Count Video was a Major Player, when he could get his act together, and an old adversary of mine. And a real pain in the arse. Tall and stiff, he wore a stylish suit with little grace and less poise. I could still see the staples and stitches on his neck and face from where he’d had his skin ripped off during the Angel War, then reattached afterwards. The skin also puckered around the odd silicon node, or patch of implanted sorcerous circuitry, which powered his impressive binary magics. Plasma lights sputtered on and off around him, as some drifting thought or impulse rewrote reality on some basic level. He was good-looking enough, in a sulky sort of way, and would probably be dangerous if he ever got around to growing a pair.
King of Skin was more than a man but less than a god. Or possibly the other way round. It was hard to tell. Wrapped in his usual sleazy glamour, people only saw of him what he wanted them to see. He could charm or enchant you with a word or a look, or show you what you feared most. He could make nightmares real and send them chasing through the street after you, or grant you something very like your heart’s desire, though it might look very different in the morning. Except mostly . . . he couldn’t be bothered. A nasty man with nasty tastes and worse habits, King of Skin was also a Major Player, when he chose to be. For today’s meeting, he had chosen to appear as the young Elvis, in Ann-Margret drag.
And, finally, there was Larry Oblivion. The dead detective, the post-mortem private eye. He looked in pretty good shape, for a zombie. Word was he’d been betrayed and murdered by the only woman he ever loved. She brought him back as a zombie, and he killed her for it. Just another love story, in the Nightside. Tall and well built, he wore the very best suit Armani had to offer. He had a colourless, stubborn face under lank, straw-coloured hair, and his icy blue eyes burned with something much worse than life. Up close, I knew he would smell faintly of formaldehyde. He had a good reputation as a private eye. Almost as good as mine.
His brother was missing, presumed dead. Because of me.
And these were the new Authorities—my old Enemies. Did that mean something? Had I escaped one awful destiny, only to see the start of another? Or had I really escaped anything at all? Julien Advent excused himself from the increasingly bad-tempered discussions and came over to join me. Walker made a point of moving politely away, while Suzie made a point of standing firmly at my side, glaring at everyone impartially.
“Good to see you again, John,” Julien said easily. “I know we’re going to achieve great things together.”
Suzie sniffed loudly. We both ignored her.
“You always were the optimist,” I said. “I thought you didn’t approve of me?”
“Mostly I don’t,” said Julien, with his usual frankness. “But on the whole you do more good than harm, in your own disconcerting and quite appalling way.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Smooth-talk me.”
Julien regarded me seriously. “We need you, John. No-one else can do what needs doing.”
He broke off as Jessica Sorrow drifted over to join us, still hugging her teddy bear to her. Even the great Julien Advent got nervous around the Unbeliever. I sensed as much as saw Suzie reaching for her shotgun and shook my head urgently. Jessica stopped right in front of me and fixed me with her dark, bottomless gaze. She was so skinny there was hardly anything of her; in fact, her leather jacket probably weighed more than she did. She smiled briefly, almost shyly, and when she finally spoke, her voice was like a whisper from another room.
“You helped me, John. Or at least, the bear did. I’m so much more together, these days.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said.
She looked me over slowly, consideringly. “Something bad happened. Something so bad I had to make myself forget everything, just to be rid of it. I don’t even know if my name really is Jessica. I’m better now. More . . . focussed. Being here, being a part of this, helps.”
“We’re all very pleased to have you here with us, Jessica,” said Julien. And being him, he probably meant it. I had to wonder how the others felt, having the Unbeliever in their midst. Must be like sitting down with an unexploded bomb and wondering if you could hear ticking. I left Julien and Jessica talking and moved over to the long table. They’d run out of things to argue about, for the moment, and were scowling coldly at each other. Until I arrived, then they all switched immediately to glaring at me. I gave them my best cheerful smile.
“Hi, guys. Where’s the buffet?”
“We should never have invited you here,” said Larry Oblivion, his voice remarkably normal for a dead man. He scowled past me at Jessica Sorrow. “We should never have invited her, either. I don’t trust her.”
“Hell, darling, I don’t trust anybody here,” said Annie Abattoir. If a cat could purr with a mouthful of cream while screwing another cat, it would sound like Annie. “But if I can put aside my prejudices, and my quite-justified paranoia where some of you are concerned, to try and make this work, so can you. Oh hush, dead man. We’ve heard it all before. Don’t make me come over there and sit on you.”
“We all bring something to the table,” Julien Advent said firmly, as he and Jessica seated themselves again. “I bring respectability, and the power of the press. Jessica is here to frighten our enemies. Annie has practised her appalling profession for every side there is, and a few she made up specially, and so has important contacts everywhere. Count Video and King of Skin are both Major Players, and command respect. And Larry has built quite a reputation for public service, since his death.”
“Nothing like dying to provide a real wake-up call to the conscience,” said Larry. “Heaven and Hell seem so much closer . . .”
“If you wanted a professional private investigator, why didn’t you ask me?” I said, a bit put out.
“You’ve never been much of a team player, John,” Julien said kindly. “And to be honest, given your . . . family history, no-one in the Nightside is ever going to feel comfortable with you in charge.”
“He has a point,” said Suzie, leaning back lazily against the wall with her arms folded. “I’ll still shoot them all, though, if you like.”
“Maybe later,” I said. I can never tell when she’s joking about things like that. Maybe she can’t either. I indicated Walker, still standing politely off to one side. “What about him? Why isn’t he a part of the new Authorities? He’s got more experience in running the Nightside than all of you put together.”
“They asked me,” Walker said calmly. “I declined. My feelings about the Nightside are no secret, and I have to admit; my recent attempts at imposing some kind of order on the various Beings of the Street of the Gods...didn’t work out too well. I was called in to organise, regulate, and modernise all the various churches, religions, and Beings, but despite my best efforts, things . . . deteriorated quite rapidly. It’s not my fault the make-overs didn’t take. Worshippers can be so literal, and very stubborn. And then the Punk God of the Straight Razor got involved, and it all went to Hell in a hurry.”
“I remember that,” I said. “For a while you couldn’t move in some parts of the Nightside for Beings running out of the Street of the Gods, crying their eyes out.”
“Well, quite,” said Walker. “Either way, I feel I can best serve the interests of the Nightside as a functionary, not a decision-maker.” He smiled briefly. “Unless the new Authorities should prove unworthy or incompetent, in which case I will move in to shut them down.”
“You would, too, wouldn’t you?” I said. “Suddenly and violently and with malice for all.”
“It’s what I do best,” said Walker. “I have always found the possibility of sudden death tends to concentrate the mind wonderfully.”