The Bride Wore Black Leather

dressed mostly in bunches of white feathers danced energetically in two huge golden cages. Birds of paradise, indeed. I looked around the packed tables, and a number of familiar faces presented themselves, famous and important people from the Past, Present, and futures. The English Assassin was there, with his beautiful twin sister, Margaret, comparing ornate sonic pistols and arguing cheerfully over a roll of microfilm. Sebastian Stargave, the Fractured Protagonist, was taking tea with a golden-eyed cyborg. Zodiac the Mystical arranged his cloak fussily about him as he gave his order to the mini-skirted, gum-chewing waitress. And Pierrot and Columbine only had eyes for each other. A typical enough gathering for the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille.
    Julien and I walked among them, the faded figures like so many ghosts and phantoms. Or perhaps we were the ghosts, moving unseen and unsuspected. I led the way, being careful not to walk through anything or anyone. The vision was fragile enough as it was, without my doing anything to damage it. And besides, it always pays to be careful when moving through the Past; you never know what might make waves . . . The English Assassin’s head came up suddenly, and he looked suspiciously around him as though disturbed by a presence he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He looked right at Julien and me, and even though he couldn’t see us, his steady gaze sent chills up my back. He finally shrugged quickly and resumed his conversation with his sister. Which, given who and what he is, was just as well. Julien studied the English Assassin thoughtfully.
    “I’ve known him for so many years,” he said quietly. “With this name and that, one face or another. In the service of chaos, and law. And I’m still no nearer understanding him. He was as much an icon and a representative of the sixties as the Sun King; but he always stood for the darker aspects of that time.”
    “You don’t need to lower your voice,” I said. “He can’t see or hear us. None of them can.”
    Julien’s hand on my shoulder urged me forward, towards the rear of the Bar. We threaded our way between the tables and finally stopped at a little alcove by the window, and there he was . . . his younger self, sitting with his girl companion, Juliet. Julien didn’t look much different than he did now, but there was perhaps a more youthful sense to his smile, his gaze, the way he held himself. He certainly smiled a lot more than the man I was used to. And from the quiet sigh that came behind me, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought Julien was looking at someone who’d died.
    “Ah, Juliet,” he said. “We were so happy together, for a time.”
    Juliet was a beautiful and vivacious English rose, with a porcelain complexion and long blonde hair, pale pink lips and flashing blue eyes, and a single small flower painted on one cheek. She wore a dress of black-and-white go-go checks, and tall, white, plastic boots with stiletto heels. And she was so alive: gesturing excitedly as she talked, tossing her long hair so it danced around her head, and silently teasing her more stolid and reserved companion.
    “Why did I ever let you go, Juliet?” said Julien, in a voice so quiet I could barely hear it. There was something in that voice that would have broken the hearts of the two young people before us if only they could have heard it. “I want to warn them, John, about so many things; but I can’t, and I know I won’t, because I didn’t.”
    “This is why I hate Time travel,” I said. “Nothing good ever comes of it. This is the only truth that ever comes out of the Past—that nothing lasts.”
    “But sometimes, people make comebacks,” said Julien. He moved in beside me, maintaining his grip, and looked thoughtfully at the crowd behind him. “Can any of you hear me? Do you know I’m here? Do you know what’s happened, or what’s about to happen? Come on, you’re all ghosts; if anyone’s not fixed in Time, it’s you. Help us to help you.”
    But there was no response. No-one said anything, or even turned a head to look. It was only an echo of the Past, after all.
    “Did you really expect anyone to answer?” I said.
    Julien shrugged. “It’s the Nightside. Normal rules do not apply.”
    And then we both looked round sharply as the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille began to shake and shudder. All around us, people jumped to their feet, shouting silently at each other. The young girls stopped