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A patrol car drew up beside me and the driver rolled down his window. It was officer 'Spike' Stoker of SpecOps 17 – the vampire and werewolf disposal operation, or 'Suckers & Biters' as they preferred to call themselves. I had helped him out once on a vampire stake-out; dealing with the undead is not a huge barrel of fun, but I liked Spike a great deal.
He saw the consternation in my face and asked in a friendly tone:
'What happens, Next?'
'Hi, Spike. Goliath happens, that's what.'
'Word is you lipped Flanker.'
'Good news travels fast, doesn't it?'
Spike thought about this for a moment, turned down the wireless and got out of his car.
'If the shit hits the fan I can offer you some freelance staking for cash at Suckers & Biters; the minimum entry requirements have been reduced to "anyone mad enough to join me".'
'Sorry, Spike. I can't. Not right now – I think I've had enough of the undead for a while. Tell me, am I still working at SO-27?'
'Of course! Thursday? Are you in some sort of trouble?'
'The worst sort,' I said, showing him my empty ring finger. 'Someone eradicated my husband.'
'I'm sorry to hear that,' responded Spike. 'My Uncle Bart was eradicated, but y'know, someone goofed, and they left some memories of him with my aunt. She lodged an appeal and had him reactualised a year later. Thing is, I never knew I ever had an uncle after he left, and never knew he had gone when he came back – I've only my aunt's word that it ever happened at all. Does any of this make any sense to you?'
'An hour ago it would have sounded insane. Right now it seems as clear as day.'
'Hmm,' grunted Spike, laying an affectionate hand on my shoulder. 'You'll get him back, don't worry. Listen: I wish they'd sideslip all this vampire and werewolf crap and I could go and work at Sommeworld™ or something.'
'Wouldn't you miss it?'
'Not for a second.'
I leaned against his car, SpecOps gossip a welcome distraction as I sought to calm my nerves.
'Got a new partner yet?' I asked him.
'For this shit? You must be kidding – but there is some good news. Look at this.'
He pulled a photo from his breast pocket. It was of himself standing next to a very petite blonde girl who barely came up to his elbow.
'Her name's Cindy,' he murmured affectionately. 'A cracker —and smart too.'
'I wish you both the best. How does she feel about all this vampire and werewolf stuff?'
'Oh, she's fine with all that – or at least she will be, when I tell her.'
His face fell.
'Oh, craps. How can I tell her that I thrust sharpened stakes through the undead and hunt down werewolves like some sort of dog-catcher?' He stopped and sighed, then asked, in a brighter tone: 'You're a woman, aren't you?'
'Last time I looked.'
'Well, can't you figure out some sort of a … I don't know … strategy for me. I'd hate to lose this one as well.'
'How long do they last when you tell them?'
'Oh, they're usually peachy about it,' said Spike, laughing. 'They hang about for, well, five, six, maybe more—'
'Weeks?' I asked. 'Months?'
