Songs of Love & Death by George R. R. Martin, Gardner Dozois Page B

guided her inside, made her put on pajamas, tucked a cup of tea in her hands, and apologized.
    “I have to get back to work. I want to tell the DA about this. We’ll get thoseguys. We won’t let anything like this happen again.”
    Well, that wasn’t nearly as romantic as him rushing to the police station to tend to her emotional wounds. But Dorian was a very dedicated assistant DA. She didn’t feel quite right complaining.
    “But… but I’m not sure I want to be alone right now.”
    He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t an emergency. Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”
    And there he went, saving the city again. She sighed.
    She couldn’t sleep, so she made another cup of tea and sat in a chair by the bedroom window. She half expected to see a shadowed figure running across the rooftops, pausing to strike a heroic pose against a backdrop of city lights. She fell asleep, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the window, dreaming strange dreams, until one of her roommates came home, nudged her awake, and put her to bed.
    H ER PHONE RANG early. She had to scramble for it; it was still in the pocket of her jeans, on the floor somewhere.
    “Hello?”
    “Have you seen the news? Was that really you? Are you okay?”
    “Otto?”
    “Charlotte, are you all right?”
    Muzzy-headed, she rubbed her face. Hadn’t it all been a dream? “Wait a minute. What? How did you—I mean, yeah, I’m okay. How did you hear about what happened?” It was the only conceivable reason Otto would be calling this early in the morning.
    “It’s all over the news, hon,” he said. “They’ve been calling the theater. You’re a genius, Charlotte.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “As publicity stunts go, this is over the top. I love it.”
    “But it wasn’t—”
    “I know. I’m teasing. You’re really all right?”
    “I—I think so.”
    “I know it’s opening night, but if you’re not up to coming out, don’t sweat it.”
    Opening night. Almost as terrifying as dangling off a roof. “I’ll be there, I think. I gotta go.”
    She clicked him off and went to the computer, to find two roommates already there, ogling over her. And Otto was right, the story was everywhere.Someone had gotten a cell phone picture of the guy in the mask—and Charlotte, looking flustered and windblown. It was all fairly dramatic. The more sedate Web sites had facts and figures, what had been stolen—a shipment of loose diamonds—and what the police knew, sparsely delivered news. Including Charlotte’s name, her association with the theater, and her profession—playwright. There it was in the news; it had to be true, right?
    Her phone rang three times in five minutes, friends wanting to know if she was okay,
really
okay. She put them off as quickly as she could, which probably convinced them that she really wasn’t all right. They’d call again in an hour.
    Then Dorian called. “Honey, are you okay?”
    “I think so. Hey, do you have time for breakfast or lunch or something?” Anything?
    “Well, not really, I’m afraid. I talked the DA into giving me the case. At least, when there is a case, I’ll get it. Isn’t that great? I have to get to the precinct and find out what they’re doing. They’d better not screw this up. This could make my career.”
    I almost died
, she wanted to mew. Her phone beeped to tell her of another incoming call. She checked—it was her mother this time. She canceled the call. “But you’ll be there tonight, won’t you?” she said to Dorian.
    “Tonight?”
    “The play, opening night.” It must have seemed like such a small thing to him.
    “Oh, right. Of course I’ll be there. I’ll meet you at the theater.”
    “And don’t forget about the party afterward. Otto rented out Napoli’s.”
    “Of course I’ll be there.”
    After Dorian hung up, the phone rang again, a reporter this time. She told the woman to call the police.