(Just sitting here, my mouth open a little, smiling and reading.That was lovely)

Finding a parking spot at Evilcon is never easy, everybody parks across the lines. I pull the Matador wagon into a place between a sleek red dart of a spaceship and a menacing black spiky spaceship before a hovercraft can take it.

"Big crowd this year." Observes Hans.

"All the better for the vendor booth. I really feel good about moving some merchandise this year." I tell Hans as I pull out the Evilcon badges. Like usual they have the name in big bold text with the alignment below in less big bold text. I hand Hans his badge.

"Chaotic neutral" Hans reads off the badges. "Seems fair."

"Good for business too. Nobody trusts the evil vendors and nobody thinks the good vendors are going to sell anything worthwhile at Evilcon. Neutral vendors are where it's at and these guys practically sell themselves." I gesture to the back seat where two robots are seated. They look like a couple of guys in bulky chrome suits.

Hans looks back at the robots. "Aren't there some legal issues with the Cylons?"

"Cy...what?" I ask.

"Cylons. You based them off the TV show right?"

I look back at the robots and look at me with their oscillating red dots. "No idea what you're talking about Hans. My 800 series was based on a movie, these guys are originals."

"But...they look..." stammers Hans.

"Like winners." I finish his sentence for him. "I mean what is the biggest problem that any evil genius overlord has to deal with?"

"Heroes?" guesses Hans.

"Nope." I reply wisely. "It's inadequate minions. The number one reason for overlord failure according to World Domination Daily. The other good thing about selling robotic minions is that we don't have to set up the booth." I turn back to the back seat. "OK guys, set up our booth on spot 417."

"By your command." Reply the robotic minions in unison as they exit the Matador. Hans and I also exit the wagon and take in the impressive vehicles around us as the robots extract the booth components from the back of the wagon.

I look from the shiny nearby vehicles back to my Matador. Yes, it is fusion powered, but an old AMC doesn't quite look as impressive as the spaceships, hovercraft, airships, and airplanes around it. Maybe I'll get the Matador repainted before the next Evilcon.

It had been one of those days. I'd spent much of it at the con, lugging far too much stuff around in my backpack while walking the exhibition hall. Now I was stuck on the Roubidoux Street trolley next to some moron with an exhibitor's badge who wanted to know if there were any good places to eat in Sang Sacre. All I wanted to do was go to the bar, pour myself a Yeungling, and maybe stick my feet in a bucket of ice water.

I got off at Van Dyke Park, and cut through the park towards Macunado and the bar. As I rounded the bandstand I saw flashing lights ahead, and a second later realized that they were attached to the ambulance parked in front of the bar.

Inside I saw the EMTs working on a guy. Phred was nearby talking to Ragman from the Watch, so that's where I headed.

"What happened?"

"Some old man from the con," said Ragman. "Looks like his heart gave out."

"Yeah," said Phred. "You might know him. The ribbon on his badge says he's some sort of honored guest. Asa... something."

"Wait... Asa Violet?" I looked closer at the guy on the floor.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Damn." Yup, it was him.

"You know him then?" asked Ragman.

"Not personally, but I was a fan. Asa Violet was a wizard, an alchemist, an author... Spell books, histories, fiction, you name it. He was truly a renaissance wizard. He wrote a bunch of books on alchemy—Principia Alchemica, The Sceptical Alchymist, The Alchemical History of a Candle, Arsenic and Gold Trace, Romancing the Philosopher's Stone... It's a great loss."

"Don't you mean Romancing the Sorcerer's Stone?" asked Phred.

"Hollywood changed the title. God knows why." I reached into my backpack and pulled out my well-thumbed copy of The Golden Book of Alchemical Experiments. "I got this when I was a kid. I was hoping to get him to autograph it."

I sighed and put the book back into my pack. Then I looked around. "Hey, Phred?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Where's the bird?"

---

You know what's weird? For all that's happened in Milo's over the years, we'd never had a customer die before. So it goes...

Meanwhile, back on a rooftop in Fong Sai Square:

What young Wolfhunter was so eager to show us were a pair of trails in the roofing gravel leading towards the wall overlooking the alley. A pair of boot heels being dragged in that direction could've made them. Of course they might just as easily be the skid marks of a gargoyle that failed to stick the landing. There were also some spatters of blood on both the wall and one of the standpipes nearby, samples of which Phissure dutifully scraped into evidence bags. Gargoyles don't bleed.

And that was pretty much that for the crime scene. We looked around the roof a little while longer, but didn't turn up anything useful, unless assorted bird droppings and a handful of dead pigeons could be considered useful. By that time it was getting dark, so we figured it was time to head back to the Yard. I tried that promising looking access door to the internal staircase, but it turned out to be locked tight, which meant negotiating the Erector Set fire escape again. I eased into position at the end of the line and took a final look around while the others headed down, mostly so I didn't have to descend until the heavyweights had made it down to the street. Last thing I wanted to be was the straw that snapped the corroded retaining bolts out of the wall.

Truth is there wasn't all that much to look at, even from up there. The CTZ skyline to the south was impressive, especially as the lights started flickering on, as were some of the taller buildings over in Blackwood, but mostly there were just other rooftops. So, if it wasn't the view, just what was our young penedhel doing up here, and why had it killed him? I made some mental notes for later follow up as I headed for the ladder.

I wander down to the farmers' market, it being that time of year. I'm looking for a bit of fresh wolfsbane, some elfwinnow, a sprig of newt parsley, and some tomatoes. Mind you, not all for the same thing. And really, what I need most is some friendly faces to talk to. The atmosphere at Milo's is a bit off, though whether from the old wizard dying in it, or from something else disturbing the peace, I cannot put my finger on it.

Ok.

Weird.

I can't even bring myself to ask for the items I'm after, when they are lying out in the open. But I'm itching to surreptitiously make off with tomatoes. I'm a respectable petty vengence demon, not a thief. What in tarnation is going on?

Walking out into the middle of the square, I lean back against a birch tree. Sensing down its roots into the soil below, up through its leaves into the atmosphere, I feel... I feel an absence. There is something missing. It's like the city has stopped dancing.

Chocolate.

The entire city managed to celebrate Hallowe'en. With. No. Chocolate.

I knew there was something missing. And apparently I'm the only one who has noticed it. But it took me a while. I even made it through PMS without putting a name to the problem. Kept eating Pringles and guzzling Kamikazes like they were a Blue Light Special, and never getting quite satisfied. It was like bedding a cabana boy who thought that just being cute and using a tongue any old way without listening to what the moans meant would get the job done.

I need more.

And I can't do this alone.

So, going over to sound out Capt. Charpe at the Watch was a bust. He's up to his eyeballs in murders. Don't suppose my sudden rash of kleptomania and the missing chocolate could be related? Nah. I can't imagine what sort of plot would tangle all that up together, even if Mayor Aeshma were still about and up to his old tricks.

From my vantagepoint on the top floor of city hall, I look over the city in bitter disappointment.

"I am bitterly disappointed Diemos".

My longtime assistant looks past me to see the city.

"The city looks normal to me. What is wrong? Your loyal servent is prepared to fix any..." He starts

I stop him with a gesture. "That is exactly the problem idiot. It has been a month since my portal to the demonic realm of Candithiland has been opened and... nothing. Where is the death and destruction?"

My minion creeps closer to the window. "May I ask a question sir?"

"Very well." I say, as I continue to look for signs of something. There must be some destruction, it will take time for demons to find the portal on the other side, but it shouldn't take this much time.

"Why do you want to destroy the city now?" He asks.

"I thought it would be obvious, I have decided to not run for reelection. I feel my talents would be best served on a larger stage." I continue to look out at the peaceful looking city. "Diemos, is the portal still open? Did some foolish hero enter the portal and claim the sigil stone keeping it open?"

"The portal to Candyland sir?" He asks.

"Yes that port...Wait. No, the portal to Candithiland. Tell me you misspoke."

Diemos consults some electronic gadget. "Um.... sir. The conjuration department is saying they got a request for Candyland, there must have been a typo somewhere."

"Why. Am. I. Surrounded. By. Idiots!!" I pound my fist into the glass adding a dose of magic for good measure. The glass explodes, showering the empty street below in shards.

Diemos shuffles his feet and says in a small voice. "Um... sir, if it helps any, chocolate gnomes have stolen all of the city's chocolate, and sugar imps have broken into many houses. They have stolen loads of candy and sugar."

"Just leave me!" I yell at my worthless servant. God, I need a vacation.

Whoa.

That was an unpleasant shopping experience.

Apparently some forms of chocolate, mainly Brach's, have begun to filter into the city again. Talk about your mean streets. I don't know what was worse - the mobbing to get the choccies, or the rioting when it became obvious that only the cheap crap was available. That's a mess I don't envy Captain Charpe and the Watch for having to clean up.

This really smacks of the Mayor's work, but it really isn't up to snuff, is it? The old boy is off his game. I get an idea, but I'm going to have to clear it with the home office.

"Computer, bring up surveillance video for the 3rd floor pantry, midnight to five a.m. Set playback 60x normal speed." I command the computer. Then I sit back and watch on the OLED screen.

There! At 2:38 a.m. the pantry door opens. Only thing is, there's nobody there opening it. Hmmm.

"Shift to thermal, 2:37 a.m to 2:38 a.m. playback one tenth normal speed." I tell the computer. No distinct image is resolved, but there is a small increase in heat in a localized area. Whatever it is, it approaches the pantry right before the door opens. Bingo.

"Now inspect each frame from 2:37 a.m. to 2:38 a.m. in the visual spectrum. Isolate the frames that show significant variance from baseline." The camera records at 2400 frames per second giving the computer 144,000 frames to find something. It takes about a second for the computer to finish its search. Sure enough, something is fading in and out of detection faster than the human eye can discern. Nothing is ever completely invisible.

"Playback frames with variance only, synchronize to half normal speed." There it is, some sort of chubby figure almost three feet in height. That's the bastard that stole my stash of Hersey's special dark. He's dressed in knickerbockers, buckled boots, shirt, suspenders, and a little pointed hat.

"Cross reference the image with all databases, find out what that thing is." I instruct. The computer makes the identification in moments. Chocolate Gnome, and according to the database where there's one, there are bound to be a lot more. Something is going to have to be done, I want my chocolate back dammit.