Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

Not from us.”
    “And now it’s time for me to go,” said Merlin. “You have the somber chalice in that bag. I can feel its awful presence from here. I can’t be this close to it. Too many bad memories … and far too much temptation. I may be dead, but I’m not stupid.”
    “Thanks for your help,” I made myself say, in an almost normal tone. “We’ll meet again, I’m sure.”
    “Oh yes,” said Merlin. “We have unfinished business, your mother and I.”
    And before I could pursue that any further he was gone, disappearing back into his ancient grave somewhere deep under the wine cellar. The arrogant bastard always had to have the last word. Reality flexed and shuddered, and Alex Morrisey was suddenly back among us again, sitting slumped in the middle of the pentacle. He groaned loudly and shook his head slowly. He realized he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and took a stiff drink. He almost choked getting the stuff down, but he was determined.
    “I should have known he’d get into the good stock,” he said bitterly. “Damn. I hate it when he manifests through me. My head will be full of corrupt Latin and Druidic chants for days.” He shuddered suddenly, unable to continue with his usual façade. He looked at me, and I knew that behind his ubiquitous shades, his eyes were full of betrayal. “You bastard, Taylor. How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends.”
    “We are friends,” I said. “I know that can be difficult, sometimes. I’m sorry.”
    “You’re always sorry, John. But it never stops you screwing up people’s lives.”
    I didn’t say anything, because I couldn’t. He was right. He struggled to his feet. I offered him a hand, but he slapped it aside. Lucy and Betty Coltrane moved quickly in and got him on his feet again, supporting him between them until his legs were firm again. He looked at the airline bag slung over my shoulder and gestured jerkily at it with his whiskey bottle.
    “Is that it? Is that what you risked my sanity and soul for? Get the damned thing out and let me take a look at it. Haven’t I earned the right? I want to see it.”
    “No you don’t,” I said. “It’s vile. Poisonous. Your eyes could rot in your head just from looking at it for too long. It’s dark and it’s evil and it corrupts all who come into contact with it. Just like its original owner.”
    Alex sneered at me. “You always were a frustrate drama queen, Taylor. Show me . I’ve a right to see what I suffered for.”
    I opened the airline bag and took out the copper bowl, holding it carefully by the edges. It was feverishly hot to the touch, and my skin crawled at the contact. It felt as though someone new had entered the bar, someone terribly old and horribly familiar. Part of me wanted to throw the thing away, and part of me wanted to clutch it to my breast and never give it up. Alex leaned forward for a better look, but didn’t try to touch it. Just as well. I wouldn’t have let him.
    “ That ’s it?” said Alex. “I wouldn’t serve a cheap claret in that.”
    “You’re not going to get the chance,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I stuffed the bowl back into the bag, though the effort brought beads of sweat to my brow. “This nasty little thing is going straight to the Vatican, where hopefully they will have the good sense to lock it up somewhere extremely safe, until the End of Time.”
    “If only it was that simple,” said Walker.
    We all looked round sharply as the Authorities’ chief voice in the Nightside came strolling unhurriedly down the metal stairs into the bar. He still looked every inch the city gent out on his lunch break. Calm and sophisticated, and very much the master of the moment. He glanced at the pitch-darkness filling the bar’s shattered windows, but didn’t seem in the least perturbed by it, as though he saw something like it every day. And perhaps he did. This was Walker, after all. Alex scowled at him.
    “Perfect. What the hell are you doing here, Walker? And how did you get in?”
    “I’m here because the angels want me to be here,” said Walker easily, striding across the floor to join us and stopping just short of the pentacle’s salt lines. He glanced at it briefly and looked away, managing to imply that he’d seen much better workmanship in his day. Walker could say a lot with a look and a raised eyebrow. He tipped his bowler hat to us and smiled pleasantly. “The angels contacted the Authorities and