Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

on my hands, after all. Comes with the job.”
    “Yet another reason why I don’t want it,” I said.
    Walker advanced slowly on me, holding the device out before him. “You failed the test, John. I gave you every chance. But unfortunately, you’re just not worthy. Far too limited in your thinking and far too sentimental. You’re not what the Nightside needs. I am. I can’t die, John. I’ve far too much left to do.”
    He lifted the circlet with both hands, as though to crown himself with it, only to discover at the last moment that he’d forgotten he was still wearing his bowler hat. It was so much a part of his outfit, so much a part of his persona, that he’d honestly forgotten he still had it on. And as he hesitated, I stepped slightly to one side to get the full force of the wind blowing behind me, and threw the handful of pepper I’d sneaked out of my coat pocket into Walker’s face. The wind blasted the vicious stuff into his eyes and up his nose, and he cried out in shock and pain before sneezing convulsively. He staggered backwards, sneezing so hard it shook his whole body, while tears streamed down his face. It was the easiest thing in the world for me to step forward and snatch the circlet out of his hand, then step quickly back out of reach.
    Being the tough old bird he was, Walker quickly had control of himself again. He glared at me through puffed-up eyes.
    “You bastard, John! You bastard ... You and your damned tricks!”
    “Keep it simple,” I said. “You taught me that, remember?”
    “You don’t know how to work the device!”
    “I don’t want it,” I said, slipping it inside my coat. “Now, after everything I’ve heard, what am I to do with you? You were going to walk around in my body, killing Suzie and Cathy and Alex and Eddie, and everyone else who knew me; to keep yourself safe. You were going to walk up and down the Nightside, with my face and my reputation, dispensing your own idea of justice. Undoing everything I ever achieved and believed in. Could there be any greater betrayal?”
    “Oh, grow up, John,” said Walker. He had his old calm back again, but his voice was flat and cold. “I do what needs doing. Always have done. What are you going to do?”
    “Well, first, I’m going to try and get this time-travel device back to where it belongs. It’s far too dangerous, and too tempting a thing, to have here.”
    “And then? What will you do, John, to the man who always tried to be a father to you?”
    “I’ve never had much luck with fathers,” I said. “Probably why I’ve always done my best to go my own way.”
    Walker sighed, looked out over the Nightside, then back at me. He smiled briefly. “We always knew it would come to this; didn’t we, John? That eventually one of us would have to kill the other.”
    “You always were a closet drama queen, Walker. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
    “Yes, it does.”
    I thought about it for a while and nodded slowly. “Yes; it does. You crossed the line.”
    “Two good men and true, who never could agree to disagree. And here we are, at the end of a very long road, standing on the edge of the pit. How very Nightside. So, what’s it to be? My secret weapons against yours?”
    “No,” I said. “For all you’ve done, and for all that you meant to do, I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.”
    “Excellent,” said Walker. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
    I moved forward, and Walker came to meet me, drawing his long, narrow sword from where it lay hidden inside his umbrella. He threw the shell away, and I stopped abruptly. Walker smiled widely as he swept the long blade back and forth.
    “Did I mention I was captain of the school fencing team? I had this lined with silver, John, just for you. No werewolf blood regenerations for you this time. My enemies stay dead.”
    “Good-bye, Walker,” I said.
    We went for each other like fighting dogs, as angry and vicious as only two old friends can be. I was young and fast and strong, but he had his blade, and his expertise, and a lifetime’s hard-earned tricks and tactics. He stabbed and cut at me with his sword, and I evaded it, forcing my way closer. Again and again I went for him, and every time he drove me back, with blood streaming from cuts that wouldn’t close. He cut chunks out of my reaching hands, and hacked at my arms when I lifted them to defend my throat or breast. Soon enough my white trench coat was soaked with blood. I