The Bride Wore Black Leather

old blood stained the stones in a regular pattern, like a bloody tide-mark soaked deep into the stone so long ago that no shade of red remained in the dark stains.
    Julien studied the blood-stains thoughtfully. “Is this what happened to the last people who tried to get in, do you think?”
    “No,” I said. “This is what’s left from human sacrifices. When they were building the wall, men and women were butchered right here, so their blood and deaths would strengthen the magics protecting the wall and so that their ghosts would remain here, bound to the wall, to hold it up against any forces that tried to bring it down. Old Druidic tradition. Very practical and unpleasant people, the Druids.”
    “You’re saying the ghosts are still here?” said Julien.
    I looked up and down the wall. “No. No ghosts here. Somebody screwed up.”
    Julien sighed quietly. “You can be really spooky sometimes, John. You know that?”
    “Only sometimes?” I said. “I must try harder.”
    Julien was giving rather more of his attention to the less than salubrious surroundings we’d arrived in. The buildings were dark and decrepit, with boarded-up windows and gaping doorways, and most of the street-lights had been smashed. Dark shadows everywhere; with ragged people lurking in them. A few of the braver ones were already shuffling out into the uncertain light to get a better look at whoever had been foolish enough to venture into their territory. Other things, that might or might not have been human but gave the impression of being just as hungry, moved in the shadows and alleyways.
    “It’s times like this make me wish I still carried my old sword-stick,” said Julien. “Couldn’t you have materialised us inside the Garden?”
    “Possibly,” I said. “But I didn’t want to upset the Righteous Sisters who run the place. There’s always the chance they’re old school Druids, the kind who would burn you alive in a giant wicker man, or nail your guts to the old oak tree, then chase you round it, as soon as look at you. We’re going to need their cooperation, so I’m being polite. I never used to bother much with that, back when I was only a private investigator, but now that I’m Walker . . . it’s that much harder to do appalling things to people in public and not get noticed. And anyway . . .”
    “The wall has protections?” said Julien, keeping a watchful eye on the local wildlife.
    “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “You can’t sacrifice this many people in one place and not get something for your trouble. I’m sensing defensive magic here that could tie your insides into square knots and send your balls back up the way they came down. Over and over again. So I think we’re going to be very patient and polite . . . right up to the point where I don’t give a toss any more. There’s supposed to be an alcove here somewhere, with a bell . . .”
    “Can’t you use your gift to find it?” said Julien.
    I gave him a stern look. “I have a strong feeling the Garden might take that as an affront, or an attempt to break in. Either way, if I upset the wall, you can bet the alcove will disappear itself in a moment.”
    “What if we can’t find a way in?” said Julien. “Some of these shabby gentlemen are getting a bit too close for my liking.”
    “Follow me,” I said. “Keep your head up; they can smell fear. And don’t get too close to the wall. It might bite.”
    We walked casually beside the wall for a while, both of us doing our best to appear confident and dangerous. Julien carried it off rather better than I did, with his great opera cape swirling around him. I’m more used to being sneaky and dangerous. Some of the rougher elements inhabiting the neighbourhood moved along with us, sticking to the shadows and maintaining a safe distance. They moved more like animals than anything human, their eyes gleaming brightly in the varying light. It didn’t take me long to find the alcove, built right into the wall, which I now realised had to be five to six feet thick. What did the original builders fear so much that they had to build a wall like this to keep it out? Or what did they need to keep inside their Garden?
    The stone of the alcove was grey and dusty, nothing more than a rough enclosure to hold a single silver bell, hanging from a thick silver chain. The bell was delicately made and shone brightly in the gloom, as though it had been placed there only moments before. The