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"Can you confirm that Aeshma has withdrawn from the mayoral race?"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

"Good gravy. You're soaked through. Is someone chasing you?"

"Um. I'll explain in a minute. What's happened with the election."

I wonder just how far out of the loop Am-Chau is.

"Well, after Aeshma started cutting folks in twain, things got a bit out of hand. Then Aeshma took off leaving only a few harmless zombies behind. I heard something about him going to Washington, but that's all I know."

I pour a large glass of wine for Am-Chau. Edward waves me off, and wanders off to dry herself before the fire.

"Now you know as much as I do. Knut and I were all ready to help, but we weren't needed." I take another sip. "So, what happened to you?"

The kitchen television drones while I clean the countertops and mop the floor. The latest batch of hybrid peppers exploded yet again, leaving me with a huge mess to clean up.

"…The category is The Occult, and here is your jeopardy answer…Three knocks, or the sudden appearance of sparrows are referred to as these."

A sound of disgust issues from the TV.

"We would like to remind our viewers at home to not speak the jeopardy answers out loud."

Damn. Wifey has left on the interaction function. Again. No doubt while she was watching Firefly last night. Again.

I use my best Connery voice. "Sh'oory Alex."

I hit the power button on the set, ignoring the hostile stare of the contestant from Des Moines. Turning back to my work, I almost don't notice that the patio door is open fractionally. Almost. Holding the mop in a defensive manner, I approach the door. On the floor are tufts of blue fur and a trail of cookie crumbs.

That's Odd.

I follow the furry ginger-spoor through the kitchen. From there it leads down the hall and into the library. Cautiously, I enter.

Edging into the darkened room, I hear what can only be described as sucking and cracking noises coming from behind the oxblood leather chair. The trail of hairy crumbs seems to lead here. I raise the mop in my right hand, and pull out the chair with my left.

Something moves.

I lash out, but at the last second I stay my mop. There, bathed in the pale light from the hall, was Ginger-Cthulhu! In its tentacle-shrouded mouth, it chewed noisily on what appeared to be a furry blue hand. The creature was bloated and larger than it had been, no doubt from eating whatever that blue thing was. Moments passed, me staring at it, it staring at me. Abruptly, its slimy voice spoke in my mind, and I could feel it take control of my very body. It was more than just a cookie treat now. It was much stronger.

~WhOm Is ThE MasTer NoW!~

I manage to gasp, "I thought you were eaten at the press conference..."

It belches. ~HaRdLY. THe GoOgiLy-EyEd FreAk biT oFF moRe ThAn it CoUld CheW. NOw thEn. CthUlhU's MiNiOnS ArE aLL GoNe. MaKe MoRe Or CtHulHu WiLL feAsT oN yOuR DelicIouS BrAinS!~

I manage to speak, finding my tongue thick, "No can do. All out of ectoplasm-dough."

The cookie-fiend rifled through my mind, seeking the truth of the matter. A wheeze escapes it, as it realizes that it is the last of its kind.

~CtHuLhU iS NoT HaPpY hErE. CtHulhU WaNts To Go BaCK tO hIs CiTy UnDeR tHe waVes. YoU WiLL TaKe CtHuLHu HoME tO Ry'LeH, WheRe YoU wiLL sPenD eTerNiTY tEnDiNg To CthULHu's nEEdS.~

Terror chokes me, as it assails me with awful images of death, chaos, and despair. Strangely enough, most of the images have to do with dismembered Keebler elves.

"…And just…where…is this Ry'leh?"

~tweNTy minUteS froM banGOr ... acTuaLly, ctHUlHu haS an eXceLLent viEw oF stePhen kINg's gARAge...~

Figures.

* * * *

The taxi drive is uneventful, if a little long. The maddening visions that Cthulhu has been sharing with me, have left me wide-eyed and just a little anxious. The only insight I have from the forced mind-meld is that the cookie-fiend is depressed by the loss of its fellow elder-treats, and that I am to be punished for my impudence. The cabby interrupts my wonderings.

"Here we are. Bangor Marina. That'll be…Twenty-three hundred dollars and fifty-five cents. How you plan on payin'…Cash, cheque or card?"

Chthulhu looks at me expectantly. I shrug. Via our link it realizes that I don't have my wallet. It rolls its eyes. Staring at the driver, Cthulhu waves its long, cookie-claws back and forth.

~YoU DoN’t WaNT To ChaRGe ThE HuMaN aND ThE InCrEdiBly PoWeRFuL...AnD TaSty...ELdEr GoD~

The cabbie's eyes glaze over. "I don't want to charge the human and the incredibly powerful, and tasty, elder god."

~YoU wAnT to PaY FoR ThE tRiP YoUrSeLF AnD YoU WaNT Us to HavE a NiCe DaY~

"I'll pay for the trip myself. Have a nice day."

We exit the cab and it zooms off. Cthulhu snorts.

~MiDiChLoriAns iNdEed… COme HuMan. We MuST FiND paSSaGe OuT to SeA.~

We cross the road to the marina. Cthulhu has relaxed its control over me, but I know that should it want to, it could tighten the proverbial reigns any time. The cookie does his mind trick on the security at the gates and we enter unhindered.

Everywhere we look there are expensive boats. I pick a modest 40-footer, but the ginger-god shakes its squid-like head. It points at a flashy 80-footer with chrome and brass everywhere.

~CtHuLHU WaNts ThiS oNe. It Is ShInY.~

I groan as I note the name of the yacht, the Minnow II. It is surprisingly easy to steal the vessel. It takes me a few minutes to figure out the controls and get a feel for it, but soon we are on our way…to my doom.

* * * *

The ginger-god lays out in a deckchair, browning its cookie-dough skin. I still feel its presence in my mind, so I don't even consider doing anything remotely rebellious.

~StoP HuMan. We ArE HeRe.~

It all but jumps from the deckchair, then runs to the side of the boat. It peers down at the water, dark eyes glittering.

~ThiS Is WhErE CtHuLU GeTs Off.~

Without further word, the ginger-god jumps ship. It lands in the water with a modest splash, then bobs to the surface. I watch as pieces of the cookie begin to slough off. Cthulhu looks surprised and more than a little perturbed as it softens in the briny water. Slowly it begins to sink, its soggy body being torn apart by the lapping waves. Before it has completely washed away, I hear its final, desperate words.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

I give a sigh of relief and slump down on the deck

"Is good enough for me."