the second time around, and I made my way back to the offices of Chambeaux & Deyer to a still-grieving Robin and the ghost of Sheyenne. . . .
Greenlawn Cemetery had changed quite a lot in the months since. As Robin went off to buy her own ticket for the evening’s Shakespeare performance, Sheyenne and I followed other theater fans into the graveyard. Just inside the gate, we passed a small card table manned by a plump woman with cat’s-eye glasses. Her fangs were so small it took me a moment to realize she was a vampire. She greeted everyone coming in: “Hello, welcome to the cemetery. Hello, I hope you have a good time.”
With all the zombies, ghosts, vampires, and whatnot coming back from the dead, well-meaning volunteers had established a Welcome Back Wagon. I stopped to take a look at their packets and complimented the plump vampire. “Thanks for doing this. I sure could have used a friendly face after I came out of the grave.”
The vampire volunteer made a tsking sound. “So sorry you had to face that yourself, dear. You didn’t get a welcome packet, then?”
“Afraid not.”
“Here you go, dear. You deserve one. It’s been hard to find sponsors, so the goodie bag has an eclectic mix of useful and, well, interesting items. But we’re growing every day.”
I accepted the packet and thanked her. Drifting beside me, Sheyenne thought aloud. “Maybe we should include Chambeaux and Deyer refrigerator magnets—to let the newcomers know about the services we offer.” She was always looking for new business. “New unnaturals often come back with mysteries to solve, or probate and legal issues.”
“But refrigerator magnets?” I didn’t want to dismiss Sheyenne’s suggestion outright, but the recent raid on the golem sweatshop and all those ridiculous black-market souvenirs had given me a jaded view toward commercialization. “Let’s think about it. Maybe we can find something classy.”
“What else is in the bag?” Sheyenne said.
Rooting around, I found a packet of breath mints (a newly reanimated corpse could certainly use those), a stale granola bar past its expiration date, a packet of antacids from the Ghoul’s Diner, a coupon for a free drink from the Basilisk nightclub (Premium alcohol and specialty blood types excluded). I also found the cartoony chamber-of-commerce map of the Unnatural Quarter, and a flyer for Full Moon Escort Services. Our Ladies Cater to Discriminating Unnatural Clientele. All species accepted. In fine print, it said, Succubus available upon request.
The Quarter had rough edges and a tendency to ignore gray areas of the law. Prostitution seemed more minor than many evils in the changed world, and nobody minded letting ferocious monsters blow off a little steam.
Sheyenne’s gloved hand squeezed mine. “Why are you studying that brothel flyer so closely, Beaux?” I quickly put it at the back of the stack.
The next page was even more startling, declaring in bold capital letters: You Are Damned! Below that was a campaign picture of stern, cadaverous-looking Senator Rupert Balfour.
“I represent the normal natural humans in this senate district. Monsters might be contained, but they are not forgiven! You creatures may think you can interact with normal society, but sooner or later your true blood will show itself. Good, decent citizens are watching, and we are ready!” In tiny letters at the bottom of the page, a sentence read: Paid for by the Re-elect Senator Rupert Balfour Committee.
“He’s not going to make many friends in the Quarter,” I said. Since unnaturals were not allowed to vote, they were not a constituency that politicians bothered to pander to.
I had heard of the man, a grim and humorless blowhard, an ultraconservative senator who demanded enforcement of laws that prohibited “unnatural acts,” which he defined as any form of sex among vampires, werewolves, zombies, and the like. The senator looked as if he himself had not had sex of any kind, natural or otherwise, in many years, despite the fact that he was married (to an equally grim, humorless, and unattractive woman). He also looked as if he suffered from persistent hemorrhoids. Or maybe I was making assumptions....
Balfour had garnered publicity on far-fringe radio talk shows, whose hosts called for UFOs to abduct the unnaturals and take them away for medical experimentation (don’t forget the anal probes). It was the sort of thing that made most people roll their eyes and regard the man as a joke; the senator’s supporters, however, came out of the woodwork and made so much noise that Balfour’s proposed Unnatural Acts Act had