There were other guests I knew well, if only by reputation. The Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian were swanning around in all their usual arrogant display. Six versions of the same personality, dwelling in six different bodies. Supposedly some kind of soul-share deal, one person inhabiting an endless series of bodies, co-opting new ones as the old ones wore out. They were all dressed in the same smart grey business suit, complete with the same Old School Tie. Their faces were hidden behind identical thinly beaten steel masks. Again, I was reminded unpleasantly of the masked blood-red men, but it was clear these were all very different body shapes. I watched them for a while, unobtrusively. There was something familiar about them . . . Even though I knew for a fact I’d never encountered the Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian before.
According to the family files, they’d worked for us on occasion. Co-opting people we didn’t want around any longer.
The Living Shroud was just a long, grubby winding sheet, of the kind used to wrap the dead before they went into the grave. The usual cerements of the dead, thick with dust and cobwebs, except there didn’t seem to be anyone inside them. Certainly nothing I could see, and there aren’t many things that can hide from me. But something was giving the Shroud its human shape as it drifted slowly through the crowd. Apparently entirely unmoved by, or uninterested in, the other guests.
The Living Shroud made a living, if that’s the correct term, by haunting people for hire. Apparently you paid the Living Shroud to stalk people, at increasingly close quarters, until they gave up and paid what they owed. The current record for surviving the Living Shroud’s presence was seventeen hours. I had to wonder, if the Living Shroud really didn’t have a body, how could it be one of the Lady Faire’s ex-lovers? Maybe she knew it before it became . . . whatever it was now.
Next up on my radar was the Lady Alice Underground. Everyone had heard of her. An elderly but not in any way frail dowager dressed in dull black Victorian mourning clothes, the Lady Alice was an explorer of the Underverse. Those spatial dimensions that exist beneath our own, populated exclusively by symbols and icons and archetypes. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, her thin grey hair pulled back in a tight bun, but her eyes were sharp and fey and wild, almost feral. She had the look of someone who’d spent too much time among things and people that weren’t really people or things. The Lady Alice Underground was the last of the old school adventurers, the ones who went forth in a spirit of conquest.
And then there was the Last of Leng. Everyone had heard of that cruel and awful people, living in their ancient city on the Plateau of Leng. A vicious people, feared by all. Black Heir destroyed the entire city with a backpack nuke, some time back, and pretty much everyone in the world threw a party. Horrible place, horrible people. But one member of that appalling city survived, somehow. The Last of Leng. Walking alone in the world, because no one else wanted anything to do with it.
It walked alone at the Ball too. It went where it wanted, because no one dared turn it away, but it was always unwelcome. Certainly no one at the Ball wanted anything to do with it. The Last of Leng was a broad, hunched figure, its hooded head thrusting out before it, dressed in poison green robes, with long rags and tatters trailing out behind it. The hood was pulled well forward, to hide the face in impenetrable shadows. Just looking at the lurking figure made my skin crawl. I couldn’t believe even the Lady Faire would have had . . . intimate knowledge of something as physically and spiritually foul as the Last of Leng.
I kept moving, hugging the walls of the massive Ballroom. I was careful to avoid the Vodyanoi Brothers, because they knew me as Shaman Bond. They’d currently retreated to a far corner, snarling at everyone. Sergei kept fingering the nose that had grown back, as though afraid it might fall off. Every now and again, they would call out to some passing waiter or waitress, for food or drink, but the staff was all careful to ignore the two werewolves. Until finally the Vodyanoi Brothers jumped on a waiter who’d strayed too close, pulled him down, and loudly announced their intention of eating him. They glared happily about them, defying anyone to stop them. Which was all the excuse I needed.
I used the Head of Security comm channel to send out a general call ordering my security people to remove the Vodyanoi Brothers. At once, by force, by any means necessary. And then throw them out of the Winter Palace. Invitations revoked. Security people descended on the Vodyanoi Brothers from all directions at once, the guests falling back to give them room to operate. But not so far that they couldn’t see what was happening. The security men and women quickly surrounded the Vodyanoi Brothers, who both turned wolf and glared defiantly about them. They sank their claws into the whimpering waiter, refusing to give him up. The white-uniformed security people closed in, and hit the Vodyanois with a dozen Tasers at once.
Electricity spat and sparked loudly on the air, and all the silver grey fur stood on end. It might take silver to kill a werewolf, but Tasers will still shock the shit out of it quite successfully. If you use enough of them, and keep your finger on the trigger.
Gregor and Sergei Vodyanoi convulsed violently, shaking and shuddering as they were forced back into their human shapes. They let go of the waiter, who was quickly dragged away. The security people shocked them some more, just on general principles, and then shut down their Tasers and moved in to give the Vodyanois a good kicking. The two twitching bodies were then dragged away.
Most of the guests applauded.
One of the security men came diffidently forward to report to me. “The problem has been dealt with, sir. Any further orders, sir?”
“Put them outside,” I growled. Just to make sure. “Let them walk home.”
“Of course, sir.”
He hurried away. I was pretty sure the Vodyanoi Brothers would turn up again, somewhere. They were harder to kill than cockroaches.
I continued moving around the perimeter of the Ballroom, keeping an eye on everyone and everything, still waiting for the Lady Faire to show her face. The only person in the Winter Palace I knew for sure knew what the Lazarus Stone looked like. As Head of Security, it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to lure her away and make her take me to it. And I was curious to see what she looked like . . .
The guests had quickly recovered from seeing the security forces in action. Most were chatting quite cheerfully about it. The Bride and Springheel Jack were dancing with Dead Boy and a costumed adventurer from the Nightside, one Ms. Fate. No doubt exchanging gossip, swapping barbed bons mots, and discussing the possibility of getting together later. The Lady Alice Underground was swapping brittle smiles with Tommy Oblivion, the existential private eye, who specialised in cases that may or may not have actually occurred. He might or might not have slept with the Lady Faire; he probably couldn’t be sure himself. The Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian were keeping to themselves, and everyone else let them. The Last of Leng had got into a staring contest with a Yeti that looked like it could go on for some time. And everyone danced and chattered, ate and drank, and threw occasional tantrums . . . as they waited for the guest of honour to appear.
I kept moving, doing my best to appear inconspicuous, or at least not worth paying attention to.