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to make his fortune momentarily.
    "It didn't work," the succubus said. "That slot still has the clap."
    "She never had the clap," he pointed out. "That means gonorrhea, not syphilis."
    "Details," she muttered. "You jism didn't jizz, regardless. She's as VD'd as ever."
    "So? You were the one who made the claim. I never thought my produce was premium grade. I'm just glad I never dunked my own tender flesh in that slot-cesspool."
    "There's still
something
. Maybe you radiate curative rays or something. Come on—I'm taking your pint-sized pekker to a specialist."
    "Pint-sized? That's sixteen ounces—a full pound!"
    "Pint it right this way, then," she said, bringing him to the door.
    "What the—?" he cried. But she was already hauling him outside and around to his car. He didn't even have a chance to set down the tamponer.
    "Drive," she said. "I'll tell you where and when."
    "I'm being hijacked by a demon," he muttered. But he engaged the atomics and drove. Any time this creature wasn't interested in sex, something serious was up.
    It was a party. Costumed people drifted in and out of the multiple rooms sipping glasses of wine, beer, scotch, cucumber juice, urine, and kerosene, by the smell of it. "They aren't all human," the succubus warned him privately, "so watch your language. Don't take the names of any supernatural beings in vain, or step inside any pentagrams or eat any apples or stroke any lamps. I'll see if I can find Tantamount."
    "Tantamount to what?" But she was gone.
    Prior drifted among strangers, nibbling a raw horseradish and sipping a horn of strong mead, alternately perching on top of the turned-off tamponer, which he didn't want to leave just anywhere. He quickly discovered that it was not exactly a costume ball. The costumes were genuine. A toothy vampire was not merely playing when he moved from woman to woman and deep-kissed each fair throat. The twin punctures remained above the jugular, though they did not seem to bother the wearers. A satyr made similar rounds, conducting the tittering victims to a separate chamber for an instant nuptial. Prior assumed at first that the vampire and satyr were fakers, but he spied blood welling out of some of those punctures and watched surreptitiously through an imperfectly closed door and discovered that the penile act was equally realistic.
    He turned after that to find the vampire at his throat. "Hey!"
    "Don't
do
that!" the creature said, annoyed. "You almost made me hit the carotid."
    "What difference does that make? I don't want my blood sucked!"
    "What
difference
!. The jugular is placid, unoxygenated blood that I can keep under control. The carotid has fresh arterial blood under pulsing pressure. When my teeth dip into that, I have to seal it over hard to stop the spurt, and the toxin is carried into your system before I can recover it."
    "The toxin! What are you talking about?"
    "The vampire toxin, naturally. Anyone who absorbs too much of that becomes a vampire himself. Didn't you know?"
    Prior backed away, holding the tamponer up as a defensive shield. "No thanks!"
    "It isn't that I care about your sentiments, you understand. I just don't like the competition. Too many vamps spoil the blood."
    "Just leave me alone!"
    The vampire shrugged and zeroed in on another victim. The tamponer was now a liability. Somewhere along the way he had jammed into the on/off switch so that the machine was now locked on, its filament looking for an orifice to analyze. Prior set the unit on a vacant chair where he could keep an eye on it and fetched himself another drink. This one looked like rum, tasted like prunejuice, and had a kick like a shot of morphine. It would do.
    "I found Tantamount," the succubus said beside him. "She'll be along in a minute."
    "Who's Tantamount?" he asked again. He was watching a whiskered man going from woman to woman and snapping their bras. It looked like fun, especially when he snapped a low-cut bra-less outfit. An excellent way of testing the