walked the night in majesty, wonderful and terrible beyond human ability to bear.
I dropped down from my high vantage point, sending my Sight flashing through the packed narrow streets, slamming in and out of buildings with the quickness of thought, following a trail only I could See. The photo of Frank Barclay had let me sink my mental hook in his consciousness, if not his soul, and I could See the ghost of him still striding purposefully through the streets. Semitransparent and fragile as a soap bubble, the mark he’d made in the Nightside was still clear, his imprint on Time itself, still walking the streets that he had walked not so long ago . . . and would do until the last vestiges of it faded away.
Frank Barclay showed no interest in any of the usual pleasure joints or temptations. The open doors of nightclubs where the music never ends, the heavy-lidded glances from dark-eyed ladies of the twilight, had no attraction for him. He never hesitated once, or paused to check directions. He knew where he was going. And from the increasingly intense, almost desperate anticipation in his face, wherever he was going promised something none of the usual temptations could hope to satisfy. I could See him clearly now, and he was smiling. And something in the smile chilled me all the way to my soul.
I pulled back, as I realised where he was going. There are some places you just don’t go into with your spirit hanging out. Some parts of the Nightside are hungrier than others. I slowly closed my third eye, my inner eye, until I was safely back inside my own head again. And then I dropped the two pieces of the photo back onto the bar top as though they burned my fingers. I looked at Liza.
“Good news and bad news,” I said. “I’ve found him. I’ve found husband Frank.”
“Then what’s the bad news?” said Liza, meeting my gaze unflinchingly.
“He’s in the badlands,” I said. “Where the really wild things are, and hardly anyone gets out alive. You only go into the badlands in search of the pleasures too sick, too twisted, and too nasty for the rest of the Nightside.”
“If that’s where he is,” Liza said steadily, “then that’s where I have to go.”
“You can’t go there alone,” I said. “They’d eat you up and chew on the bones.”
“But I have to know!” said Liza, her chin jutting stubbornly. “I have to know what’s wrong with him, what could possibly bring him to an awful place like this. And I have to know what, if anything, this has to do with my missing memories. I have to go there.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to take you,” I said.
“I . . . don’t have much money on me, at the moment,” said Liza. “Is my credit good?”
“Put the plastic away,” I said. “No charge, this time. Razor Eddie owes me a favour, for dumping you on me, and that’s worth more than you could ever pay.”
I leaned over and nudged Dead Boy, who’d lost interest in all this long ago. His eyes snapped back into focus.
“What is it, John? I have some important existential brooding I need to be getting on with.”
“I’m taking Liza into the badlands in pursuit of her missing husband, and her missing memories,” I said briskly. “Bound to be some trouble. Interested?”
“Oh, sure,” said Dead Boy. “You can’t get too much excitement, when you’re dead. How much are you offering?”
“Tell you what,” I said. “You can have half of my fee. But only if we can use your car.”
“Done!” said Dead Boy.
“Why do we need his car?” said Liza.
“Because we have to travel all the way across town,” I said. “And the rush hour can be murder.”
TWO
S he’d never seen the sky before. Preoccupied with so much new sin and strangeness right before her, it had never even occurred to her to stop and look up. Now, on the rain-slick pavement outside the oldest bar in the world, Liza Barclay followed my pointing finger and stood very still, held to the spot by awe and enchantment,
I dropped down from my high vantage point, sending my Sight flashing through the packed narrow streets, slamming in and out of buildings with the quickness of thought, following a trail only I could See. The photo of Frank Barclay had let me sink my mental hook in his consciousness, if not his soul, and I could See the ghost of him still striding purposefully through the streets. Semitransparent and fragile as a soap bubble, the mark he’d made in the Nightside was still clear, his imprint on Time itself, still walking the streets that he had walked not so long ago . . . and would do until the last vestiges of it faded away.
Frank Barclay showed no interest in any of the usual pleasure joints or temptations. The open doors of nightclubs where the music never ends, the heavy-lidded glances from dark-eyed ladies of the twilight, had no attraction for him. He never hesitated once, or paused to check directions. He knew where he was going. And from the increasingly intense, almost desperate anticipation in his face, wherever he was going promised something none of the usual temptations could hope to satisfy. I could See him clearly now, and he was smiling. And something in the smile chilled me all the way to my soul.
I pulled back, as I realised where he was going. There are some places you just don’t go into with your spirit hanging out. Some parts of the Nightside are hungrier than others. I slowly closed my third eye, my inner eye, until I was safely back inside my own head again. And then I dropped the two pieces of the photo back onto the bar top as though they burned my fingers. I looked at Liza.
“Good news and bad news,” I said. “I’ve found him. I’ve found husband Frank.”
“Then what’s the bad news?” said Liza, meeting my gaze unflinchingly.
“He’s in the badlands,” I said. “Where the really wild things are, and hardly anyone gets out alive. You only go into the badlands in search of the pleasures too sick, too twisted, and too nasty for the rest of the Nightside.”
“If that’s where he is,” Liza said steadily, “then that’s where I have to go.”
“You can’t go there alone,” I said. “They’d eat you up and chew on the bones.”
“But I have to know!” said Liza, her chin jutting stubbornly. “I have to know what’s wrong with him, what could possibly bring him to an awful place like this. And I have to know what, if anything, this has to do with my missing memories. I have to go there.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to take you,” I said.
“I . . . don’t have much money on me, at the moment,” said Liza. “Is my credit good?”
“Put the plastic away,” I said. “No charge, this time. Razor Eddie owes me a favour, for dumping you on me, and that’s worth more than you could ever pay.”
I leaned over and nudged Dead Boy, who’d lost interest in all this long ago. His eyes snapped back into focus.
“What is it, John? I have some important existential brooding I need to be getting on with.”
“I’m taking Liza into the badlands in pursuit of her missing husband, and her missing memories,” I said briskly. “Bound to be some trouble. Interested?”
“Oh, sure,” said Dead Boy. “You can’t get too much excitement, when you’re dead. How much are you offering?”
“Tell you what,” I said. “You can have half of my fee. But only if we can use your car.”
“Done!” said Dead Boy.
“Why do we need his car?” said Liza.
“Because we have to travel all the way across town,” I said. “And the rush hour can be murder.”
TWO
S he’d never seen the sky before. Preoccupied with so much new sin and strangeness right before her, it had never even occurred to her to stop and look up. Now, on the rain-slick pavement outside the oldest bar in the world, Liza Barclay followed my pointing finger and stood very still, held to the spot by awe and enchantment,
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