The Bride Wore Black Leather

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, all the strength seemed to go right out of her. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.
    “I never told anyone. How did he know? I was never even going to tell Jimmy. It would have upset him too much. But I am a descendent of Kali! I am! I could have killed that slimy bastard with a touch! If I’d wanted. Withered him like a flower, like Hadleigh did . . . They’re saying someone stuck a knife in him. Is that right?”
    “He was stabbed in the back,” I said carefully.
    “Well, I haven’t got a knife! Look at me! Where would I hide one in this outfit?”
    She had a point.
    “I’m talking to everyone,” I said. “Don’t take it personally. Did you come here with anyone?”
    “No.”
    “Then go talk with Dead Boy. He’s appalling company, and his conversation rarely ventures far from the inappropriate, but he’s got a good heart. He’ll look after you and make sure no-one bothers you.”
    I steered her in Dead Boy’s direction, then stopped abruptly as a Neanderthal man came rolling through the crowd towards me. He was barely five feet tall, hunched right over but powerfully built. His heavy face was all bone and gristle, with massive lowering eye-brow ridges and hardly any chin. His knees splayed out, and his knuckles barely cleared the floor. He was wearing a shining white seventies disco outfit, complete with a big gold medallion on a chain hanging over his extremely hairy chest. He nodded amiably to me.
    “Greetings, Walker. I am Tomias Squarefoot.”
    “I know,” I said. “We met once before. Long ago.”
    He shrugged calmly. “It is entirely possible. I am the oldest of the immortals. I have met pretty much everyone, at one time or another; but my memory is not what it was. I do not claim to speak for the immortals, but as the oldest here, I think I can represent them. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say it is clear that there is an obvious suspect.”
    “Is there really?” I said. “News to me. Who did you have in mind?
    “The young man who calls himself Rogue, of course,” said Squarefoot. “He appears out of nowhere, with no invitation, claiming to be part of the notorious Family of Immortals. A group famed for their duplicity, treachery, and general back-stabbing. Either he isn’t who he says he is, in which case what is he doing here, in this company? Or he is who he says he is, in which case, what is he doing here? What secret purpose has brought him to a Ball no other member of his family has ever graced with their presence? On top of that, do I really need to point out that we never had a death here, at any of our meetings, until he showed up?”
    I turned to look thoughtfully at Rogue, standing on his own, some way off. He had a drink in his hand and looked far-away, lost in his own thoughts.
    “All right,” I said to the Neanderthal. “You have a point. I’ll have a word. But only because you helped save my life, that time.”
    Squarefoot shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is possible. I meet so many people; you must forgive me if you don’t stand out. All you mortals look the same to me.”
    I nodded and moved away. He was right. It had been almost two thousand years since he helped save me from the Wild Hunt of the old god Herne. But I hadn’t forgotten.
    Rogue saw me coming and took a long drink from his champagne flute before facing me, apparently completely unconcerned. I slapped the glass out of his hand, grabbed him, and turned him around and slammed him up against the wall. He hit hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but he didn’t complain or struggle. He simply stood there, entirely relaxed, as I frisked him from top to bottom, making a thorough job of it. I found all kinds of interesting objects in his pockets, the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of a very long life, but nothing that could have been used as a weapon. I stepped back, and he turned around, adjusting his clothing here and there, with neat fussy movements that were completely at odds with his teenage appearance.
    “Typical mortal manners,” he murmured. “No respect for your elders. Be careful, young Walker, be very careful, lest I decide to teach you some manners. I could break and cripple you in a dozen awful ways, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”
    “Oh, you’d be surprised what John Taylor can do,” said Dead Boy, moving in on one side of me, while Razor Eddie slipped into position on the other. Dead