Hex In The City

Walker frowned into his empty cup but made no move to refill it. 'Poor Charles. He didn't understand that he was just a means to an end. Charles wasn't the point. John was the point.'

'How do you mean?' said Pretty Poison, leaning forward. 'What is it that makes John so important?'

'I remember when he was bom,' said Walker, not looking at her. 'I'd never seen Charles so happy. He spent less and less time on his private work and more and more time with his new family. He stopped being a hermit and embraced life. He accepted new research commissions and rebuilt his reputation as a scholar all over again, with Fennella's help. He and I and Mark became reconciled again, friends again, after so many years. We were older, and perhaps a little wiser, and we were ... happy again.

'We all liked Fennella. She was such good company.

'And then Charles finally discovered who and what his lovely wife really was. I don't know if there was ever a confrontation, but suddenly she was gone. She disappeared into the Nightside, and none of us ever saw her again, though we all searched for her in our various ways ... Charles retreated into his old obsession about the true beginnings of the Nightside and drank himself to death, despite everything Mark and I could do to help. We did try. I'm sure we did. But he shut us out; and all the time he watched his young son as though John was something that might turn on him. Mark and I kept an eye on John, from a distance, looking out for him when we could. We intercepted quite a few attacks from the Harrowing, until John was old enough to fend for himself.'

'Does John know that?'

'I never asked him.'

'But... what's bringing his mother back now?'

'No-one knows for sure. If we did, we'd do ... something ...'

'To stop her?'

'I'm not sure she can be stopped. Sophia, why are you so interested in all this?'

'Because I'm working with John to uncover the true origins of the Nightside. And the closer we get to the truth, the more it seems tied in to the identity of John's missing mother. Though everyone we meet has very different ideas on who she was, or is.'

'If I cared about you,' said Walker, 'I'd tell you to get the hell away from John Taylor. For your own sake.'

'You should stay away from us,' said Pretty Poison. 'I'd hate for you to get hurt,.Henry.'

Walker raised an eyebrow. 'Would you? Really?'

'Perhaps. I'm still working on this whole love thing. Call off your people, Henry. For old times' sake.'

'I can't. John's gone too far. Made himself too dangerous to the status quo. He must be stopped.'

'You mean killed?'

'I'll take him alive if I can. For old times' sake.'

'Oh, Henry ... what is it that makes him so dangerous? Who could his mother be, to terrify so many powerful people?'

'Haven't you been listening?' said Walker, almost angrily. 'Whatever we called up and let loose, through the Babalon Working that was John's mother!' He turned his head abruptly to look right at me. 'I know you're there, John, watching and listening. I should have told you all this long ago, but I still hoped to spare you the consequences of our sins. I'm sorry for how things turned out. But either you step back from the edge now, and give yourself up, or I'll have no choice but to have you killed. Just in case you are ... your mother's son.'

Ten - The Wife

After all that, I felt I deserved a very large drink. In fact, I felt I deserved several very large drinks, followed by an extremely large drink, as a chaser. And then maybe I'd go and sit in a dark corner and twitch quietly for a while.

Pretty Poison did her hell-fire trick, and teleported herself out of the Willow Tree and back into the Lord of Thorns' crystal cave with the rest of us. She took time out to give her Sinner a good hug, just to show she was definitely over Walker, and they exchanged gooey endearments for a while. And then she turned an accusing gaze on me.

'Just how is it that Walker was able to see you through the vision I set up? That isn't supposed to be possible.'

I shrugged. 'Hey, this is Walker we're talking about. He can do anything. I think that's actually part of his job description. What matters now is that we have to get the hell out of here, before Walker's people discover and nail down all the other exits to this place that you just happened to mention to him—Sophia.'

'You don't get to call me that,' the demon succubus said sniffily. 'Only Henry gets to call me that.'

I looked at Sinner. 'And what do you call her, when you're at home?'

'Darling,' Sinner said solemnly. 'And no; you don't get to call her that, either.'

'Dearest Sidney,' said Pretty Poison, giving him another hug.

'It's time for you all to go,' said the Lord of Thorns. 'I'll see if I can buy you some time by keeping Walker's people occupied. I could use the exercise.'

Sinner looked unconvinced. 'How can even you hope to stand against all the armies Walker will send against you?'

'Because I am the Lord of Thorns. I was given dominion over all who live or otherwise exist in the Nightside.'

'Try not to hurt them too much,' I said. 'A lot of them are just working stiffs, doing their jobs.'

'I will be the judge of that,' said the Lord of Thorns. 'And I make no promises. I trim the fat. That's in my job description.'

I gave him my best thoughtful look. 'Why are you so ready to help us?'

The old man shrugged and lay down on his stone slab again, arranging himself comfortably. 'I told you. Because I seem to sense that things are reaching an ending, because of you, and I welcome the chance to put down my ancient burden. Don't slam the door on your way out, or I'll turn you into something.'

He closed his eyes, and I scowled so hard my forehead hurt. I didn't like the way people seemed to be lining up to inform me that The End really was bloody nigh. All I had to do was close my eyes to see the devastated future Nightside I'd encountered in the Timeslip, in all its terrible detail. The ruined buildings, the dead night, the scuttling insects. And Razor Eddie dying in my arms, as I gave him my word that I would die before I would let such a future happen.

'So, where do we go next?' said Pretty Poison, adjusting the straw bonnet on the back of her elegant head.

'Where is there left to go?' asked Sinner.

'Back to Strangefellows,' I said, reluctantly. Alex was not going to be a happy bunny about this. I took out my Membership Card. 'If I have to go head to head with Walker, and it's looking increasingly like I don't have any choice in the matter, I'd much rather it was on familiar ground.'

No-one else had any ideas, so I activated the Card and we stepped through into the bar, surprising Alex Morrisey, who was just getting ready to go to bed. He'd shut down most of the lights, put the chairs on the tables, and was standing by the bar wearing only a long white nightie and matching floppy night-cap with a tassel on the end. He stared us all down with great dignity, then moved behind the bar to conceal his knees from prying eyes. If I'd had knees like those, I'd have wanted them concealed as well. He really should have invested in a longer nightie.

Alex had his own private apartment, up above the bar. I'd crashed there a few times in the old days, on his extremely uncomfortable couch. Awful place. He collected tacky little pornographic porcelain figures, which cluttered every available surface. His furniture looked like the city dump would reject it, and he only ever washed up when the dirty dishes actually overflowed the sink. His ex-wife used to keep the place spotless. There's probably a moral in there somewhere, except Alex wouldn't know a moral if you clubbed him over the head with it, and said, Look. This is a moral.

'We are closed,' he said icily. 'Closed as in Not At All Open, and Get the Hell Out of Here Haven't You Got Homes to Go To?'