Never mind. The less thinking now, the better.

Plastic pitchfork in one hand, I pushed open the lobby door with the other and nodded to the Grim Reaper stationed at the coat check. (Some computer wonk from Operations, I figured; he was wearing an Ironman Timex.) Encouraged by the notice, he reached out to take my coat.

Defensively, I drew it tighter; I had every intention of wearing it all night. As Cassie had hoped, the devil costume fit, but it was a tight fit.

The wonk motioned again--and, for emphasis, chopped a couple of times with his sickle.

"Troll," I growled, and showed him the business end of my pitchfork. Then I went on past him, through the revolving door that led to the club proper.

Halfway around, Monica materialized next to me. When we came out the other side, she was wrapped around me like a cobra. Fortunately, the place was dark, except for some red mood lighting; maybe no one would notice.

"Let go!" I whispered fiercely.

"A fine hello after two weeks," she said. "I thought you'd be happier to see me. I'm certainly happy to see you. Lovely party, isn't it?"

Squinting in the crimson dark, I tried to see whether it was or not. Slowly, the scene came into focus. We were standing on a stair landing, over the main floor of the club, looking into the maw of a horrible bacchanalia straight out of The Masque of the Red Death, minus only the death (I hoped). Even scarier was the way that Jenner had caused the place to be done over for tonight, complete with smoke machines, candelabrae, and howling Gothic organ. I wondered whether this was what churches were like in Hell. Back where the altar might have been was a colossal mirrored bar, which I guessed would run out early, by the look of the crowd. Even in the dark and the smoke, I could see a few celebrants already down for the count; people were stepping around them, but some of those people were weaving.

You had to give Jenner credit--the man belonged in a cage, but he knew how to throw a certain kind of party. The staff was still talking about the Fourth of July party at the lake two years ago; you don't see strippers on water skis every day. Neither do you let the fireworks crew have a whole keg of beer, if you're smart, because you can bet that they'll burn down a boathouse, which they did. Which may have been why J/J/G didn't celebrate the Fourth anymore.

"Hey, Kerry! That you?"

With some trouble, I located the source of the voice: a giant rat, lumbering up the stairs with a drink in each hand. I thought it might be an art director.

"Kerry! You were supposed to bring a date! I had 50 bucks on..." Suddenly, he dropped both drinks. "Jesus God! Is she with you?"

His voice was very loud, and as evil luck would have it, at that moment, the music wasn't. Every head in the place snapped in our direction. It was too late to run; we'd been seen. More accurately, Monica had been seen.

I gave her a good hard look myself...and my jaw dropped. I'd seen that gown dozens of times, open that far down in front (and even farther), but there was something different about it tonight. It seemed to be tighter, if that were possible. It also seemed to be...well, wet. The fabric stuck to her like paint, and even as dark as the room was, I could see...

Well, everything.

She smiled at my expression, with a flash of fangs, and then took my arm. "They've heard rumors. Let us see whether everything they've heard is true."

If I had ever hoped to live down the Rumours ad, all hope died at that moment, as Monica pulled me down the stairs, past the dumbstruck rat, and into the crowd, which parted like the sea. Every eye in the house followed us. Even in the dim light, I could pretty well tell from the faces what people had heard--and what they thought of the truth. One woman in a mermaid costume drew her tail up sharply as we passed by; I suddenly wondered whether I'd ever be welcome in a women's restroom again.

Then I saw Kurt.

Monica pressed even closer. "Isn't that sweet? He's drooling on his pearls."

"Sweet" wasn't quite the word for it. Kurt was in full drag, an awful vision in pink taffeta with a flower garland on his head and drool on his chin. He looked like a demented bridesmaid, really, which didn't surprise me but did worry me some. I would have to worry about him later, though. A few feet away, some dimwit started wolf-whistling, with feeling.

"God damn," a male voice complained. "How did Kerry ever get lucky?"

Another male voice, even closer, shot back, "Does Kerry even know how to get lucky?"

Raucous laughter. That did it. I pulled Monica to a stop and raised my voice to address the party as a whole.

"I'm only going to say this one time. Yes, she's my date. She's with me. I'm with her. We're together. My date is a woman, and I have personally seen the evidence. Now all of you mind your own business. Kurt, wipe your chin."

The room erupted in joyous horror. Confirmed scandal--and what scandal! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kurt's wife, in a man's three-piece suit, wiping his chin with her tie.

"Outed at Halloween," I muttered to Monica. "You're good."

"Actually, my love, I'm sensational. Shall we?"

We started walking again; I took the lead this time, making straight for the bar. Monica smiled brightly to left and right, enjoying the naked attention. I did not smile. In fact, I was trying to look as dangerous as possible. When we reached the bar, I simply pointed the pitchfork at a couple in his-and-hers nun costumes, and they ran for their lives.

"Whatever's fastest," I told the bartender.

He didn't appear to have heard a word; he was too busy goggling at Monica.

Was this Club West all over again? I leaned all the way into his face. "Two of something. Now."

"Nonsense," Monica told him. "Champagne. The best you have."

I started to override the order, but she wet her lips at him...and the bartender leaped to the little refrigerator, coming up with an expensive black bottle. In his haste to open it, he shot himself in the forehead with the cork and fell like a cut pine.

"Moron," I said, not bothering to lower my voice.

"But a moron who shares your taste," Monica replied, not bothering to lower hers, either. Wary, I looked around to see whether anyone was close enough to be listening.

Cassie was. She was standing alone a few feet away, done up to perfection in the angel costume, a gold halo floating over her golden hair; the wings looked real. In fact, she looked absolutely beautiful. She was looking directly at me with no expression on her face at all.

She held my eyes for an instant and then walked off without a word.

Monica laughed and traced the sharp edge of a fingernail down my jugular. It hurt.

"I've had better Halloweens. Hi, Deanna."

"Hi yourself. Nice costume, I think. Are you ever going to take your coat off?"

"No."

"Suit yourself," Chip said. "Seems pretty warm in here to me, though." He motioned to the vacant barstools. "May we?"

"Free country."

They sat and ordered more drinks. Then Troy and Heather happened along and decided to do the same.

"So, Dev, where's your date?" Troy asked.

"In a cave somewhere, I suppose. Sharpening her fangs."

"Those are great fangs," Deanna agreed. "They really look real. Where did she get them?"

I shrugged. There wasn't time.

"You two are quite the power couple tonight," Troy continued. "I hear everybody's been wanting words with you."

"Everybody's had words with me. I had to give up this drinking-and-mingling business an hour ago, in self-defense." Moodily, I swirled the ice in my Evian-with-a-twist. "I've heard from damn near every county--and every single nimrod in Human Resources. It's been quite an education."

"Oh, come on, Dev," Chip said. "It can't be that bad. We're an ad agency. We're all pretty PC, if you want to..."

"It's all been PC. Well, mostly, if you don't count the born-again crowd."

Troy frowned. "We have born-agains? Where?"

"Just swing a dead cat."

Deanna looked horrified.

"Just an expression," I told her. "You know. 'You can't swing a dead cat without hitting...' "

"I like cats," she protested.

"Sorry. Bad choice of words." What did Chip see in this one? I turned back to Troy. "Anyway, I've heard all about fire and brimstone, and the Garden of Eden, and Armageddon, and the wages of sin. That attitude, I can almost understand. Those halfwits believe it. They've heard it all their lives; how can they not? But as for the rest of these people...the Correctness Police..."

"Oh-oh," Heather said.

"...it would be better if they'd just be honest. They think the same thing; they just won't say so."

"You're sure you're not projecting?" Troy asked, concerned.

I ignored that. "Nobody says they think it's wrong or immoral or weird, or even that it makes them uncomfortable; they just tell me how difficult my life will be from now on and how other people won't understand. The worst part is that Monica was standing right next to me every time, and they still said it. She just smiled."

"It's just a few people," Troy said. "Relax. It's not that bad."

"Compared with what?" I drained the glass and motioned to the bartender (now heavily bandaged) for another.

"Well, we haven't been on you about her," he said.

"Or us," Chip added.

"No," I admitted. "Not you. Just the Baptists, the hypocrites, and the Dick-and-Jane crowd. Mostly the Dicks."

Heather, who'd been scanning the room behind us, cut off the laughter by clearing her throat. "Speaking of..."

We all turned, following her glance; Kurt was approaching, with Peg. Deanna giggled.

"Ah. The Great Satan." Kurt clapped a hand on my shoulder. "How's my favorite deviant?"

I regarded his hand with distaste. "Big talk from a man wearing purple nail polish."

"It's not purple," he said grandly. "It's plum."

"Doesn't go with the dress, boyfriend," Troy advised.

"That's what I tried to tell him," Peg said. "I said, 'Honey, you can't wear pink after Labor Day, and you can't wear plum with pink anyway, so why don't you just wear the cowboy costume like we talked about?' " She turned to Heather, with her best girl-talk expression on. "I was going to be Dolly Parton."

Heather regarded the front of her own costume mournfully. "So was I." Laughter.

"Prisoners of sex roles," Kurt told Chip and Troy, and then turned back on me. "But you don't have that problem, do you, boss?"

Not wanting to touch him, I pushed his hand off my shoulder with the pitchfork.

"People have been at her all night," Chip explained. "The Holy Roller crowd, anyway."

Kurt feigned surprise. "Really? The troglodytes. You'd think they'd never seen Dev with a vixen-bitch sex goddess before. Speaking of sex, boss, how is she? In the rack, I mean. Or even in the..." Peg snapped his bra straps--hard, by the sound. "Ow!"

"Somebody ought to tell her," Deanna said, glaring at Kurt. "I'd want to know if somebody was talking about me like that. Want me to tell her, Dev?"

"I don't know where she is. She didn't say where she was going."

"Oh, I just saw her a few minutes ago. She was talking to Cassie Wolfe."

I instantly set my glass down on the bar so hard that everyone else's glasses rattled and spun around on my barstool. But before I could get completely vertical, Monica showed up. She abruptly put me back down and then sat on my lap.

Everyone pretended not to notice...everyone except Kurt, who was maneuvering to get a better look down Monica's gown. Peg snapped his bra straps again.

"I missed you terribly," Monica said. "Did you miss me? Did you miss this?"

I jumped; she'd just bitten my ear. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"But darling, you usually love it."

The group tried not to laugh, not very successfully. "She's just doing that to give you bad ideas," I told them.

"Too late," Chip said. This time, they all laughed out loud.

"You people must not understand the situation," I said grimly. "My date is a woman. And I've done a lot more with this woman than just date her."

"I'll say," Monica murmured in my ear--and then bit it again. I fended her off as far as possible and checked the faces around us. All smiles.

I didn't get it. "Aren't you supposed to be outraged? This is Wal-Mart Nation. Don't they still stone deviants around here?"

"Well, I guess we're just an outpost of perversity," Heather said.

Kurt grinned. "Don't say that in front of her; she'll use it in an ad. I'll bet she could even get bestiality out of it. How about this? 'Pet Depot: Your friendly neighborhood outpost of perversity.' "

"'Where your pet can really be an animal,' " Heather added.

"Pets can be gay?" Deanna asked.

"I hear," Monica whispered, "that some baby ducks are."

I almost had a coronary on the spot.

"You're as red as your costume, Dev," Chip observed. "Come on--lighten up. We're just playing."

"What are we playing?" Cassie asked, right at my shoulder.

I jumped again. Where had she come from? More to the point, why was she asking Monica that question?

There was no way that anything good could come of this. But before I found out for sure, there was a terrible commotion at the top of the stairs, drawing everyone's attention away. Management had landed, fresh from a private party somewhere. Most of the suits were actually in suits, but not Jenner. Definitely not Jenner. He was a giant green glow-in-the-dark condom--and a drunk one, at that.

"I heard he was going to dress up like the Washington Monument," Cassie said dryly, "but then someone told him that the innuendo might offend the ladies."

I smiled at her, appreciating the wisecrack. But she didn't smile back. She was staring at me now, with that same emotionless expression.

"Is this thing on?" Jenner asked, tapping a cell phone. "Am I on?"

An aide steadied him. "You're on, Mr. Jenner. You're patched into the PA system."

"I'm on? Everybody can hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," the aide said.

Jenner held the phone to his mouth with both hands and all but shouted into it, just to make sure. "If you can hear me out there, I want to thank you all for coming tonight. So to speak." Guffaws all around the room (except in my group), and especially on the landing.

Jenner grinned, encouraged. "Hope you all found the bar all right. I know I did. Can everybody see me all right?"

Guffaws.

"I thought I'd practice safe party."

Guffaws, but a little on the strained side now.

"I'm coming down now," he said ["Should people be laughing?" Deanna whispered to Chip], "and I'm going to dance with the prettiest girl in the place, whoever she is."

Another aide whispered to him. "The prettiest girl in the place except for my bride," Jenner amended. Then he lurched down the stairs, hotly pursued by suits.

"Where is No. 5?" Heather asked. "Do you see her up there?"

"I think she's the hooker," Chip said.

"Which hooker?"

While they tried to sort out the candidates, Kurt scuttled over to the foot of the stairs and called up to Jenner. "Sir? You want to dance with the prettiest girl?"

"Who's that woman?" Jenner asked an aide. "Jesus. Or is that a he? If that's a she, why doesn't she shave?"

"I'm a he, sir. I'll give you my card later. But first, I want you to know that the prettiest girl in the room is sitting at the bar right this minute. She's in a long black dress, and I promise that you can't miss her."

I would already have been across the room fixing Kurt's little pink wagon had Monica not been sitting on my lap...and had Chip and Troy not immediately stepped in to block the way.

"That evil mothering sonuvabitch," I snarled. "I'll tear his heart out. I'll rip out his spleen. I'll..."

"Later, precious," Monica said, adjusting my costume horns.

["Precious?" Deanna asked Chip.]

Then Jenner found the bar, and us, and rocked back on his heels in shock. "My God, Daniels! Do you see that?"

"Yes, sir," the aide said unhappily. "She's sitting on Miss Kerry's..."

"What maracas!"

Outraged, I tried to rise to defend Monica's honor--somebody had to--but she reached back and wrapped her arms around me, effectively getting me in a bodylock. Meanwhile, everyone on my side except Cassie cleared out, the cowards.

"I want to know this young lady. As soon as possible. Hold this, somebody." Jenner held the cell phone out behind him, knowing that someone would take it. Someone did. Then he advanced on Monica. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Nathaniel Winslow Jenner III. Do you work for me?"

The aides eyed him nervously. I took firm hold of Monica, just to be safe, but whether I was trying to protect her or Jenner was a tossup.

"I hope you'll favor me with a dance," Jenner said, already reaching for her. "I hope you can dance in that dress. You look...Wait a minute. You're not moving. Who's got you? Who's this?"

"Who is whom?" Monica asked sweetly.

"Whoever's under you. Whomever. Whoever." He swatted at my restraining arm. "Let go, you horse's ass. It's only for one dance, probably."

I didn't budge. Jenner, in no mood to be thwarted, tried to pull my arm out of its socket. But before he could do any medical-grade damage, Jack pushed through the crowd that was gathering around the bar.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Client threw up all over the Jag, and I had to call...Jesus! Who's the babe?"

Jack couldn't see me from that angle, but unfortunately, I could see him. Batman was not a look that worked on a man who didn't work out.

"Mind your own business, Harper," Jenner warned him. "I saw her first." He pulled on my arm again. This time, it hurt. Monica just laughed and slapped his hand away.

"You don't want to dance?" Jenner asked her, not following. "Are you with somebody? Is that it?"

I felt Cassie's stare and looked over. Slowly, she nodded.

You've got to play along, she'd said. All right, dammit. This had gone far enough. I'd play.

"She's with me, Mr. Jenner," I said.

"Who said that?" he asked, suspicious. "That sounds like a girl."

"It is a girl." With that, I leaned around Monica into Jenner's--and Jack's--line of vision. "Devlin Kerry. Your associate creative director in charge of sex."

Jack practically swallowed his cigar. Jenner, not sober enough to process in real time, just stared--first at me, then at Monica, then at me again.

"No," he finally said. "This is a Halloween joke. Trick or treat. Right?"

Monica smiled at him mockingly and got down off my lap. Then she pulled me to my feet and kissed me--for a lot longer than was necessary to answer the question, really.

I was dimly aware of whoops, catcalls, and a few boos. Over that noise, also dimly, I could hear Jack swearing a blue streak. But Monica was putting all kinds of English and her whole body into the kiss, so I was a little preoccupied at the moment.

Finally, Jenner yanked the tail of my coat, just hard enough to break my concentration a little. "That's going too far. It's not funny. You're trying to make me look like a jackass. I won't be made a jackass. What the hell's your name again? Derry? Kevlin?" He stamped his foot. "Stop that right now. Right now. I'm your boss. Derry!"

Reluctantly, I disengaged. "We'll finish this later," I told Monica.

"You're not afraid?" she asked.

"Nothing else can happen now. Absolutely nothing. So there's nothing to be afraid of."

Monica smiled--genuinely, for the first time since I'd known her. It made her look almost human. To my shock, in that moment, I felt something almost like love for her...and saw it reflected in her eyes.

Which, astonishingly, were no longer red, but a very vivid blue.

"Derry!" Jenner shouted.

Lost in contemplation of Monica, who was still smiling, with that look still in her eyes, I paid no attention.

Jenner yanked on my coattail again. "Derry!"

Reluctantly, I turned back to Jenner. "Sir? You brayed?"

"She can't say that to you, sir," Jack told him helpfully.

"That's right, Derry. You can't say that to me."

"I just did," I pointed out.

Jenner turned purple. Jack tapped him on the shoulder again. "You can fire her, sir."

"That's right. I can fire her. Derry?"

"Sir?"

"You're fired!"

"You can't fire me," I said calmly.

"I can't? Why in hell can't I?"

"I refuse to be fired by a fluorescent prick."

It took a second for it to sink in. Then people started to howl in appreciation, and as word spread through the room, the crowd around the bar began to grow. Jack glared at me. Jenner blinked, disbelieving, and then grabbed the nearest aide by the collar.

"Hotchkiss? What did she say? Why can't I fire her?"

The aide cleared his throat, perhaps to buy time. "She said she'll sue you for wrongful dismissal, sir."

"Can I afford it?"

"Not until next quarter," the aide said.

"Well, what can I do? I have to do something. She just kissed a girl. In front of everybody. I'll bet she's slept with her, too. Jesus, I can't have that in my agency--it's bad for business. Let me fire her. To hell with the money. We'll just raise rates on the clients again. Besides, I want to fire her. It's my..."

"Then you'll have to fire me, too, Mr. Jenner," Cassie said.

I spun around. She was standing at my shoulder again, perfectly calm.

"Stay out of this, Cass," I whispered.

She ignored me, fixing a steady gaze on Jenner, who looked stumped.

"Why would I want to fire you, Miss Wolfe?" he asked. "You're the best-looking girl on my payroll."

"Now, just a damn minute," a female voice protested, and the crowd began to laugh.

"Admirable, Miss Wolfe," Monica said. "Now finish it."

I spun in the other direction; now Monica was on the front line with us. "You stay out of this too," I warned her.

"No, Devvy," Cassie said. "This is between her and me now."

"I'm between the two of you, and I'm not letting you do anything crazy. I think you're both..."

"Don't think," Monica told me. "It only confuses you. Just let her do what she has to do. We came to a final agreement about that a little while ago."

"What? What agreement?"

"Somebody tell me what all the whispering's about!" Jenner demanded.

"Get out of the way, Devvy," Cassie said.

"Not on your life. Don't make deals with her, Cass. You know what she is. It isn't..."

They both rounded on me, looking equally menacing. Involuntarily, I took a long step back.

"Go on," Monica told Cassie.

She regarded Monica coolly and then turned back to Jenner. "You can't fire Dev because she slept with a woman." Then, sotto voce, but sharply, to Monica: "And I mean slept. Past tense."

Monica laughed. I could see the blue lights dancing in her eyes even from a distance.

"I don't have to fire her, Miss Wolfe," Jenner was saying. "Daniels here says I can just take away her parking space and send her to counseling, and that'll be..."

"You can't fire Dev because she slept with a woman," Cassie repeated, "because if you fire her for that, you'll have to fire me, too."

Instant, total silence, as deafening as a bomb. My knees gave way; Chip and Deanna barely made the catch in time. Then Kurt shattered the silence, horribly: "Yeeeehaw!"

Yeehaw? Insolent little hilljack sonuvabitch. I vowed to have his heart and spleen the second I could walk again.

Cassie and Monica paid no attention, standing calmly where they were, waiting for Jenner to hear what Cassie had just said. Finally, he did, sort of.

"But that's impossible!" he screamed. "You're beautiful! You have long hair! You have..."

"If you believe everything you see, Mr. Jenner," Cassie said, "you are a fluorescent prick."

The audience liked it the second time, too. Jenner, however, did not; he went into an angry huddle with his aides. Meanwhile, Jack was shoving through the crowd to Cassie, determined to get to the bottom of this, by God.

"I can't have heard you right, Wolfe. You can't have slept with a girl. Hell, you haven't even slept with me yet. Kerry put you up to this, didn't she?"

"She doesn't have that much imagination." Cassie replied.

I would have argued the point had Chip not showed me his fist by way of warning. Maybe everyone was right tonight. Maybe it was best to stay out of things.

"I still don't believe you," Jack was telling Cassie. "It doesn't make sense. You slept with a girl? You?"

"Believe me."

"You got naked with a girl?"

"As a jaybird." She leaned closer to him, confidentially. "You know what else, Jack? It was great."

Two or three beats of very pregnant silence. Then Jack slammed his cigar to the floor in a passion and yanked Jenner out of the huddle.

"I'm in a meeting, Harper!"

"You're adjourned, you bastard!" Jack shouted--and punched him in the nose.

Jenner went down in a green heap. For a couple of heartbeats, everyone froze.

And then all hell broke loose all over the club, in an absolute orgy of violence. It was like the pilot had just turned off the No Killing sign. Thanks to Jack's example, and perhaps even more to all that alcohol, at least half the revelers were busy getting actual pieces of people they'd hated for years--which, in an ad agency, added up to a lot of hate.

"This is your fault!" Jack was howling, windmill-punching Jenner while a few aides tried--not very hard--to pull him off. "You son of a bitch! It's your fault!"

"What do you suppose that's about?" Chip asked.

I wrenched away from him and Deanna. Jenner was fighting back now, and Wife No. 5 was screaming and flailing at Jack with her little evening purse. In the odd clarity that sometimes comes during chaos, I noticed that she was indeed dressed like a hooker and that the costume fit her too well to be a costume. I also noticed that the Hardware City girl was right behind her, about to whack her over the head with the spike of a shoe. At any other time, I would have found the situation irresistible.

But this was no time for spectator sport. Monica was smiling rather mockingly at Cassie, who still had no expression on her face, and getting back between them to protect someone--anyone--seemed like a good idea.

"You can handle it from here, can't you?" Monica asked Cassie as I approached.

"I can handle her. I never want to see you again."

"Maybe you won't." Monica turned to kiss my cheek. "Love," she said.

The next instant, she was gone. No flash of fire, no cloud of smoke--just gone. Tentatively, I poked the pitchfork into the empty space. Nothing.

Fortunately, I was the only person who'd noticed. No one had been paying the slightest attention, of course, with all those brawls going on...no one, that is, except Cassie.

"Never mind that. We need to talk," she was saying. "In private, right now. Come with me."

"I wish I'd wake up now," I said, more to myself than to her.

"You're awake. This way."

Cassie pulled me past the bar, pushing fighters and spectators out of the way as we went, making for a private room in the back. Inside, a pudgy spider was sleeping it off; Cassie jerked him to his feet.

"There's a fight outside," she informed him. "Jenner and Jack Harper. I think there's blood on the floor. Hurry and see before somebody dies."

The spider hurried. Cassie slammed the door behind him.

"Trick or treat?" I asked, experimentally.

"This is all your fault, you know." She adjusted her wings, which had gotten a little lopsided in the crush. "I blame her more than I do you, but you're here and she's not--thank God!--so I'm going to blame you."

"Level with me, Cass. That was a trick?"

"It was no trick. I slept with a woman."

I eyed her narrowly. She didn't even blink. "My God. You're serious, aren't you?"

"I was in college," she said. "It was just one time. It just sort of happened. Do you remember screw-top wine?"

"Strawberry Hill?"

"That's the one."

I winced, remembering it only too well. "Well, that would explain it. You were legally insane."

"That's what I told myself for a long time. Then I came to work at J/J/G. That was six years ago. Remember? My first morning, I went to the break room and saw this lunatic banging on the coffeemaker with a stapler, trying to make it brew faster. Then you looked up..."

"No," I said, disbelieving.

"...and I thought, 'If she's funny, I'm in trouble.' Do you remember what you said? You said you were sorry to be so crude, but your doctor wouldn't let you take coffee intravenously anymore. So I said..."

"You said your doctor told you the same thing about men," I told her, slowly, "and I thought, 'I'm in trouble.' "

Cassie looked stunned.

"I swear to God, Cass, I'd forgotten all about that until this very second."

"You repressed it, you mean. All these years. All six years I've known you. Damn you."

Silence. Then I understood all the rest, and smiled.

"Your halo's crooked," I told her.

"Well, so is yours."

Still smiling, I adjusted her costume halo.

"I hate you," she said softly.

"I hate you too. What do you want to do about it?"

We were a fraction of an inch from what she wanted to do about it when we heard a suspicious noise. "Quiet!" she whispered. "Where's your pitchfork?"

Not following her logic, but not thinking all that straight at the moment anyway, I handed it over. She got a good grip on it, tiptoed to the door, carefully took hold of the doorknob--and then twisted and pulled sharply. Kurt, Heather, Chip, and Troy tumbled into the room, landing at her feet.

"You!" she shouted, menacing them with the pitchfork. "How long have you been there? How much did you hear?"

Chip, Troy, and Heather lost no time scrambling up off the floor. Kurt was still floundering around in all those ruffles; pointedly, I let him pick himself up.

"There's already been a lot of talk about firing people tonight," Cassie told Chip. "You're on thin ice, mister. What did you hear?"

"Well..."

"Well, what?"

"Nothing."

"The truth."

"Practically nothing. But don't look at me. It was Kurt's idea."

I took one step toward Kurt, who tried to escape and promptly broke a heel, going back down in a pink taffeta heap. By the thunk he made, I figured he'd be down for a while.

"What do you want me to do with him? Give him a sex change?" I asked Cassie hopefully.

"I wouldn't want to watch that. Besides, it wouldn't be bad enough. Why don't we give him to Connie the Barbarian while he's all dolled up?"

"She's here," Heather volunteered. "In a Teletubbies costume."

"With a date?" I asked.

"Well, she's with another Teletubbie. They were making out on the dance floor."

"Really? And did the Baptists call the police? Did the Teletubbies get any of this grief about deviance that's been going around tonight?"

"Well, Dev," Heather said, "at least Connie didn't lie about what she is."

Cassie had to practically tackle me to keep me from hurting her.

Kurt sat up in the corner, rubbing his head. "Interesting. She's extra-touchy tonight. I wonder what that means."

"Maybe it means," Troy said thoughtfully, "that nothing's happened yet."

The others looked at him, eyes bright.

"You think...?" Heather asked.

"Let go, Cass," I demanded. "I can probably kill them all."

Cassie held on tighter. She was practically on my back.

"Give me a hand up," Kurt told Troy, who did. "Thanks. Now, where are we? We seem to have a situation here. Let me ask Dev a question and see if we can get to the bottom of it. Got a good hold on her, Cass?"

"That depends on your question."

Kurt laughed. "It's a simple question. Won't take a second to answer. Who's your date tonight, boss?"

There was no way to tell the truth, and there was no time to tell a convincing lie. So I decided--as I so often did--to split the difference.

"Monica? Christ, you idiot, she's not really my date. She's a Halloween trick."

Kurt clearly hadn't been expecting that answer. "A trick?"

"I figured it would be just your speed," I said, warming to the tale. "It was worth the money just to see the look on your face. Maybe next year, I'll hire Bouncing Betsy. Or whatever Jenner's married to next year. I might even..."

Cassie cut me off with a jab in the ribs. "Don't listen to her. She's crazy."

"We know that," Troy said. "The question is whether we believe her. Heather? What do you think?"

"It could be true," she mused. "That woman was awfully over the top."

"I couldn't agree more," Cassie muttered.

Kurt laughed. "Pity. I would've loved to imagine the two of them together. She looks just like what you'd have to figure Dev's sexual fantasies are like. Of course, I suppose that there are other fantasies. Do you like blondes, boss? Would you like us to leave?"

"In a box, if I get my way. Get out."

"Any special reason?" he asked.

I was about to give him any number of special reasons when Cassie let go and stepped between us. "Give it up, Devvy. They're not that stupid. It's too late." Then she turned to Kurt. "Get out before I kick you out. She was just about to kiss me."

A split-second of silence. Then Kurt rebel-yelled again and threw open the door. The costumed bodies of at least a dozen eavesdroppers fell into the room. Cassie and I leaped back in shock.

Kurt, glorying in a moment that he'd obviously been waiting for, laughed at us and then called through the open door to the party outside. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have your winner: Dev and Cassie!"

Groans and cheers went up in the room, and just outside it, and money began changing hands.

"They were betting on this?" Cassie asked me, indignant.

"Settle up at the bar!" Kurt shouted. The room emptied as fast as it filled. Considerately, Chip backtracked to shut the door...and ducked just in time to miss the pitchfork, which Cassie sailed over his head.

"They were betting on this?" she repeated.

"Of course they were betting on this. They're a goddamn pack of swine. They're probably out there making book right now on what time I'll kiss you."

"Want to bet?"

I checked my watch. "It's almost midnight. What time do you want?"

"Right now," Cassie said, and kissed me.

The Fourth of July when the boathouse burned down, I'd been standing close enough to get soot on my clothes. But the heat of that fire was nothing compared with this one--and the damnedest thing was, neither was Monica. If this was how it was going to start with Cassie, I was definitely going to end up dead.

What the hell.

Finally, Cassie backed off a tiny bit. "I think this is the part where somebody says, 'Your place or mine?'," she murmured.

"My place is closer."

"Good. Your place. What time is it?"

What did it matter? I checked again. "Midnight. Why?"

"Monica owes me $100. She bet me you wouldn't kiss me until after midnight."

"That doesn't count," I told her. "You kissed me."

"You kissed me back."

"You started it."

"It counts as a kiss."

"Does this mean we're still going to fight?"

"Until we die," Cassie promised, and closed back in. "Now, where were we?"

(c) 1999, ROCFanKat

Continued - Part 20 (Final)