang as they made their rounds through the packed crowd of immortals, many of whom were happy to stand and smile for the cameras, but walked away if anyone tried to question them. That wasn’t what they were there for. Some immortals would always primp and preen for the