laughed in my face and had a really big slice, beaming happily. “One of the more annoying problems with being dead is that I can only experience the most extreme sensations. I’m only able to enjoy food and drink at all because of these marvellous little pills I have made for me, by this amazing little Obeah woman I know. You can’t beat graveyard voodoo when it comes to getting you things you’re not supposed to have. She’s called Mother Macabre; though whether that’s her name or her title, I’ve never been sure. Certainly there’s been a Mother Macabre in the Nightside Necropolis for more centuries than I can cope with.” He looked around the Ball. “She can’t be immortal or she’d be here . . . God, this is grand stuff . . . bit chewy, mind. I wonder if they do the balls, as well . . .”
“You ask,” I said. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“You on a case here?” he said easily. “I don’t mind helping out. I could use some pocket money. In fact, I could use quite a lot of it.”
“Never knew you when you couldn’t,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”
He shrugged, and went back to stuffing his face with elephant. I wandered off into the crowd again.
Where I met Mistress Mayhem, a tall, lithe, blue-skinned beauty, with a massive frizz of black hair that fell all the way down her back to her very slender waist. Descended, at a great many removes, from the Indian death goddess Kali, she was currently wearing an outfit from the film
Avatar
, cut to show off as much dark blue flesh as possible. She offered me some glowing green snuff from a chased silver snuff-box, and when I politely declined, she filled both her nostrils with enough of the stuff to blow a normal person’s head right off. She sneezed briefly, in a very ladylike way, and tucked the snuff-box back into her cleavage.
We’d worked a few cases together, and she’d tried to have me killed a few times. Business as usual, in the Nightside.
“Weren’t you going out with Jimmy Thunder, last time I saw you?” I said to make conversation.
“Oh, him! The Norse God for Hire,” said Mayhem. “We are currently not speaking. And anyway, he’s banned from the Ball of Forever for excessive smiting last year. Just as well; he can lower the tone of any gathering simply by being a part of it.”
My next encounter was with Hadleigh Oblivion. He appeared before me, emerging from the crowd with casual grace, smiling easily, as though he knew something I didn’t. Which, given who and what he was, was probably true. Hadleigh knew a great many things other people didn’t know and wouldn’t want to. He was perhaps the most powerful, and certainly the most influential, of the legendary Oblivion brothers. Tommy Oblivion was the Existential Detective, specialising in cases that may or may not have actually happened. Larry Oblivion was the Dead Detective, the Post-Mortem Private Eye. And Hadleigh . . . was a product of the Deep School, and the current Detective Inspectre, only called in on cases where reality itself was under threat. He was wearing his usual long, black leather coat, dark as a scrap of the night, all the better to show off his stark white face and his mane of jet-black hair. He also had sinister dark eyes and a downright unnerving smile. Hadleigh always gave the impression that wherever he was, that was where he was supposed to be.
I made a point of nodding easily to him, conspicuously unimpressed. You can’t let people like that know they’ve got to you, or they’ll walk all over you.
“Something’s going to happen here,” Hadleigh announced, quite casually. “I can feel it in the air, like a thunder-storm drawing closer. I take it you feel it, too?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “Something like that.” I didn’t feel like mentioning the Anonymous Gentleman’s warning note. It’s important to keep up appearances. “But what could be so important, as to bring you, me, Dead Boy, and Razor Eddie to the same place?
“You ask,” I said. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“You on a case here?” he said easily. “I don’t mind helping out. I could use some pocket money. In fact, I could use quite a lot of it.”
“Never knew you when you couldn’t,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”
He shrugged, and went back to stuffing his face with elephant. I wandered off into the crowd again.
Where I met Mistress Mayhem, a tall, lithe, blue-skinned beauty, with a massive frizz of black hair that fell all the way down her back to her very slender waist. Descended, at a great many removes, from the Indian death goddess Kali, she was currently wearing an outfit from the film
Avatar
, cut to show off as much dark blue flesh as possible. She offered me some glowing green snuff from a chased silver snuff-box, and when I politely declined, she filled both her nostrils with enough of the stuff to blow a normal person’s head right off. She sneezed briefly, in a very ladylike way, and tucked the snuff-box back into her cleavage.
We’d worked a few cases together, and she’d tried to have me killed a few times. Business as usual, in the Nightside.
“Weren’t you going out with Jimmy Thunder, last time I saw you?” I said to make conversation.
“Oh, him! The Norse God for Hire,” said Mayhem. “We are currently not speaking. And anyway, he’s banned from the Ball of Forever for excessive smiting last year. Just as well; he can lower the tone of any gathering simply by being a part of it.”
My next encounter was with Hadleigh Oblivion. He appeared before me, emerging from the crowd with casual grace, smiling easily, as though he knew something I didn’t. Which, given who and what he was, was probably true. Hadleigh knew a great many things other people didn’t know and wouldn’t want to. He was perhaps the most powerful, and certainly the most influential, of the legendary Oblivion brothers. Tommy Oblivion was the Existential Detective, specialising in cases that may or may not have actually happened. Larry Oblivion was the Dead Detective, the Post-Mortem Private Eye. And Hadleigh . . . was a product of the Deep School, and the current Detective Inspectre, only called in on cases where reality itself was under threat. He was wearing his usual long, black leather coat, dark as a scrap of the night, all the better to show off his stark white face and his mane of jet-black hair. He also had sinister dark eyes and a downright unnerving smile. Hadleigh always gave the impression that wherever he was, that was where he was supposed to be.
I made a point of nodding easily to him, conspicuously unimpressed. You can’t let people like that know they’ve got to you, or they’ll walk all over you.
“Something’s going to happen here,” Hadleigh announced, quite casually. “I can feel it in the air, like a thunder-storm drawing closer. I take it you feel it, too?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “Something like that.” I didn’t feel like mentioning the Anonymous Gentleman’s warning note. It’s important to keep up appearances. “But what could be so important, as to bring you, me, Dead Boy, and Razor Eddie to the same place?
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