The security people reluctantly lowered their weapons and retreated. People sitting at nearby tables began to relax again. Walker looked at the musicians, who consulted hastily among themselves, and began a piece by Bach. Walker looked at Pretty Poison. He wasn't smiling.
"Hello, Sophia."
"Hello, Henry. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"May I ask how you got in here, past all the Willow Tree's defences and my own personal protections?"
"Because of our past history, darling. We're linked together, now and forever."
"The past haunts us all," Walker said dryly. "Especially in the Nightside. I won't say it's a pleasure to see you again, because it isn't."
Pretty Poison pouted fetchingly. "How very ungallant. Aren't you at least going to ask me to sit down?"
Walker sighed again and indicated the empty chair opposite him with a non-committal hand. His face was calm and composed as always, but I knew that behind his usual world-weary facade he had to be thinking furiously. Walker was never caught off guard for long. Pretty Poison sat down gracefully, put her hands on the table so Walker could keep an eye on them, and beamed at him.
"I'd absolutely adore a cup of tea, darling."
Walker checked the ornate china teapot before him, found it was practically empty, and gestured for a waitress. The waitresses looked at each other, there was a brief but silent communication of raised eyebrows and shaken heads, then the most recently employed was forced forward by peer pressure. She tottered up to the table, smiling gamely, and Walker ordered a fresh pot of tea and another cup.
"Anything else?" quavered the waitress. "Fairy cakes? Fresh cream? Can I take your coat?"
"Go away," said Pretty Poison. "Or I'll burn you alive from the inside out."
The waitress departed, running, to have hysterics at a safe distance. Walker looked reproachfully at Pretty Poison.
"You haven't changed a bit, Sophia. It'll take more than a generous gratuity to smooth that over. I'll be lucky if I'm not banned."
"But I thought you ran things in the Nightside these days, Henry."
"There are limits. Do try and behave in a civilised manner. I have my reputation to consider."
A different waitress arrived and set out a new tea service. She pushed the second cup in Pretty Poison's general direction, without looking at her, then fled. Walker poured Pretty Poison a cup of hot, steaming tea, adding a dash of milk and one sugar without having to be asked. Pretty Poison clapped her hands together delightedly.
"You remembered! You always were good about the little things, Henry." She looked at him critically. "You look older, dear. Distinguished."
"You look just like I remember you," said Walker. "But then you would, wouldn't you? Being what you are."
"What do you see, when you look at me?" said Pretty Poison, sipping carefully at her tea with her little finger carefully extended. "I look different to everyone, so I never know."
"Let's just say I was perhaps a little too fond of Marianne Faithful in my younger days, and leave it at that." Walker gave her a hard look. "What did you mean, when you said we were still linked? Our ... arrangement was over years ago. And I'm supposed to be protected from ... unexpected visitors."
Pretty Poison shrugged. "When I was given to you, all those years ago, it created a connection between us, so that you could summon me at will. That connection cannot be broken by anything except your death or my destruction. That's the rule. A succubus isn't just for Christmas, she's for life. Dallying with such as me is a mortal sin, after all. Still, it is nice to see you again, Henry. I must say you're taking this very well. I half expected you to shout and throw things. Or call for an exorcist."
"I don't get excited any more," said Walker. "It's bad for the image. What are you doing here, Sophia?"
She looked away from him, leaning back in her chair to contemplate the tea room. The musicians played, the waitresses came and went, and people at other tables enjoyed their tea and exchanged polite conversation. Absolutely no-one was showing any interest in Walker's table. Pretty Poison looked back at Walker, nodding happily.
"I always liked this place. So calm and civilised, and everyone minding their own business. I'm glad it's still here. It hasn't changed at all, but then I suppose the charm of such places is that they don't. And the tea is very good. Maybe I should have asked for some fairy cakes after all."
>"The Willow Tree has never really been fashionable," said Walker. "But I like it."
"Because it used to be one of our special places?"
"In spite of that."
Pretty Poison gave him a hard look. "Now don't spoil it, Henry. We're having a perfectly nice conversation. I shall change the subject." She indicated the crystal ball sitting on the table at Walker's left hand. Mists curled inside it. "Keeping touch with all your people in the field, I see. I didn't know people still used those any more: but then, you always were a traditionalist."
"I do tend to prefer things that have stood the test of time," said Walker. "The new is never to be trusted, until it has proven itself."
"You weren't always so stuffy," said Pretty Poison. "Remember our other special place?"
"Oh please," said Walker. "Not that opium den ..."
"The Purple Haze," Pretty Poison said gleefully. "The in place for way out people, back in the sixties. Best dope in the Nightside, with free scatter cushions and psychedelic light shows thrown in. The very best place to listen to the latest sounds and get stoned on imaginary drugs like taduki and tanna leaves. Oh, we spent many a lost weekend there, didn't we darling; spiralling out into the infinite ... You really were a lot looser in those days, Henry. Is the Purple Haze still around?"
"Fortunately, no. It's currently a health spa and gymnasium, called Health Freaks. The sort of place where corporate young men go to crunch their abs on their lunch-hour, going for the burn and flexing their way towards their first heart attack."
"Such a pity," said Pretty Poison. "I wonder if a trace of the old place still lingers in the air-ducts? In the old days you could get a contact high just from saying the name of the place aloud."
"I haven't thought about the Purple Haze in years," said Walker. "But then, there's a lot of things in my past I prefer not to remember."
"Don't look at me like that, Henry. Aren't you glad to see me again?"
"No."
"But we had such good times together!"
"You were a succubus. Can you honestly say it meant anything to you? I look at you now, and I have ... conflicting emotions."
"I made you happy."
"You were given to me, as a bribe."
"As a gift," said Pretty Poison. "A succubus, to indulge your every pleasure, your every fantasy. A reward from the Authorities, for work well-done on their behalf. I made you laugh, and cry out in the night, and you never slept as peacefully as you did in my arms."
"Beware the Authorities, bearing gifts," said Walker. His face was still calm, but there was a sharpness in his voice. "You were bait, to draw me in and tie me closer to them. Their usual practice-—to ensure their people became used to, even addicted to, the kinds of extreme pleasures only the Authorities and the Nightside could provide. I should have known, even then, that such attractive bait was bound to have a hook concealed in it somewhere."
"If I seemed to adore you, in our time together, then I was just doing my job," said Pretty Poison. "It wasn't supposed to be real, or taken for real; any more than any other transaction with a sex professional. I thought you understood that. I was yours, to do whatever you wished with, yes; but only for the duration of the contract. You can't say
I wasn't entirely truthful, when I was first presented to you."