Night Terrors by Tim Waggoner Page B

bit pretentious, but Bloodshedder , however, was a perfect name for his beast.
    “Who’s he work for?” I asked.
    “Himself. He’s freelance.”
    “Which is another way of saying mercenary .”
    Deacon shrugged. “From what I understand, he’s more of a jack-of-all-trades than hired muscle. Whatever you want done, he can do it. Except killing. He’ll do it when he’s forced to, mind, but he’s not an assassin.”
    Interesting. A bad guy with a moral code. I’ve never had a thing for bad boys, but I was beginning to think in his case I could make an exception.
    Now for the big question. “He ever come in here?”
    Deacon’s frown was all the answer I needed. Deacon views himself as a true neutral party when it comes to Incubi affairs, and he insists that Wet Dreams be respected as neutral territory by all his customers. Asking him to reveal whether or not Nocturne was a customer was tantamount to asking him to take sides – and he didn’t like it.
    Maggie got up from her stool, came over, and sat next to me.
    “I couldn’t help overhearing, hon,” she said.
    “Only because you were listening so hard,” the Darkness said sullenly.
    Maggie ignored him.
    “I’ve seen Nocturne in here a couple times. The first time, he brought that awful dog of his, but the horrid thing took a gigantic dump on the floor, and Deacon told Nocturne that the next time he came back, he had to leave the dog outside. Although where you could possibly leave a beast like that without drawing any attention is beyond me.”
    As Maggie spoke, Abe got up and came over to join us. “It climbs up the alley wall and hangs there like a lizard or a spider. I saw it once when I was coming in. Damn creepy.”
    I imagined Bloodshedder clinging to the surface of a brick wall high above me as I walked through the alley. It would make a perfect vantage point to watch prospective prey and then, when the time was right, launch an attack. That was a detail I planned on remembering.
    Deacon’s frown deepened into a scowl as the conversation continued, but he didn’t try to prevent Abe and Maggie from talking with me. As I said, he prefers to remain as neutral as possible, even when it irritates him.
    “He came in late both times I saw him,” Maggie said. “Three, four o’clock.”
    “I’ve seen him several times, too,” Abe added. “Always around 3am or so.”
    Late, but not too late for Incubi or Ideators. There was still an hour or two before dawn. And not every Ideator or Incubus heads back to Nod before sunrise, and since we don’t sleep, late and early don’t mean much to us. Still, it was another detail to take note of.
    “What did he do when he was here?” I asked. “He hang out with anyone in particular?”
    “You mean someone like Quietus?” Maggie asked. She has a loud voice, something she seems unaware of, and when she spoke Quietus’ name, the few other customers in the bar grew quiet and turned to look at her. I gave them my best “I’m an officer on official duty” look, and they turned away and went back to what they were doing.
    “Quietus isn’t allowed in here,” Deacon said, voice tight with anger. “You know that, Maggie. Too many people hold grudges against him. I can tolerate a fight in here from time to time. After all, it is a bar. But I refuse to have people killing each other left and right in here. It’s bad for business.”
    I watched Deacon’s face closely as he spoke. He wasn’t above lying to protect his bar, and if Quietus did come here from time to time, Deacon wouldn’t admit it to me. I decided he was telling the truth, though. He wouldn’t want the hassle of allowing Quietus to drink here. Assuming the faceless Incubus could drink.
    Before I could speak again, Lizzie Longlegs let out a high-pitched laugh that sliced through the air with all the sharpness and force of a finely honed katana. Everyone in the bar turned to look in her direction, suddenly on edge. She smiled and patted Cancer