"What about the election?" Asks Deimos.

"I'll have to withdraw. I'll have my media consultant explain to the press."

"You killed him last week."

I look around and spot one my zombies shambling around with a box of buttons. "You. Address the press, tell them I'm withdrawing from the race."

Some reporters overhear me and begin swarming around my zombie media consultant as I explain that all questions must be routed through him.

"Can you confirm that Aeshma has withdrawn from the mayoral race?"

"Braaaaaiiiiiiins."

"Was the beheading of his opponent during the debate a planned move?"

"Braaaaiiiiiiiins."

I turn away from the press conference and head for the back door with my minion.

"What about Miracleman?" Asks my minion.

"I just cast a curse that will doom him." I explain as I walk by one of many 'Miracleman for Mayor' posters that have suddenly appeared. We climb into my shiny new black Hummer H2 with Deimos taking the driver's seat.

As we pass the 'Now leaving Sang Sacre' sign my minion speaks up. "You going to miss this place boss?"

"Nah. I never liked this place."

"C'mon, just ascend already," mutters Phred.

snerk

"Well," I say, watching the feathers fly. "This is new. Old-fashioned politics."

"I knew I loved this city!" Bob yells. "Fried chicken tonight. Let's go collect the corpse! Corpses, you like gingerbread."

"Bob, I really think etiquette frowns on cooking and eating the bodies of defeated political candidates."

"Yeah, sure, in this country, but, come on, be cosmopolitan. Get Miss Manners on the line, either of them, I'm sure they'll agree."

Knut and I exchange glances.

"Well," he says, finally. "That was quick."

"Yeah. I guess we don't have to disguise ourselves as our own evil twins and infiltrate Aeshma's campaign, or anything.

"You speak the truth. No need for any derring-do."

"Yeah, great. I guess we can return the black hair dye to the store."

"Oh? Oh, yes. Absolutely." Knut looks a little nonplussed. "I suppose there is nought left but to retire and prepare for another day."

"Or we could get a drink and play some darts."

"Or that."

I watch the kitchen TV as I clean the counters and put away the mixer. Normally I'm not one to be interested in politics...but I have cookies running for office.

Aeshma's new press secretary is introduced to the waiting throng. Something seems a little off about the guy. People are waving their hands at the air in front of them when he passes. He must be French.

I listen as the fellow takes questions.

"Can you confirm that Aeshma has withdrawn from the mayoral race?"

"Braaaaaiiiiiiins."

"Was the beheading of his opponent during the debate a planned move?"

"Braaaaiiiiiiiins."

Something distracts me from the one-track press secretary. Behind him, the curtain is moving about violently. I watch as dozens of Elder cookies slip under the curtain. All sport viscious bite wounds. My latest creation, Ginger-Cthulhu waves its tentacles around in fear whilst a furry, blue paw grabs him and pulls him back behind the curtain.

Hrmmph.

I call out to my wife, who at this very moment, is upstairs being beaten and massaged by group of Russian Gypsy women.

"Honey! Do we have any more ectoplasm left?"

Between grunts and groans of pleasure, her reply is negative.

Damn! With no chance of winning the election, I turn off the TV in disgust.

Knut has managed to hoist the lab table and other effects above his head with no ill-effects. Being made of rock must be great at times.

"Thanks for helping me move, Knut."

"Glad to, Penny. If I can't fight evil, I can at least assist the good - or a friend. Why Dalrymple?"

"I just fell in love with the neighborhood - British roots and all that."

"The Instagolems (TM) must be doing well."

"Let's just say I'll have no problem making the mortage. Did I mention the garden? And the greenhouse? And the river? It's really cool. I'm going to have a housewarming in a week or so."

"You'll have to invite Aimee and Miracleman. Come to think of it, a lot of people have dropped out of sight recently."

We walk in silence for a bit.

"Post-election malaise?"

"That's probably it." Knut doesn't sound convinced. "Say, you did mention our arrangement to Mrs. Thorne?"

"Absolutely. The rent is paid up for the next two months. It will be your own Fortress of Virtue, or whatever you want to call it. I'm sure you'll come up with something good."

It takes Knut all of five minutes to arrange my stuff. I am definitely going to have to go shopping soom. I'll need flower seeds, bedding plants, lab supplies, furniture. Ugh. I'll think about it later.

"Do you want to hang out for a while, Knut?"

"Some other time. I think I'll go patrol a bit."

"Patrol?"

Knut shrugs modestly.

"It's what we Do-Gooders do."

Nothing is worse than a 180-something-year-old vampire pouting. Big overgrown toddler. "But I want to!"

"Bob, it's cold outside."

"Of course it's cold, you daft woman, it snowed today! Do you know how often it snows in Sang Sacre?"

"As often as the weather spells want it to."

Bob banged his head against the wall. "You have no romance in your soul. You get Achmed to write the mushy parts, and you just write the blood and guts and sex parts, right?"

"Do not! I like mush as much as the next person--other than you, of course. You would know mushiness if you stood in a bowl of it."

Oh ... crap. He's giving me the grin and the lowered-eyes-through-the-hair-falling-over-the-forehead. Yep, there goes the accent. "Not what you said the night I found you down by the river, and I gave you that yellow rose and asked if I could dance with you."

I close my eyes. "Valentine's Day was last week, Bob. And, much to my chagrin, you don't need to go the poetry route anymore with me."

"Is that why you're blushing?"

Must be calm. Must not dissolve in a puddle of sighing, eyelash-batting goo. "Anyway, that's not the point. It's cold out, and I'd only fall on my butt and get wet and colder--"

And now there are fingers on my chin and I can't help myself, I open my eyes. And the snarky grin has turned into a sweet smile. "I won't let you fall."

Bugger. Looks like we're going ice skating.

The mob — the crowd turned into a mob frighteningly easily with Edward's skilled assistance — are shoving and pushing thier way along a narrow and icy street, heading for the town hall.

I think there might be trouble, so I slip into a convenient alleyway, dragging Edward with me. I'll try and get home — I want to watch television soon — but how I'll find my way in a place I don't know, that's covered with snow,

"Without asking a ho..." Edward sings.

"Shut up, you."

Having finished painting an entire room and setting up a bookshelf, I feel extremely entitled to a little break. I open a bottle of wine and pour myself a healthy glassful.

What a beautiful night! Huge flakes of snow is slowly falling, and the night feels still and mild, except for the distant sound of what I choose to believe is merry making.

I see a form racing towards me. A jogger? Perhaps she's on her way to the skating rink. Maybe there's a bonfire going on somewhere. The woman stops for a moment and looks rapidly from right to left. Hey, I know her.

"Am-Chau? Is that you?"

"Penny! Is it really you?"

"Penny!" Edward and I seem to agree, so it probably is.

"I'm glad to see you. What's going on with the election? I haven't been able to see a news, and sorry if I'm talking too much, Penny. It's all a bit worrying."