The Bride Wore Black Leather

out of her seat and dragged off air, all the time speaking in tongues and swivelling her head round and round. Which is a really bad thing to do when you’re projectile vomiting something very like pea green soup. I had to smile. You’d think a Nightside television station would have enough sense to keep an exorcist on staff for emergencies like this. Some savings really are false economies.
    On the other hand, apparently that particular news show boasted the highest ratings the station had ever known, and had already been nominated for several awards.
    •  •  •
    The black limousine moved smoothly out of the bad lands and into the mainstream traffic lanes. The roar of never-ending traffic embraced us immediately though hardly any of it got past the limo’s soundproofing. The usual mixture of unusual vehicles passed by on either side. Ambulances that ran on distilled suffering. Huge articulated trucks with no-one visible in the driver’s seat, carrying unknown goods to unknowable destinations. One of them had a big sign on the back, saying COMPLAIN ABOUT MY DRIVING. GO ON. I DARE YOU. And all kinds of cars, from a shocking pink souped-up Model T Ford, to an Edsel with tall, shiny fins and a radioactive back burner, to a 2020 Velociraptor Special, with a motor so powerful it rattled the fillings in my teeth as it shot past.
    Most of the traffic had enough sense to give the black limousine plenty of room on the grounds that anything so obviously expensive was bound to have top-of-the-line armaments and protections; but something that only looked like a car moved quickly through the adjoining lanes to ease in alongside us. Up close, it quickly became apparent there was something seriously wrong with the car’s shape and details. All the windows were pure black, including the windscreen, the wheels didn’t turn, and the thing moved in sudden darts and rushes that would have had its passengers ricocheting around the interior. I drew Julien’s attention to whatever it was that was coming our way, but he didn’t seem particularly worried. The car thing lurched in close beside us, our two sides almost touching. The all-black window nearest us disappeared, and dozens of dark green arms ending in hooked and clawed hands shot out to attack our windows. They slammed to a halt against the glass and skittered angrily over it, unable to break or even scratch it.
    “Bullet-proof, shatter-proof, waterproof,” said Julien, a bit complacently.
    “Make a good watch,” I said, deliberately unimpressed.
    The claws and hooks clattered in vain against the heavy glass, then all the arms snapped back into the car thing. The black window reappeared. The car thing cut its power and fell back behind us, taking up a position right on our bumper. Long machine-gun barrels protruded from its dully gleaming grill-work, and the car thing opened fire. Luckily, our rear windows were equally bullet-proof. The limousine hardly rocked at all under the impact. The blonde chauffeuse made an adjustment to something on her dash-board, and flame-throwers opened up from the back of the limousine. The car thing shrieked shrilly as terrible flames washed over it. The featureless exterior scorched and bubbled, charring and blackening like roasted flesh under the extreme heat. The car thing burned fiercely, then exploded. Bits of burning car flesh flew through the air, tumbling end over end, bouncing and splattering off the surrounding traffic.
    “James Bond, eat your heart out,” said Julien Advent.
    I couldn’t find it in my heart to feel sorry for the car thing. Some predators are too damned nasty for sympathy. The black limousine moved smoothly on through the night traffic, which treated us with a little more respect than before.
    •  •  •
    It took us a while to reach the Hospice of the Blessed Saint Margaret. The Nightside’s one and only hospital is located right on the outskirts, not far from the Necropolis. So that when things go wrong, they don’t have far to move the body. It also allows the rest of the Nightside population to feel that little bit more secure in case anything should escape. Or anyone. Julien made a series of important phone calls to the editorial desk of the
Night Times
, and I passed the time dozing on the back seat with my mouth open. Eventually, the black limousine eased to a halt, and I opened my eyes to find we were right in the middle of the Hospice car-park. The chauffeuse turned to address Julien,