The Bride Wore Black Leather

remonstration at Sharon. “Definitely outclassed. I just represent God in the Nightside; the Lord of Thorns has personal chats with Him on a regular basis.”
    “Well, yes, but you do real heart-to-heart stuff at your weddings,” Sharon said stubbornly. “Really makes a person feel
married
.”
    But Tamsin MacReady was already looking thoughtfully at Razor Eddie, in his private booth at the back. She said something very un-vicar-like, under her breath, and looked sharply at me.
    “I have heard talk . . . that Razor Eddie might be getting above himself. You’re Walker now; you don’t have to deal personally with every threat that comes your way. If you wish, I could set Sharon on him.”
    “Does everyone here know about the prophecy?” I said, a bit miffed.
    “Pretty much,” said the rogue vicar. “Any news about Razor Eddie tends to do the rounds fairly quickly, if only so the rest of us know which way to jump when the trouble starts.”
    “Grubby little upstart,” said Sharon. “I could take him.” She studied Razor Eddie with her hungry eyes, and I remembered the brief glimpse I’d once got of her true, hidden nature, a brief vision of huge teeth and ragged claws, of something indescribably vile and vicious.
    “Sharon, sweetie, I could take him,” Tamsin MacReady said firmly. “He’s only another god from the Street of the Gods. I serve the true God, and His strength is mine.”
    “No-one’s taking anyone,” I said, just as firmly. “Let us all play nicely together, if only for one night. Thanks for the offer, though, Vicar. But I solve my own problems. That’s how you get to be Walker.”
    “We like what you’ve done with Suzie Shooter,” said Sharon. “We’re all very impressed with how you’ve calmed her down. We were worried we might have to do something about her.”
    I had to smile. “I haven’t calmed her down in the least. I’ve helped her channel her anger more productively.”
    “Love conquers all,” said Tamsin, smiling fondly at Sharon. “That’s what it’s for.”
    I moved on again. It was my party, my stag night, but I couldn’t seem to settle. As though I were looking for the one person who wasn’t there, but should have been. I went back to the bar.
    “It’s early yet,” said Alex. “People will be arriving for ages yet whether we want them to or not. Oh, don’t tell me you invited the Authorities?”
    “I sort of had to,” I said. “But it was kind of understood on both sides that I was being polite. Julien Advent’s okay; but most of the others could stop a party at twenty paces. And anyway, right now they’ve got more pressing worries. You have heard of King of Skin’s murder . . . of course you have. Anyway, they’ve got to choose a worthy replacement, and quickly, or risk looking weak and indecisive.”
    “I don’t mind Julien Advent,” said Alex. “He only drinks the good stuff, pays his bar bill on time, and hardly ever starts a fight. But I’ve never been too sure how you and he get on. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have anything in common. Some days you’re the best of partners in crime, and the next he’s offering a reward for your arrest and writing nasty editorials about you in the
Night Times
.”
    “We’re friends, sort of,” I said. “But he’s never approved of the way I get things done. He’s got principles. He’s always been a hero, the real deal, whereas I have always taken a more pragmatic approach to things. We get along. Most of the time. We know where we stand with each other.”
    “Oh, hell,” sad Alex. “Speak of the devil, and up he pops.”
    I looked around, and sure enough there he was. Julien Advent the Great Victorian Adventurer, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking around the bar as though he couldn’t decide whom to disapprove of first. A very moral and upright person, Julien Advent, despite having lived in the Nightside all these years. He still looked like the English Gentleman and Hero of the Empire he used to be before being pushed through a Timeslip and ending up here in the 1960s. He hadn’t aged or changed a bit in all that time and still dressed in the grand old style, complete with red-lined black opera cape; and standing quietly there, entirely at his ease, he looked every inch the hero and adventurer he still was.
    The whole room was going quiet. People had noticed he’d arrived. Some people were pleased to see him, some averted their eyes, and some hid under