A Dozen Black Roses by Nancy A. Collins

girlfriend," she whispered. "I'm not some doped-up fan dancer you can pinch and poke when daddy's not looking!"
    Decima's fangs clicked like dice in a cup, but she managed to keep her voice neutral when she spoke.
    "The new recruit is here, milord. Now, you must forgive me—I must see to security."
    The stranger watched Decima storm off, smiling crookedly. "I don't think your progeny likes me very much."
    Esher laughed. "There's not much Decima does like! I fear she is a possessive creature."
    "She said something about security—what's going down?"
    "I have invited Sinjon here this evening. He is to arrive at midnight."
    "Sinjon? But I thought you and he are worst buddies!"
    "We have indeed been at odds in the past."
    "So what's the deal?"
    "I have decided it is time to declare a truce between our houses. Neither of us can afford a jyhad right now. We waste too much time in petty squabbles and territorial disputes. I have decided to try to mend fences, so to speak."
    "Do you think Sinjon will buy into it?"
    "He is a reasonable man. Or was so, when he lived."
    "So what did you want me for?"
    "I want you to be present at the parley, my dear. I think you will work well as a liaison between the House of Esher and the Black Lodge—don't you agree?"
    "I don't know—do you think that's such a good idea?"
    Esher's eyes flashed as he spoke. "What do you mean?"
    "Don't get me wrong, milord! It's not that I don't want the job—and I appreciate the trust you've placed in me—but don't you think it might be a little, I dunno, impolitic? I mean, I did snuff three of his progeny earlier tonight. He might still be a tad sore about it."
    "You're right—I'd forgotten all about that! Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if you made

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) yourself scarce. I'll bring you into play once Sinjon has had time to forget the incident." He smiled, flashing her some fang. "I can see you'll be a useful addition to the enclave already, my dear—? I'm sorry, but I don't seem to have gotten your name?"
    The stranger opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Esher's attention was drawn to one of the television monitors. "Aha! Sinjon's car has just arrived outside the club!"
    "I'd best be going then, milord," she said.
    The canned music thundering from the club's speakers came to an abrupt halt. Warily, the patrons of Dance Macabre turned their eyes to the red' vinyl front door. A phalanx of Black Spoons, walking with the caution of tigers in a lion's den, entered the club, forming a human corridor. The rival gangs glared at one another, their body language screaming hostility, but neither side spoke or made a threatening gesture.
    And, at precisely the stroke of midnight, Sinjon entered the building.
    Compared to his leather-clad bodyguards, the vampire lord cut a peculiarly genteel figure. He was dressed in a high-waisted double-breasted royal blue cutaway coat, with a high-standing collar and pointed lapels. Cut square across at the waistline, the coat's skirt sloped into tails. A cambric ruffle showed from the cuff of the coat sleeves. Underneath that he wore a shorter cutaway blood-red waistcoat with the front extending downward in two V-shaped points. About his neck he wore a jabot, the double frill of silk spilling as white as snow from the front of his vest. He wore tight black satin breeches that extended to just below the kneecap, and long white silk stockings. About his waist was tied a blue-and-white silk apron boasting gold fringe, on the front of which was embroidered the symbol of the Freemasons—the eye in the pyramid. On his head was a powdered wig, the pigtail bound with a red ribbon, and a tricorn hat. On his feet were elaborate diamond buckles that could support a small town for a year. In one hand he carried a cane with a large amber knob and a tasseled cord. All in all, Sinjon was quite the clothes horse—circa 1776.
    Esher