The Bride Wore Black Leather

have amazing curative properties, but only as long as you had faith, real faith, enough to make it work. And real faith has always been hard to come by in the Nightside. One very determined mother was holding her son by the ankle and dunking him in the pool, over and over again. Between a lot of sputtering, the boy could be heard saying;
I feel much better! Honest! Look will you please stop this I think I’m developing gills!
    Interesting and entertaining as all this was, Julien and I finally had no choice but to give our full attention to the receptionist at the desk. It was a really pleasant-looking reception desk, with vases of fresh flowers, neat and tidy in and out trays, and an absolute minimum of clutter . . . but I wasn’t fooled. I could See the industrial-strength magical protections hanging on the air, and the built-in weapons systems.
    The receptionist herself was a large matronly figure in a spotless white uniform (that reminded me immediately of the Very Righteous Sisters). She had a pleasant face, cold and unsympathetic eyes, and a mouth like a steel trap. You know the sort; mother was a pit bull, father was a velociraptor. Don’t ask me what they ever saw in each other; but it can get very foggy on the moors. She waited to the very last moment to look up from her form-filling and stop Julien and me in our tracks with a stern warning gaze. She recognised Julien Advent immediately and favoured him with a brief nod. And then she looked at me, recognised me, and one hand moved quickly to a large red emergency button. She gave me a brief, meaningless smile.
    “Tell me where it hurts, don’t bleed on the floor, fill in these forms, and take a number.”
    “You don’t understand,” said Julien. “Neither of us is in need of medical attention. We are here to speak with Dr. Benway.”
    “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the receptionist said immediately. “Not without an advance appointment. Dr. Benway is very busy, and I won’t have her bothered. I can book you in for an appointment, but I should warn you there’s a three-week waiting gap. Minimum. If that’s not acceptable, take a number and get to the back of the queue, like everyone else.”
    “I am Julien Advent, representing the Authorities. This is John Taylor, the new Walker. It is vital that we see Dr. Benway immediately!”
    The receptionist indulged herself with a harsh sniff, to show how unimpressed she was. “No queue-jumping. We don’t care who you are, here.”
    “But this is urgent!” said Julien. “Vital, I tell you! The safety of the entire Nightside itself is at risk!”
    “Save your breath,” said the receptionist. “I’ve heard it all before. Are you actually dying? Bleeding out? Missing a major organ?”
    “We’re not,” I said. “But you could be. You know me; you know what I can do. So stop pissing me off, or I’ll send your spleen to Mars.”
    I gave her my most cheerful smile. The receptionist opened her mouth to say something, looked me in the eye, then thought better of it. Her hand hovered over the red button, then moved away. She sighed, in her best put-upon way, and reached for the phone.
    “If you two gentlemen will give me a moment, I’ll ask Dr. Benway if she can make time to see you. But I’m not promising anything!”
    “Of course not,” I said. “Why break the habit of a lifetime?”
    “Stop it . . .” murmured Julien. “She’ll turn nasty in a moment.”
    The receptionist got through to Dr. Benway, spoke quietly for a moment, and listened. She nodded, put the phone down, and gave Julien and me a wintry smile.
    “Dr. Benway will see you; but she is very busy right now. So you’ll have to wait. With everyone else.”
    Julien grabbed me forcefully by the arm and hauled me away from the reception desk. It took a while to find a couple of seats together, in the very crowded waiting area, and as far away from the more obviously infectious and messy people, but when we finally sank down into the chairs, they really were very comfortable.
    “I think we won that encounter on points,” I said. “All right, we still have to wait, but we didn’t have to take a number.”
    “Would you really have . . . ?” said Julien.
    “Almost certainly,” I said. “I have deep-seated problems with authority figures.”
    “But you are one!”
    “I know! I can only assume the universe has a really mean sense of humour.”
    •  •  •
    We sat, and waited. People came and went,