The quadruple ramps spiraled downward around the outer edge of the club, mimicking the gene-spiral quite nicely. Deeper and deeper into corruption I walked as each level mimicked the names and places of Dante's nightmare: the author's and the owner's. I ignored the screams and other sounds, preparing myself as I descended.
Below the lowest dance floor, down a short, winding ramp, was Hell. No sign marked its location. You had to know it was there. Flanking its entrance were a pair of lightly clad androgynous figures who watched every step of my approach with a near-feverish interest. I stuck my hands in my pockets, and the twins twitched. I flashed them a grin.
"Shavan is waiting for me."
The one on the left nodded as the one on the right spoke. "Indeed," it said in a tone of menace. "You are expected." The bodies of the twins were perfect, scarless, some say the best ever made in Chiba. I doubted it, but not that they were the perfect guards for Hell.
Flash the fat credstick and you could rent Hell and be assured of complete privacy. It was swept magically and electronically before and after every meeting. Once the participants were inside, no one else got in. No spirit-eavesdropping here. The astral shield prevented that. No way in through the higher plane, either, which was exactly what Shavan would be counting on.
Hell's designers had been kind enough to include a sizable foyer just inside the doors to allow a moment of preparation. Unfortunately, there were few spells I could raise and maintain that she wouldn't detect. Keeping her calm until just the right moment would be the key to my walking away from this meet. I checked my gear once and then dropped down into a lotus position on the floor. The rhythm of my pulse released me and I gave the shield lattice and the area a quick astral once-over. Everything was quiet, but it was still early. My senses returned and I prepared myself.
Shavan was an enigma. As the head of the policlub known as The Revenants, she wielded great power. Little was known about her, and less than a handful had ever actually met her. The only description I'd ever heard was that she was apparently of Nordic descent, but in this day and age, only a DNA-marker test could tell it for sure. She was a powerful sorceress and had relied on that to conceal her trip to Seattle. She needed to speak to someone, and that someone was not about to come to her. What she hadn't counted on was that a good friend of mine knew how to look better than she knew how to hide.
Shavan had been surprised that I'd known she was in Seattle, let alone where to find her. She'd thought her business was deep in the shadows. That was her first mistake. Her second was believing that what I'd offered her was genuine.
I'd chosen the meeting place, one known for its security, and she'd chosen the time. My only security was her word that she'd be there, and that was enough. We both had reputations to live up to.
I stepped through the inner doors to find her waiting for me, according to plan. I was late.
"Alexander," she said, a slightly wicked smile crossing her face, "fancy meeting you here."
The sight of her was so different than what I'd expected that I scanned the room to hide my surprise. The room and its accessories were pure white, in startling contrast to the woman. Everything about Shavan was dark. Her clothes, her skin, her eyes, even her voice.
She laughed. "I believe this is yours." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a ball of bright red silk and let it drop gently onto one of the sofas.
The odds against me walking out of here in one piece suddenly crashed dramatically. My mind raced through the possibilities of how she could have gotten the silk, as I rejected every one just as quickly. There was no way she could have and still beaten my arrival here. Regardless, she had used the ploy to good purpose, having broken my momentum. With my options halved, I was still at least five minutes away from playing my real cards. Until then, my bluff would have to do.
I picked up the silk and tied it at my throat. "Do you like it?" I kept my voice as level as I could manage.
She seemed amused. "Like it?"
"The silk."
Her amusement grew. "Ah, well, it's lovely, I must admit. And real, no doubt." Keeping me in view, she turned slightly to mix a drink.
"One hundred percent."
"Only the best for Alexander."
I let several long moments pass as I wandered casually to the audio-visual console and scanned the selection menu. "Only the best for Gunther Steadman," I said, pressing the touch-sensitive screen. I cued the first to start midway-though, and the second to follow it after a short pause.
Mention of Steadman gave her such a start that I caught her surprise even as she mastered it. She knew she was dead. I sensed the fear and anger that washed over her before she regained her calm. For someone of her power, Shavan was far too easy to read. All the better.
Nonchalantly, she finished mixing her drink, and turned back to face me directly. "Red was never Steadman's color," she said coolly.
The music I'd selected had begun to play now, giving her pause and me another opening. Choosing this piece had been a gamble. Hearing it now, I wondered briefly if I'd overplayed my hand.
"It is now," I said, letting the music almost drown my words. She heard me, though, for I sensed another wave of tension wash over her.
"This wouldn't be some kind of threat, would it?" Only her eyes followed me as I moved to sit on a nearby float sofa. "I think Mozart's 'Requiem' is hardly suitable background for a business dealing." Her voice was flat, expressionless.
I shrugged. "I like it. It relaxes me. Just think of it as being in honor of Steadman."
She relaxed fractionally, and thinking me none the wiser, lied. "So he's dead."
I nodded, stretching my arms out across the back of the couch, and told her what I was damn sure she already knew. "Three days ago in Hamburg. Bullet-train in the skull. Nasty, very nasty." And there was only one way she could have known I hadn't lied.
"So who's running Der Nachtmachen now? Who are you representing?" she asked, studying me intently.
"It's not really important," I replied casually. "The offer is the same."
"On the contrary. It's very important." She crossed the short distance between us, gracefully lifted herself onto the back of the couch opposite me, and assumed the lotus position. "I want to know."
The first part of the "Requiem" was coming to its conclusion, and I knew my five minutes were slowly trickling away. Standing up, I placed my left boot on the low glass table and adjusted the straps. I did it so slowly and carefully so as not to alarm her, wanting mainly to annoy her with the delay in my response. When I'd finished, I sat back down exactly as before.
I smiled before speaking. "Technically, I'm the one who's running things now."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You!" She was incredulous. "You're lying. The Nightmakers would never accept you. You're a runner and too damn close to what they hate most."
I shrugged lightly. "Think of it as a military coup," I said, staring her straight in the eyes. "Besides, I said 'technically.' I issue the orders, but they come from Steadman's mouth. Rather, what's left of it."
False understanding glinted in her eyes. "You're playing on that religious fanatical edge they've always had, aren't you?"
Nodding, I noted that the "Introitus" had ceased. The next selection was about to begin after the pause I'd programmed. Time to play my cards. I stood up.
"Enough talk." I was sensitive enough to emotions to know how to manipulate, even in one like Shavan. My movement, pitch, and inflection snapped her onto the defensive. "We've made a decision. Der Nachtmachen no longer finds it acceptable for you to be the shadow- liege of The Revenants. Our unification offer is withdrawn."