Hex and the City Read online

  We rose to our feet again, glancing uncertainly at each other like children brought unexpectedly before the headmaster. I made myself speak up. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from dealing with the Nightside’s major players, it’s that it doesn’t matter how frightened you are, you can’t let them know it, or they’ll walk right over you.

  “So,” I said. “Are we here for judgement?”

  “No,” said the Lord of Thorns. “You are welcome in this place, John Taylor.”

  I felt a great rush of tension flow out of me, but I didn’t let him see that either. I looked at him narrowly. “Lot of people think I’m a threat to the existence of the Nightside. Are you saying they’re wrong?”

  “No. Just that you’re a special case.” And then he smiled, just a little. “And no; I don’t know why. You’re as much a mystery to me as you are to everyone else. And if you find that infuriating, think how it makes me feel.”

  He smiled round at all of us, and just like that the pressure of his presence disappeared. The Lord of Thorns wasn’t one bit less impressive, but at least no-one felt like they might be destroyed at any moment. The Lord of Thorns stretched his back, like a cat that’s been sleeping in the sun too long.

  “You’ve come a long way for answers,” he said. “I wish I could be of more help. But truth be told, I’m just a functionary, a servant of the Nightside. Powerful beyond hope or reason, yes, because I need that power to enforce my will. But still in the end just an old, old man, unable to put down a burden he has carried for far too long. I am the heart that beats in every action and decision that makes up the Nightside, and I’m getting bloody tired of it. So ask your questions, John Taylor, and I will answer what I can. Perhaps because it’s the only form of rebellion still left to me.”

  “Excuse me,” said Sinner, very politely, “but what about the rest of us? Are we also immune to your judgement?”

  “You don’t matter,” the Lord of Thorns said calmly.

  “Only John Taylor matters. Though you three are unique in the whole of the Nightside, in that it has been given to you, for various reasons, to shape your own destinies. This has been decided where all the things that matter are decided—on the shimmering plains, in the Courts of the Holy. I have no power over you—sinner, demon, madman.” He looked at them thoughtfully, then at me. “You chose your companions for this quest wisely. No others could or would have escaped my judgement. Now ask your questions.”

  “All right,” I said. “Tell me all you know about the beginnings of the Nightside, its purpose and true nature.”

  “The Nightside is old,” said the Lord of Thorns. “I think probably only its creator knows exactly how old. Certainly it existed before me. Though at that time it was not so much a place of people, more a gathering place of Beings and Forces, still moulding their identities and intentions. The Romans knew of the Nightside when I first came to this land, back when it was still called the Tin Isles as much as Britannia. The Romans feared and venerated the Nightside, and built their city of Londinium around it, to protect and contain it, and to protect their people and their Empire from its influences. They knew of your mother, too, John, and worshipped her; though no-one now knows under what name. If I ever knew, I have forgotten, or more likely was made to forget. I have had a long time to consider the question, of who and what she might have been…and down the long centuries I have chosen and discarded many names. My best guess, my current belief, is that your mother was the Being called Luna, sister to Gaea.”

  “Hold everything,” I said, holding up a hand. “Gaea…as in the earth? That Gaea? You think my mother is the Moon?”

  “Yes. The living embodiment of the moon that shines so brightly above the Nightside. Why do you think it’s so big here? Because she’s keeping an eye on her creation. You are a Moonchild, John Taylor, neither truly of the light or the dark, and half-brother to the infamous Nicholas Hob, the Serpent’s Son. It is my belief that Luna created the Nightside in order that she might have a stake in the earth, along with her sister, and a say in the development of Humanity.”

  “But…I have heard,” Sinner said deferentially, “that the lady in question is, and has been for some time…quite mad.”

  “Yes,” said the Lord of Thorns.

  Sinner looked at me. “It would explain an awful lot.”

  “Bullshit,” I said, and everyone looked at me, startled. I shook my head firmly and glared at the Lord of Thorns.

  “You’re guessing, just like all the others. Everyone I’ve talked to has had a completely different idea on who my mother is, but none of you really know anything for certain!”

  “Can you please not shout at the Overseer of the Nightside?” said Pretty Poison. “Some of us would like to get out of here reasonably intact.”

  “If I ever knew the truth, it has been taken from me,” the Lord of Thorns said calmly. “And, I would guess, from everyone else. Your mother covered her tracks with great care. And I am afraid there is no-one left older than myself for you to ask. Your quest ends here.”

  “No,” I said again, glaring right back into his cold eyes.

  “I have to go on. I have to know. Are you going to try and stop me?”

  The Lord of Thorns smiled slightly. “Perhaps I should, but no, I don’t think so. You are a dangerous man, John Taylor, but you represent the possibility of my long function here finally coming to an end. I would welcome that.”

  I tried to think of what it must have been like, condemned to this small cave for thousands of years, his only occasional company those who came before him to be judged. Endlessly watching over the Nightside, seeing generations come and go in a world from which he must have felt increasingly distanced, his only comforts the cold exercise of responsibility and duty. He’d been a man, once. Just a man. He might be the Overseer of the Nightside, but he was really just a prisoner.

  “Who put you here?” I said.

  “If I ever knew, the knowledge has been taken from me.” The Lord of Thorns looked broodingly at nothing for a while. “I suppose it is possible that I volunteered, but I rather doubt it.”

  “There must be somewhere else I can go,” I said. “With all the Beings and Powers and Dominations that swan about the Nightside, there must be someone who still knows something…”

  “Use your gift,” Pretty Poison said suddenly. “It’s a part of your legend that you can use your gift to find anything. Why couldn’t it find your mother for you, or at the very least, identify someone who could lead us to your mother?”

  “It’s not that simple,” I said, “Or I’d have done it long ago. The more hidden a thing is, the harder and longer I have to look to find it. And the longer I spend with my mind open and vulnerable, the easier it is for my enemies to locate me and send something after me. The last time I used my gift, to banish the demon at the Gate, I felt Something closing in on me, trying to manifest. Something much nastier than the Harrowing. If I open up again, it will find me, even here. And I don’t think even the Lord of Thorns could stop this new awful thing my enemies have unleashed. From now on, my gift can only be used as a very last resort.”

  “There’s always the Tower of Time,” said Sinner.

  I winced. “I’d really rather not. Time travel is what you turn to after you’ve tried everything else, including closing your eyes and praying the problem will just go away. Time travel tends to cause more problems than it solves.”

  And since I now knew my enemies were operating out of a possible future, and sending their agents back through time, there was always the chance travelling in time might give them direct access to me.

  Pretty Poison wasn’t convinced. “But we could use time travel to go right back to the beginning of the Nightside and witness its creation for ourselves! All the answers and no more mysteries!”

  “Not a good idea,” said Madman. “There were Beings and Forces abroad at that time that could destroy us all. I have Seen them. The Past is not what we think it is.”

&
nbsp; We all looked at him, but that was all he had to say. He was definitely getting more lucid, but not any easier to have around.

  The Lord of Thorns raised his head sharply. “The Authorities have sent people down into the World Beneath, against all truces and agreements. Apparently your banishing of the demon at my Gate set off some kind of alarm. They have blocked off the Gate and are working to seal off all the other entrances they know about.” He looked at me. “I could kill them, if you wish. There are only a few thousand of them.”

  I had no doubt he could do it. I shook my head quickly, thinking of angels with their wings ripped off and all of Walker’s watchers I’d spent good times with in the past.

  “Sometimes death can be the tidiest of solutions,” said the Lord of Thorns. “But as you wish. I can offer you another way out. No-one knows all the entrances and exits to my domain these days.”

  “You mean you keep secrets from the Authorities?” said Sinner. “I am shocked, I tell you, shocked.”

  The Lord of Thorns sniffed. “We haven’t talked for centuries. They are in charge of the Nightside’s politics. I am in charge of its soul.”

  “But we’re still going to need Walker’s people off our back, while I work out where to go and whom to see next,” I said. “If the Authorities have ordered him to declare open season on me…”

  “I may be able to help,” Pretty Poison said slowly. “I have a…history, with Walker.”

  Sinner gave her a hard look. “You’ve kept very quiet about that.”

  “I have known many men,” said Pretty Poison, just as sharply. “Countless men, over countless years. I was given to Walker once, as a present, by the Authorities. I could revisit him, using our old connection, and…talk with him. Try and use our shared past to get him to call off his dogs for a while. Maybe even get some answers out of him. Of course, if he won’t be reasonable…”

  “You are not to kill him,” said Sinner.

  “Of course not, sweetie. I need him alive to answer questions and call off his people.”

  “Alive and intact,” Sinner said sternly.

  “You’re such a spoil-sport, sometimes. Very well, I’ll do it the hard way then. I’ll set up a spell so you can all observe our meeting.” She reached out and took Sinner’s face in her hands. “You have to learn to trust me, dear Sidney. I need to do this, to prove myself to you.” She smiled suddenly. “I promise you this; Walker isn’t going to know what’s hit him.”

  NINE

  Memories of the Way We Used to Be

  Pretty Poison stepped delicately through a halo of hell-fire and materialised smiling before an astonished Walker. I could tell he was astonished because he actually raised both eyebrows at once. He was sitting at a table covered with a pretty patterned cloth, and a cup of tea raised halfway to his mouth. Pretty Poison looked unhurriedly about her, and the vision she was sending the rest of us pulled back to show an old-fashioned tea room, complete with live classical musicians and maids in traditional black-and-white uniforms. The musicians had stopped playing, staring open-mouthed at the new arrival, and the maids were falling back in pretty disarray. Pretty Poison smiled widely at Walker.

  “The Willow Tree tea house! One of our special places. How sweet that we should meet here again, after all these years.”

  Walker sighed and put down his cup. It was delicate bone china, with a willow tree pattern. Armed men and women came running forward from every direction to surround the table, their guns trained unwaveringly on Pretty Poison. Some of them brandished amulets and crucifixes, and at least one had an aboriginal pointing-bone. Pretty Poison just looked at Walker and raised an eyebrow. Walker gestured tiredly to the armed men and women.

  “Everyone stand down. It’s all right. This person is known to me. Resume your positions. Good reaction times, everyone. Except you, Lovett. See me later.”

  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 façade 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. Absol
utely 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?”