“Looking good, Larry,” I said. “And what have you come as? A fashion model?”
“I came as me,” he said, in his dry flat voice. He only breathed when he needed air to speak, which became disturbing after a while. “I’m only here because you’re here. We need to talk, Taylor.”
“We’ve already talked,” I said, just a little tiredly. “I told you what happened to your brother. He went down fighting during the War.”
“Then why has his body never been found?” said Larry, pushing his face right into mine. “My brother trusted you. I trusted you to look after him. But here you are, alive and well, and Tommy is missing, presumed dead.”
“He died a hero, saving the Nightside,” I said evenly.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” said Larry. “Not if you let him die to save yourself.”
“Back off, Larry.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll rip your soul right out of your dead body.”
He hesitated. He wasn’t sure I could do that, but he wasn’t sure I couldn’t, either. There are a lot of stories about me in the Nightside, and I never confirm or deny any of them. They all help build a reputation. And I have done some really bad things in my time.
Dead Boy came over to join us. He’d found a large piece of gateau and was licking the chocolate off his fingers. He nodded familiarly to Larry, who glared back at him with disdain. They might both be dead, but they moved in very different circles.
“Not drinking, Larry?” said Dead Boy. “You should try the Port. And the Brandy. Get them to spike it with a little strychnine. Gives the booze some bite. And there’s some quail’s eggs over there that are quite passable…”
“I don’t need to eat or drink,” said Larry. “I’m dead.”
“Well, I don’t need to either,” Dead Boy said reasonably. “But I do anyway. It’s all part of remembering what it felt like, to be alive. Just because you’re dead it doesn’t mean you can’t indulge yourself, or get bombed out of your head. We just have to try that little bit harder, that’s all. I’ve got some pills that can really perk you up, if you’d care to try some. This little old Obeah woman knocks them out for me…”
“You’re a degenerate,” Larry said flatly. “You and I have nothing in common.”
“But you are both zombies, aren’t you?” I said, honestly curious.
“I’m a lot more than that,” Dead Boy said immediately. “I am a returned spirit, possessing my murdered body. I’m a revenant.”
“You chose to be what you are,” Larry said coldly. “This was done to me against my will. But at least I’ve gone on to make something of myself. I now run the biggest private detective agency in the Nightside. I am a respected businessman.”
“You’re a corpse with delusions of grandeur,” said Dead Boy. “And a crashing bore. John was the first private investigator in the Nightside. You and the rest are all pale imitations.”
“Better than being the bouncer at a ghost-dancing bar!” snapped Larry. “Or hiring out as muscle to keep the dead in their graves at the Necropolis. And at least I know how to dress properly. I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing an outfit like that!”
He turned his back on us and stalked away, and people hurried to get out of his path. Dead Boy looked at me.
“That last bit was a joke, wasn’t it?”
“Hard to say,” I said honestly. “With anyone else, yes, but Larry was never known for his sense of humour even when he was alive.”
“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” said Dead Boy, looking down at himself, honestly baffled.
“Not a thing,” I said quickly. “It’s just that we haven’t all got your colourful personality.”
The Lady Orlando swayed over to join us, every movement of her luscious body a joy to behold. One of Jeremiah’s celebrity immortals, and the darling of the gossip rags, the Lady Orlando claimed to have been around since Roman times, moving on from one identity to another, and she had an endless series of stories about all the famous people she’d met, and bedded, if you believed her. In the Nightside she drifted from party to party, living off whoever would have her, telling her stories to anyone who’d stand still long enough. She’d come to the party dressed as the Sally Bowles character from Cabaret, all fishnet stockings, bowler hat, and too much eye makeup. Bit of a sad case, all told, but we can’t all be legends. She came to a halt before Dead Boy and me, and stretched languorously to give us both a good look at what was on offer.
“Have you seen poor old Georgie, darlings, dressed up as Henry VIII?” she purred, peering owlishly at us over her glass of bubbly. “Doesn’t look a bit like the real thing. I met King Henry in his glory days at Hampton Court, and I am here to tell you, he wasn’t nearly as big as he liked to make out. You boys and your toys…Have you seen our resident alien, positively lording it over his loopy admirers? Klatu, the Alien from Dimension X…Thinks he’s so big time, just because he’s downloading his consciousness from another reality…I could tell you a few things about that pokey little body he’s chosen to inhabit…”
I tuned her out so I could concentrate on Klatu, who was holding forth before a whole throng of respectful listeners. He was always offering to explain the mysteries of the universe, or the secrets of existence, until you threatened to pin him down or back him into a corner, then he suddenly tended to get all vague and remember a previous appointment. Klatu was only another con man at heart, though his background made him more glamorous than most. There’s never been any shortage of aliens in the Nightside, whether the interstellar equivalent of the remittance men, paid not to go home again, or those just passing through on their way to somewhere more interesting. Klatu claimed to be an extension of a larger personality in the Fifth Dimension, and the body he inhabited just a glorified glove puppet manipulated from afar. And you could believe that or not, as you chose. Certainly for an extradimensional alien, he did seem to enjoy his creature comforts, as long as someone else paid for them…
I had to remind myself I was here for a purpose. I needed new leads on where to look for Melissa and some fresh ideas on what might have happened to her. So I nodded a brisk farewell to Dead Boy and the Lady Orlando, and wandered off through the party, smiling and nodding and being agreeable to anyone who looked like they might know something. I learned a lot of new gossip, picked up some useful business tips, and turned down a few offers of a more personal nature; but while everyone was only too willing to talk about the missing Melissa, and theorize wildly about the circumstances of her dramatic disappearance…no-one really knew anything. So I went looking for other members of the Griffin family to see if I could charm or intimidate any more out of them.
I found William dressed as Captain Hook, complete with a three-cornered hat and a metal hook he was using to open a stubborn wine bottle. He’d also brought along Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat as his guests. Apparently everyone else thought they were simply wearing costumes. We had a pleasant little chat, during which the Sea Goat poured half a dozen different drinks into a flower vase he’d emptied for the purpose, and drank the lot in a series of greedy gulps. Surrounding guests didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled, and settled for muttering I say! to each other from a safe distance. The Sea Goat belched loudly, ripped half a dozen roses from a nearby bush, and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, petals and thorns and all.
“Not bad,” he said. “Could use a little something. A few caterpillars, perhaps.”
“What?” said William.
“Full of protein,” said the Goat.
“Now you’re just showing off,” said Bruin Bear.
“This is the best kind of food and drink,” insisted the Sea Goat. “It’s free. I’m filling all my pockets before I leave.”
“I really must introduce you to Dead Boy,” I said. “You have so much in common. How are you enjoying the party, Bruin?”
“I only came along to keep William company,” said the Bear. “I am, af
ter all, every boy’s friend and companion. And for all his many years William is still a boy in many ways. Besides, I do like to get away from Shadows Fall now and again. Our home-town has legends and wonders like a dog has fleas, and they can really get on your nerves, after a while. If everyone’s special, then noone is, really. The Nightside makes a pleasant change, for short periods. Because for all its sleazy nature, there are still many people here in need of a Bear’s friendship and comfort…”
The Sea Goat made a loud rude noise, and we all looked round to see him glaring at the elves Cobweb and Moth as they passed by.
They must have heard the Goat but chose not to acknowledge his presence. The Sea Goat ground his large blocky teeth together noisily.
“Bloody elves,” he growled. “So up themselves they’re practically staring out their own nostrils. Giving me the cold shoulder because I used to be fictional. I was a much-loved children’s character! Until the Bear and I went out of fashion, and our books disappeared from the shelves. No-one wants good old traditional, glad-hearted adventure anymore. I was so much happier and contented when I wasn’t real.”
“You never were happy and contented,” Bruin Bear said cheerfully. “That was part of your charm.”
“You were charming,” the Goat said testily. “I was a character.”
“And beloved by my generation,” said William, putting an arm across both their shoulders. “I had all your books when I was a boy. You helped make my childhood bearable, because your Golden Lands were one of the few places I could escape to that my father couldn’t follow.”
“Elves,” growled the Sea Goat. “Wankers!”
Cobweb and Moth turned suddenly and headed straight for us. Up close, they were suddenly and strikingly alien, not human in the least, their glamour falling away to reveal dangerous, predatory creatures. Elves have no souls, so they feel no mercy and no compassion. They can do any terrible thing that crosses their mind, and mostly they do, for any reason or none. William actually fell back a pace under the pressure of their inhuman gaze. Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat moved quickly forward to stand between William and the advancing elves. So of course I had to stand my ground, too. Even though the best way to win a fight with an elf is to run like fun the moment it notices you.
The two elves came to a halt before us, casually elegant and deadly. Their faces were identical—same cat’s eyes, same pointed ears, same cold, cold smile. Cobweb wore grey, Moth wore blue. Up close, they smelled of musk and sulphur.
“Watch your manners, little fiction,” said Moth. “Or we’ll teach you some.”
The Sea Goat reached out with an overlong arm, grabbed the front of the elf’s tunic, picked him up, and threw him the length of the ballroom. The elf went flying over everyone’s heads, tumbling head over heels, making plaintive noises of distress. Cobweb watched his fellow elf disappear into the distance, then looked back at the Sea Goat, who smiled nastily at the elf, showing his large blocky teeth.
“Hey, elf,” said the Goat. “Fetch.”
There was the sound of something heavy hitting the far wall, then the floor, some considerable distance away, followed by pained moans. Cobweb turned his back on us and stalked away into the crowd, who were all chattering loudly. They hadn’t had this much fun at a party in years. It helped that absolutely no-one liked elves. Bruin Bear shook his head sadly.
“Can’t take you anywhere…”
William couldn’t speak for laughing. I hadn’t seen him laugh before. It looked good on him.
“I should never have let you mix your drinks,” Bruin Bear scolded the Sea Goat. “You get nasty when you’ve been drinking.”
“Elves,” growled the Goat. “And those two think they’re so big time, just because they got name-checked in a Shakespeare play. Have you ever seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream? Romantic twaddle! Don’t think the man ever met an elf in his life. One play…the Bear and me starred in thirty-six books! Even if no-one reads them anymore…” He sniffed loudly, a single large tear running down the side of his long, grey muzzle. “We used to be big, you know. Big! It’s the books that got small…”
I excused myself and went to see if the elf was feeling okay after his forced landing. Not that I gave a damn, of course, but I could use a contact at the Faerie Court. And while an elf would know better than to respond to an offer of friendship, he might well respond to a decent-sized bribe. By the time I got to the other end of the ballroom, Moth was back on his feet and looking none the worse for his sudden enforced exit. It’s not easy to kill an elf, though it’s often worth the effort. Cobweb and Moth were currently doing their best to stare down Larry Oblivion, who was quietly but firmly refusing to be out-stared.
“Queen Mab wants her wand back,” Cobweb said bluntly.
“She sent us to tell you this,” said Moth. “Don’t make us tell you twice.”
“Tough,” said Larry, entirely unmoved. “She wants it back, tell her to come herself.”
“We could take it from you,” said Cobweb.
“We’d like that,” said Moth.
Larry laughed in their faces. “What are you going to do, kill me? Bit late for that. Queen Mab gave me her wand, for services rendered. You tell her…if she ever tries to pressure me again, I’ll tell everyone exactly what I did for her and why. Now push off, or I’ll set the Sea Goat on you.”
“Queen Mab will not forget this slight,” said Cobweb.
Larry Oblivion grinned. “Like I give a Puck.”
The elves stalked away, not looking back. I studied Larry Oblivion thoughtfully, from a distance. I was seriously interested. Larry Oblivion had an elven weapon? That was worth knowing…The elves only unlocked their Armoury when they were preparing to go to war. And since I hadn’t seen Four Horsemen trotting through the Nightside recently, it seemed a few of the ancient elvish weapons were running around loose…I was still considering the implications of that when the Lady Orlando turned up again and backed me into a corner before I could escape. She was in full flirt mode, and I had to wonder why she’d targeted me, when there were so many richer men in the room. Maybe she’d heard how much Griffin was paying me for this case…
“John, darling,” she said, smiling dazzlingly, her eyes wide and hungry. “You must be the only real Nightside celebrity I haven’t had. I really must add you to my collection.”
“Back off,” I said, not unkindly. “I’m spoken for.”
“I just want your body,” said the Lady Orlando, wrinkling her perfect nose. “Not your love. I’m sure Suzie would understand.”
“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t,” I said. “Now be a good girl and go point those bosoms at someone else.”
Luckily, at that point Eleanor Griffin turned up to rescue me. She breezed right past the Lady Orlando, slipped her arm through mine, and led me away in one smooth movement, before the Lady could object, chattering loudly non-stop so the Lady couldn’t even get an innuendo in. I didn’t dare look back. Hell hath no fury like a woman outscored.
Eleanor was currently dressed as Madonna, from her John-Paul Gautier period, complete with black corset and brass breast cones. I looked them over and winced just a little.
“Aren’t those cold?”
Eleanor laughed briefly. “I’m wearing them for Marcel, to cheer him up. He’s fully recovered now, thanks to some heavy duty fast-acting healing spells, but he’s still a bit down in the dumps, because I’ve had him electronically tagged. If he tries to leave the Hall again to sneak off gambling, the tag will bite his leg off. He’s around here somewhere, sulking, dressed as Sky Masterson from Guys and Dolls. A bit predictable, I suppose, but he’s a big Marlon Brando fan. But never mind him. I need to talk to you, John. Am I correct in assuming that Daddy summoned you here to fill him in personally on your search for Melissa? Thought so. He’s always found it hard to delegate and depend on other people. Are you any nearer tracking her down?”
“No,” I said, glad to be talking to someone I could be straight with. “I’ve talked to
every member of your family, and if anyone knows anything, they’re doing a really good job of keeping it to themselves.”
“Couldn’t you try asking, well, underground people you know? I mean, criminals and informers, that sort of person?”
“The kind I know wouldn’t dare touch a Griffin,” I said. “No, the only people big and bad enough to try something like that are mostly right here in this room.”
“Have you talked with Paul?” said Eleanor, not looking at me.
“I spoke with Polly,” I said carefully. “I heard her sing. She’s got a really good voice.”
“I’ve never heard Polly sing,” said Eleanor. “I can’t go to the club. Paul mustn’t know…that I know about Polly.”
She led me back to William, who was standing alone now. The Sea Goat and Bruin Bear were presumably off getting into trouble somewhere else. William scowled ungraciously at Eleanor as we came to a halt before him. All the old sullenness was back in his face.
“Whatever she’s been telling you about me, don’t believe a word of it,” he snapped. “Hell, don’t believe anything she tells you. Dear Eleanor always has her own agenda.”
Eleanor smiled sweetly at him. “Name one person in our family who doesn’t, brother dear. Even sweet saintly Melissa had her own life, kept strictly separate from the rest of us.”
“A secret life?” I said. “You mean like Paul?”
“No-one knows,” said Eleanor. “She always was a very private little girl.”
“Best way, in this family,” growled William. “People find out your secrets in this place, they use them against you.”
They fell to squabbling then, rehearsing old hurts and grievances and wounds that had never been allowed to heal, and I just tuned them out. So Melissa had a secret life, so private that none of them had even thought to mention it before. Perhaps because no-one in this family liked to admit to not knowing something.