Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

fact, he hasn't made an appearance in years. Quite a few people are unsure as to whether he really exists at all. We deal so much in fantasy here, it's hard sometimes to keep reality in focus. Certainly I've never met him. Don't know anyone who has. He makes himself known now and again, to a select few, to run the few errands he finds necessary. Eccentric, perhaps, but we're used to that here. And please, sweetie; no more questions about him. I have no idea who or what he is, or why he chooses to live in our basement, and I don't want to know.
    The one thing you learn here above all else is to mind your own business."
    He came to a halt before a large wooden door, intimidatingly broad and solid, and opened the old-fashioned lock with a large metal key. The hinges squealed noisily as he pushed the door open with an effort, and then he gestured for Diana to go in. She strode forward, head held high, and found herself in a torture chamber. The walls were rough stone, and ran here and there with dark streams of water. The floor was stone too, cracked with age and discolored in places with old dark bloodstains. It was stiflingly hot, and Diana could feel beads of perspiration popping out on her face. A great metal brazier stood in the center of the room, coals glowing redly as it heated a collection of branding irons. There was a full-sized rack, an Iron Maiden, and whips and chains and instruments of torture hung on the walls ready for use. The door slammed shut behind Diana. She spun around, found the fake Owen standing right behind her, grabbed a handful of his shirtfront, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him back against the closed door. His eyes bulged as he tore helplessly
    at her unflinching hand and arm.
    "Talk to me!" said Diana harshly. "Tell me why you've brought me to an interrogation chamber or I'll kill you right here!"
    "It's not real! It's not real!" The fake Owen was going very red in the face.
    "Honestly, darling, try not to be quite so brutal. This is a fake, just like me, for clients whose tastes run a little darker than most."
    Diana dropped him, and gave him a hard look. "People pay for this?"
    "Some do, yes. There have always been those who like a little pain with their pleasure. Or vice versa. As they say: only the one who hurts you can make the pain go away. There's a body shop next door to repair any damage, if anyone gets a little too… enthusiastic."
    "Why would my contact choose a place like this for a meeting?"
    "Probably because it's the most secure and private part of the House. Can I go now, please? I'd really like to go somewhere and change my trousers before the stain sets."
    Yes, said a soft, carrying voice. You can go. I'll summon you if I need you again.
    Diana and the fake Owen both looked sharply around them. The voice seemed to have come from everywhere at once. It was an unpleasant sound, dark as death, soft as corruption, vile as a living thing crushed beneath a steel boot. Diana could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The last time she'd heard a voice like that, she'd been a prisoner in Silo Nine, and Wormboy had been playing mind games with her head. She suddenly felt like running, but even as the thought came to her, the door opened and slammed shut behind her as the fake Owen made his escape. Diana forced her thoughts and emotions back under control, and let
    some of the colder Jenny Psycho aspects of her personality come to the surface.
    This was no place to be weak.
    "Who are you? Where are you?"
    Right here, said the voice, and the words had the impact of iron nails driven into yielding flesh. Pardon my reluctance to reveal myself, but it's so hard to know who to trust these days. Anyone can be an agent of the Mater Mundi; anyone can be an assassin in disguise.
    "So I've been finding out," said Diana. "All right; let's try this one. Why are we meeting here, of all places?"
    Because it's the best place to hide. Open your thoughts just a little, Diana, and dip your toe into the passions that thrive here.
    "Like hell," said Diana immediately. "My shields are up and they're staying up.
    This place is dangerous. Far too many emotions spilling out on all sides. An esper could drown in a place like this."
    Very wise, my dear. Passions run free here as reality is discarded in favor of personal fantasies. Everything is permitted in a House of Joy, as long as you don't expect it to be real. Love or sex, or reasonable facsimiles, available to anyone who has the price. The