The Bride Wore Black Leather (13 page)

“I have to say, sweetie, that I am a bit put-out that you didn’t want my Tamsin to officiate at your wedding,” said Sharon immediately.

“Oh hush, dear,” said the rogue vicar. “I’m not one to put myself forward, you know that.”

“Of course not, sweetie; that’s what I’m here for.”

“The Lord of Thorns will be performing the ceremony,” I said. “At the Church of St. Jude’s.”

“There, you see?” said the vicar, waggling a finger in remonstration at Sharon. “Definitely outclassed. I just represent God in the Nightside; the Lord of Thorns has personal chats with Him on a regular basis.”

“Well, yes, but you do real heart-to-heart stuff at your weddings,” Sharon said stubbornly. “Really makes a person feel
married
.”

But Tamsin MacReady was already looking thoughtfully at Razor Eddie, in his private booth at the back. She said something very un-vicar-like, under her breath, and looked sharply at me.

“I have heard talk . . . that Razor Eddie might be getting above himself. You’re Walker now; you don’t have to deal personally with every threat that comes your way. If you wish, I could set Sharon on him.”

“Does everyone here know about the prophecy?” I said, a bit miffed.

“Pretty much,” said the rogue vicar. “Any news about Razor Eddie tends to do the rounds fairly quickly, if only so the rest of us know which way to jump when the trouble starts.”

“Grubby little upstart,” said Sharon. “I could take him.” She studied Razor Eddie with her hungry eyes, and I remembered the brief glimpse I’d once got of her true, hidden nature, a brief vision of huge teeth and ragged claws, of something indescribably vile and vicious.

“Sharon, sweetie, I could take him,” Tamsin MacReady said firmly. “He’s only another god from the Street of the Gods. I serve the true God, and His strength is mine.”

“No-one’s taking anyone,” I said, just as firmly. “Let us all play nicely together, if only for one night. Thanks for the offer, though, Vicar. But I solve my own problems. That’s how you get to be Walker.”

“We like what you’ve done with Suzie Shooter,” said Sharon. “We’re all very impressed with how you’ve calmed her down. We were worried we might have to do something about her.”

I had to smile. “I haven’t calmed her down in the least. I’ve helped her channel her anger more productively.”

“Love conquers all,” said Tamsin, smiling fondly at Sharon. “That’s what it’s for.”

I moved on again. It was my party, my stag night, but I couldn’t seem to settle. As though I were looking for the one person who wasn’t there, but should have been. I went back to the bar.

“It’s early yet,” said Alex. “People will be arriving for ages yet whether we want them to or not. Oh, don’t tell me you invited the Authorities?”

“I sort of had to,” I said. “But it was kind of understood on both sides that I was being polite. Julien Advent’s okay; but most of the others could stop a party at twenty paces. And anyway, right now they’ve got more pressing worries. You have heard of King of Skin’s murder . . . of course you have. Anyway, they’ve got to choose a worthy replacement, and quickly, or risk looking weak and indecisive.”

“I don’t mind Julien Advent,” said Alex. “He only drinks the good stuff, pays his bar bill on time, and hardly ever starts a fight. But I’ve never been too sure how you and he get on. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have anything in common. Some days you’re the best of partners in crime, and the next he’s offering a reward for your arrest and writing nasty editorials about you in the
Night Times
.”

“We’re friends, sort of,” I said. “But he’s never approved of the way I get things done. He’s got principles. He’s always been a hero, the real deal, whereas I have always taken a more pragmatic approach to things. We get along. Most of the time. We know where we stand with each other.”

“Oh, hell,” sad Alex. “Speak of the devil, and up he pops.”

I looked around, and sure enough there he was. Julien Advent the Great Victorian Adventurer, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking around the bar as though he couldn’t decide whom to disapprove of first. A very moral and upright person, Julien Advent, despite having lived in the Nightside all these years. He still looked like the English Gentleman and Hero of the Empire he used to be before being pushed through a Timeslip and ending up here in the 1960s. He hadn’t aged or changed a bit in all that time and still dressed in the grand old style, complete with red-lined black opera cape; and standing quietly there, entirely at his ease, he looked every inch the hero and adventurer he still was.

The whole room was going quiet. People had noticed he’d arrived. Some people were pleased to see him, some averted their eyes, and some hid under their tables, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. Even the band stopped playing though the mike was picking up a low, angry growl from Leo Morn. Julien nodded politely to the assembled company, with his usual impeccable manners, then he turned his head and looked straight at me. I sighed inwardly. I knew what that meant. It meant he was determined to talk to me in private, about a matter of some importance, and that I really wasn’t going to like anything he had to tell me.

I led him to one of the few empty booths, at the rear of the bar, and we sat down facing each other. Well, I sat down; he took a few moments to remove his cape and fold it carefully before sitting down. He didn’t look at me once while doing this, which meant he wasn’t at all comfortable about what he had to say and was putting it off. We’ve known each other a long time, and we can always read each other’s tells. He eventually sat down, leaned forward, laced his hands together, and leaned them on the table-top before finally fixing me with a calm, resolute gaze.

Oh hell,
I thought.
This is going to be really bad.

“I need you to take on a very important, very urgent case. Right now,” said Julien Advent. “And before you ask, yes, it really is that urgent, no it can’t wait until after your wedding tomorrow, and I am not prepared to take No, Absolutely Not, or even Go to Hell as an answer. You’ve had your last case as a private investigator; this will be your first official case as the new Walker. And yes, John, I know all about what happened with King of Skin. I know every detail. I am editor of the
Night Times
as well as a member of the Authorities. I know everything.”

“You didn’t know that King of Skin was an immortal serial killer,” I said. “Or that he was planning to murder you all, wrap himself in your skins, and rule the Nightside as his own private kingdom.”

“I’m only human,” said Julien. “I don’t care what the rumours say.” He sighed, separated his hands to make a point, started to say something, then broke off, and finally settled for drumming his fingers on the table before looking me square in the eyes again. “If you will agree to take on this case, immediately, I have been authorised by the remaining Authorities to offer you an . . . inducement. We will cover all the expenses for security at your wedding. We guarantee to keep all your many enemies at bay and ensure that everything goes smoothly and quietly at the ceremony. The fact that I am willing to go along with such a blatant attempt at bribery should give you some indication of how seriously I take this case.”

I thought about it. Covering the expenses would be a weight off my shoulders. I’d already had to hire Hell’s Neanderthals to set up a defence barrier for half a mile around St. Jude’s; and those cloned barbarians don’t come cheap.

“What’s so important about this case?” I said resignedly.

“Someone is determined to put an end to the long night,” said Julien Advent. “To raise the sun at long last and bring the dawn to the Nightside. To bring an end to the longest night this world has ever known and destroy the Nightside forever.”

I nodded slowly. After all the hints and warnings I’d had this evening, I wasn’t surprised. I never thought I’d hear such a thing for real again in my lifetime. After all the wars I’d been through, defending the Nightside, I thought we’d earned some time off for bad behaviour. And I couldn’t help flashing back to the warning phrase I’d already encountered twice this evening;
Let the sun shine in.

“Who the hell’s got enough power to do that?” I said.

And to my surprise Julien looked away, avoiding the question. As though he knew the answer, knew the name, even, but didn’t want to say it. And that wasn’t like Julien Advent at all.

“You have to take this case, John,” he said finally. “The other members of the Authorities are divided as to whether to keep you on as Walker after this unfortunate business with King of Skin. He died on your watch, right in front of you. Yes, you caught his killer, but you didn’t keep him from being killed. Some of them are worried as to whether you deliberately allowed him to die, so that the Authorities could never become your future Enemies. And yes, of course we knew.”

“If the Authorities are debating my future as Walker, why aren’t you there defending me?” I said.

“Because I’ve already cast my vote, in your favour. This is more important. I have to ask, though. Did you let him die, John?”

“No,” I said steadily. “I’m not that subtle.”

“That’s true,” he said. “But I felt a responsibility to ask. Now, answer the question. Will you take the case?”

“Of course,” I said. “I take my responsibilities as Walker seriously. Where do we start?”

“With a crime scene. The Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille is gone. Vanished.”

I looked at him for a long moment. This was turning out to be one hell of an evening for surprises. “What do you mean—gone? How can the ghost of a building be gone? You mean—stolen? Destroyed? Kidnapped? Exorcised?”

“Unknown,” said Julien. “There’s a bloody big hole in the ground where it used to be and not a trace of the Bar & Grille anywhere. Or, for that matter, any of the important and significant people who were inside it at the time . . .”

“Ah,” I said. “Tricky . . . But how does the Bar & Grille’s disappearance tie in with this threat to bring the dawn to the Nightside?”

“Come with me and find out,” said Julien Advent, rising to his feet and pulling on his cape. “We’ll be working this case together.”

I took my own sweet time in getting to my feet, to show I wasn’t going to be hurried. “This was supposed to be my stag do. My last night of freedom.”

“If we don’t put a stop to what’s coming our way, this could be everyone’s last night of freedom,” said Julien.

“Why do you always have to have the last word?” I said.

“Because I’m an editor,” said Julien.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Everyone else couldn’t believe I was actually leaving my own stag party, to go to work. But secretly, I was pleased to be leaving early, before it inevitably degenerated into “surprise” strippers, karaoke, demolition drinking games, and general puking. But could I really solve a case this important, in one night, and still make it to my wedding on time tomorrow? I’d better, or Suzie would kill me. I did consider calling her in, but I already had the Great Victorian Adventurer at my side, and besides . . . it was probably best not to disturb her. I looked at Julien, as we headed for the stairs.

“Whatever happens, if you value your life, get me to the church on time.”

FIVE

Walking Among Ghosts

I took Julien Advent through the back door and out into the rear alley. The clamour of my continuing stag do shut off abruptly as I closed the door firmly behind us. Julien’s nostrils flared sharply as the unique ambience of the rear alley assaulted his senses. He looked around him and, without saying a word, made it very clear that he was not impressed. He had a point. The dimly lit alleyway stretched away before us, half-full of garbage and the things that feed on it. Something had left a thick, slimy trail across the cobbled ground and half-way up the adjoining wall. And a small pile of severed shrunken heads, draped with ivy and mistletoe, suggested the Little Sisters of the Immaculate Chain-saw were celebrating Christmas early again this year. There was nothing in the alley that you’d want to see, and even less that you’d want to see you. Julien gave me a very cold look.

“What, exactly, are we doing out here, John? I have known Victorian slum-dwellers who would have looked down their noses at a location like this.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’d call in the exterminators, but we still haven’t found out what happened to the last crew they sent. We’re here because I can’t use my Portable Timeslip inside Strangefellows. Alex paid out a lot of money for state-of-the-art protective shields, specially to prevent anyone from dropping in when they felt like it. At one stage, it got to the point where he was opening fire on anyone who teleported in without warning, or even at people he hadn’t noticed before. So Alex has his shields, and I try to be polite about such things, when I can.”

“Alex has shields strong enough to keep you out?” said Julien. “I didn’t think that was possible any more.”

“It isn’t,” I said. “This pocket-watch could punch through Alex’s shields like a bullet through a paper bag. But I don’t want him knowing that. Partly because I don’t want him upset, and partly because I might need to make a sudden and strategic and surprise entrance into his bar someday.”

“Typical Walker,” said Julien, smiling. “You’ll fit into the job nicely.” And then he froze and made a brief moue of distress. “Something large and furry has just scurried across my shoes, and I’m really hoping it was a much larger than usual rat.”

“Don’t look down,” I advised him.

“Is there a reason we’re still standing here?” said Julien.

“You’re the one who started making conversation,” I said.

And then we both looked round sharply as a figure paused at the end of the alleyway and looked in at us. Something in a frock struck an evocative pose and smiled professionally.

“Evening, gents. Fancy a horrible time?”

“Not now, George,” I said. “We’re working.”

“Well, pardon me, I’m sure. Catch you on the flip side, darlings.”

“I really think we should be leaving now,” Julien said firmly.

I opened the gold pocket-watch, and the darkness within jumped out to swallow us up. I had a brief glimpse of things in the alleyway shrinking back from the living dark and even disappearing into concealed doorways; and then there was only falling and falling in the endless dark, surrounded by voices thundering in no human language. Spend too long in that terrible dark, and you start to understand what the voices are saying, and that’s even worse. My feet slammed suddenly against hard and unyielding ground, there was a flash of light, and the world returned. Julien and I were standing in a street familiar to both of us, bathed in the warm glow of amber street-lights and flaring neon signs. And right before us, where the legendary Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille should have stood, was a great hole in the ground, dug out between two lowering buildings like the empty space left by a pulled tooth. Julien Advent shuddered and glared at me.

“That . . . was a most unpleasant experience. Is it always like that when you travel through the watch?”

“Mostly,” I said. “I keep hoping I’ll get used to it. Walker did.”

“Either that, or he was an excellent actor,” said Julien.

We were only saying things so we wouldn’t have to talk about what was really bothering us. Rather than look at the hole in the ground, I took a good look at the watching crowd. Quite a large gathering had turned out to see what was going on. Disasters and catastrophes count as free entertainment, in the Nightside. A slow buzz of conversation and comment moved through the crowd as they recognised Julien Advent and me. A few started to drift casually away. I couldn’t help but notice that most of the onlookers seemed far more interested in Julien than in me.

“It’s not fair,” I said. “You always get more respect than me.”

“Well, you get more fear,” Julien said generously. “And now you’re Walker, I’m sure the respect will come. In time.”

“All the hard work I put into building a reputation that makes grown men weep and grow weak at the knees; and all you have to do is show up and no-one even notices I’m here.” I sniffed loudly. “I could have a neon sign over my head, listing all the people I’ve brought to justice, and they’d still look at you first.”

“I have been around a lot longer than you,” said Julien. “And I do have more . . . classically handsome features.”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Answer me this. What are all these naked people doing here?”

I indicated the dozen or so entirely naked men and women cordoning off the great hole in the ground and discouraging anyone else from getting too close, apparently simply by looking at them.

“Ah, yes,” said Julien Advent. “I phoned ahead, to have them close off and protect the area till we could take a look. These very impressive individuals are the Tantric Troops. The very latest addition to the Authorities’ private army of security personnel and useful people.”

“Oh, them,” I said. “You mean the Fuck Buddies.”

Julien winced. “Please, John. Don’t call them that in public. We want people to take them seriously. I know there are those who refer to the Troops by that . . . vulgar description, but I think we should insist on the correct name in front of the children. They’re so impressionable. The Troops are a puissant force in their own right. Every man and woman here can use tantric or sexual energies to power their magic; and no, I don’t want to go into the technicalities.”

“I’d love to be around when they recharge their batteries,” I said.

“Let us not go anywhere near there. The point is, no-one is going to intrude on the crime scene while the Troops are around.”

“What do they do?” I said, honestly curious. “Threaten to bukkake people to death if they get too close?”

“For you, taste is something other people talk about, isn’t it?” said Julien. “I am told that if anyone does threaten the crime scene’s integrity, the Troops are quite capable of sending the perpetrator’s sex drive into reverse. I don’t know exactly what that entails, but it doesn’t sound like anything I’d want to experience.”

Some of the people at the front of the crowd heard all this and showed a distinct interest in getting to the back of the crowd. I was careful to avoid the gaze of any of the naked people. Glancing in their general direction was enough to give me a pleasant but subtly disturbing buzz.

“The previous Walker had a similar set of enforcers: the Holy Trio,” said Julien. “You broke them, didn’t you?”

“You know damn well I did,” I said. “You wrote a whole editorial about what I did to them. Walker set them on me because I’d defied the previous Authorities. The Holy Trio derived their very unpleasant magics from energies stored up by a lifetime of celibacy and denial. I . . . defused them.”

“You had them jumping each other in the street!” said Julien.

“I made them happy,” I said, with dignity. “Which is more than the Authorities ever did. I’m told it took the medics three weeks to get the smiles off their faces.”

“You always did fight dirty, John,” said Julien. “Anyway, the Tantric Troops work directly for the Authorities, not you. One less thing for you to bother yourself with.”

“You’re so good to me,” I said. “You mean one more thing you can hold over me if I go off the rails or off the reservation. Let us be clear here, Julien; I am my own kind of Walker, and as long as I’m on the scene, I have authority. Not you, not the Authorities, and not this bunch of supernatural flashers.”

“Of course,” said Julien. “Of course.”

I gave him my best disdainful look, then, because we’d said all we could and couldn’t put it off any longer, we strode forward to look down into the hole. The naked people immediately fell back to give us room, for which I was quietly grateful. Walking between them sent my heart racing uncomfortably. They weren’t naked in a Strippers or Chippendales way, they were more like sky-clad witches, men and women of primal power, unbound by everyday restraints. They burned with dangerous attitude, drawing the eyes to them like moths to a naked flame. I stared straight ahead till I was comfortably past them, then stopped to stand right at the very edge of the great hole, looking down into it. There was nothing much to see. Only broken ground, dark earth, and bare stone; not even a single piece of rubble to mark the Hawk Wind’s passing. Julien stood beside me. If the Troops had bothered him, he kept it to himself.

“The fire that burned down the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille was before my time,” I said. “But you were here, in 1970. Does this look anything like what was left behind then?”

“There’s not a lot of difference, that I can see,” said Julien. “The blaze was . . . sudden, and extensive. The whole building went up in moments, with flames so fierce no-one could get close or even look at them directly for too long. Not a trace of the Bar remained; even the cellar was gone, leaving a hole exactly like this. Some said arson; some said a magical attack against one or other of the significant individuals who often visited. A few romantic souls said it was self-immolation, as a protest against the splitting up of the Beatles. No-one ever found out for sure.

“The Bar’s owners were suspiciously eager to draw a line under the proceedings and replace the Bar with an entirely new building, something more modern and up-to-date. They’d made no secret they were tired of the whole sixties look, and that only public affection (and high profits) had kept them from making changes. This was their chance to go up-market, and attract a better (and better-paying) class of clientele.

“And then the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille came back. Twenty-four hours after it burned down, there it was again. The ghost of a building, a haunting so strong you could walk around inside it, just like the original. Time passed, but not inside the Hawk’s Wind. The sixties lived on, as the decades passed, preserving all kinds of drinks and food and music you couldn’t find anywhere else. And to the fury of the owners, the Bar became more popular than ever, with visitors dropping in from Past, Present, and any number of possible futures.

“The owners went ballistic. Took it as a personal affront. They tried everything to get rid of the ghost Bar. They called in heavy-duty exorcists; had Bishop Beastly curse it with bell, book, and candle; even got the old rogue vicar Pew in to give it a good scolding . . . I’m even told they quietly and quite illegally imported some barely trained poltergeists to go in there and tear the place down. Only to watch the poltergeists come running out, screaming. I believe a few of them are still at large in the Nightside, running their own security business. But the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille stood its ground.

“You have to understand, John; none of us had ever seen anything like this before, even in the Nightside. The ghost of a building, so real and solid it was almost undistinguishable from the original. I always thought it came back simply because so many people loved and missed it . . . Anyway. Eventually the Bar’s owners shrugged, threw up their hands, and said
Have it your own way
, and went off to sulk in private. And count their profits, of course.”

I frowned. “Could the owners have finally found a way to dismiss the haunting, and reclaim their property, after all these years?”

“Unknown,” said Julien. “But unlikely. If they had, they’d be here now, dancing and celebrating and boasting how they’d finally won. And they were never more than a pair of minor business men. To do something like this . . . would take real power.”

“Hold that thought,” I said. “I spy a pair of well-dressed city types heading in our direction, who look a lot like owners to me.”

Julien looked round, nodded sourly, and gestured for the Troops to let them pass. The two men strode up to us and glared right into our faces, which was brave of them. They both looked prosperous enough, in an obvious sort of way. Two old men, well into their seventies, in good suits, coats, and gloves. Men with hard faces and harder eyes, and flat, determined mouths. The kind of business men who hadn’t been talked back to in far too long. The taller of the two men produced his business card with a snap of the hand, like a conjuring trick, and thrust it at me. I refused to even glance at it, on general principles, so he pushed it right into my face. So I took the card, tore it into little pieces, and scattered them over him like confetti. Start as you mean to go on, that’s what I always say.

The tall man’s face went pale, then flushed a dangerous shade of purple. “We are Tattersol and Vane!” he said angrily. “We own this most valuable property, and we have a legal right to be here! I am Tattersol, this is Vane. Show him the documents, Mr. Vane!”

While Vane hurriedly fumbled important-looking papers out of his briefcase, I took the opportunity to look the two men over carefully. Tattersol was well dressed in a casual sort of way, while Vane was well dressed in a careless sort of way. Tattersol had thin black hair with pronounced white streaks, while Vane was almost entirely bald. Tattersol had a hulking, powerful presence, while Vane had a shifty, detached presence. I was irresistibly reminded of Badger and Mole from
The Wind in the Willows
, but kept the thought to myself. I was Walker now. Dignity at all times. I was prepared to be tactful and polite, right up to the point where someone got on my tits, and I said
To hell with it
, and booted someone somewhere painful. I beamed on Tattersol and Vane in my most avuncular fashion.