I place two recently extracted vampire ribs into my bone box for use a little later on. However, I have another task that needs my attention at the moment. I journey out to the strip mall and into the sewers. With a simple incantation I send forth a toxic green cloud through the tunnels and listen for the squeaks that erupt and the sudden silence that follows as the cloud passes. A second red cloud passes over the little rodent corpses and and army of spies is born. I send them forth to every part of the city to extend my vision through their lifeless red eyes.

On the way back to the ex-Sears, I pull out my handy crystal ball and start taking a look through my spies. Ah, the gremlins have failed to create havoc. Pity, but gremlins aren't know for being reliable. I shall have to make them pay for their failure, but that can wait a little while.

I find the head vampire resting in her bed, healing from our talk.

"Wakey, wakey."

She turns and pops an eye open. "What do you want now?"

Not a bit of fear in her voice, I must be losing my touch. I make a quick resolution to be more vicious in the upcoming year. "At the first nightfall after you've healed, you will go this 'Milo's' find out who was respon...No, let's just keep it simple. You will go there with what's left of your minions and kill everything that moves."

I pull a gold dagger out from my bag and toss it onto the bed. "For the troll. One prick with that blade and he'll be weak as a kitten for a very long time."

As I leave, I hear a familiar voice. "Vampires aren't very dependable."

"Being critical of my decisions are you? I've been away from you for too long Deimos. If the vampires fail, then they fail, but I've only wasted their undead lives, not my time." I see my shapeshifting minion is currently wearing the guise of a very average looking man, the sort of look that never gets noticed.

"I'm sorry master, of course you are correct."

"That's better. Now let's go out and get a bite to eat while you tell me what has transpired while I've been expired."

I leave messages for Jilli and Aimee before heading downstairs to a late breakfast. Mrs. Thorne is royally pissed off. Her cats are going mad, and have already knocked over a vase, a bong, and a Tiffany lamp.

"What's with them? "I ask, putting on some oatmeal to boil.

"They sense something in the wall," she answers grimly.

I am horrified. This house seems perfectly clean and well built. Bugs? Rats? What is it that has the cats in an uproar?

"Surely they can keep most vermin away?"

"Oh, yes. Anything of an ordinary nature doesn't stand a chance here. She stalks over to the far kitchen wall and knocks twice. A cupboard appears - a bright red, padlocked cupboard. Mrs. Thorne grabs the lock for a minute so it can recognize her. After a second or two, it gives a hoot of recognition and snuggles into her pocket. Cute.

I decide to get out of the way, so I finish my oatmeal quickly, and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Bye-bye, dear," Mrs. Thorne calls after me. "Don't worry about the creatures. I"ll fix them." She's pulled a number of bottles and phials out of the cupboard, as well as a mortar, pestle, blender, rice cooker pentagram, and crystal ball. Either we're having an excellent Indian cookup tonight, or she's about to lay an anti-vermin spell.

Maybe I should refresh my memory on charms and curses. I have a feeling they might come in handy.

The dragon heaves its carcass up and away.

The newcomer's presence is too loud here for me to get a precise fix on. But he knows where I am.

This is my job. I have nothing else to do. The balance needs to be shifted.

I lay my pack down on the rough ground, and stretch out, using it as a pillow.

I've slept in more uncomfortable places.

After getting caught up with events via my longtime minion Deimos, I'm ready to commit some evil. As it so happens I just reading the latest issue of 'Evil Weekly' a couple of days ago and ordered some wonderfully evil artifacts.

Deimos and I travel into the Old Quarter to the park over the swallowed remains of the strip mall where my lair resides. Here the clouds are darkest and lighting rages in the sky, but aside form the weather the park is distastefully pleasent. Fortuately, that situation will soon be rectified.

A FedEx truck pulls up and the driver brings out a small box for me to sign for. I gladly sign and the driver quickly retreats to his truck and speeds away. Meanwhile, I greedily open the cardboard to reveal an iron box. Inside is a little statue of Cthulhu along with a set of instructions. Damn, it needs a human sacrifice and here I just let that driver go away.

"Looks like we need a sacrifice, you know, they could just do that at the factory it's not like it's expensive."

"Not a problem boss." Deimos points to an individual jogging in our direction.

"Looks like jogging isn't going to be so healty today. I think you know what to do Deimos."

A couple of hours later, the required ritual is complete and a wonderfully dark and forboding temple to Cthulhu has been gated into the park. As a nice touch it gated in complete with a starter set of acolytes and a few are already dressed up nicely in suits and heading out to neighborhoods with literature to recruit more cultists. Even better, it came with the blight feature and the trees near the temple already turning black and twisted. This is nice work, I'm no longer angry that they didn't pre-sacrifice the artifact.

"Looks good boss" comments Deimos. "Can it blight the whole city?"

I consult the manual again. "Looks like it as long as enough cultists are recruited."

"What now boss?"

"Back to the lair, there's much more to do."

Over breakfast, I feel my hackles rise.

"Did you feel that?" I say aloud. Aimee shrugs, but Hector is glaring wildly about, every hair on his body standing up. That, in itself, is impressive.

"The balance?" Hector hazards.

"Yes. It's being tipped again. And I think I know who's doing it..." I think back to the Infernal Spam I received. Damn it. You'd think dropping a mountain on a guy would do the trick.

I get up and head for the television, switching it on. Judge Hatchett rails at some poor schmoe. I grab the remote and punch in a long series of numbers, a digital invocation.

Aeshma. My teeth grind.

But I can't make out where he is. It's dark, it's dusty...

He glances my way and smiles.

"Miracleman. How are you old friend?"

"Been learning from the Villains Cliches for Dummies? 'Old friend' indeed. What are you doing here?"

"After my lengthy repose in the middle of a MOUNTAIN, you mean? Just passing through. Nice town. I think I'll destroy it, rend asunder the fabric of space/time and KICK YOUR DAMNED ASS!!" He's frothing at the mouth by the end of the last sentence.

I smirk. He hates it when I smirk. "Such vulgar language, Aeshma, especially from someone so advanced in the Orders." He snarls and I laugh.

"Well, this being here and now," I say "I suppose I should respond in kind. So...bring it, bitch. You got nothin'."

As he lunges for the screen, I mutter a small incantation and switch the channel. Aeshma finds himself in the middle of a "Green Acres" marathon.

"I'll get you for this!" he screams.

"Bite me." And I turn off the TV. He'll be back...this little trick won't hold him but a few minutes. I head for my cabinet to gather some tools and prepare.

What the hell is that smell? I know for a fact that there is no carcass processing plant anywhere near this area. Gods, it's like a hundred dogfood factories.

The reek passes by like an evil cloud, leaving only a hideous memory behind. That is the smell of evil, and not the kind that I like, either.

That's it. Now I'm pissed off. I grab a few dozen Instagolem, my handy curse kit and head over to Milo's. Someone there might have information, or at least be interested in forming an angry mob. I wonder if they'll have weapons handy.

Weapon. Yes. I scrawl a message, form a paper airplane and let fly. The plane goes straight up for about 100 feet before plummeting back to earth far away. Hmmm. I wonder what ita is up to.

Achmed, lovely tolerant creature that he is, brings the coffee back to the bedroom for me. Bob's lounging around trying to look impressive, and he doesn't appreciate being snickered at by Achmed.

"Ignore him," I say, kicking Bob in hte ankle. "What do you mean we've got another evil overlord wannabe with delusions of grandeur wandering around?"

"Well, I didn't hang around for the whole spiel. Once I saw him dust the mambo class--"

"What! The whole class? But they were good!"

"'Fraid so. The guy's got no appreciation for art."

"Oh, that's going too far. If he wanted to take over hte vampires and stalk around trying to look scary, well and good, but to hit the Dead Can Dance Troupe! This is going to get ugly."

I make my way to Milo's after a day of fruitless searching. I don't know what I'm looking for, really, only that I keep walking into walls and stumbling off of curbs. Something's not right.

There's no one here except a talking penguin wiping off glasses behind the bar.

"DX here?"

The penguin jerks his thumb towards the upstairs, then mimes his head settling into a pillow.

"Sleeping? Oh. I can wait." I settle into a booth, and Zar lies down across my feet.

The penguin looks pointedly at the clock.

"Yeah, it sure is late. Can I get a pint while I'm waiting?"

The penguin sets down the glass and points at the door.

"Hey, look. I won't be any trouble. I'll sit here quietly and drink my beer and pet my dog."

The penguin looks confused.

"Does that jukebox have any Johnny Cash?"

Random impressions drift through my feverish dreams, coming from the crystal. I react to some: Green Acres proves that Miracleman is evil; it's lucky Johnny Cash remains unplayed; stranger still is a mambo troupe dissolving into a cloud of dust.

The last one I put down as impossible, a combination of fevered dreams and the budding telepathic link with the house. That's proceding apace, as it tries to take care of me.

I dream again, things the house is telling me; how it died, where it lived, how it moves, how it escapes total extinction on sunny days, how it knows Milo's (the building), how it can take me anywhere I like, how it hates that I used Miracleman's money to pay for it.

I really must get around to shipping in some cabbage leaves from home.

Dammit! The streets are nearly deserted, and the penguin is turning off the lights at Milo's. Memo to self: buy a watch, and actually look at it from time to time.

I jog to the door and jump inside before the bird can draw the bolt.

He shakes his head.

"One glass of merlot, and I'm outta here." I press a gold coin to his flipper.

There's no one else here but a large, um, golem drinking a pint and rubbing the area between his feet. At least, I think he's a golem. I feel a momentary stab of guilt over my recent experiments. I shake it off. Instagolem (TM) is just a marketing name, it has nothing to do with the real thing, if this is what I'm looking at. I'm not close enough to check for writing inside the mouth, but he couldn't possibly drink beer with a maw full of paper.

I walk over, trying to look friendly and professional. Given that I have a pack full of weapons and am out of breath, this is difficult, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask.

"It's a free country." His voice is like rockslide. His brow ridges come together with a clink. "Is it?" He seems genuinely puzzled.

"It was free when I got here, but lately I'm wondering." The penguin brings my merlot. The giant and I toast. Now that I'm close, I see that he's got some sort of spectral being with him. A guardian? A haunting? I don't smell evil here, just dust and shale.

"What brings you to Blood?"

The searching look comes back. "I'm not sure. I have something to do. Something to find. I must find. . . her."

The penguin is starting to get really annoyed. He makes shooing gestures. If he was capable of making a fist, he would do so.

I refrain from shrugging. How would a penguin bounce a human, even a short human, never mind a stone giant? Rather than cause trouble, I tip the bird another gold spot and grab my coat.

"I have no where to go." The giant seems very depressed.

Sigh. This is probably an incredibly stupid move, but. . .

"Listen, I live at a boarding house. Mrs. Thorne would be happy to have you stay for a day or two." Or maybe she can tell if you're trouble or not, I add to myself.

He thinks a moment. "Does she take pets?"

"Oh, sure. As long as he doesn't chase cats." What on earth is accompanying this guy? Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The penguin follows us to the door and flips the latch before we've cleared the porch. The giant doesn't make any effort toward conversation. Just as well. I have to think of what I'll tell Mrs. Thorne when we get home.