Down These Strange Streets

authors . . . and some of the top names in contemporary urban fantasy. All we asked of them was that the story involve a private detective and a case with a fantastic slant, be it real or . . . less so. Whether you’re a fan of mystery fiction, urban fantasy, horror, or science fiction, you should find some of your favorite writers in these pages . . . and other writers you may never have heard of who we think you’ll enjoy just as much. So come walk these strange streets with us, and let’s see where we’ll end up.

George R. R. Martin

July 1, 2010

DEATH BY DAHLIA by Charlaine Harris

New York Times bestseller Charlaine Harris is the author of the immensely popular Sookie Stackhouse series about the adventures of a telepathic waitress in a small Southern town, a series that includes Dead Until Dark, Living Dead in Dallas , Club Dead, Dead to the World, and seven others. The Sookie novels have now been adapted into a popular HBO television series called True Blood as well. To satisfy the curiosity of her fans, Harris has edited a guide to the Sookie series, The Sookie Stackhouse Companion. Harris is also the author of the four-volume Harper Connelly paranormal series (Grave Sight, Grave Surprise, and two others), as well as two straight mystery series, the eight- volume Aurora Teagarden series (consisting of Real Murders, A Fool and His Honey, Last Scene Alive, and five others, recently collected in The Aurora Teagarden Mysteries Omnibus 1 and The Aurora Teagarden Mysteries Omnibus 2) and the five-volume Lily Bard series (consisting of Shakespeare’s Landlord, Shakespeare’s Champion, and three others, recently collected in The Lily Bard Mysteries Omnibus), as well as the stand-alone novels Sweet and Deadly and A Secret Rage. She’s also edited the anthologies Crimes by Moonlight, and, with Toni L. P. Kelner, Many Bloody Returns, Wolfsbane and Mistletoe, Death’s Excellent Vacation, and Home Improvement: Undead Edition . Her most recent novel is a new Sookie Stackhouse book, Dead Reckoning.

Here she takes us, in company with the powerful vampire Dahlia LynleyChivers, to a lavish party for various creatures of the night, where the festivities get a bit rougher and more deadly than even Dahlia might have anticipated.

DAHLIA LYNLEY-CHIVERS HAD BEEN A WOMAN OF AVERAGE HEIGHT in her day. Her day had been over for centuries, and in modern America she was considered a very short woman indeed. Since Dahlia was a vampire and was reputed to be a vicious fighter even among her own kind, she was usually treated with respect despite her lack of inches and her dainty build.

“You got a face like a rose,” said her prospective blood donor, a handsome, husky human in his twenties. “Here, little lady, let me squat down so you can reach me! You want me to get you a stool to stand on?” He laughed, definitely in hardy-har-har mode.

If he hadn’t preceded his “amusing” comment on Dahlia’s height with a compliment, she would have broken his ribs and drained him dry; but Dahlia was fond of compliments. He did have to bear some consequence for the condescension, though.

Dahlia gave the young man a look of such ferocity that he blanched almost as white as Dahlia herself. Then she stepped pointedly to her left to approach the next unoccupied donor, a blond suburbanite not too much taller than Dahlia. The woman opened her arms to embrace the vampire, as if this were an assignation rather than a feeding. Dahlia would have sighed if she’d been a breather.

However, Dahlia was hungry, and she’d already been picky enough. This woman’s neck was at the right height, and she was absolutely willing, since she’d registered with the donor agency. Dahlia bit. The woman jerked as Dahlia’s fangs went in, so Dahlia considerately licked a little on the wound to anesthetize the area. She sucked hard, and the woman jerked in an entirely different way. Dahlia was a polite feeder, for the most part.

The blonde’s arms squeezed Dahlia with surprising force, and she gripped a handful of Dahlia’s thick, wavy, dark hair, which fell in a cascade reaching almost to Dahlia’s waist. The blonde pulled Dahlia’s hair a little, but she wasn’t trying to pull Dahlia off . . . not at all.

At Dahlia’s age, she didn’t need to drink much at a sitting (or perhaps at a biting would be a more appropriate phrase). After a few pleasurable gulps, the vampire had had enough. Dahlia didn’t want to be greedy, and she’d taken such a small amount that it would be safe for the woman to donate again on the spot.

Dahlia gave a final lick, and when the air hit the licked puncture marks, her natural coagulant set to work almost instantly. The blond woman seemed disappointed that the encounter was over and actually tried to hold on to Dahlia. With a stiff smile, Dahlia removed herself with a little more decision. The donor turned to the next vampire in line, who was Cedric. She would have to be stopped after that; most people who enjoyed being bitten enough to be listed with the donor agency simply weren’t smart about when to stop.

“You could be a little nicer,” Dahlia’s best friend Taffy said reprovingly. “Would it have hurt to you tell the breather how good she was?” Dahlia would have ignored anyone else who ventured to give her advice on her manners, but Taffy was within two hundred years of being as old as Dahlia. They were the oldest vampires in the nest, and their friendship had survived many trials.

Taffy had been practically Amazonian during her lifetime, and she remained an impressive woman even now. She was five foot seven and busty; her light hair exploded in a tangled halo around her head and fell past her shoulders. Taffy’s husband Don was one of the trials they’d survived, and it was because of Don’s preference that Taffy went heavy on the makeup and tight on the clothes. Don thought that was a mighty fine look on Taffy.

Of course, Don was a werewolf. His taste was dubious, at best.

Taffy waved at Don, who was over by the food table. Werewolves were always hungry, and they could drink alcohol until the cows came home—and then the Weres would eat them. A party with an open bar and a buffet was like heaven to Don and his new enforcer, Bernie. The two Weres were making the most of the opportunity, since politics demanded they be in the vampire nest for Joaquin’s ascension celebration.

Dahlia noticed Don and Bernie casting contemptuous glances at the group of blood donors. Werewolves thought humans who were willing to give blood to vampires were from the bottom of the barrel. Any selfrespecting Were would rather have his fur shaved off. Dahlia was sure Don didn’t mind giving Taffy a sip in private . . . at least she hoped that was the case. During Dahlia’s own brief marriage to the previous enforcer, her husband had not been averse to a little nip.

The demons and half-demons huddled together in a corner, and just after a very skinny female said