She takes my hand in the reflexive way they all do and we start the dance. Bystanders and dancers melt away as we follow the steps of an ancient dance from another time and place. Her clothing transforms into something more to my taste, a long formal dress dark as the heart of night. Shadows gather around us as the crowd begins to fade.

For the bystanders part, they see a woman dressed in black go limp in my arms, perhaps from too much to drink. For us, we continue to dance alone in the shadow, but another crowd will be joining us soon.

He wields the power of death and decay, but he is not Death. Death would have better fashion sense.

I try to yell for Bob, for anyone, but I'm beyond using what breath is left to me for anything other than life. I don't think that's going to be a problem much longer.

Back when I went by a name I can't even spell anymore, my mother would whisper to me, "Robbie, m'love, beware the dark man on the white horse. It's Death, come lookin'."

Death, when he came for me, walked on his own two feet. Maybe that's why I didn't realize who he was before it was too late. Since then, I've realized Death travels how he will. Sometimes he travels in me.

I don't know if what I smell tonight is Death Itself or someone usurping the power, but the stench is the same. And this is my town as much as anyone who draws breath, and Death does not play capriciously in my town.

I don't recognize the woman on the other side of the room who is being propped by her friends as she recuperates from something. I'd think it was too much dancing and singing and all the rest but for the faint scent that still drifts my way. I think she'll be all right. There are stronger traces of the smell, if I can just find--

No. No.

It's not her time. I know these things sometimes, and I know that she gets another 41 years, 8 months and 12 days. It's not tonight. So, have at thee, My Lord Imposter. You're not feeding any longer here tonight.

Spectral dancers surround us as the dead have joined.....oh hell. The dead and shadows disappear as I drop my dance partner, draw decay, and run the blade through the belly of the vampire pouncing on me from behind.

"I'm a master of death my friend, one such as you cannot surprise me."

"It's not her time." The vampire struggles to get pull himself from the blade, but I raise a hand and hold him still.

I give him a warm smile. "We shall see. Now let me show you something." Buttons fly as a simple spell rips his shirt open to reveal the bloated, black skin where decay has impaled him. I twist the sword and listen to him moan in pain. Maggots crawl from the ripped, rotting flesh as the cold steel of decay rotates in the wound.

"There comes a point where the decay cannot be reversed by the demonic forces that keep your corpse forever young." The vampire continues to moan as the blackened, rotting flesh expands to claim ever more of his torso. "Once we reach that point, they I will finish my dance and leave you to rot away next the corpse of your...."

Wham!

My head hurts and...where the hell am I? I return decay to my scabbard and take a look around. Down the street the spring party continues. I touch my head and find wine and shards of glass. That damn woman must have hit me over the head and triggered my ward to teleport me away from attack. I smack myself on the head in frustration and immediately regret it as my headache gets even worse. I should have just killed the vampire, why do I always have to gloat. Damn, damn, damn.

Hello, floor. Floor? Floor! Familiar floor. Still wearing the silly black outfit. Note to self: Ask Jilli how she functions in all this black lace frou-frou--

Focus, woman!

Breathe, breathe, breathe, look around for Mr. Freaky--

Oh, I bloody well do not think so.

Instincts go into overdrive. Knife, sword, blunt instrument, where's a weapon--ha! Nice, heavy, full champagne bottle. Ooh, Chateau Lafitte Rothschild, a good year, too. Too bad.

A picture-perfect flat snap into the side of the head of the bastard that's playing "Skewer the Vampire With an Icky Sword" with Bob.

"Nobody shoves a sword into my lover in my town!"

And, of course, the bastard--and Bob!--disappear right in the middle of my declaration of war. Adrenalin spent, I sit down hard.

People finally turn to look. I stare back, then carefully slurp down what's left of the very nice champagne from the neck of the broken bottle I'm still holding.

Ow.

All right, Robbie m'lad, get your ass up and deal with Mr. Maniac. Oh, god, things are crawling out of me. I can feel the struggle between the forces that keep me, well, alive and whatever this guy's sword did to me.

Boy, that guy on TV sure makes this look easy. But being a vampire means never having to say good-bye to your pain receptors.

The creature who was draining my woman is picking glass out of his hair. Looks like someone smashed a bottle over his head when he wasn't looking. One guess as to what red-headed wench that was.

I'm 214 years old. I didn't get this way by being stupid. Yes, Robbie, time to scuttle into the darkness and heal. Then we find this guy again and see how long it takes to rip his spine out of his body and strangle him with it.

I return to my lair from the spring fling still fighting my headache. Deimos greets me with a hot cup of tea.

"You okay boss? You look like nobody died."

"It was horrid, curse this season and..."

"What is it boss?"

"I just thought of an evil plot. Yes..yes.. it's perfect. Bwah ha ha h....ow. Get me some Advil and the book of curses."

Bwah ha ha h....ow

Serves ya right. Snerk.

I find the curse I'm looking for and the medicine starts to relieve the throbbing in my head. "Here it is Deimos, eternal winter. All I need is a frozen orb of Azagoth and the still beating heart of an Ice Dragon to bind the orb to."

"You need me to do something boss." Asks Deimos.

"I need you to seach the far corners of this world and locate a frozen orb of Azagoth. I want you to start...What are you doing with that box?"

"It's a computer sir."

"Why are you not preparing to journey to the far..."

"Found it boss."

"What?"

"Goblin Market has it. Here's a picture on their website. Looks like a snowglobe."

"It is not some child's toy. It is an artifact of terrible power."

"Want me to go buy it boss?"

"No. I shall survey this Goblin Market to see what wards they have employed. I doubt we will want to pay the price such a powerful artifact would command."