The Bride Wore Black Leather

by Simon R. Green

  He laughed and wandered away on his mission of mercy. And I moved off among the packed immortals, hitting them all with the same questions, over and over again. Where were they when the murders happened? Who were they with? What did they see? Most had alibis, or said they did, and no-one had seen anything. Most of them were too shocked and upset even to think of giving me attitude, but a few still refused to talk to me, on principle. I let them get away with it. The more I thought about the killings, the more convinced I became that I was missing something.

  I even questioned the waitresses in their French maid outfits, huddled together for security behind the buffet tables. But all they’d had eyes for was Dead Boy making a pig of himself. None of them had seen anyone near King of Skin. None of them had wanted to get anywhere near him. Which was understandable. One of them said she thought she’d seen the Lord Orlando somewhere at the buffet, not far from King of Skin, but couldn’t be sure when. That was enough to point me back in his direction. The Bride had said she’d seen him approaching her not long before she was attacked.

  I did my best to question the Lord Orlando, and he did his best not to burst into tears at the very indignity of it all. Mistress Mayhem and another immortal called Polly Pariah insisted that he’d been boring their arses off right when Springheel Jack screamed, some distance away. I couldn’t see why either of them should lie.

  I ended up back at the buffet table, chewing on a barely warm pig in a blanket, and thinking hard. If I had to point a finger at anyone, it would be Rogue, but why would he want to kill King of Skin? He didn’t know him; and given that this was the first time Rogue had ever been to the Ball of Forever, the odds were he didn’t know anyone. He came to make friends, or so he said. Though his family didn’t exactly have a good track record in that regard.

  All right. Since I wasn’t getting anywhere with the suspects, maybe I could do better with the murder weapon. I couldn’t use my gift to find it without discovering something unique about it, something my gift could lock on to . . . But I did have something! With this second attack on the Bride, the weapon was the only thing common to both attacks, which meant I could find it! I raised my gift and concentrated, and immediately my head snapped round, to look down the length of the buffet table. I strode down it, following the tug of my instincts, until my gift brought me to a large open jug of dark red wine. The one I’d suspected was full of blood. It stood there, in the middle of a great many other bottles and jugs and flasks donated by various immortals, apparently innocent, looking no different than any of the others; but my gift was telling me otherwise. I leaned over the jug and studied its contents carefully. There was a definite dark shadow, deep in the dark red contents. I reached in, with a thumb and forefinger, gripped on to something hard and unyielding, and pulled it out.

  I held it up before me. It took me a moment to realise what it was—a jagged-edged piece of mirror glass, dripping red wine. Not a knife after all, then, though the edges were certainly sharp enough to do real damage. In fact, the whole shard was so sharp everywhere, I was hard put to see how you could hold on to the thing without lacerating your own hand. And no-one in the room had shown any damaged hands . . . I jumped a little as I realised Bettie Divine was standing beside me, smiling brightly.

  “I sensed you using your gift all the way across the room, so I came over to see what was happening. What is happening? What have you found?”

  “You sensed . . .”

  “Half demon, darling, remember? These horns aren’t just for show. Now be a dear and tell me what that is you’re holding! Is it important?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the murder weapon,” I said.

  Bettie squealed excitedly. “Wonderful! I knew you’d solve the case, sweetie! Never doubted you for a moment! Where was it?”

  “In that jug of wine. That’s why both murders took place next to the buffet table. He smuggled the shard in easily enough, then dropped it surreptitiously into the jug . . . where it waited till he had a need for it. He took it out, stabbed his victim, then dropped it back in again. The wine would even wash the blood away though I think I can see traces of dried blood, trapped in the jagged edges . . .”

  Bettie leaned in as close as she could get without actually touching the mirror shard with her nose. “Definitely part of a mirror, darling. But why make a weapon out of it? And what does it have to do with the way King of Skin . . . shrivelled up?”

  “Good question,” I said. I held the shard up close to my face, so I could see my reflection in it. There was something . . . odd, something off, about the image; but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “There’s magic hovering all about that piece of mirror,” said Bettie. “Old, bad magic. I can See it, but . . . You’ve got better Sight than me, sweetie. What do you See?”

  I concentrated, raising my gift again, using it to study the reality of the thing before me, opening up my inner eye, my private eye, to See the world as it really is. And then I almost dropped the shard as I realised what it was I was holding.

  “What?” Bettie said excitedly. “What did you See?”

  “Temporal energies,” I said. “This mirror shard is soaked in Time, in Time magic. I can actually see inverted tachyons, shooting up and down the broken edges.”

  Bettie gave me a hard look, only slightly spoiled by her pouting mouth. “Yes, very nice, darling, very dramatic. But what does that mean?”

  “It means, I know what mirror this came from,” I said, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and carefully wrapping up the vicious-edged shard before tucking it very carefully into my coat pocket. “This is a sliver of glass from the infamous Mirror of Dorian Gray. You must have heard of it. It was up for sale at an auction-house here in the Nightside, not so long ago. Think of it: the mirror that reflected a man soaked in temporal magic. If a crazy magical man stares into you long enough, you become crazy and magical, too. This mirror soaked up Time, leaching the life from anyone who looked into it, and stored it. The perfect murder weapon because who’d ever suspect a mirror. The last I heard, the Mirror of Dorian Gray belonged to the Family of Immortals . . .”

  We both turned to look at Rogue, standing on his own, glaring at anyone who even glanced in his direction.

  “He said . . . he and his fellow surviving immortals grabbed a few things of value from the Family Vaults, before they escaped,” I said slowly. “I suppose in the haste of getting away from the Droods, they must have dropped the mirror. All Rogue got away with, was a single shard. Still powerful enough to steal someone’s years if you thrust it right into them.”

  “A weapon that eats Time,” said Bettie. “The perfect weapon for killing immortals, darling, if you wanted to steal all their years and keep them for yourself. But why would Rogue need more years? He’s already immortal!”

  “Good question,” I said. “I must be sure to ask him.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?” said Bettie anxiously. “To accuse an immortal, among a gathering of his fellow immortals, you need to be really sure.”

  “Good point,” I said. “But now I’ve got the weapon, I can use it to focus my gift and get it to show me exactly what happened. Make sure no-one interrupts me.”

  “You got it, sweetie.”

  I concentrated hard, and my gift manifested again. My head ached, resenting the strain. Time fled backwards before me, right back to the moment of the murder. I could See King of Skin standing before me, a thin and wispy artefact of Time Past, pawing through the snacks with grubby fingers and a disdainful sneer. I Saw the Lord Orlando approach King of Skin, with his usual simpering smile. King of Skin growled at him and deliberately turned his back on Orlando. And that was when the Lord Orlando’s face slipped and changed as he became the Rogue Immortal. He took the mirror shard out of the wine jug and stabbed King of Skin in the back. King tried to cry out and couldn’t. I could See the temporal energies swirling and spiralling around him as the shard sucked his future right out of him—all the years, all the life he wou
ld have had. And then King of Skin collapsed, measuring his length on the floor. Rogue tugged the weapon out of his back, flicked a few drops of blood away, and slipped the shard neatly back into the wine jug. The whole thing had only taken a few moments. Rogue became Orlando again and wandered off.

  And no-one noticed his movements because no-one cared where he went. He was the only person the immortals would turn their backs on because no-one ever wanted to talk to him.

  I followed him until he turned back into Rogue, unnoticed in the crush of bodies. His face was calm and unconcerned, untouched by what he’d done. No trace of anger or regret. Only the hint of someone who’d performed a distasteful but necessary task—a small smile, typical of a teenager who has got away with something. I shut down my gift and looked at the expectant Bettie Divine, all but dancing with impatience before me.

  “Well?” she said squeakily. “Well?”

  “Got him,” I said. “Rogue killed King of Skin.”

  “And the Bride?”

  “I didn’t hang around long enough to See it; but since they were both killed with the same weapon, it had to be him again.”

  Bettie frowned. “Then why didn’t the mirror shard shrivel her up the way it did King of Skin?”

  I thought about it. “Because . . . the Bride was made of dead parts, then brought to life. She only has a human lifetime; but when she dies, she can be brought back again, for another life. Thanks to the Baron’s handiwork, she’s basically . . . rechargeable. Technically immortal, but only one life at a time.”

  “Gosh, you are clever, John darling,” said Bettie.

  “Flattery . . . will get you an exclusive interview. Later. For now, do me a favour and round up Dead Boy and Razor Eddie. Have them stand by in case it all goes pear-shaped when I accuse Rogue . . .”

  “On it, sweetie.”

  She blew me a quick kiss and disappeared into the crowd. I moved over to join Rogue, taking my time. I didn’t want to spook him. Chases are so undignified. I was almost upon him when he turned suddenly and smiled coldly at me.

  “So,” he said, “you worked it out. You really are as good as some people say you are.”

  “Only some ?” I said. “I must be slipping. So you admit to the murders?”

  “Admit to them? I’m proud of them!” Rogue laughed softly. “I am of the Family of Immortals, the only true immortal here!”

  His voice rose loudly across a growing silence as everyone in the ballroom realised what was happening and shushed each other. By the time he’d stopped speaking, everyone was looking at us, drinking in every word. I kept my gaze fixed on Rogue. I couldn’t afford to give him the slightest advantage.

  “I killed King of Skin and loved it,” said Rogue. “I gloried in it! Spreading a little fear and horror in the night . . . is what my family have always done best. I killed the Bride, too; but unfortunately, she got over it. I’ll have to try harder next time.” He smiled around him, and hardened immortals actually flinched back from him. “You call yourselves immortals; you’re nothing but food to me.”

  “I know how you did it,” I said. “I even have the weapon, which explains what happened to King of Skin’s body. Now tell me why you did it. Come on; you know you want to.”

  “King of Skin was an offspring of my family,” said Rogue, apparently entirely at his ease. “A half-caste. Only potentially immortal. He found a way to extend his life by killing people and wrapping himself in their skins, their lives. Harvesting their stolen years. He’s been at it for well over a century, to my certain knowledge. You saw all those skins . . . And you had no idea what he really was, did you? No idea at all that you had a serial killer as part of your precious Authorities.”

  “You knew about him; but you never did anything about him, till now,” I said. “Why now?”

  “I didn’t care what he did. He only killed mortals; and that’s what they’re for. I only killed him now because I had a use for him. You should be grateful, Walker. I’ve done you a positive favour. He would have had to come after you eventually, you and all the other Authorities. He couldn’t risk your finding out the truth about him. And then . . . he would have been the Authorities and ruled the Nightside. The wolf in charge of the sheep.”

  “You still haven’t said why you killed him.”

  “I killed him first because he was so full of life. And I wanted it.”

  “And the Bride?” I said.

  Rogue sniffed. “I shouldn’t have, but I never could resist temptation. She wasn’t really suitable for what I was after, but . . . she led the Spawn of Frankenstein when they fought alongside the Droods to invade my family estate! The Spawn live there now, in what used to be my home! She wasn’t on my list; but when I saw her standing there, I couldn’t hold back. She deserved to die for what she did to my family.”

  “You weren’t going to stop with King of Skin,” I said. “He was only the first . . . You said you had a list?”

  “Of course,” said Rogue. “I only came here to make my mark, with these so-called immortals. I came here to identify them all, so I could track them down afterwards and steal their lives. It’s not like they were doing anything important with them. I would have used the mirror shard to take their future years, store them, then use them to create a new Family of Immortals! We don’t breed true, you see. Never have; or the world would be hip-deep in immortals by now. We breed slow and rarely, and the offspring are only ever long-lived. But with so many stolen years at my disposal, what a family I could have made! We would have moved into all the important places and positions, here in the Nightside, and taken control. And then we would have used the Nightside as a base, from which to re-establish the family’s power in the world! Become what we once were, what we were meant to be! Then, let all the peoples of the world tremble and despair!”

  “You had it all thought out,” I said.

  He looked at me sharply, annoyed at having his ranting interrupted. “Thought out in every detail. When you’re an immortal, you get used to planning for the long term. King of Skin was just the beginning. I had a reign of terror planned for all the Nightside immortals, and it isn’t over yet. But I hadn’t expected Hadleigh Oblivion to be here, guarding the door, preventing me from making my escape. He would have seen though any face I took on. He shouldn’t have been here. You shouldn’t have been here. What were you doing here, tonight of all nights? Well . . . It doesn’t matter. I will do what I will do, and none of you can stop me.”

  He laughed in my face, then turned and plunged into the watching crowd. They shrank back with loud cries of alarm, but he was already in among them, his face changing as he flesh-danced. In the space of a moment, he was someone else, and in all the confusion no-one was able to say who he’d changed into. There was a general rush to the door, to get out of the ballroom. Hadleigh stood his ground, and raised one hand. Bolts of lightning stabbed down out of nowhere, striking again and again inside the ballroom, making a barrier between him and everyone else. The light was blinding, and the air stank of ozone. The rush to the door was over as soon as it had begun. Everyone stood very still, looking nervously around them, trying to spot the danger in their midst; but wherever they looked, only familiar faces looked back. Razor Eddie and Dead Boy forced their way through the crowd to join me. I looked at them both carefully.

  “Oh come on,” said Dead Boy. “Who’d look like me if they didn’t have to?”

  “Tell me something only you could know,” I said.

  “All right,” said Dead Boy. “You’re a dick.”

  We both laughed. Razor Eddie looked at me strangely.

  “We both loved the X-Men movies,” I explained.

  Razor Eddie nodded and produced his pearl-handled straight razor. The steel blade shone supernaturally bright, and everyone felt a sudden strong desire to be somewhere else. I nodded, and Eddie put his razor away again. Some things you can’t fake. We all looked out over the watching crowd.

  “How do you want to do this?” Dead Boy said qu
ietly.

  “I use my gift,” I said, just as quietly. “He can’t hide from that. I’ll pick him out, and then you two help me slam him to the floor and stamp on his head until we’re sure he can’t concentrate enough to shape-change again.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Razor Eddie.

  I raised my gift again. It was getting to be hard work now; the more I used my gift, the more it took out of me. I felt a quick runnel of blood spurt out of one nostril, and a sharp fierce pain filled my forehead. I’d pay for this later; but right now there was work to be done. I forced my way past the pain and concentrated; and immediately a single figure stood out in the crowd. I plunged forward, with Dead Boy and Razor Eddie right behind me, and the crowd scattered before us like startled pigeons. I ignored all the cries of shock and protest, fixed on the figure before me. He didn’t try to run. He stood still and regarded me with a single raised eyebrow.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?” said Hadleigh Oblivion.

  “Nice try,” I said. “But Hadleigh’s still at the door, where I told him to be.”

  “I was standing at the door,” said Hadleigh, “until Bettie Divine came over and said you needed help, so I came forward. Whoever’s at the door now, that isn’t me.”

  I didn’t even look at the door. “Nice try, Rogue,” I said. “But Hadleigh wouldn’t leave his position unless I personally put someone there to relieve him. My gift found you here. And my gift is never wrong.”

  Hadleigh’s face slumped suddenly, and his shape changed in a moment. Where Hadleigh had been standing there was now an eight-foot-tall centipede, black as night with a nightmare head, striking out with dozens of clawed legs. It reared up so that its flat head banged against the ceiling, its complex mouth parts clacking loudly. The immortals climbed all over each other, trying to get away. Dead Boy waded in, slamming powerful punches into its heaving thorax, while Razor Eddie darted and whirled around it, severing one clawed leg after another with his straight razor.