I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. Didn’t sound like someone in control of himself.
“It’s true what they say about Suzie, then,” said Bettie. She sounded kind, not judgemental. “She can’t…The poor dear. And poor you, John. That’s no way to live. You can’t have a real relationship with someone if you can’t ever touch her.”
“I love her,” I said. “She loves me.”
“That’s not love,” said Bettie. “That’s one damaged soul clinging to another, for comfort. I could love you, John.”
“Of course you could,” I said. “You’re the daughter of a succubus. Love comes easy to you.”
“No,” she said. “Just the opposite. I laugh and smile and flutter my eye-lashes because that’s what’s expected of me. And because it does help, with the job. But that’s not me. Or at least, not all of me. I only show that to people I care about. I like you, John. Admire you. I could learn to love you. Could you…?”
“I can’t talk about this now,” I said.
“You’ll have to talk about it sometime. And sometimes…you can say things to a stranger that you couldn’t say to anyone else.”
“You’re not a stranger,” I said.
“Why thank you, John. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far.”
She moved forward and leaned her head on my shoulder. We held each other gently. No passion, no pressure, only a man and a woman together, and it felt good, so good. It had been a long time since I’d held anyone. Since anyone had held me. It was like…part of me had been asleep. Finally, I pushed her away.
“We have to go see the Cardinal,” I said firmly. “Pen Donavon and his damned Recording are still out there, somewhere, and that means people like Taffy and Helena will be looking for it, hoping it will turn out to be something they can use to further their ambitions. I really don’t like the way they were willing to flaunt their armies openly in public.”
“Walker will do something,” said Bettie.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.
Rick Aday’s directions finally brought us to a pokey little shop called The Pink Cockatoo, a single-windowed front, in the middle of a long terrace of shops, set between a Used Grimoires book-shop, and a Long Pig franchise. The window before us was full of fashionable fetish clothing that seemed to consist mostly of plastic and leather straps. A few corsets and basques, and some high-heeled boots that would have been too big even for me. Incense candles, fluffy handcuffs, and something with spikes that I preferred not to look at too closely. I tried the door, but it was locked. There was a rusty steel intercom set into the wooden frame. I hit the button with my fist and leaned in close.
“This is John Taylor, to see the Cardinal. Open up, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your door right off its hinges.”
“This establishment is protected,” said a calm, cultured voice. “Even from people like the infamous John Taylor. Now go away, or I’ll set the hell-hounds on you.”
“We need to talk, Cardinal.”
“Convince me.”
“I’ve just been with the Collector,” I said. “Discussing the missing Afterlife Recording. He didn’t have it. Now either you agree to talk to me, or I’ll tell him you’ve got it and exactly where to find you. And you know how much he’s always wanted to make your collection part of his own.”
“Bully,” the voice said dispassionately. “All right; I suppose you’d better come in. Bring the demon floozy with you.”
There was the sound of several locks and bolts disengaging, and then the door slowly swung open before us. I marched straight in, followed by Bettie. There might have been booby-traps, trap-doors, or all kinds of unpleasantness ahead, but in the Nightside you can’t ever afford to look weak. Confidence is everything. The door shut and locked itself behind us. Not entirely to my surprise, the interior of the shop wasn’t at all what its exterior had suggested. For one thing, the interior was a hell of a lot bigger. It’s a common enough spell in the Nightside, sticking a large space inside a small one, given that living and business space are both in such short supply. The problem lies with the spell, often laid down in a hurry by dodgy backstreet sorcerers, the kind who deal strictly in cash. All it takes is one mistake in the set-up, one mispronunciation of a vital word; and then the whole spell can collapse at