Lost in a Good Book

knowing about it. Retrieve Jack from The Raven and you can have your own dear hubby back.’

‘And how do you propose I do that?’

‘You’re a resourceful and intelligent woman—I’m sure you’ll think of something. Do we have a deal?’

I stared hard at him, shaking with fury. Then, almost without thinking, I had my automatic pressed against Schitt-Hawse’s forehead. I heard two safety catches click off behind me. Associates Chalk and Cheese were fast, too.

Schitt-Hawse seemed unperturbed; he smiled at me in a supercilious manner and ignored the weapon.

‘You won’t kill me, Next,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s not the way you do things. It might make you feel better but believe me it won’t get your Landen back and Mr Chalk and Mr Cheese would make quite sure you were dead long before you hit the asphalt.’

Schitt-Hawse was good. He’d done his homework and he hadn’t underestimated me one little bit. I’d do all I could to get Landen back and he knew it. I reholstered my pistol.

‘Splendid!’ he enthused. ‘We’ll be hearing from you in due course, I trust, hmm?’

10. A Lack of Differences

‘Landen Parke-Laine’s eradication was the best I’d seen since Veronica Golightly’s. They plucked him out and left everything else exactly as it was. Not a crude hatchet job like Churchill or Victor Borge—we got those sorted out eventually. What I never figured out was how they took him out and left her memories of him completely intact. Agreed, there would be no point to the eradication without her knowing what she had missed, but it still intrigued me over four centuries later. Eradication was never an exact art.’

COLONEL NEXT, QT, CG (non-exst.)—Upstream/Downstream (unpublished)

I stared after their departing car, trying to figure out what to do. Finding a way into The Raven to release Jack Schitt would be my first priority. It wasn’t going to be hard—it was going to be impossible. It wouldn’t deter me. I’d done impossible things several times in the past and the prospect didn’t scare me as much as it used to.

A patrol car drew up beside me and the driver rolled down his window. It was officer ‘Spike’ Stoker of SpecOps 17—the vampire and werewolf disposal operation, or ‘Suckers & Biters’ as they preferred to call themselves. I had helped him out once on a vampire stake-out; dealing with the undead is not a huge barrel of fun, but I liked Spike a great deal.

He saw the consternation in my face and asked in a friendly tone:

‘What happens, Next?’

‘Hi, Spike. Goliath happens, that’s what.’

‘Word is you lipped Flanker.’

‘Good news travels fast, doesn’t it?’

Spike thought about this for a moment, turned down the wireless and got out of his car.

‘If the shit hits the fan I can offer you some freelance staking for cash at Suckers & Biters; the minimum entry requirements have been reduced to “anyone mad enough to join me”.’

‘Sorry, Spike. I can’t. Not right now—I think I’ve had enough of the undead for a while. Tell me, am I still working at SO-27?’

‘Of course! Thursday? Are you in some sort of trouble?’

‘The worst sort,’ I said, showing him my empty ring finger. ‘Someone eradicated my husband.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ responded Spike. ‘My Uncle Bart was eradicated, but y’know, someone goofed, and they left some memories of him with my aunt. She lodged an appeal and had him reactualised a year later. Thing is, I never knew I ever had an uncle after he left, and never knew he had gone when he came back—I’ve only my aunt’s word that it ever happened at all. Does any of this make any sense to you?’

‘An hour ago it would have sounded insane. Right now it seems as clear as day.’

‘Hmm,’ grunted Spike, laying an affectionate hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ll get him back, don’t worry. Listen: I wish they’d sideslip all this vampire and werewolf crap and I could go and work at Sommeworld™ or something.’

‘Wouldn’t you miss it?’

‘Not for a second.’

I leaned against his car, SpecOps gossip a welcome distraction as I sought to calm my nerves.

‘Got a new partner yet?’ I asked him.

‘For this shit? You must be kidding—but there is some good news. Look at this.’

He pulled a photo from his breast pocket. It was of himself standing next to a very petite blonde girl who barely came up to his elbow.

‘Her name’s Cindy,’ he murmured affectionately. ‘A cracker—and smart too.’

‘I wish you both the best. How does she feel about all this vampire and werewolf stuff?’

‘Oh, she’s fine with all that—or at least she will be, when I tell her.’

His face fell.

‘Oh, craps. How can I tell her that I thrust sharpened stakes through the undead and hunt down werewolves like some sort of dog-catcher?’ He stopped and sighed, then asked, in a brighter tone: ‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’

‘Last time I looked.’

‘Well, can’t you figure out some sort of a… I don’t know… strategy for me. I’d hate to lose this one as well.’

‘How long do they last when you tell them?’

‘Oh, they’re usually peachy about it,’ said Spike, laughing. ‘They hang about for, well, five, six, maybe more—’

‘Weeks?’ I asked. ‘Months?’

‘Seconds,’ replied Spike mournfully, ‘and those were the ones that really liked me.’

He sighed deeply.

‘I think you should tell her the truth. Girls don’t like being lied to—unless it’s about surprise holidays and rings and stuff.’

‘I thought you’d say something like that,’ replied Spike, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ‘but the shock—!’

‘You don’t have to tell her outright. You could always scatter a few copies of Van Helsing’s Gazette around the house.’

‘Oh, I get it!’ replied Spike, thinking hard. ‘Sort of build her up to it—stakes and crucifixes in the garage —’

‘And you could drop werewolves into the conversation every now and then.’

‘It’s a great plan, Thurs,’ replied Spike happily. ‘I don’t want to lose Cindy—I’ve a family I want to start.’

‘...’

‘What’s the matter, Thurs? You look kind of shocked.’

The fear and panic that had only just diminished reasserted themselves. Did I still have Landen’s baby? I muttered a short reply to Spike, jumped into my car and screeched off into town, startling a few Great Auks who were picking their way through a nearby garbage can.

I was heading for the doctor’s surgery on Shelley Street. Every shop I passed seemed to stock either prams