The Bride Wore Black Leather

every night, to hold themselves together. To maintain their grip on this world. You couldn’t make them leave here if you tried. Couldn’t drive them out, with bell, book, and candle. This is their club, Mr. Taylor; I get to run things for them. Of course, I also get a bit of the old rumpy pumpy, from time to time . . .”
    “Oh,
ick
!” said Cathy, firmly.
    Dennis sniggered. “Every job has its perks, my dears. Can I help it if I like my ectoplasm cold?”
    •  •  •
    We all clambered into Cathy’s MINI Cooper and headed off into the Nightside rather more swiftly than I was comfortable with. Dennis enjoyed the trip immensely, waving his podgy fingers out the window at people he recognised though most of them chose not to recognise him. If nothing else, he made a great distraction. I thought hard about what I was going to do when I revisited the hole in the ground that was all that was left of the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille. I also kept a watchful eye on Cathy and Dennis. I wasn’t too concerned about dear old Den-Den. You always knew where you were with him. He didn’t care that I’d killed Julien Advent because he didn’t care about anyone. He’d back-stab me for the reward in a moment, given half a chance, but we both knew he didn’t have the balls to do it to my face. He’d do whatever I told him, in the hope of favours to call on, further down the line. But Cathy . . . worried me. Why hadn’t she fallen under the influence of the Sun King? Like Suzie had? I couldn’t ask Cathy. I didn’t want her to think I didn’t trust her.
    When we finally pulled up alongside the great hole in the ground where the Bar used to be, it all looked exactly as it had before. Big and ugly and completely lacking in any supernatural energies. We all got out of the MINI Cooper, moved over to the edge of the hole, and stared down into it. No difference at all. Just a hole, where something marvellous used to be. Something about the scene bothered me, and I realised it was the quiet. I looked quickly about me. Most of the watching crowd had disappeared, gone in search of something more interesting to look at. Never any lack of that to be had, in the Nightside. And . . . “Why aren’t there any naked people here?” I said suddenly.
    Cathy gave me a sideways look. “Should there be? Were you expecting naked people; or are you at a funny age, boss?”
    “I mean the Tantric Troops,” I said. “The Authorities’ new attack dogs. They were all over the place here before.”
    “Oh, them,” Dennis said wisely. “The Fuck Buddies. Oh yes, my dears, we’ve all heard about them. Talk about making a virtue out of a necessity . . . Last I heard, the remaining Authorities had scattered them across the Nightside, looking for you, Mr. Taylor. After all; it’s not like there’s much here for them to guard . . .”
    I nodded and went back to looking into the hole. “I was here before, with Julien. Talking about the Bar’s sudden disappearance. And I can’t help feeling I’m missing something . . .”
    I took the book out of my inside pocket, and leafed quickly through it. Cathy frowned slowly.
    “Does that book, by any chance, come from where I think it does?” she said. “From, in fact, the much-respected and even-more-feared HPL?”
    “I borrowed it, for a while,” I said. “Unofficially. Without telling anybody. Though they’ve probably noticed by now.”
    Cathy was already shaking her head. “You’re a lot braver than I am, boss. They’ll send the Library Policemen after you. The big men, with hammers.”
    “I have more pressing things to worry about,” I said, still flipping quickly through the pages. It was all very familiar. I’d read it all before. I knew everything that was in the book; so what was I missing? And then I stopped, as a very familiar phrase jumped out at me. The Bar burned down in 1970, possibly in self-immolation as a protest against the breaking up of the Beatles, then came back as a ghost of itself. The Hawk’s Wind
chose
to come back! That was the answer, right there! The Bar made a conscious decision to return, which meant the building was sentient. Not just a ghost image of a missing place but a conscious entity in its own right! That’s why the Bar was able to be so solid and hold aspects of the sixties within itself. And as a real, sentient, ghost personality . . . I should be able to ask it questions and get some answers.
    I slammed the book shut,