Nightside 08 - The Unnatural Inquirer

story?”
    “Well, yes, but…it’s not quite what I expected. You’re not what I expected.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “You faced down Queen Helena and the Exiles, and their army. Told them to go to Hell and damned them to do their worst. And they all backed down. Were you bluffing?”
    I grinned. “I’ll never tell.”
    Bettie laughed out loud. “This story is going to make my name! My day on the streets with John Taylor!”
    She grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me round, and kissed me hard on the lips. It was an impulse moment. A happy thing. Could have meant anything, or nothing. We stood together a moment, and then she pulled back a little and looked at me with wide, questioning eyes. I could have pushed her away. Could have defused the moment, with a smile or a joke. But I didn’t. I pulled her to me and kissed her. Because I wanted to. She filled my arms. We kissed the breath out of each other, while our hands moved up and down each other’s bodies. Finally, we broke off, and looked at each other again. Her face was very close, her hurried breath beating against my face. Her face was flushed, her eyes very bright. My head was full of her perfume, and of her. I could feel her heart racing, so close to mine. I could feel the whole length of her body, pressing insistently against mine.
    “Well,” she said. “I didn’t expect that. Has it really been such a long time since you kissed anyone? Since you…?”
    I pushed her gently away, and she let me. But her eyes still held mine.
    “I can’t do this,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. Didn’t sound like someone in control of himself.
    “It’s true what they say about Suzie, then,” said Bettie. She sounded kind, not judgemental. “She can’t…The poor dear. And poor you, John. That’s no way to live. You can’t have a real relationship with someone if you can’t ever touch her.”
    “I love her,” I said. “She loves me.”
    “That’s not love,” said Bettie. “That’s one damaged soul clinging to another, for comfort. I could love you, John.”
    “Of course you could,” I said. “You’re the daughter of a succubus. Love comes easy to you.”
    “No,” she said. “Just the opposite. I laugh and smile and flutter my eye-lashes because that’s what’s expected of me. And because it does help, with the job. But that’s not me. Or at least, not all of me. I only show that to people I care about. I like you, John. Admire you. I could learn to love you. Could you…?”
    “I can’t talk about this now,” I said.
    “You’ll have to talk about it sometime. And sometimes…you can say things to a stranger that you couldn’t say to anyone else.”
    “You’re not a stranger,” I said.
    “Why thank you, John. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far.”
    She moved forward and leaned her head on my shoulder. We held each other gently. No passion, no pressure, only a man and a woman together, and it felt good, so good. It had been a long time since I’d held anyone. Since anyone had held me. It was like…part of me had been asleep. Finally, I pushed her away.
    “We have to go see the Cardinal,” I said firmly. “Pen Donavon and his damned Recording are still out there, somewhere, and that means people like Taffy and Helena will be looking for it, hoping it will turn out to be something they can use to further their ambitions. I really don’t like the way they were willing to flaunt their armies openly in public.”
    “Walker will do something,” said Bettie.
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

    Rick Aday’s directions finally brought us to a pokey little shop called The Pink Cockatoo, a single-windowed front, in the middle of a long terrace of shops, set between a Used Grimoires book-shop, and a Long Pig franchise. The window before us was full of fashionable fetish clothing that seemed to consist mostly of plastic and leather straps. A few corsets and basques, and some high-heeled boots that would have been too big even for me. Incense candles, fluffy handcuffs, and something with spikes that I preferred not to look at too closely. I tried the door, but it was locked. There was a rusty steel intercom set into the wooden frame. I hit the button with my fist and leaned in close.
    “This is John Taylor, to see the Cardinal. Open up, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your door right off its hinges.”
    “This establishment is protected,” said a calm, cultured