Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

Johnson, still playing the blues with weary fingers, to pay off the lien on his soul. Glenn Miller and his big band sound, still calling Pennsylvania 6-500. (The Collector had Miller on ice for a long time, but was leasing him out now, in return for a consideration best not discussed in public.) Buddy Holly, hitting his guitar like it might fight back, headlining the Rock & Roll Sky-Diving All-Stars. And the Lizard King himself, on tour from Shadows Fall, that small town in the back of beyond where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them. Plus a whole bunch of Elvises, John Lennons, and Jimi Hendrixes, of varying authenticity. You paid your money and you took your choices.
    Suzie and I were on our way to The Pit. A relatively new concern, recommended for the seriously discerning pleasure-seeker. An extremely private place, for those in whom pleasure and pain combine to form a whole far greater than the sum of its parts. Where caressing hands had sharpened fingernails, and every kiss left a little blood in the mouth. The Pit, not surprisingly, was underground. From the street up, the place was just another restaurant, specializing in meals made from extinct animals. To get to The Pit, you had to go down a long set of dirty stone steps, to an alley well below street level. No flashing neon here, no dazzling come-ons. You either knew what you were looking for, and where to find it, or you weren’t the kind of patron The Pit wanted to attract. It was the kind of place where if you had to ask the price of something, you couldn’t afford it. I’d been there once before, to rescue a succubus who wanted out of her contract. It all got rather messy and unpleasant, but that’s life for you. In the Nightside.
    Suzie and I walked down the alley, ignoring the long queue. A few of those we passed scowled an muttered, but no-one said anything. Suzie and I are well-known faces, and our reputations went before us. A few people produced camcorders, just in case there was trouble. The solid steel door that was the only entry into The Pit was guarded by two of the Demon Lordz, scowling menacingly at one and all, their muscular arms folded across their heavy chests.
    At first glance, the Lordz looked like just another street gang. Both wore dark, polished leathers, fashionably scruffy, and heavy with metal studs and hanging chains. They wore bright tribal colors on their faces, gaudy daubs on skin so black it glistened blue. They wore strap-on devil’s horns on their foreheads, and when they smiled or scowled they showed teeth filed to sharp points. But there was something more about them, in their unnatural stillness, in the boiling air of menace they projected, that showed they were so much more than just another set of gangsta wannabes. Certainly none of the punters waiting patiently to get in even thought about trying to jump the queue. They were mostly rich kids, in all the latest fetish gear, whose parents could probably buy and sell The Pit out of petty cash, but none of that mattered here. It wasn’t who you were, but who you knew, that got you in.
    Suzie studied the two Lordz standing guard before the firmly closed door and scowled ominously as they refused even to notice our presence. She tended to take such slights personally. She looked around the alley, then sneered impartially at the Lordz and the queue.
    “You know all the best places to bring a girl, Taylor. I just know I’m going to have to disinfect my boots later. Do we have anything resembling a plan?”
    “Oh, I thought we’d just barge our way in, insult all the right people, and kick the crap out of anyone who annoys us.”
    Suzie smiled briefly. “My kind of party.”
    I walked right up to the Lordz, radiating confidence. Suzie stuck close beside me, still scowling. Some of the queue decided that they’d try another club. The doormen finally deigned to acknowledge our existence. They were trying hard to look cool and aloof, and not quite bringing it off. The clenched fists gave it away. The one on the left looked down on me from his full six feet four.
    “Back of the queue,” he growled out of one corner of his mouth. “No jumping. No bribes. No exceptions. Members only. And you two would be wasting your time anyway. We have a very strict dress code.”
    “So piss off,” said the one on the right, from his full six foot six. “Before we have to do something to you that might upset the nice ladies and gentlemen in the