Nightside 06 - Sharper Than a Serpents Tooth

Dead Boy stopped as though he'd run into an invisible wall, his colourless face twisted in a pained grimace.
    "It's an antipossession spell," he grunted. "Trying to force me out of my body. Stop the bastard, John. Don't let him get away with the girl."
    I hurried forward to block the fat man's way. He stopped, studied me cautiously, and reached into his pocket again. I fired up my gift just long enough to locate the spell he was using to contain the ghost within him and ripped it away. I shut down my gift as the fat man convulsed, staggering back and forth as his imposing stomach bulged and rippled like a sheet in the wind. I got behind him, grabbed him in a bear hug, and squeezed with all my strength. Thick streams of smoke came pouring out of his mouth and nostrils, quickly forming into the ghost girl. The bulging stomach flattened under my grip, and the ghost girl stood fuming before us. She solidified one leg just long enough to kick the soul thief really hard in the nuts, then she stalked away. I let go of the soul thief, and he collapsed to the floor, looking very much as though he wished he was dead.
    I left him there and went back to Dead Boy, who was looking much better.
    "Cheap piece of rubbish spell," he said cheerfully. "Almost an insult, expecting something like that to take me out. My soul was put back by an expert. Leave the soul thief to me, John. I'll arrange for something suitably humiliating and nasty to happen to him."
    We strolled back to the bar, where the barmaid had a fresh bottle of whiskey waiting for Dead Boy. He reached for it, then hesitated, and gave me a long, considering look.
    "You didn't come here just to inquire after my nonexistent health, Taylor. What do you want with me?"
    "I need your help. My mother is finally back, and the shit is hitting the fan in no uncertain manner."
    "Why is it people only ever come to me when they want something?" Dead Boy said wistfully. "And usually only after everything's already gone to Hell and worse?"
    "I think you just answered your own question," I said. "That's what you get, for being such a great back-stop."
    "Give me the details," said Dead Boy.
    I gave him the edited version, but even so he winced several times, and by the end he was shaking his head firmly.
    " No . No way. I do not get involved with Old Testament forces. They are too hard-core, even for me."
    "I need your help."
    "Tough."
    "You have to help me, Dead Boy."
    "No I bloody don't. I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Being dead is very liberating that way."
    "My mother is leading an army of Beings from the Street of the Gods. She has to be stopped."
    "Good luck with that, John. Do send me a postcard as to how you got on. I'll be in the Arctic. Hiding under a polar bear."
    "I have a plan ..."
    "You always do! The answer's still no. I do not go up against gods. I know my limitations."
    I fixed him with my best cold stare. "If you're not with us, you're against us. Against me."
    "You'd really threaten an old friend, John?"
    "If you were really a friend, I wouldn't have to threaten you."
    "Dammit, John," he said quietly. "Don't do this to me. I can't afford to have my body destroyed, and lose my grip on this world. Not with what's waiting for me . . ."
    "If Lilith isn't stopped, the Hell she'll make of the Nightside will be just as bad."
    "You're a real piece of work, Taylor, you know that? All right, I'm in. But I know I'm going to regret this."
    "That's the spirit," I said.
    "You're not even safe being dead, these days," Dead Boy said mournfully.

Five
    Down in Dingley Dell

    "S o," said Dead Boy, "you've definitely got a plan?"
    "Oh yes."
    "But you're not going to tell me what it is?"
    "It would only upset you."
    "Can you at least tell me where we're going?"
    "If you like, but…"
    "I won't like that either?"
    "Probably not."
    "If I wasn't already dead, I think I'd probably be very depressed."
    I had to laugh. It felt good to have something to laugh about. We were walking through one of the less salubrious areas of the Nightside, where the neon signs fell away like uninvited guests at the feast, and even working street-lamps were few and far between. We had come to Rotten Row, and the people who lived there liked it dark. We'd been walking for a while, and even though Dead Boy couldn't get tired, he could get bored, and downright cranky about it. He'd wanted to use his famous futuristic car, the gleaming silver sensation that drove itself out of a Timeslip from some