Hell To Pay

EIGHT - Truths and Consequences

Live in the Nightside long enough, and you’re bound to start hearing voices in your head. It can be anything from godly visitations to Voices from Beyond to interdimensional admail. You have to learn to block it out or you’ll go crazy and start hearing voices. Cheap mental spam-blockers are available from every corner shop, but when you operate in the darker areas of the Twilight Zone, as I mostly do, you can’t afford to settle for anything but the very best. My current shields could block out the Sirens’ call, a banshee’s wail, or the Last Trump, and yet somehow Jeremiah Griffin’s peremptory voice ended up inside my head again without even setting off a warning alarm.

John Taylor, I have need of you.

“Bloody hell, Jeremiah, turn the volume down! You’re frying my neurons! Couldn’t you at least give me some advance notice, ring a little bell in my ear, or something?”

I could have Hobbes bang a gong if you like…

“What do you want, Griffin? If it’s a progress update, you’re out of luck. I’ve been following promising leads into dead ends for hours, and I still don’t have a single clue as to what happened to your grand-daughter. For all I know, she was abducted by pixies.”

Don’t bring them into it. If the job was easy, I wouldn’t have needed to hire you. Right now, I need you to return to Griffin Hall. Now. My wife Mariah is throwing a party, and all kinds of important and influential people will be attending. You could learn much from talking to them.

“A party? With Melissa still missing? Why?”

To show I’m still strong. That I’m not cracking or falling apart under the pressure. The right people need to see I’m still in control. And, I need to see who my real friends and allies are. Any fair-weather friends who choose not to attend will be noted, for future retribution. I need you to be here, Taylor. I need everyone to see you at my side, to know you’re working for me. Let my enemies know that the infamous John Taylor is on their trail, and hopefully shock some fresh information out of them.

“You expect your enemies to show up at this party?”

Of course. I’ve invited them. They won’t miss a chance to see how I’m really coping, and delight in my misery, and I’ll get a chance to see who looks shiftier than usual. All of my family will be present. I insisted.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be there. When does this party start?”

It’s started. Get here soon, before the canapés run out.

Just like that, his presence was gone from my head. Luckily for me, he had no idea that I’d entirely run out of leads and that he’d just thrown me a major life-line. Or he might have asked for some of his advance money back. All I had to do now was get back to the Hall, and that meant transport. I got out my mobile phone and called Dead Boy.

“All right, Taylor, what do you want this time? My lovely car came back with bits of dead plant stuck in all its crevices and half its defences exhausted. Also, I think it’s grinning more than usual. See if I ever lend you anything again.”

“Put your glad rags on, Dead Boy, and bring your car over to Divas! We’re going to a party at Griffin Hall.”

“How in hell did you wrangle an invitation to a top-rank gathering like that? Mariah Griffin’s society bashes are even more notorious than you! Good food, excellent booze, and more unattached aristocratic tottie than you can shake a bread-stick at. I’ll be with you in five minutes or less.”

Unlike most people who say that, Dead Boy actually meant it. The shimmering silver car glided to a halt in front of me in well under five minutes, having no doubt broken all the speed restrictions and several laws of reality in the process. The door opened, I got in, and we were off and moving even before the seat belt could snap into place around me. Dead Boy toasted me with his whiskey bottle and knocked back a handful of purple pills from a little silver case. He swallowed hard, giggled like a schoolgirl, and beat out a rapid tattoo on the steering wheel with both hands. The car ignored him and concentrated on bullying its way through the teeming traffic.

Dead Boy looked seventeen, and had done for some thirty years now, ever since he was mugged and murdered in the Nightside. He was tall and adolescent-thin, wearing a long, purple greatcoat over black leather trousers, and tall calf-skin boots. He wore a black rose in one lapel. His long, bony face was so pale as to be almost colourless, though he’d brightened it up for the party with a touch of mascara and some deep purple lipstick. His coat hung open at the front, revealing a dead white torso covered in scars and bullet-holes, held together with stitches, staples, and the occasional stretch of duct tape. I glanced at his forehead, but the bullet-hole I knew was there couldn’t be seen, thanks to some builder’s putty and careful makeup.

For all his finery, his features had a weary, debauched, Pre-Raphaelite look, with burning fever-bright eyes and a sullen, pouting mouth. Rossetti would have killed to paint him. Dead Boy wore a large floppy hat pressed down over long, dark, curly hair, and a pearl-headed tiepin in his bare throat. Show-off. I couldn’t help noticing that his car wouldn’t let him drive either. He dropped the whiskey bottle carelessly between his feet and fished about in the glove compartment before coming up with a packet of chocolate biscuits. He ripped the packet open and popped one in his mouth. He offered me the packet, but I declined. He shrugged easily and crunched happily on a second biscuit. Dead Boy didn’t need to eat or drink anymore, but he enjoyed the sensations. Though being dead, he had to work harder at it than most.

You don’t even want to hear the rumours about his sex life.

“So,” he said, somewhat indistinctly, spraying crumbs, “are you sure you can get me in? I mean, I’m persona non grata in so many places they have a preprinted form waiting, these days. It’s not my fault I haven’t got any manners. I’m dead. They should cut me some slack.”

“I’m invited,” I said, “so you can be my plus one. Please don’t piss in the potted plants, try to hump the hostess, or kill anyone unless you absolutely have to. But, you’re an immortal, sort of, so the Griffins will just love to meet you. They collect celebrity immortals, eager as they are for hints and tips on how to get the most out of their long lives, and perhaps a few clues on how to get out of the deal that made the Griffin immortal in the first place.” I looked thoughtfully at Dead Boy. “There are those who say the Griffin made a bargain with the Devil, though I’m starting to wonder. You made a bargain…”

“But not with the Devil,” said Dead Boy, staring straight ahead. “I would have got a better deal with the Devil.”

The futuristic car slammed through the packed traffic, leaving weeping and mayhem in its wake, and got us back to Griffin Hall in record time. Sometimes I think the car takes short cuts through adjoining realities when it’s in a hurry. We tore through the tall gates, barely giving them enough time to get out of our way, and rocketed up the long, winding road to Griffin Hall. This time the surrounding jungle all but fell over itself cringing back on all sides as we passed. I’d never seen trees twitch nervously before. Dead Boy opened a silver snuff-box and snorted something that glowed fluorescent green. I think you have to be dead to be able to tolerate stuff like that.

The silver car swung smoothly around into the great enclosed courtyard outside the Hall and slammed on the brakes. The courtyard was packed full, with every kind of vehicle under the moon. All kinds of cars, from every time and culture, including one that floated smugly several inches above the ground. A Delorean was still spitting discharging tachyons, right next to a pumpkin coach with tomato trimmings, drawn by a really disgruntled-looking unicorn giving everyone the evil eye. Beside it was a large hut standing on tall chicken legs. That Baba Yaga can be a real party animal when she’s got a few drinks inside her. Dead Boy’s car made some room for itself by forcibly shunting some of the weaker-looking cars out of the way, then waited impatiently for Dead Boy and me to disembark, before slamming its doors shut after us and engaging all its security systems. I could hear all its guns powering up. I was also pretty sure I could hear it giggling.

Griffin Hall was alive with light, every window blazing fiercely, and hundreds of paper lanterns glowed in perfect rows all across the courtyard to guide guests to the front door. Happy sounds blasted out of the door every time it opened, spilling a warm golden glow into the night. I waited patiently while Dead Boy checked he was looking his best and took a quick snort on an inhaler, then we headed for the door. If nothing else, Dead Boy was going to make a great distraction while I circulated quietly, asking pointed questions…Over to one side, a small crowd of uniformed chauffeurs were huddled together against the evening chill, sipping hot soup from a thermos. One of them wandered over to pet the unicorn, and the beast nearly took all his fingers off.

It took Dead Boy and I some time to cross the packed courtyard, and I watched with interest as a silver Rolls Royce opened its doors to drop off a Marie Antoinette, complete with a huge hooped skirt and a towering powdered white wig, a very large Henry VIII, and a pinch-faced Pope Joan. They sailed towards the front door, chattering brightly, and the butler Hobbes was there to greet them with a smile and a formal bow. He passed them in, then turned back to see me approaching with Dead Boy, and the smile disappeared. At least he held the door open for us.

“Back again so soon, Mr. Taylor?” Hobbes murmured suavely. “Imagine my delight. Should I arrange for servants to throw rose petals in your path, or is Miss Melissa still at large?”

“Getting closer to the truth all the time,” I said easily. “Hobbes, this is a costume party, isn’t it, and not some Time-travellers’ ball?”

“It is indeed a costume party, sir. The Time-Travellers’ Ball is next week. We’re sacrificing a Morlock for charity. Since a costume of some kind is required at this gathering, might I inquire what you have come as, sir?”

“A private eye,” I said.

“Of course you have, sir. And very convincing, too. Might I also inquire what your disturbing companion is supposed to be?”

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past,” Dead Boy growled. “Now get your scrawny arse out of my way, flunky, or I’ll show you something deeply embarrassing from your childhood. Are those your own ears?”

He slouched past the butler and sauntered off down the hall, and I hurried after him. It’s never wise to let Dead Boy out of your sight for long. A servant came hurrying forwards to lead us to the party, being careful to walk a safe distance ahead of us. I’d brought Dead Boy along to be the centre of attention, and already he was doing a fine job. I hoped he wouldn’t defenestrate anyone important this time. I could hear the party long before we got there—a raised babble of many voices, all determined to have a good time whatever it cost. The Griffin’s parties were reported on all the society pages and most of the gossip rags, and no-one wanted to be described as a wallflower or a wet blanket.

The party itself was being held in a great ballroom in the West Wing, and Mariah Griffin herself was there at the door to greet us. She was magnificently attired as Queen Elizabeth I, in all the period finery, right down to a red wig over an artificially high forehead. The heavy white makeup and shaved eyebrows, however, only added to the pretty vacuity of her face. She extended an expensively beringed hand for us to kiss. I shook it politely, and Dead Boy dropped her a sporty wink.

“Well now, we are honoured, aren’t we?” she said, fanning herself with a delicate paper fan I didn’t have the heart to tell her was way out of period. “Not only the infamous John Taylor, but also a fellow immortal, the legendary Dead Boy himself! Come to join my little gathering! How sweet.”

I looked at Dead Boy. “How come I’m infamous, but you’re legendary?”

“Charm,” said Dead Boy. “Solid charm.”

“The tales you must have to tell,” said Mariah, tapping Dead Boy playfully on the arm with her fan. “Of all your many exploits and adventures! We would of course have invited you here long ago, but you do seem to move around a lot…”

“Got to keep the creditors on their toes,” Dead Boy said cheerfully. “And a moving target is always the hardest to hit.”

“Well, yes,” said Mariah, a little vaguely. “Quite! Do come in. I think you’re one of the very few long-lived we haven’t actually had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

“Have you met the Lord of Thorns?” I said, just a little mischievously. “Or Old Father Time? Or Razor Eddie? Fascinating characters, you know. I could arrange introductions if you like.”

She glared at me briefly, then turned her full attention back to charming Dead Boy. He gave her back his best darkly smouldering look, and she simpered happily, not realising he was sending her up. I grabbed Dead Boy firmly by the arm and steered him through the door before he could do or say anything that would require Jeremiah to have him reduced to his component parts and disposed of in a trash compactor. Dead Boy has remarkable appetites and absolutely no inhibitions. He says he finds being dead very liberating.

The huge ballroom had been elaborately and expensively transformed into a massive old-fashioned rose garden. Low hedges and blossoming rose-bushes and creeping ivy trailing up the walls. Artificial sunlight poured through the magnificent stained-glass windows, and the air was full of sweet summer scents, along with the happy trills of bird-song and the quiet buzz of insects. There were wooden chairs and benches, love-seats and sun-dials, and even a gently gusting summer breeze, to cool an overheated brow. Neatly cropped grass underfoot, and the illusion of a cloudless summer sky above. No expense spared for the Griffin’s guests.

I hoped none of the flowers had been brought in from the outside jungle.

A uniformed and bewigged servant came forward with a silver platter bearing various drinks and beverages. I took a flute of champagne, just to be polite. Dead Boy took two. I glared at him, but it was a waste of time. He knocked back both glasses, belched loudly, and advanced determinedly on another servant carrying a tray full of party snacks. I let him go and looked around the crowded garden. There had to be at least a hundred people come to attend Mariah’s little do, all dressed up in the most outlandish and expensive costumes possible. They were here to see and be seen, and most importantly, talked about. All the usual celebrities and famous faces had turned up, along with all the most aristocratic members of High Society, and a small group of men keeping conspicuously to themselves, immediately recognisable as Jeremiah Griffin’s most prominent business enemies.

Big Jake Rackham, Uptown Taffy Lewis, both in formal tuxedos, because their dignity wouldn’t allow them to be seen in anything less in the presence of their enemy. Max Maxwell, the Voodoo King, so big they named him twice, dressed up as Baron Samedi, and next to him, somewhat to my surprise, General Condor. I’d never met the man, but I knew his reputation. Everyone did. The General had been a starship commander in some future time, before he fell into the Nightside through a passing Timeslip. A very strong-minded, moral, and upright man, he disapproved of pretty much everything and everyone in the Nightside, and had made it his mission to change the Nightside for the better. He disapproved of the Griffin and his business practices most of all. But enough to ally himself with these men? A straight-backed, strait-laced military man, working with the Griffin’s enemies? Presumably because the enemy of my enemy is my ally, if not my friend. I just hoped he knew any one of them would stab him in the back first chance they got. The General really should have known better. He might have been a hero in the future he came from, but the Nightside does so love to break a hero…

The businessmen kept a careful and discreet distance from the ongoing festivities, and from each other. They were only here to check out the Griffin, and for all General Condor’s attempts to find some common ground, they had nothing to say to each other. All they had in common was their hatred and fear of a shared enemy. I looked round sharply as the party’s noise level dropped abruptly, in time to see the crowd part respectfully to allow Jeremiah Griffin to approach me. He ignored everyone else, his attention focused solely on me, his expression ostentatiously calm and unconcerned. Dead Boy wandered back to join me, stuffing his face with a handful of assorted snacks and spilling crumbs down the front of his coat. He moved into position beside me, facing Jeremiah, so everyone would know where he stood. The Griffin crashed to a halt in front of us.

“John Taylor!” he said, in a loud and carrying voice, so everyone present would be in no doubt of who I was. “So good of you to come at such short notice. I’m sure we have lots to talk about.” It wasn’t exactly subtle, but it made the required impression. People were already muttering and whispering together about what I was doing here and what I might have to tell. The Griffin looked dubiously at Dead Boy. “And you’ve brought a friend, John. How nice.”

“I’m Dead Boy, and you’re very pleased to meet me,” Dead Boy said indistinctly, through a mouthful of food. “Yes, I am immortal, sort of, but no, there’s nothing I can do to help you with any deal you may or may not have made. Good food. You got any more?”

The Griffin summoned a servant with a fresh tray of party nibbles, watched with a somewhat pained expression as Dead Boy grabbed the lot, then turned his attention back to me. “I see you’ve spotted my business rivals, cowering together,” he said, in a somewhat lower voice. “Afraid to circulate, for fear they’ll hear bad things about themselves. But I knew they couldn’t stay away. They had to see for themselves how I was coping. Well, let them look. Let them see how calm and controlled I am. Let them see who I have hired to deal with this threat to me and my family.”

“So business is still good?” I said. “The city still has confidence in you?”

“Hell, no. All this uncertainty is ruining me financially. But I’ve made arrangements, and you can be sure that if I go down, I’ll take them all with me.” The Griffin fixed me with a fierce stare. “You let me worry about the finances, Taylor. You concentrate on finding Melissa. Time is running out. Once she is returned to me, everything will be well again.”

He then made a deliberate effort to change the subject by pointing out several other immortals who had come to grace his party with their presence. The vampire Count Stobolzny had come as a white-faced clown, in a white clown suit set off with a row of blood-red bobbles down the front. To match his eyes, presumably. But for all the Count’s airs and graces, there was nothing human about him. You only had to look at him to see him for what he really was—a slowly rotting corpse that had dug itself up out of its own grave to feast on the living. Behind the ragged lips were animals’ teeth, made for rending and tearing. I’ve never understood why some people see leeches as romantic.

Then there were two elves in full Elizabethan dress, probably because that was the height of fashion the last time they’d shared the world with us. The elves walked sideways from the sun centuries ago, disappearing into their own private dimension once it became clear they were losing their long war with Humanity. They only come back now to mess with us and screw us over. It’s all they have left. Both elves were supernaturally tall and slender and elegant, holding themselves ostentatiously apart from the vulgar displays of human enjoyment, while never missing a chance to look down their arrogant noses at anyone who got too close. So why invite them? Because they were immortal, and knew many things, and magic moved in them like breath and blood. It is possible to make a deal with an elf, if you have something they want badly enough. But you’d be well advised to count your testicles afterwards. And those of anyone close to you. The Griffin named these elves as Cobweb and Moth, which rang a faint bell in my memory. I knew that would bug me all evening till I got it.

Not that far away, two godlings were chatting easily together. The huge Hell’s Angel in big black motorcycle leathers was apparently Jimmy Thunder, God for Hire, descended from the Norse God Thor and current holder of the mystic hammer Mjolnir. He was a happy, burly sort, with a long mane of flame red hair and a great bushy beard. He looked like he could bench-press a steam engine if he felt like it, and also like he wouldn’t stop boasting about it for weeks afterwards. His companion was Mistress Mayhem, a tall blue-skinned beauty with midnight-dark hair down to her slender waist. She was descended (at many removes, one hopes) from the Indian death goddess Kali. She’d come dressed as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, her form-fitting black silk dress cut away to show as much blue skin as possible. Jeremiah insisted on walking me over and introducing me, and they both smiled politely.

“Just passing through,” Jimmy Thunder boomed. “I was over in Shadows Fall, consulting with the Norns, and I had to stop over here to refuel my bike. You wouldn’t believe how much they wanted to charge me for a few gallons of virgin’s blood! I mean, I know there’s a shortage these days, but…Anyway, Mayhem told me about this party, and I never miss a chance for a good knees up at someone else’s expense.” He prodded me cheerfully in the chest with one oversized finger. “So, you’re Lilith’s son. Not sure if that makes you a godling or not. Either way, don’t let anyone start a religion over you. They get so damned needy, and they never stop bothering you. These days I limit my worshippers to setting up tribute sites on the Net.”

“Which you are always visiting,” said Mistress Mayhem.

I studied her thoughtfully. “Are you really descended from a death goddess?”

“Oh yes. Would you like to see me wither a flower?”

“Maybe later,” I said politely.

Jimmy Thunder put a huge arm companionably across Mistress Mayhem’s shoulders. “Hey sweetie, want to hold my hammer?”

Perhaps fortunately, at that point someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and steered me over to the nearest wall for a private chat. I don’t normally let people do that, but for Larry Oblivion I made an exception. We’d fought side by side in the Lilith War, but I wouldn’t call us friends. Especially after what happened to his brother Tommy. Larry Oblivion, the deceased detective, the post-mortem private eye. Murdered by his own partner, he survives now as some kind of zombie. No-one knows the details, because he doesn’t like to talk about it. You wouldn’t know he was dead till you got up close and smelled the formaldehyde. He was dressed in the very best Armani, tall and well built, with straw-coloured hair over a pale, stubborn face. But you only had to look into his eyes to know what he was. Meeting Larry Oblivion’s gaze was like leaning over an open grave. I stared right back at him, giving him gaze for gaze. You can’t show weakness in the Nightside, or they’ll walk right over you.

“Looking good, Larry,” I said. “And what have you come as? A fashion model?”

“I came as me,” he said, in his dry flat voice. He only breathed when he needed air to speak, which became disturbing after a while. “I’m only here because you’re here. We need to talk, Taylor.”

“We’ve already talked,” I said, just a little tiredly. “I told you what happened to your brother. He went down fighting during the War.”

“Then why has his body never been found?” said Larry, pushing his face right into mine. “My brother trusted you. I trusted you to look after him. But here you are, alive and well, and Tommy is missing, presumed dead.”

“He died a hero, saving the Nightside,” I said evenly.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” said Larry. “Not if you let him die to save yourself.”

“Back off, Larry.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll rip your soul right out of your dead body.”

He hesitated. He wasn’t sure I could do that, but he wasn’t sure I couldn’t, either. There are a lot of stories about me in the Nightside, and I never confirm or deny any of them. They all help build a reputation. And I have done some really bad things in my time.

Dead Boy came over to join us. He’d found a large piece of gateau and was licking the chocolate off his fingers. He nodded familiarly to Larry, who glared back at him with disdain. They might both be dead, but they moved in very different circles.

“Not drinking, Larry?” said Dead Boy. “You should try the Port. And the Brandy. Get them to spike it with a little strychnine. Gives the booze some bite. And there’s some quail’s eggs over there that are quite passable…”

“I don’t need to eat or drink,” said Larry. “I’m dead.”

“Well, I don’t need to either,” Dead Boy said reasonably. “But I do anyway. It’s all part of remembering what it felt like, to be alive. Just because you’re dead it doesn’t mean you can’t indulge yourself, or get bombed out of your head. We just have to try that little bit harder, that’s all. I’ve got some pills that can really perk you up, if you’d care to try some. This little old Obeah woman knocks them out for me…”

“You’re a degenerate,” Larry said flatly. “You and I have nothing in common.”

“But you are both zombies, aren’t you?” I said, honestly curious.

“I’m a lot more than that,” Dead Boy said immediately. “I am a returned spirit, possessing my murdered body. I’m a revenant.”

“You chose to be what you are,” Larry said coldly. “This was done to me against my will. But at least I’ve gone on to make something of myself. I now run the biggest private detective agency in the Nightside. I am a respected businessman.”

“You’re a corpse with delusions of grandeur,” said Dead Boy. “And a crashing bore. John was the first private investigator in the Nightside. You and the rest are all pale imitations.”

“Better than being the bouncer at a ghost-dancing bar!” snapped Larry. “Or hiring out as muscle to keep the dead in their graves at the Necropolis. And at least I know how to dress properly. I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing an outfit like that!”

He turned his back on us and stalked away, and people hurried to get out of his path. Dead Boy looked at me.

“That last bit was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Hard to say,” I said honestly. “With anyone else, yes, but Larry was never known for his sense of humour even when he was alive.”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” said Dead Boy, looking down at himself, honestly baffled.

“Not a thing,” I said quickly. “It’s just that we haven’t all got your colourful personality.”

The Lady Orlando swayed over to join us, every movement of her luscious body a joy to behold. One of Jeremiah’s celebrity immortals, and the darling of the gossip rags, the Lady Orlando claimed to have been around since Roman times, moving on from one identity to another, and she had an endless series of stories about all the famous people she’d met, and bedded, if you believed her. In the Nightside she drifted from party to party, living off whoever would have her, telling her stories to anyone who’d stand still long enough. She’d come to the party dressed as the Sally Bowles character from Cabaret, all fishnet stockings, bowler hat, and too much eye makeup. Bit of a sad case, all told, but we can’t all be legends. She came to a halt before Dead Boy and me, and stretched languorously to give us both a good look at what was on offer.

“Have you seen poor old Georgie, darlings, dressed up as Henry VIII?” she purred, peering owlishly at us over her glass of bubbly. “Doesn’t look a bit like the real thing. I met King Henry in his glory days at Hampton Court, and I am here to tell you, he wasn’t nearly as big as he liked to make out. You boys and your toys…Have you seen our resident alien, positively lording it over his loopy admirers? Klatu, the Alien from Dimension X…Thinks he’s so big time, just because he’s downloading his consciousness from another reality…I could tell you a few things about that pokey little body he’s chosen to inhabit…”

I tuned her out so I could concentrate on Klatu, who was holding forth before a whole throng of respectful listeners. He was always offering to explain the mysteries of the universe, or the secrets of existence, until you threatened to pin him down or back him into a corner, then he suddenly tended to get all vague and remember a previous appointment. Klatu was only another con man at heart, though his background made him more glamorous than most. There’s never been any shortage of aliens in the Nightside, whether the interstellar equivalent of the remittance men, paid not to go home again, or those just passing through on their way to somewhere more interesting. Klatu claimed to be an extension of a larger personality in the Fifth Dimension, and the body he inhabited just a glorified glove puppet manipulated from afar. And you could believe that or not, as you chose. Certainly for an extradimensional alien, he did seem to enjoy his creature comforts, as long as someone else paid for them…

I had to remind myself I was here for a purpose. I needed new leads on where to look for Melissa and some fresh ideas on what might have happened to her. So I nodded a brisk farewell to Dead Boy and the Lady Orlando, and wandered off through the party, smiling and nodding and being agreeable to anyone who looked like they might know something. I learned a lot of new gossip, picked up some useful business tips, and turned down a few offers of a more personal nature; but while everyone was only too willing to talk about the missing Melissa, and theorize wildly about the circumstances of her dramatic disappearance…no-one really knew anything. So I went looking for other members of the Griffin family to see if I could charm or intimidate any more out of them.

I found William dressed as Captain Hook, complete with a three-cornered hat and a metal hook he was using to open a stubborn wine bottle. He’d also brought along Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat as his guests. Apparently everyone else thought they were simply wearing costumes. We had a pleasant little chat, during which the Sea Goat poured half a dozen different drinks into a flower vase he’d emptied for the purpose, and drank the lot in a series of greedy gulps. Surrounding guests didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled, and settled for muttering I say! to each other from a safe distance. The Sea Goat belched loudly, ripped half a dozen roses from a nearby bush, and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, petals and thorns and all.

“Not bad,” he said. “Could use a little something. A few caterpillars, perhaps.”

“What?” said William.

“Full of protein,” said the Goat.

“Now you’re just showing off,” said Bruin Bear.

“This is the best kind of food and drink,” insisted the Sea Goat. “It’s free. I’m filling all my pockets before I leave.”

“I really must introduce you to Dead Boy,” I said. “You have so much in common. How are you enjoying the party, Bruin?”

“I only came along to keep William company,” said the Bear. “I am, after all, every boy’s friend and companion. And for all his many years William is still a boy in many ways. Besides, I do like to get away from Shadows Fall now and again. Our home-town has legends and wonders like a dog has fleas, and they can really get on your nerves, after a while. If everyone’s special, then noone is, really. The Nightside makes a pleasant change, for short periods. Because for all its sleazy nature, there are still many people here in need of a Bear’s friendship and comfort…”

The Sea Goat made a loud rude noise, and we all looked round to see him glaring at the elves Cobweb and Moth as they passed by.

They must have heard the Goat but chose not to acknowledge his presence. The Sea Goat ground his large blocky teeth together noisily.

“Bloody elves,” he growled. “So up themselves they’re practically staring out their own nostrils. Giving me the cold shoulder because I used to be fictional. I was a much-loved children’s character! Until the Bear and I went out of fashion, and our books disappeared from the shelves. No-one wants good old traditional, glad-hearted adventure anymore. I was so much happier and contented when I wasn’t real.”

“You never were happy and contented,” Bruin Bear said cheerfully. “That was part of your charm.”

“You were charming,” the Goat said testily. “I was a character.”

“And beloved by my generation,” said William, putting an arm across both their shoulders. “I had all your books when I was a boy. You helped make my childhood bearable, because your Golden Lands were one of the few places I could escape to that my father couldn’t follow.”

“Elves,” growled the Sea Goat. “Wankers!”

Cobweb and Moth turned suddenly and headed straight for us. Up close, they were suddenly and strikingly alien, not human in the least, their glamour falling away to reveal dangerous, predatory creatures. Elves have no souls, so they feel no mercy and no compassion. They can do any terrible thing that crosses their mind, and mostly they do, for any reason or none. William actually fell back a pace under the pressure of their inhuman gaze. Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat moved quickly forward to stand between William and the advancing elves. So of course I had to stand my ground, too. Even though the best way to win a fight with an elf is to run like fun the moment it notices you.

The two elves came to a halt before us, casually elegant and deadly. Their faces were identical—same cat’s eyes, same pointed ears, same cold, cold smile. Cobweb wore grey, Moth wore blue. Up close, they smelled of musk and sulphur.

“Watch your manners, little fiction,” said Moth. “Or we’ll teach you some.”

The Sea Goat reached out with an overlong arm, grabbed the front of the elf’s tunic, picked him up, and threw him the length of the ballroom. The elf went flying over everyone’s heads, tumbling head over heels, making plaintive noises of distress. Cobweb watched his fellow elf disappear into the distance, then looked back at the Sea Goat, who smiled nastily at the elf, showing his large blocky teeth.

“Hey, elf,” said the Goat. “Fetch.”

There was the sound of something heavy hitting the far wall, then the floor, some considerable distance away, followed by pained moans. Cobweb turned his back on us and stalked away into the crowd, who were all chattering loudly. They hadn’t had this much fun at a party in years. It helped that absolutely no-one liked elves. Bruin Bear shook his head sadly.

“Can’t take you anywhere…”

William couldn’t speak for laughing. I hadn’t seen him laugh before. It looked good on him.

“I should never have let you mix your drinks,” Bruin Bear scolded the Sea Goat. “You get nasty when you’ve been drinking.”

“Elves,” growled the Goat. “And those two think they’re so big time, just because they got name-checked in a Shakespeare play. Have you ever seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Romantic twaddle! Don’t think the man ever met an elf in his life. One play…the Bear and me starred in thirty-six books! Even if no-one reads them anymore…” He sniffed loudly, a single large tear running down the side of his long, grey muzzle. “We used to be big, you know. Big! It’s the books that got small…”

I excused myself and went to see if the elf was feeling okay after his forced landing. Not that I gave a damn, of course, but I could use a contact at the Faerie Court. And while an elf would know better than to respond to an offer of friendship, he might well respond to a decent-sized bribe. By the time I got to the other end of the ballroom, Moth was back on his feet and looking none the worse for his sudden enforced exit. It’s not easy to kill an elf, though it’s often worth the effort. Cobweb and Moth were currently doing their best to stare down Larry Oblivion, who was quietly but firmly refusing to be out-stared.

“Queen Mab wants her wand back,” Cobweb said bluntly.

“She sent us to tell you this,” said Moth. “Don’t make us tell you twice.”

“Tough,” said Larry, entirely unmoved. “She wants it back, tell her to come herself.”

“We could take it from you,” said Cobweb.

“We’d like that,” said Moth.

Larry laughed in their faces. “What are you going to do, kill me? Bit late for that. Queen Mab gave me her wand, for services rendered. You tell her…if she ever tries to pressure me again, I’ll tell everyone exactly what I did for her and why. Now push off, or I’ll set the Sea Goat on you.”

“Queen Mab will not forget this slight,” said Cobweb.

Larry Oblivion grinned. “Like I give a Puck.”

The elves stalked away, not looking back. I studied Larry Oblivion thoughtfully, from a distance. I was seriously interested. Larry Oblivion had an elven weapon? That was worth knowing…The elves only unlocked their Armoury when they were preparing to go to war. And since I hadn’t seen Four Horsemen trotting through the Nightside recently, it seemed a few of the ancient elvish weapons were running around loose…I was still considering the implications of that when the Lady Orlando turned up again and backed me into a corner before I could escape. She was in full flirt mode, and I had to wonder why she’d targeted me, when there were so many richer men in the room. Maybe she’d heard how much Griffin was paying me for this case…

“John, darling,” she said, smiling dazzlingly, her eyes wide and hungry. “You must be the only real Nightside celebrity I haven’t had. I really must add you to my collection.”

“Back off,” I said, not unkindly. “I’m spoken for.”

“I just want your body,” said the Lady Orlando, wrinkling her perfect nose. “Not your love. I’m sure Suzie would understand.”

“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t,” I said. “Now be a good girl and go point those bosoms at someone else.”

Luckily, at that point Eleanor Griffin turned up to rescue me. She breezed right past the Lady Orlando, slipped her arm through mine, and led me away in one smooth movement, before the Lady could object, chattering loudly non-stop so the Lady couldn’t even get an innuendo in. I didn’t dare look back. Hell hath no fury like a woman outscored.

Eleanor was currently dressed as Madonna, from her John-Paul Gautier period, complete with black corset and brass breast cones. I looked them over and winced just a little.

“Aren’t those cold?”

Eleanor laughed briefly. “I’m wearing them for Marcel, to cheer him up. He’s fully recovered now, thanks to some heavy duty fast-acting healing spells, but he’s still a bit down in the dumps, because I’ve had him electronically tagged. If he tries to leave the Hall again to sneak off gambling, the tag will bite his leg off. He’s around here somewhere, sulking, dressed as Sky Masterson from Guys and Dolls. A bit predictable, I suppose, but he’s a big Marlon Brando fan. But never mind him. I need to talk to you, John. Am I correct in assuming that Daddy summoned you here to fill him in personally on your search for Melissa? Thought so. He’s always found it hard to delegate and depend on other people. Are you any nearer tracking her down?”

“No,” I said, glad to be talking to someone I could be straight with. “I’ve talked to every member of your family, and if anyone knows anything, they’re doing a really good job of keeping it to themselves.”

“Couldn’t you try asking, well, underground people you know? I mean, criminals and informers, that sort of person?”

“The kind I know wouldn’t dare touch a Griffin,” I said. “No, the only people big and bad enough to try something like that are mostly right here in this room.”

“Have you talked with Paul?” said Eleanor, not looking at me.

“I spoke with Polly,” I said carefully. “I heard her sing. She’s got a really good voice.”

“I’ve never heard Polly sing,” said Eleanor. “I can’t go to the club. Paul mustn’t know…that I know about Polly.”

She led me back to William, who was standing alone now. The Sea Goat and Bruin Bear were presumably off getting into trouble somewhere else. William scowled ungraciously at Eleanor as we came to a halt before him. All the old sullenness was back in his face.

“Whatever she’s been telling you about me, don’t believe a word of it,” he snapped. “Hell, don’t believe anything she tells you. Dear Eleanor always has her own agenda.”

Eleanor smiled sweetly at him. “Name one person in our family who doesn’t, brother dear. Even sweet saintly Melissa had her own life, kept strictly separate from the rest of us.”

“A secret life?” I said. “You mean like Paul?”

“No-one knows,” said Eleanor. “She always was a very private little girl.”

“Best way, in this family,” growled William. “People find out your secrets in this place, they use them against you.”

They fell to squabbling then, rehearsing old hurts and grievances and wounds that had never been allowed to heal, and I just tuned them out. So Melissa had a secret life, so private that none of them had even thought to mention it before. Perhaps because no-one in this family liked to admit to not knowing something.

I looked round the ballroom. The party seemed to be going well enough, but I was interested in the other Griffins. Jeremiah was right at the centre of things, of course, holding court before a large group who gave every indication of hanging on his every word. Mariah paraded back and forth through her artificial rose garden, accepting and bestowing compliments, in her element at last. I couldn’t see Marcel or Gloria anywhere, but it was a really big garden. So if I wanted to learn any more about Melissa’s secret life, I was going to have to dig it out of Eleanor and William.

“Have you told him yet?” said William, in a very pointed way, and I started paying attention again.

“I was working up to it,” said Eleanor. “It’s not the sort of thing you can just spring on someone, is it?” She turned to me, forcing the anger out of her face through sheer force of will, and in a moment she was all smiles and charm again. “John, we need you to do something for us.”

“Set up the security field first,” William interrupted.

“No-one can hear us in all this babble,” said Eleanor. “And a privacy shield might be noticed.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing we can afford to have overheard,” said William. “Better for someone to be suspicious than for anyone to know.”

“All right, all right!”

She glanced unobtrusively around her and produced a small charm of carved bone from a concealed pocket. She clutched it in her fist, muttered an activating spell, and the background noise faded quickly away to nothing. I could see lips moving all around me, but not a whisper got through the shield; or, presumably, out. Our privacy was ensured. Until somebody noticed. I looked curiously at William and Eleanor, and they looked back at me with a kind of stubborn desperation in their faces. And I suddenly knew that whatever they were going to ask me, it had nothing at all to do with Melissa.

“What would it take,” Eleanor said carefully, “for you to kill our father for us?”

I looked at them both in silence for a long moment. Whatever I’d expected them to say, that wasn’t it.

“You’re the only man who might stand a chance,” said William. “You can get close to him, where no-one else could.”

“We’ve heard about some of the things you did,” said Eleanor. “During the Lilith War.”

“Everyone says you did things no-one else could,” said William. “In the War.”

“You want me to murder Jeremiah?” I said. “Why exactly would you want me to do that?”

“To be free,” said William, and his gaze was so intense it seemed to bore right through me. “You have no idea what it’s like, having lived in his shadow for so long. My whole life controlled, and ruined, by him. You’ve seen the lengths I have to go to simply to feel free for a time.”

“With him gone, we could live our own lives, at last,” said Eleanor. “It’s not like he ever loved either of us.”

“This isn’t about money, or business, or power,” said William. “I’d give them all up to be free of him.”

“Do it for us, John,” said Eleanor. “Do it for me.”

“I’m a private eye,” I said. “Not an assassin.”

“You don’t understand,” William said urgently. “We’ve talked this over. We believe our father is behind Melissa’s disappearance. We think he arranged to have her taken against her will from the Hall. Nothing happens here without his knowing, without his permission. Only he could have bypassed the Hall’s extensive security and made sure all the servants were in areas of the Hall where they wouldn’t see anything. He wants my daughter dead, with someone else set up to take the blame. I believe my daughter is dead, John, and I want that murder avenged.”

“If he’s had Melissa killed,” said Eleanor, “my Paul could be next. I can’t let that happen. He’s all I’ve got that’s really mine. You have to help us, John. Our father is capable of anything to get what he wants.”

“Then why did he hire me?” I said.

“What better way publicly to display his grief and anger?” said William. “Our father’s always understood the need for good publicity.”

“And if he does need someone to fix the blame on,” said Eleanor, “what better choice than the infamous John Taylor?”

“The best way I can help you,” I said carefully, “is by finding Melissa and bringing her back, safe and well. I’ll go this far: whoever is behind her disappearance will get what’s coming to them. Whoever it turns out to be.”

I walked away from them, bursting through the privacy field and back into the raucous clamour of the party. I had some thinking to do. I couldn’t say it surprised me that Jeremiah’s children would turn out to be as ruthless as him, but I was still disappointed in them. I’d started to like William and Eleanor. Still, could Jeremiah have brought me in to be his very visible fall guy? Someone to blame when Melissa never turned up? It wouldn’t be the first time a client had been less than honest with me. And as though just the thought was enough to conjure him up, Jeremiah appeared abruptly out of the crowd before me.

“Not drinking?” he said cheerfully. “This is a party!”

“Someone here needs to keep a clear head,” I said.

Jeremiah nodded vaguely. “You haven’t seen Paul around anywhere, have you? I had one of the servants shout through his door that I expected him to make an appearance along with the rest of the family, but that’s Paul for you. Probably still sulking in his room, with his music turned up loud. Unless he’s sneaked out again.” Jeremiah laughed briefly. It had a sour sound. “He thinks I don’t know…Nothing goes on in this house that I don’t know about. I had some of my people follow him at first, from a discreet distance…turns out the boy’s a shirtlifter. Spends all his time at gay clubs…After everything I did to try and make a man out of him. Damned shame, but what can you do?”

I nodded. It was clear Jeremiah didn’t know about Polly, and I wasn’t about to tell him.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a costume party?” I said. “I feel rather out of place. It might even have been embarrassing if I was the kind who got embarrassed.”

“But you’re not,” said Jeremiah. “I needed you to come as you are so everyone would be sure to recognise you. I want them all to know you’re working for me. First, it makes it clear that I’m doing something about Melissa’s kidnapping. Second, the fact that I’m able to hire you, the infamous John Taylor, helps make me look strong and in command. Perception is everything, in business. And third, maybe your presence will be enough to provoke Melissa’s captors into making a move, at last. Have you found out anything yet?”

“Only that someone is really determined to keep me from finding out what’s going on,” I said. “And you already knew that.”

“Ah. Yes. That business in the conference room.” Jeremiah scowled at me. “You must hurry, Taylor. Time is running out.”

“For her?” I said. “Or for you?”

“Both.”

Suddenly, the doors to the ballroom slammed open with a deafening crash. Everyone turned to look, and a sudden hush fell across the party because there in the doorway, standing perfectly poised and at ease, was Walker. The man who currently ran the Nightside, inasmuch as anyone did, or could, because everyone else was too scared to challenge him. In the old days he was the voice of the Authorities, those grey shadowy men behind the scenes, but now they were dead and gone, and Walker was…The Man.

As always, he looked every inch the smart city gent, in his expensively cut suit, old school tie, and bowler hat. Calm, relaxed, and always very, very dangerous. He had to be in his sixties now, his trim figure yielding just a little to gravity and good living, but he still radiated confidence and quiet power. His face seemed younger, but his eyes were old. Walker represented authority now, if not actually law and order; and he did so love to make an entrance.

He looked round the ballroom, smiling politely, taking his time. Letting everyone get a good look at him. He had come alone into the lair of his enemies, and I had to wonder whom he could call on for support, now. There was a time when he could have summoned armies to back him up, from the military and the church, courtesy of the Authorities. But would those armies still come now if he called? They might—this was Walker, after all. A man who knew many things, not all of them good or lawful or healthy.

The crowd fell back to allow Jeremiah to walk unhurriedly through it to confront Walker. Walker smiled easily and let the most powerful businessman in the Nightside come to him. I moved quickly after Jeremiah. I wasn’t going to miss this. Jeremiah came to a stop before Walker, looked him up and down, and snorted dismissively. Walker nodded politely.

“You’ve got a nerve coming here, Walker,” said Jeremiah. “Into my house, my home, uninvited!”

“I go where I’m needed, Jeremiah,” said Walker, his calm voice carrying clearly on the quiet. “You know that. Nice place you’ve got here. Good security systems, too. State-of-the-art. But you should have known even they wouldn’t be enough to keep me out when I want in. Still, not to worry; I haven’t come to haul you away in chains. Not this time. I’ve come to take someone else away, to answer for their crimes.”

“Everyone present in this room is a guest of mine,” Jeremiah said immediately. “And therefore under my personal protection. You can’t lay a finger on any of them.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want me to take this person away,” said Walker, still smiling, entirely unmoved by the Griffin’s open defiance. “They really have been very naughty.”

He looked round the ballroom, and any number of people quailed under his glance, because after all…this was Walker, and they all had something to feel guilty about.

Jeremiah snapped a Word of Power, and his security came bursting right out of the ballroom walls—huge grey golems twice the size of a man, with fists like mauls. There was a great commotion among the guests as they scrambled to get out of the golems’ way. The ugly grey things crashed through the artificial rose garden, destroying the hedges and the bushes, intent on their prey. One guest didn’t get out of their way fast enough, and the golems trampled him underfoot, ignoring his screams. The floor shook under their heavy tread as they closed in on Walker.

He stood his ground, entirely casual and at his ease. He waited till they were almost upon him, and then he used his Voice on them. The Voice that cannot be disobeyed.

“Go away,” Walker said to the golems. “Go back where you came from, and don’t bother me again.”

The golems stopped as one in a great crash of heavy feet, then they all turned and walked back through the party and disappeared into the ballroom walls again. Jeremiah called desperately after them, using increasingly powerful Words, but they ignored him. They still had Walker’s Voice echoing in their heads, and there wasn’t room for anything else. They disappeared one by one until they were all gone, and none of the guests said anything. They watched until all the golems had disappeared, then they looked at Jeremiah, then they looked at Walker. And everyone in the ballroom knew where the real power lay. Jeremiah glared at Walker, his hands clenched into fists, actually trembling with rage.

“You’ll never get out of here alive, Walker. Everything in this house is a weapon I can use against you.”

“Oh hush, Jeremiah, there’s a good fellow; petulance is so unbecoming in a man of your age and standing. I told you I’m not here for you. Believe me, you want this person out of here as much as I do. Because one of your guests isn’t who you think they are.”

That got everyone’s attention. They all started looking around them, some actually backing away from each other. Where once they might have united against Walker, now they were all looking out for themselves. Walker strode past Jeremiah, nodding to me in an affable, urbane, and totally dismissive way, and walked into the crowd as though he was a favourite uncle come to bestow gifts. The thoroughly unnerved guests scattered before him, but he only had eyes for one very well known personage. He came to a halt before her and shook his head, seemingly more in sorrow than in anger.

“But…that’s the Lady Orlando!” protested Jeremiah.

“Not as such,” said Walker, studying the Lady Orlando thoughtfully while she stared coldly back at him. “Actually, this is the Charnel Chimera—shapeshifter, soul eater, identity thief. Not the Lady Orlando at all. So, show yourself. Show us your true face.”

His Voice beat upon the air, as unrelenting as fate, as unavoidable as death. The Lady Orlando opened her mouth, then kept on opening it, stretching her features unnaturally, and the sound that came out of the ugly gaping maw was in no way human. Impelled by Walker’s Voice, the creature before us dropped the shape it had adapted and showed us what it really was. The Lady Orlando melted away, revealing a horrid patchwork thing, like pieces of raw meat slapped together in a roughly human shape. It was all red-and-purple flesh, wet and glistening, marked with dark traceries of pulsing veins. The lumpy head was featureless, save for a circular mouth filled with needle teeth. The thing stank of filth and decay, sulphur and ammonia like all the bodies in a charnel house far gone in rot and suppuration. All around the thing people were stumbling backwards, coughing and choking at the smell, horrified at the awful creature that had walked unsuspected among them. Nightmares like this belonged in the streets of the Nightside, not in the safer and protected houses of the rich. The Charnel Chimera stood its ground, brought to bay, and turned its terribly unfinished face on Walker, who stared calmly back at it. When the creature finally spoke, its voice sounded more like an insect’s buzz than anything else.

“Even your Voice can’t hold me for long, Walker. It was never designed to work on such as me. There are far too many people in me for you to control us all.”

“What the hell is that thing?” I said. I’d come forward to join Walker, thinking he might need some kind of backup.

“The Charnel Chimera collects DNA through casual contact,” said Walker, not taking his eyes off the creature. “Handshakes, and the like. And then it stores the epithelial cells in its internal database. It’s always adding new people to its collection. It only needs a few cells to be able to duplicate anyone, right down to the last hair on their head. But to hold on to a single shape for long, it needs to kidnap the victim, imprison them somewhere safe, and…feed off them. Some kind of psychic transference…Until the original is all used up and rots away to nothing. And then the Charnel Chimera has to move on to a new form.

“One of my agents tracked down the creature’s lair and found the real Lady Orlando chained to a wall in a rather nasty little oubliette under an abandoned warehouse out on Desolation Row. Along with the rotting remains of over a dozen previous victims.” Walker shook his head sadly at the creature before him. “You really shouldn’t have taken such a well-known personage. You’re not that good an actor. But it got you in here, didn’t it? Among all the rich, important people. You must have been spoilt for choice for your next identity. How many hands did you shake? How many cheeks did you kiss?”

Shocked and disgusted noises came from all across the ballroom, as people remembered greeting or being greeted by the Lady Orlando, who was always so very popular, and so very touchy-feely…A few actually vomited. I remembered being backed into a corner, and the Lady saying to me, I want your body…I really must add you to my collection. And how badly I had misunderstood.

Jimmy Thunder, his face bright crimson with outrage, came roaring up behind the Charnel Chimera and hit it over the head with his hammer. The blunt meaty head collapsed under the impact and crashed down between its shoulder-blades, scattering bits of flesh like shrapnel, only to rise back up again with a soft wet sucking sound. The creature whirled round unnaturally fast and hit Thunder hard with an oversized arm. The Norse godling flew through the air and crashed into the wall behind him so hard he cracked the wooden panelling from top to bottom. The creature swung back to lash out at Walker, but he’d already stepped back out of reach. I saw Dead Boy eagerly pushing his way forward through the panicking crowd and yelled to him.

“Keep it busy! I’ve got an idea!”

Dead Boy came charging out of the crowd and threw himself at the Charnel Chimera. He waded right in, grabbing meaty chunks of the creature’s body with his bare hands, tearing them free by brute force, and throwing them aside. The creature didn’t bleed, but it howled with rage and hit Dead Boy square in the face with a hand like a fleshy club. Dead Boy’s head snapped all the way round under the terrible force of the blow, and people gasped as they heard his neck break. Dead Boy stood for a moment with his face staring right at me, twisted so far round it was practically on back to front. Then he winked at me and slowly turned his head back into its proper position. In the shocked silence we could all hear his neck bones grinding as they realigned themselves. Dead Boy grinned nastily at the Charnel Chimera.

“That the best you’ve got? I’m dead, remember? Come on, give me your best shot! I can take it!”

The two of them slammed together, tearing at each other with unnatural strength, while everyone around them cried out in shock and horror at the awful things they were doing to each other. And while all this was going on I concentrated on slowly and cautiously raising my gift, opening my inner eye, my third eye, a fraction at a time. Previously, when I’d tried to use my gift in this house, Someone had shut me down, hard. But nothing happened this time, and I was able to use my gift to find the old and very nasty magic that held the various parts of the Charnel Chimera together, in defiance of all natural laws. And it was the easiest thing in the world for me to rip that magic away.

The creature just fell apart. It screamed like a soul newly damned to Hell as all the separate pieces of meat dropped to the floor, already rotting, the last dying remnants of people the creature had been before. The Charnel Chimera collapsed, its scream choking off as it sagged to the floor, losing all shape and running like filthy liquids, until nothing was left but a quietly steaming stain on the floor and the last, lingering traces of its charnel house stench.

Walker nodded pleasantly to me. “Thank you, John. I could have handled it myself. In fact, I would have liked to take it back in one piece for questioning and study…but then, you can’t have everything.”

“Indeed,” I said. “Where would you put it all?”

Jeremiah came over to join us and looked down at the stain on the floor. “First you, Walker, and now this. It’s getting so anyone can walk into my house. I’m going to have to upgrade my security again. What am I supposed to do with this mess? Look, there are still bits of meat scattered everywhere.”

“Tasty,” said Dead Boy, chewing on something. “Why not jam them on cocktail sticks and hand them round as party snacks? People could take them home in doggy bags, as party favours.”

More people vomited, and there was general backing away from Dead Boy. I looked apologetically at Jeremiah.

“Sorry about that. Being dead hasn’t mellowed him at all. He doesn’t get invited out much, you know.”

“Really?” said Jeremiah. “You do surprise me.”

“Nice use of the Voice,” I said to Walker. “But I have to wonder, with the Authorities dead and gone now, who’s powering it? Or should that be What, rather than Who?”

“Life goes on,” Walker said easily. “And I’m still in charge. Because somebody has to be. Certainly I don’t see anyone suitable coming forward to replace me.”

“You’ve always hated the Nightside,” I said. “You told me it was your dearest wish to wipe out the whole damned freak show, before it spilled out over its boundaries to infect the rest of the world.”

“Perhaps I’m mellowing in my old age,” said Walker. “All that matters is that I am still here, preserving order in the Nightside, and with the Authorities gone, I have a much freer hand to go after those who threaten the way things are.”

“I see,” I said. “And would that include people like me?”

“Probably,” said Walker.

“You kidnapped my grand-daughter!” Jeremiah said abruptly, his face ablaze with the power of a new idea, glaring right into Walker’s face. “You walked right past my security and used your Voice to make Melissa leave with you! What is she? Your hostage, your insurance to stop me from taking my rightful place as ruler of the Nightside?”

“That certainly sounds like something I might do,” murmured Walker. “But I don’t need to stop you from taking over. You’re not up to it. And I wouldn’t take your grand-daughter because we both know I’d be the first person you would come after. And I don’t want another war in the Nightside, just yet.”

“You think I’d take your word for it?” snorted the Griffin. “I’ll tear this whole city down to find where you’ve hidden her!”

“Would you swear to me that you had nothing to do with Melissa’s disappearance?” I said quickly to Walker.

“Would you swear it, on my father’s name?”

“Yes, John,” said Walker. “I’ll swear to that, on your father’s name.”

I looked at Jeremiah. “He hasn’t got her.”

“How can you be so sure?” Jeremiah said suspiciously. “Exactly how closely are you two connected?”

“Long story,” I said. “Let’s just say…he knows better than to lie to me.”

Walker nodded politely to Jeremiah, tipped his bowler hat briefly to me, and walked unhurriedly out of the ballroom. No-one said anything, or tried to stop him, not even Jeremiah. Shortly after Walker left, the butler Hobbes arrived with a small army of servants to clean up the mess and restore order to the demolished hedges and rose-bushes trampled by the golems. The party slowly resumed, with much animated chatter over what had just happened. They’d be telling stories about it for years.

Surprisingly, the Griffin didn’t seem at all put out. Once Walker was gone, Jeremiah calmed right down and even started smiling again. “Nothing like a little excitement to get your party talked about,” he said cheerfully. “Look at Mariah, surrounded by all her friends and hangers-on, all of them comforting her and offering to bring her food or drink or anything else she might desire…and she’s loving it. She’s the centre of attention now, and that’s all she ever wanted. Behind the tears and the swoons, she knows all this excitement guarantees her party will be written up in all the right places, and anyone who wasn’t here will be killingly jealous of everyone who was.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “One of the problems with living as long as we have is that you’ve seen it all, done it all. Boredom is the enemy, and anything new is welcomed, good or bad. Everyone in my family is preoccupied with finding new things to distract and entertain them. I’ve spent centuries fighting and intriguing to gain control of the Nightside, because…it was there. The most difficult task I could set myself, and the biggest prize. Anything less…would have been unworthy of me. And now it infuriates me! That I’m so close to winning it all, and perhaps a bit too late!”

“Because you’re expecting to die soon?” I said bluntly.

“There’s a way out of every bargain,” said Jeremiah, not looking at me. “And a way to break every deal. You only have to be smart enough to find it.”

“Even if it means killing your own grand-children to stay alive?”

He finally looked at me, and surprised me by laughing, painfully. “No. I couldn’t do that. Not even if I wanted to.”

“You have to tell me the truth,” I said. “The whole truth, or I’m never going to get anywhere with this case. Talk to me, Jeremiah. Tell me what I need to know. Tell me about the cellar under this house, for instance, and why no-one but yourself is ever allowed to go down there.”

“You have been digging, haven’t you?” said Jeremiah.

“You do want me to find Melissa, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do. Above everything else, I want that.”

“Then either take me down to the cellar and show me what you’ve got hidden there, or tell me the truth about how you became immortal.”

The Griffin sighed but didn’t seem too displeased by my insistence. “Very well,” he said finally. “Come with me, and we’ll discuss this in private.”

I was half-expecting another privacy field, but the Griffin led me over to a corner of the ballroom, produced a small golden key on a length of gold chain, and fitted the key carefully into a small lock hidden inside a particularly rococo piece of scroll-work. The key turned, and a whole section of the wall swung open, revealing a room beyond. Jeremiah ushered me in, then shut and locked the door behind us. The room was empty, the walls bare, dimly lit by a single light that came on as we entered.

“I keep this room for private business conferences,” said Jeremiah. “It’s specially shielded against all eavesdroppers. You’d be surprised how much business gets done at parties. Hobbes will stand guard outside, to see that we’re not disturbed. So…here I am at last, finally about to tell someone the true story of my beginnings as an immortal. I always thought I’d find it difficult, but now that the moment has arrived I find myself almost eager to unburden myself. Secrets weigh you down; and I have carried this one for so many years…

“Yes, John. I really did make a deal with the Devil, back when I was nothing more than a simple mendicant in twelfth-century London. It wasn’t even particularly difficult. Heaven and Hell were a lot closer to people in those days. I took an old parchment scroll I’d acquired in part payment of an old debt and used it to summon up the Prince of Darkness himself.” He stopped abruptly, looking at his hands as they shook, remembering the moment. “I abjured and bound him to appear in a form bearable to human eyes, but even so, what I saw…But I was so very ambitious in my young days, and I thought I was so clever. I should have read the contract I signed in my own blood more carefully. The Devil is always in the details…

“There is a clause, you see, in that original infernal document, which states that any grand-child of my line, once safely born, cannot be killed by me. Neither can I have them killed, or through inaction allow them to come to harm. On pain of forfeiture of soul. So once I discovered their existence and had them brought before me, all that was left…was to embrace them. In a way I never did, or could, with William and Eleanor. Two grand-children were my death sentence, the sign of my inevitable damnation, but I couldn’t say their existence came as much of a surprise. I did everything I could to ensure I’d never father children, but they came anyway. I could have had them killed, but…a man wants his line to continue, even if he knows it means his end. I’m a ruthless man, John. I’ve destroyed many men in my time. But I never once harmed a child.

“I tried my best with Paul, but it soon became clear he could never lead the family, any more than William could. Not their fault—they were born to wealth and luxury. Made them soft. But Melissa…turned out to be the best of all of us. The only uncorrupted Griffin.”

“And the cellar?” I said. “What have you got down there?”

“The contract I signed, locked away and hidden, and protected by very powerful defences. I came to the Nightside because I’d heard that Heaven and Hell couldn’t interfere directly, but of course, they both had their agents here. And while the contract cannot be destroyed, someone with the right connections to Heaven or Hell could rewrite its terms. I couldn’t risk that. I have paid so very much for my immortality.”

“Why the sudden change in your will?” I said. “Why risk alienating your whole family by leaving everything to Melissa?”

“Because she’s the only one fit to run the empire I built. Her intelligence, her drive, her strength of character…made me see how limited the others are. What could I leave to my wife that others wouldn’t take from her? Mariah couldn’t hang on to anything I gave her. She’d throw my empire away, or let others take control of it through impulsive marriages or bad business deals. And it’s not like she’ll be left impoverished. She has her own money, invested in properties all over the Nightside. She thinks I don’t know! She never could hide anything from me, least of all the identities of her many lovers, men and women. I don’t begrudge her, not really. All my family has a desperate need for novelty in all things, to divert us from the endless stream of similar days…And William and Eleanor are just too damned weak.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “They might surprise you.”

“No,” Jeremiah said firmly. “They wouldn’t. They couldn’t hold on to my business. If I left it to one, the other would try and take it, and they’d destroy my empire fighting over it, like two dogs with one bone. If I left the business to both of them, they’d destroy it fighting for control. They’re both Griffins enough that neither would settle for second best. And Paul…has made it very clear he’s not interested. My empire must survive, John. It’s all I have to leave behind…my footprints on the world. A business is perhaps the only thing in this world that can be truly immortal…I can’t let it be destroyed. Or everything I’ve done has been for nothing.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing you can do?” I said. “You’re sure that you’re…damned?”

He smiled briefly. “Everything I’ve created and everything I own, I’d give it all up in a heart’s beat to avoid what’s coming…but there’s no way out. Even apart from the deal I made, I’ve damned myself to the Pit a thousand times over by the things I’ve done to make myself rich and powerful. I was immortal, you see, so what did sin matter to such as I? I was never going to have to pay the price for all the terrible things I did…”

“But…all the years you’ve lived,” I said. “All the things you’ve seen and done, aren’t they enough?”

“No! Not nearly enough! Life is still sweet, even after all these centuries.”

“All the things you could have achieved,” I said slowly. “With your centuries of wealth and power. You could have been someone. Someone who mattered.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” said the Griffin. “I know that. But all I’ve ever been any good at is business. I sold my soul away to eternal punishment, and all I have to show for it is…things.”

There was a sudden, though very polite, knock at the door. Jeremiah opened it with his golden key, and Hobbes came in, bearing a folded letter on a silver tray. Next to the letter was a knife.

“Forgive the interruption, sir, but it seems we have a ransom note at last.”

Jeremiah snatched the letter from the tray, opened it, and read it quickly. I looked at Hobbes, then at the knife still on the tray.

“The letter was pinned to the front door with the knife, sir,” said Hobbes.

I took the knife and examined it while Jeremiah scowled over the letter. There wouldn’t be any physical evidence. These people were professionals, but there might still be some psychic traces I could pick up. I started to raise my gift, and once again a force from Outside slammed my inner eye shut. I tensed and stared quickly about me, but nothing appeared to attack me this time. I scowled, and studied the knife again. Just an ordinary, everyday knife with nothing unusual or distinctive about it. No doubt the paper and ink used in the letter would prove just as commonplace. Nice touch with pinning the letter to the front door. Traditional. Symbolic. And meaningful, saying We can come and go as we please, and you’ll never see us. Jeremiah handed me the letter, and I put the knife back on the tray so I could study the note thoroughly. It was typed, in a standard font.

“We demand that Jeremiah Griffin put up all his holdings, business and personal, at public auction and dispose of everything he owns, within the next twelve hours. All monies gained are then to be given away to established charities. Only then will the Griffin see his grand-daughter Melissa alive and well. If the Griffin agrees, he is to go to the address below, in person and alone, within the next hour, and give evidence that the process has begun. Should the Griffin fail to do so, he will never see his grand-daughter again.”

I checked the address at the bottom of the letter. I knew it. An underground parking area, in the heart of the business district. I looked at Jeremiah.

“Interesting,” I said. “That they should demand from you the one thing you’d never give up, even for Melissa.”

“I can’t let her die,” said the Griffin. “She’s the only good thing that ever came out of my life.”

“But if you give up your business, then it’s all been for nothing.”

“I know!” Jeremiah looked at me, his face torn with anguish. “I can’t let these bastards win! Destroy everything I’ve created! John, there must be some way to save Melissa without having to give the kidnappers what they want. Can’t you do anything?”

“You can’t go to this meeting,” I said firmly. “Then they’d have you and Melissa, and no guarantee they’d ever release either of you. Even if they got what they wanted. They could just kill you both right there, on the spot. For all we know, that could be what this has all been about—to get you so rattled you’d leave your security and walk into an obvious trap. No, I’ll go. See if I can negotiate a better deal.”

“They might kill Melissa immediately once they see you coming, instead of me!”

“No,” I said. “These are professionals. They’d know better than to get me angry at them.”