Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

no-one, and I hope all your car’s armaments are loaded for bear because we’re going to need them.”
    “You know how to sweet-talk a girl,” said Ms. Fate. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your elven friend?”
    “This is Lord Screech,” I said. “Only he probably isn’t. Think of him less as my client and more as cargo to be transported. I’d lock him in the boot if I could trust him out of my sight that long.”
    “Well,” said Ms. Fate, smiling challengingly at Screech. “An elf. How ... exotic.”
    The elf lord gave her a formal bow, with all the trimmings. “Delighted to meet you. You’re a man.”
    “Not when I’m on duty,” said Ms. Fate. “Is my secret identity going to be a problem?”
    “Not at all,” said Screech, smiling easily. “Like all my kind, I delight in all forms of deceit and disguise, and glory in the joys of transformation. We’ve never understood this human preoccupation with normality. Where’s the fun in that?”
    “Definitely time to be going,” I said. “When an elf starts making sense...”
    Ms. Fate laughed and snapped her fingers at the Fatemobile. All the doors swung open. Ms. Fate headed for the driving seat. I looked at Screech.
    “You want to do rock, scissors, paper to see who rides shotgun?”
    “Only people I trust get to sit beside me in the Fatemobile,” said Ms. Fate.
    “I’ll get in the back seat,” said Screech.
    “Mind my cloak,” said Ms. Fate.
    I settled into the passenger seat while Screech folded his long body almost in two to fit through the backdoor. Sitting down, he had to lean forward to keep from banging his head on the roof, and his knees came up to his chin. He still looked insufferably dignified and aristocratic, but that’s elves for you. The Fatemobile’s interior was pretty much as I remembered. Lipstick red leather on all the seats, a high-tech dashboard complete with computer displays and weapons systems, and a steering wheel covered in ermine. A bonsai pine tree perched on the dashboard served as an air freshener. Ms. Fate touched the ignition pad with a leather-clad fingertip, and the whole car trembled eagerly.
    “Are there many super-heroes in the Nightside?” said Screech, from between his raised knees.
    “We prefer the term costumed adventurers,” said Ms. Fate, running quickly through her car’s warm-up checks. “Pretty much everyone and everything turns up here eventually, and there have always been a few of us, making a stand for justice and revenge and the right to kick six different colours of crap out of the bad guys. I think we do it for the challenge. No-one does villains like the Nightside. Right, John?”
    “Archetypes and icons have always felt at home in the Nightside,” I said. “But super-heroes and super-villains are a bit too innocent to do well here. I think we disappoint them, with our endless shades of grey rather than their preferred black-and-white morality. There have always been a few costumed heroes; the Mystery Avenger, the Lady Phantasm, the Cutting Edge ...”
    “And the villains?” said the elf, hopefully.
    “Again, we tend more towards colourful characters,” I said. “The Painted Ghoul, Jackie Schadenfreude, Penny Dreadful...”
    “And remember that awful little poseur, Dr. Delirium?” said Ms. Fate. “Today the Nightside, tomorrow the world?”
    “Of course I remember,” I said. “Walker had Suzie and me toss his nasty little arse out of the Nightside. Last I heard, he was sulking somewhere in the Amazon rain forest, swearing vengeance on the world and trying to build his own private army through ads in the back of Soldier of Fortune magazine. This is what comes of uncles leaving you far too much money.”
    “You work for Walker?” said Screech.
    “Sometimes,” I said. “When he’s not trying to have me killed. It’s complicated. It’s the Nightside.”
    “Heads up, people,” said Ms. Fate. “Company’s coming.”
    They came marching down the street towards us, and everyone else hurried to get out of their way. Striding arrogantly in perfect formation and perfect lock-step, carrying heavy truncheons and pistols holstered on both their hips, in black-and-gold uniforms with reinforced helmets; Walker’s very own shock-and-awe troopers. I felt obscurely flattered that Walker had sent his own personal heavies to stop me. It showed a certain respect for my capabilities.
    Walker’s job was to keep the lid on things, and to do that he could call on