When patrolling proved fruitless, Phoenix Talon changed into civvies, stopped off to pick up a dozen roses, then swung by Candi's place once she was off work.
    "Who is it?"
    "Candi? It's me."
    "John!" She opened the door and was in his arms. "You're back you're back you're back!"
    "Look what I got you?"
    "Flowers!"
    This was looking good.
    "Come on in." She looked at him longingly. "I missed you."
    "I missed you, too, hon." He kissed her thoroughly
    "Well, I don't know that that was worth waiting three weeks for...." she judged.
    "Didn't have a choice in the matter," he shrugged, a wee bit stung.
    "I know, it wasn't—come on in," she looked apologetic. "Close the door. Travis?"
    "Yeah?" her roommate called from the other room.
    "Could you come out here a second?"
    "Yeah? Oh, hi," he said to Talon. "How are you?"
    "Travis. Good to see you again." They shook hands.
    "I have to say, I've been seeing the TV show and hearing the stuff from Candi—not bad."
    "Glad you like it."
    "I think your scriptwriter needs a little work, but we can't blame you for that," Travis went on. "I just have to know, is the Toy Man the most—"
    "You know that movie you wanted to see?" Candi cut in meaningfully. "It starts in fifteen minutes."
    "Well, I don't really know whether fifteen minutes is enough time...."
    "Yes. It is," she said firmly.
    Comprehension dawned. "Well, I'd hate to miss this flick, it's not often they play Chevy Chase movies. It's a double feature, both Fletch films."
    "Well, you'd better go see them both," she ordered.
    "Well, nice seeing you again," he said to Talon. "Maybe I'll catch you later to—"
    "No, you won't," she roommate informed him briskly. "So do you want to talk about it?" she asked when Travis was gone. "I had to get him out of here, because he was about to force you to break his nose. I really didn't want to see that."
    "Nah, he's a civilian. I've been looking for theme villains all day, but they've all gone to ground."
    "I can understand why they've been hiding from you, you have that intense gleam in your eye," she noted with a smile.
    He told her a little bit about it, how they had really been convinced they were the characters they were acting out in the tiny bodies, and how he'd ended up shooting Scott and everything.
    "And poor Needle," he added. "She woke up and she fell. She wasn't used to them at all."
    "You mean the heels?"
    "No, the...." He gestured. "Never mind. So anyway, this Toy Man guy—I really got to kill him."
    "This is the one who you said at dinner at the Hub, he was the one who was obsessed with you?"
    "Turns out I was a little wrong on that point. The guy I was pretty sure was Toy Man turned out not to be Toy Man. Although I still don't trust him. And then we get back, and it's even worse than when we defeated the World Crime League. We're in all the papers, and we got this book...."
    "Yeah, I saw the book. Good dating advice," she smirked. "No, it was. I mean, so many guys I've gone out with them, and first off they don't know how to make eye contact, that's a problem. And second off they never care about me, it's all them them them. And you always cared about me. So, is the rest of the team all working tonight?" she changed the subject.
    "I know at least Scott is going to this party at the Top of the Hub. I don't know about anybody else."
    "But they're all on patrol and stuff, you're not going to get called? I was just wondering if, you know, you had time for me to show you what I thought it would have been worth waiting three weeks for....."
    Well.
    He called up Needle.
    "Can you patrol by yourself for about three, four hours?"
    "I should hope so, why?" she asked.
    "Good."
    No interruptions this time, he swore.

* * *
    The Halloween party at the Top of the Hub was just getting underway for real as the fashionably late arrived. Scott had picked up Molly in a cab; he was really quite pleased about his costume. This should be fun.
    The doorman looked them both over, nodded, turned to the room at large and announced, "The Lady Medea and Gravedigger."
    Pierre had done the task justice, down to the fedora and the long black scarf covering most of his face, and Scott added the extra touch of leaving part of his body gaseous, creating an eerie cloud around his feet. The shovel he carried over his shoulder.
    "Oh, Molly's shown up with her para—normal," a lot of people did a sudden rewrite of their thoughts upon seeing her enter.
    It was indeed a classic masquerade, and there were many lovely women in flowing dresses and domino masks, come as "Smoke," or "Evening," or "A Thousand Midnight Stars." The last one looked like she might actually have a thousand diamonds on her outfit.
    A man in a grey tuxedo and a pair of rabbit ears came their way; their host, George Lapin. "Medea, pleasure to meet you."
    "You would be...?"
    "I'm Hazel," he explained.
    "Adams?" she identified the source.
    "Yes, my children are very fond of the book. I haven't seen you in some time," he turned to Scott. "How are you Mr. Silver, or Mr. Gravedigger, as it were?"
    "Thank you. Pleased to meet you."
    "We've met before, on my boat."
    "Yes."
    "I'm certainly glad that you're in attendance, although we don't expect any sort of the fireworks that we had last time you and I ran into one another," he chuckled.
    "I certainly hope not."
    "I wouldn't expect anything of the sort," Molly smiled. "Who would be so foolish as to do something here?"
    They began circulating. There were quite a few rich people there, Scott noted, and many beautiful people as well. Sometimes they were the same person, sometimes they were connected... sometimes not. The pianist and drummer for the jazz band were playing quietly, the rest of the band still absent.
    "Did I tell you there was going to be a jazz band here? I understand they're supposed to be quite good, or at least that's what the invitation said. The invitation made them sound very promising. If nothing else I'd say that they're certainly moving in the right direction."
    They separated for a little while. A woman approached Scott, wearing a flowing, shimmering outfit with closed sleeves.
    "Ah, you must be Mr. Silver," she greeted him. "Patricia Hoagland. I didn't honestly expect to have an opportunity to meet you while I was in town," she smiled. "I'm something of an interested party when it comes to people of your particular career."
    "You're on my current to-read list," he told her; he had heard of the new book. "Unfortunately I'm about three weeks behind in it at the moment."
    "Yes, I understand there was some unfortunate incident involving the... I won't get into it."
    "Thank you."
    Seeing him eyeing her costume, she turned gracefully. "Guesses?"
    He shook his head.
    "I'm one of the nomo."
    "Spirit gods of Africa?"
    "Yes. You've picked a wonderful young man, Ms.," she said as Molly reappeared, "let me see if I can remember the whole thing...."
    "Oh, please don't," Molly told her with a moue.
    "O'Malley Wilson Guggenheim East?"
    "Yes," she sighed.
    "I've heard so much about you over the years."
    "I'm sure you have. If you'll excuse us, I need to go refresh my tray, and he won't have anything to drink because he doesn't." She escorted Scott firmly away. "Stay away from her," she muttered.
    "Okay. How come?"
    "She's a miserable little frigid bitch who doesn't care for people like us at all," Molly informed him precisely.
    "I really do have to read her book."
    "Tripe," she summarized, lifting a fresh glass from a waiter's tray. "Cheers."
    More circulating. He met a lot of interesting people. The rest of the band came out to start the entertainment in earnest.
    "How are you at dancing?" Molly asked.
    "I suppose we'll find out."
    "Hello, Boston! Are we ready for some truly impressive music?" the emcee crooned. "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, here they are, coming to you live for the first time—" Scott realized that he had heard that voice before.
    "—after their world tour. You've already heard the playing of the two members who are out here right now, Skins and Ivory. Allow me to present the remainder of the Jazz Trio—Ax, Double Bass, Liquorice Stick, and the bandleader himself, Count Bastard!"
    Scott dialed the all-call number as the Count strode out to the stage and took the mike.
    "Hello, wealthy and foolish citizens of Boston!"
    "Hey, I'm not from Boston!" someone shouted back.
    "Quiet, you," At a few notes from the Count's trumpet the man flew across the room to land in a heap of other guests.
    The emcee tore off his disguise to reveal his Postman costume, settle dhis cap on his head and pulled out his stamp gun. "We won't have any more foolish heroics from anyone here, will we? I didn't think so. That's right, we lured you in, and now it's time to rid you of those jewels which you thoughtfully brought to us."

* * *
    Things were still getting underway when they heard the sound. Talon's phone was ringing.
    "Which of them is it?" he demanded, answering it.
    "John...." Candi sighed. "Who is it?"
    He listened to Scott's update and hung up. "Sorry, hon. Halloween for superheroes is like Fourth of July for an ice cream shop. Gotta go."
    He did his patented two-legged hop into the costume, which felt a bit weird without any underwear.
    "They're trained professionals, they can't always need...." He was gone. Candi sighed and threw a pillow across the room.
    He really, really wanted to beat someone up.

* * *
    People were starting to panic. Scott looked at Molly.
    "You know, you'd at least think there would have been a 'pay the piper' line."
    "Ooh, I can't believe he missed that," she agreed thoughtfully. "Are you going to operate in your own idiom, or the idiom of your costume, I'm curious?"
    "I'm considering the costume at the moment."
    "Have you contacted your friends and allies yet?"
    "I'm in the process." He began drifting through the crowd, shovel down so the cloud bank covered its head.

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