Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

was a long pause, and the voices said together, “What would you want?”
    “Information,” I said. “Tell me about my mother. My missing, mysterious mother. Tell me who and what and where she is.”
    “We cannot tell you that,” said the first voice. “We only know what it is given to us to know, and some things are forbidden, even to us.”
    “We cannot tell you that,” said the second voice. “We know only what is said in darkness, and some things are too awful, even for us.”
    “So essentially,” I said, “you’re really nothing more than glorified messenger boys, working on a need-to-know basis. Send me back. I’ve got work to do.”
    “You do not speak to us that way,” said the first voice, its harmonies rising and falling. “Defy us, and there will be punishment.”
    I looked across at the other presences. “Are you going to let them get away with that? If I’m hurt or damaged, you risk losing the one person who can definitely find the Unholy Grail for you.”
    “Do not touch the mortal,” the second voice said immediately.
    “You do not speak to us that way!”
    “We speak how we will! We always have!” There was a stirring and a disturbance in the darkness, as of two great armies readying themselves for war. There were angry voices, with vicious threats and vows, and ominous intent. And it was the easiest thing in the world for me to quietly slip away from them, and drop back into my body, which waited in the doorway in the alley outside Strangefellows. It had grown cold and stiff in my brief absence, and I groaned aloud as I made myself stretch reluctant muscles and pounded my hands together to get the circulation moving again. I closed my mind down tightly, pulling all my strongest mental shields into place. You don’t last long in the Nightside if you don’t learn a few useful tricks to guard your mind and soul from outside attack or influence. Walk around here with an open mind, and your head will end up more crowded than the underground during rush hour.
    But it did mean I wouldn’t be able to use my gift again. Anytime I let down my defenses long enough to See, you could bet agents from Above and Below would be waiting for a chance to grab me again. And make me an offer I wouldn’t be allowed to refuse. So it looked like I was going to have to solve this case the hard way: lots of legwork, asking impertinent questions, and the occasional twisting of arms.
    Which meant I was going to need Suzie Shooter even more than I’d thought.

    Shotgun Suzie lived in one of the sleazier areas of the Nightside, up one of those narrow side streets that lurk furtively in the shadows of the more traveled ways. Lit starkly by glaring neon signs advertising nasty little shops and studios, offering access to all the viler and more suspect pleasures and goods, at extortionate prices, of course, it was the kind of place where even the air tastes foul. The neon flickered with almost stroboscopic intensity, and painted men and women and others who were both and neither smiled coldly from backlit windows. Somewhere music was playing, harsh and tempting, and somewhere else someone was screaming, and begging for the pain to never stop.
    I walked down the centre of the street, avoiding the greasy rain-slick garbage-strewn pavements. I didn’t want anyone tugging at my arm or whispering coaxingly in my ear. I was careful not to catch anyone’s eye, or even glance at the shop windows. It was safer that way. I didn’t want to have to hurt anyone this early in the case. Suzie’s place was set right in the middle of it all, between a flaying parlor and a long pig franchise. From the outside, her section of the old tenement building looked broken-down, decayed, almost abandoned. The brickwork had been blackened by countless years of pollution and neglect, covered over with layers of peeling posters, and the occasional obscene graffiti. All the windows had been boarded up. But I knew that the single paint-peeling door had a thick core of solid steel, protected by state-of-the-art locks and defenses, both high-tech and magical. Suzie took her security very seriously.
    I was one of the very few people she’d ever trusted with the correct entry codes. I looked around to make sure no-one was too close, or showing too much interest, then I bent over the hidden keypad and grille. (No point in knocking or shouting; she wouldn’t respond. She never did.) I punched in the right numbers, and spoke my name