“But the tags aren’t using mass,” I said. “They’re using magic, and magic breaks all the rules. We don’t know how it works, or what its limits are.”
“And that’s why I hope you’re wrong,” Doug said. “Magic gravity would be completely new-and the last time that happened in physics was when we realized matter was energy. No one ever thought we’d be able to use that, but a few years later, we had atomic bombs.”
I felt my eyes widen.
“So that’s why we’re stuffed in this building,” Doug said. “We’re afraid magic can make nuclear weapons look like firecrackers. And if the graffiti can affect gravity -”
“If a tag on a wall,” I said, “can bend space harder than an entire planet-”
“-then graffiti magic,” Doug said, “is powerful enough to crack open the planet.”
Vampire for Dinner
There was nothing left to do. I’d finished the paperwork and gotten Cinnamon’s books. I’d made an appointment to inspect the school’s safety cage and picked up a cage of our own. I’d worked out a schedule at the Rogue Unicorn that let me juggle my tattooing, karate workouts, and shuttling Cinnamon to and from the Academy. I’d even found an auto repair shop that had given me a loaner while they repaired the seats; with any luck, I’d be back in the blue bomb when I picked up Cinnamon at the werehouse tomorrow.
There was nothing left to do but dress, drive, and meet the vampire for dinner.
Canoe was only a short jaunt up I-75, a river of black asphalt swimming through hills green with trees. Red taillights blinked northbound, and scattered headlights winked on to my left as the sun went down. I rarely went to Vinings, but somehow I remembered Exit 255 and soon found myself going into deep green hills along the winding path of Paces Ferry Road.
I’ll admit I was apprehensive. I had no idea what kind of restaurant a vampire would have as a current favorite. Based on its name, I was pretty certain Canoe wasn’t an ancient Victorian nestled deep in the woods, with creaking iron gates or mysterious valets to take my car, trapping me there to dine by candlelight under the watchful eyes of my predatory companion, served by black-garbed waiters trained not to notice when the vampire started noshing on me instead.
And I had a moment’s fright as I came to the Paces Ferry bridge and snatched a glimpse of graffiti. But it turned out to be what I was now calling wanker graffiti: white lines, hastily drawn, not magically active. And then I was over the bridge into Vinings, staring down into a cluster of quaint, cozy, houselike shops.
I gave the loaner Accord to the valet without a second thought, and stood before a warm wooden canopy topped by a glowing sign that spelled C A N O E, watching uber-chic yuppies from the Buckhead party district and upper-crust natives of Vinings itself flowing in and out of the restaurant with warm, friendly, satisfied smiles.
OK, this is the last place I’d expect a vampire to have as a favorite.
Even more heads than usual turned towards me as I ascended the steps, but I tried not to mind. I knew I was doubly out of place. In addition to my deathhawk and tattoos, I now wore a tight, patterned corset bustier, my most stylish leather pants and my best matching leather vestcoat. The outfit went so well together there was no doubting that this was eveningwear, but there was no escaping that it wasn’t normal eveningwear either.
Inside was warm, cozy, brick, with huge glass windows looking out onto garden paths. I was early; even with traffic it was still only six-ten, so I decided to wait by the bar. The sun had set only minutes ago; it was highly unlikely that the vampire would be… early?
Calaphase glanced up from the bar and smiled at me. He was wearing another long-tailed coat, narrowly pinstriped, expertly tailored, that gave the impression of impossible elegance from a bygone age. He saluted me with a glass of what looked like liquid gold, finished the last swigs with a flourish and grimace, and then pushed the squat empty glass back to the bartender with a wink and a twenty. I just stared, as the man I’d once known as a biker walked up to me, as sharply dressed as a Victorian James Bond-and twice as appealing.
“Dakota,” Calaphase said, with a smile and a gracious bow. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Afraid I’d jilt you?” I responded.
“Never,” Calaphase said, his eyes drifting over my tattooed midriff, my corset, my breasts. Then he caught himself and looked up. “Sorry. That is quite the outfit.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “Yours is easy on the eyes as well. Shall we dine?”
“We have fifteen minutes,” Calaphase said, extending an elbow. “Care for a stroll?”
I looked outside. “Are you sure you want to go out there? The sun just went down.”
“I like twilight,” Calaphase said, pulling out sunglasses. “A benefit of the Saffron diet.”
Canoe’s garden was as inviting as its interior and as friendly as its clientele. Another glowing sign hung over the patio, lending electric color to the warmth of the torches; under their luminous glow we strolled through green, inviting gardens, watching the Chattahoochee ripple past. Somehow the river looked cleaner here, even though I knew it was the same water that flowed past the werehouse only a few miles to the south.
“So… ” I said. “How much does a vampire on the Saffron diet eat?”
“Not much,” Calaphase admitted. “I rarely have more than the squash bisque and a glass of wine. If I indulge in too much solid food, I have a thermos of cow’s blood at the werehouse.”
“Appetizing,” I said. “It looked like the drink was killing you.”
“It’s difficult,” Calaphase admitted, stopping to stare out into the black flowing water, barely lit by flickering torches. “But the Lady Saffron is right. It’s worth it. I hunger less, and stay awake longer, every day. I’ve seen the aftermath of sunset, and withstood the onset of sunrise. I can’t yet face the sun, but the day is coming.”
Staring out over the water, he looked noble, even heroic, like a sea captain of old contemplating time passing in the night, the essence of his profile, pale skin and blond hair captured by the torchlight, abstracted and made eternal, like a statue of brass.
“And I have the Lady Saffron’s bravery, and your challenge of vampire assumptions, to thank.” He glanced back, weighing something, then smiled. “I bet you usually go Dutch,” he said, again extending an elbow, “but may I buy you dinner in thanks, Dakota Frost?”
“You know, Calaphase,” I said, taking his arm, “perhaps I can make an exception.”
“Here’s to promising exceptions,” he said, patting my hand with his free one.
I smiled, looking down bashfully. Calaphase was charming. Well, yes, handsome, sexy, and in all reality terrifyingly dangerous, but-absolutely charming. I felt no pressure from him, nothing to fear. We would have a nice dinner, and that would be it.
Then Calaphase froze in his tracks. “Speak of the devil… ”
And I looked up just in time to meet the eyes of the Lady Saffron and the Lady Darkrose as they stopped dead not five feet from us on the path.
Saffron wore a stunning red dress of flaring silk with matching red gloves that left her shoulders bare beneath her flaming hair. Her South African vampire consort, the Lady Darkrose, wore a white-trimmed robe open over a black leather catsuit that went well against her dark skin. A typical evening out for them. I could see echoes of smiles and laughter on their faces, and Saffron even had her arm in the Lady Darkrose’s, just as mine was in Calaphase’s; but as they registered my arm in Calaphase’s, the Lady Darkrose’s face went carefully blank.. . as Saffron’s face turned beet red. I hadn’t even known vampires could blush.
At first, I just thought innocently, Oh, this is awkward.
Then the shouting started.
“ Dakota? ” Saffron said- not in her indoor voice. “Why are you here with him? ”
“Sav-” I began, then bit it off as she glared. “Uh, my Lady Saffron-”