I realised there actually was someone else in the room and sat bolt upright, moving instinctively to put my body between Molly and the intruder. She slapped me on the shoulder and pushed me firmly to one side.
“Sweet of you, dear, but a bit patronising. I am quite capable of defending myself.”
“What is your sister doing in my bedroom?” I said loudly. “Does she have any idea of what time it is and oh shit I’m naked.”
“Never mind that . . .” said Isabella.
“I do mind!” I said loudly. “Did you invite her here, Molly?” And then a thought occurred to me, and I looked thoughtfully from Molly to Isabella. “Oh . . . is this about a threesome?”
“Not why I’m here,” said Isabella, very definitely.
Molly elbowed me in the ribs. “In your dreams, stud.”
“Then I still want to know what she’s doing here while we’ve got no clothes on,” I said firmly.
“Oh, don’t be so conservative, Eddie,” said Molly, leaning back against the headboard quite unself- consciously. “Being naked is nothing to a witch. I’ve danced skyclad among the standing stones of Stonehenge, and in the snows of the Himalayas, and up and down Wall Street under a full moon. It comes with the territory.”
“Not with my territory it doesn’t,” I said. “I am not big on sharing.” I wanted to grab a pillow and hide certain parts of me behind it, but I knew they’d laugh at me. So I sat up straight, pulled in my stomach and did my best to hang on to what was left of my dignity. And still almost lost it when Molly scratched at her left tit reflectively.
“Calm down, Eddie,” said Isabella. “I’ve seen it all before.”
“Not mine, you haven’t,” I said. “We are now going to change the subject. How is it you keep getting in and out of Drood Hall so easily, despite all of our more than state-of-the-art defences and protections expressly designed to keep out people like you?”
Isbaella sniggered. “When you let Molly in, you let all of us in. The Metcalf sisters come as a package deal. One for all, all against the world.”
“You mean Louisa could turn up here anytime, without warning?” I said. “Oh, bloody hell . . . Someone’s going to have to break the news to the Sarjeant-at-Arms, and please, God, let it not be me.”
“Why are you here, Iz?” said Molly.
Isabella folded her arms across her chest, and her bloodred biker leathers creaked loudly. She gave us both a severe look. “I am here to report what I’ve discovered about the new Satanist conspiracy. And no, it couldn’t wait. This is important and significant stuff, and urgent with it. I’ve been talking with certain friends and associates, along with others who owe me money and favours, and I have learned something you need to know, right now.”
“Iz has contacts on every side of the fence,” Molly said proudly. “She knows people in places most people don’t even want to admit exist. They tell her things. If they know what’s good for them.”
“People . . .” I said dubiously. “What kind of people are we talking about here? I’m not going to place much trust in information that comes from anonymous sources. And neither will my family. I need names, Isabella.”
She sighed loudly, in a put-upon kind of way. “Oh, very well, if you’re going to be stuffy about it . . . John Taylor, from the Nightside. Razor Eddie, punk god of the straight razor. A ghost called Ash, from Shadows Fall. Jimmy Thunder, god for hire. The Grey Eidolon, the Lord of Thorns, and the Regent of Shadows.”
“Don’t mention that last one around here, dear,” said Molly. “I never knew a man to be so thoroughly persona non grata. Droods really know how to bear a grudge.”
“Centuries of practice,” I said proudly.
“I trust you find some of those names acceptable?” said Isabella.
“Oh, sure,” I said. “I’ve worked with most of them at one time or another. Not the most reputable bunch, or the most tightly wrapped, but they usually know what they’re talking about.”
Molly looked at me. “I thought Droods weren’t allowed in the Nightside?”
“We’re not,” I said.
“Then how . . . ?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”
“You want a slap?”
“The important thing,” Isabella said loudly, “is that all of them agree on one thing: where you need to go next. It seems that most of the higher echelons in the conspiracy will be attending a very important meeting very soon now. Alexandre Dusk won’t be there, but there is to be a special surprise guest who will have a good deal to say about the details of this Great Sacrifice they’re planning.”
“Okay,” I said. “That is pretty important. But I still don’t see why you had to bring it straight to my bedroom! Why couldn’t this have waited till the morning, so we could have discussed it with the full council?”
“Because I don’t trust them,” said Isabella.
“Why not?”
“Because they’re Droods!”
“Ah,” I said. “Fair enough.”
“I’m not entirely sure I trust you,” said Isabella. “Even if Molly does vouch for you.”
I turned to smile at Molly. “You do? That is so sweet of you.” “Well,” said Molly, “I am the sweet one.”
“Young people in love,” said Isabella. “The horror, the horror . . .”
I gave her my best serious stare. “All right, where do we have to go to crash this vital satanic get-together? Am I going to have to dress up formal?”
“Have I got time to buy a new dress?” said Molly.
Isabella smiled unpleasantly. “You’re going back to your old stomping grounds, Eddie. They’re meeting in London, in the Under Parliament.”
That stopped me dead, and I hugged my knees to my chest while I had a good think. Under Parliament is part of the old Roman catacombs set deep under the Houses of Parliament, the Commons and the Lords. The ancient catacombs are part of an extensive labyrinth of tunnels, caverns and stone galleries that stretch back and forth under the entire city, holding all the secrets and secret people too dark even for that ancient and knowledgeable city, London. The labyrinth itself is known as London Undertowen. And most people cross themselves when they say it.
The Romans built the original catacombs under what was then called Londinium, so they could go down there and do things in private they knew their gods wouldn’t approve of. The Romans believed that if their gods couldn’t see what they were doing, it didn’t count. Very practical people, the Romans.
After the Romans declined and fell and got the hell out of Britain, other people moved in and used the tunnels for their own purposes, extending them as they went along. London Undertowen has been greatly expanded and added to, down the centuries, by many hands, for many reasons. It’s sunk deep in the bedrock, well below the underground trains, and used by all kinds. These days the dark tunnels and galleries are home to everyone from the Sleeping Tygers of Stepney to the Slow Subterraneans. From the Dark Fae to the Night Gaunts to the Sons of the Old Serpent. You can find aliens, kobolds, dream-walkers and downbound souls, and even the deformed children of celebrities and lust demons. Abandoned and forgotten by their parents, they thrive in the dark and the cold and plot terrible revenges on the world that should have been theirs. And no, they don’t ride around on giant albino alligators that were flushed down toilets when they got too big to be pets. That’s only an urban legend. The Lost Children eat alligators, and wear their teeth as crowns on their bulging, misshapen heads.
London Undertowen: home to any who have good reason to prefer the dark to the light. The lost and the fallen, the cursed and the corrupt. Neutral ground for all the groups and individuals who wouldn’t be tolerated anywhere else. The kind who play too rough for the Nightside, or are too sick, or sickening, for the World Beneath. It’s where the underpeople go to hide and scheme and do awful things, far from the sight of man.
Just the place for Satanists to party.
“I’ve been down there a few times,” I said slowly. “The ambience is awful, and the company is worse.”
“Louisa loves it there,” said Isabella.
“She would,” said Molly.
“Is she . . . ?” I said.
“No,” said Isabella. “She’s still excavating the Martian Tombs.”
“Still?” said Molly. “What the hell is she up to there?”
“Last I heard, trying to raise up something that would talk to her.”
“Oh, this can only end badly,” said Molly.
“That’s Louisa for you,” said Isabella.
