by Tim Waggoner
“Good luck, dear!” she called to me as they left. I waved back, and then she and the Darkness stepped outside.
I let out a relieved breath as the door closed behind them, and I wasn’t the only one. Even Deacon relaxed a little. The Darkness makes everyone nervous. Everyone except Maggie, that is.
We were all quiet for a time after that. Deacon started talking to Abe about how the Cubs were doing, and I fought the urge to join in. Instead, I contemplated what I’d learned so far. Nocturne and Bloodshedder were known to Chicago’s Incubi community, but not to me or Jinx – which seemed so unlikely as to be almost impossible. Collectively, there are thousands of Incubi on Earth and in Nod, and new ones come into existence every night. There’s no way the Shadow Watch – let alone its individual officers – can keep track of them all.
But in my own city, I know all the major players and most of the minor ones. And no way would I have forgotten a masked cutie with a demon dog companion. So Nocturne wasn’t only trying to keep a low profile, he’d been avoiding Jinx and me. Until last night, that is. Why? Was he – despite Deacon’s assurance that Nocturne himself wasn’t an assassin – an accomplice of Quietus? Or perhaps even Quietus’ employer? Just because Nocturne didn’t like to kill himself didn’t mean he minded someone else doing the job for him.
What bothered me more than any of that, though, was the nagging feeling of familiarity I experienced whenever I thought about Nocturne. I knew him somehow, I was sure of it. His voice, the way he moved, his presence… But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember.
Cancer Jack picked that moment to slam his fist down on the table he shared with Lizzie Longlegs.
“We should start seeing other people again?” Jack shouted. “Are you serious?”
Once more, we all turned to look in the couple’s direction, and this time, we were even more tense than before. Jack’s face was twisted with anger and Lizzie’s gaze was cold and glittering.
Jack noticed us watching, and he gave us a wave, indicating that everything was all right and that we should go back to our business. We did so, but I doubted that would be the last outburst from them, and I decided to keep an eye on the couple.
I then turned to Abe and asked, “Are you holding?”
Abe and Deacon stopped talking baseball and turned to look at me. Deacon arched an eyebrow in surprised interest. Abe went pale.
“I– I don’t–”
“Don’t worry,” I interrupted. “I’m not going to bust you. I just want to know if you got any mem on you.”
Abe went even paler. “Seriously, Audra. I don’t use–”
“Bullshit,” I said mildly.
Not sleeping – and more, not dreaming – is hard on both the human body and mind. When an Ideator psychically taps into the Maelstrom to create an Incubus, something happens to change us mentally and physically so we can survive without sleep. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Ideators who aren’t careful can be prone to physical exhaustion, mood swings, and in extreme cases, irrational behavior. Because of this, almost every Ideator needs a little pharmacological help to get by. Myself included, although I’m not proud of it.
It doesn’t help that the Shadow Watch has deemed such drugs unsafe and made most of them illegal. But you know what? Sometimes even the police have to say fuck the police. I don’t carry drugs on my person, though. Not counting my rev inhaler, which – if not precisely legal – is tolerated by the Shadow Watch. But I’m not above mooching off a friend, acquaintance, or even an enemy if necessary. And although Abe wasn’t a true Ideator, he carried Ideator drugs on him as part of his façade.
Abe looked to Deacon and then turned to gaze longingly at the door, as if trying to decide if he could get to it before I tackled him. Evidently he decided his chances of escape weren’t good, because he turned back around on his stool and sighed.
“Yeah, I got a couple mem tabs. Holding them for a friend, you know?”
“Isn’t everyone?” I said.
Abe reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of rumpled tinfoil. He pried it open to reveal a dozen different pills of various shapes, sizes, and colors. I recognized mems, stunners, and tinglies. There were a couple I was unfamiliar with, and I was tempted to ask Abe what they were and, more importantly, what they did, but I restrained myself. I was working, after all.
There was no jump juice in Abe’s stash, though. That’s strictly an Incubi drug. If humans take it, there’s a better-than-even chance that our hearts will explode. Doesn’t stop some morons from taking the chance, though. I was glad to see that Abe wasn’t one of them.
Without waiting for Abe to offer, I reached out and took a single mem tab. I considered taking a second in case the first didn’t work, but I decided against it. No need to be greedy.
“You want dollars or yoonies?” I asked Abe.
He looked confused.
“For the pill. I want to pay you for it.”
“Um, dollars are good, I guess.”
I knew why Abe was hesitant. Like a lot of people, he expected me to use my authority as an officer to take what I wanted. But I don’t roll that way. I might not be the cleanest officer in the Shadow Watch, but I’m not an asshole, either.
I pulled a couple twenties out of my wallet and handed them to Abe. He took them without comment, folded them, and tucked them into his back pocket. Then he sealed the tinfoil containing his drugs and put that back in his pocket, too.
“What do you need a mem for?” Deacon asked.
I wanted to tell him it was none of his damn business, but he was an information broker. Being nosy was normal for him. And one of the ways you paid for his information was to provide information when he asked.
“I’m convinced I know Nocturne, but I can’t figure out from where. I’m hoping my little friend here” – I held up the blue pill – “will jog my memory.”
Deacon frowned. “You know they don’t work like that. You can’t just select a memory like picking a movie to slide into a DVD player.”
Mem – short for memory – induces backsteps. Some Ideators rely on backsteps to replace the dreams they no longer have. But instead of waiting for backsteps to occur naturally, they use chemistry to make them happen on a regular basis.
“Actually, you can,” Abe said. “If you concentrate hard enough. It’s not reliable, though.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Deacon asked. “Go home, crawl into bed, swallow the pill, and hope the right memory pops into your head?”
No way I was going back to my apartment to do this. If Jinx came home and caught me, he’d be extremely unhappy. Backsteps are hard on a person, and experiencing two in one day – hell, within a few hours of each other – would be even more of a strain. But if it would help me remember how I knew Nocturne, I figured it would be worth it.
“Keep an eye on me, you two.”
I tossed the pill into my mouth, dry swallowed it, and waited for it to start working. It didn’t take long.
A great weariness settled over me, and I felt as if my body had been hollowed out and my insides replaced with molten lead. I remained conscious, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I slipped off the barstool and plummeted to the floor. I had a vague impression that Abe tried to catch me and missed.
And then my face hit the floor and darkness descended.
FIVE
I was sitting on a couch in a small room. A large potted plant sat in a corner, and several other plants hung from the ceiling. They were real, not plastic. This surprised me, but I wasn’t sure why. On the other side of the couch was a four-foot-high decorative fountain. The water ran down a corrugated bronze-colored metal sheet and into a round bucket-like container. I knew the fountain was here to provide white noise, although I couldn’t remember why. The couch faced a door with a nameplate on it that read Cecelia Kauffman, PhD: Psychiatrist. I knew that name. Knew it very well. Better than I liked, in fact.
Up to this point, I’d ignored the boy sitting
on the couch next to me, but now I turned toward him.
“Hi,” I said.
I guessed his age at somewhere around eleven. Our faces were on the same level, and I realized this meant we were the same size. Ergo, I was a child, too. Probably around the same age as him.
The boy had brown hair and eyes to match. He wore jeans and sneakers, along with a black T-shirt with Batman’s bat symbol on the chest. After sizing me up for a moment, he must’ve decided I wasn’t going to bite, and he said, “Hi.” It was a noncommittal hi, one that didn’t encourage further communication, but it didn’t discourage it, either. I chose to take this as a good sign.
“My name’s Audra.”
He considered this, then nodded, as if my name met his approval. “I’m Russell.”
I nodded, but only because he’d done so. Russell didn’t add anything to that, but he didn’t look away, and I decided this was a good sign, too.
“Do you have trouble sleeping?” I asked.
Another nod from him, no hesitation this time.
“Me, too.”
We sat looking at each other in silence for several moments. I started tapping my right foot on the carpet, nervously.
“Bad dreams?” he asked.
I nodded. “Scary clown.”
Another nod from him. “Scary dog. A big one. I don’t sleep much anymore.”
“Me neither.” I considered asking him what was so scary about a dog, even a big one. I knew about Clifford the Big Red Dog, and he was friendly. But before I could speak, Dr Kauffman’s office door slowly swung open. Russell and I turned to look at the open doorway, expecting to see Dr Kauffman standing there, giving us one of her cold smiles.
But instead the doorway was filled with a thick, almost solid darkness. As we watched, it began to drift into the outer room like tendrils of black smoke. The tendrils stretched toward us like shadowy serpents, and I tried to scream, but even though my mouth was open and I could feel the rawness in my throat, no sound emerged. And then two glowing yellow eyes appeared within the darkness, and this time, I did scream. Long and loud.
The first thing I became aware of was a sensation of gentle, repeated pressure on one of my cheeks. Someone’s patting it, I thought. I considered telling whoever it was to go about their business while I submerged back into the cool, comforting depths of unconsciousness, but I realized then that I was lying down, which – since the last place I remembered being was Wet Dreams – meant that I was most likely lying on the bar’s floor. The thought of the dry-cleaning bill that awaited me brought me back to full awareness, and I opened my eyes.
Day Jinx crouched next to me, a look of worry on his face. But when he saw that I was awake, he stopped patting my cheek, and his features became stern and disapproving.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “You know it’s not a good idea to force another backstep so soon after experiencing one naturally.”
I looked around. Deacon was still behind the bar, but he was leaning forward to watch. I realized then that I’d never seen him come out from behind the bar, and I wondered if he could. Abe still sat on his stool, gazing down at me with a mixture of concern, guilt, and more than a little fear. No doubt he was worried that he was going to get in trouble from slipping a mem to an officer, who’d promptly collapsed after taking it.
I sat up. I was weak, and my head pounded like a sonofabitch, but I managed. At first, Jinx reached out as if to help me stand, but then he lowered his hands. He probably figured it would only piss me off if he tried to help me. He was right.
I reached up to feel my forehead and winced. No blood, so I didn’t cut myself, but I could feel a knot rising. I was going to have one hell of a bruise there.
“We should get you checked for concussion,” Jinx said. “Head injuries are nothing to fool with.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I said. “I once watched you use your head to smash through a brick wall.”
Jinx stiffened. “That was his head. Not mine.”
I could tell from his tone that he was offended, but right then I really didn’t care. I pulled myself to my feet and managed to climb back onto the stool next to Abe. Jinx stood as well, but he didn’t take a seat. Wet Dreams isn’t one of his Day Aspect’s favorite establishments. Too déclassé for him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him. “I thought you were at the Art Institute checking out the tit exhibit.”
I knew damn well the artist’s name was Titian, but I couldn’t resist.
Jinx let out a long-suffering sigh but otherwise ignored my joke, such as it was.
“Deacon called me the moment you hit the floor, and I got here as soon as I could.” He shook his head. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t let this go.”
“You left a museum for me? I didn’t know you cared.”
Jinx looked hurt. “Of course I care. You’re my partner.”
Despite myself, I was touched, but I didn’t want to show it. “Well, as you can see, I’m not dead yet.” As bad as my head hurt, though, I was tempted to take a hit of rev, but I knew it would only upset Jinx, and I figured I’d already done enough of that for one afternoon.
“I kept thinking there was something familiar about Nocturne, and I hoped that taking a mem might help me remember him.” I smiled, feeling insufferably pleased with myself. “And it did.”
“Really?” Jinx said. “Or is that just your head injury talking?”
“His name’s Russell. I can’t remember his last name, though. I’m not sure I ever knew it. I met him as a child, back when my parents had me seeing a psychiatrist who specialized in sleep disorders. That was after…”
“Me,” Jinx said simply.
“Russell’s parents took him to the same doctor. Sometimes she saw the two of us together, sometimes individually, sometimes as part of a larger group. She was doing some kind of study, I think. I didn’t know much about it, and I didn’t care. I just wanted the dreams to stop.”
Jinx’s gaze became sorrowful, and he looked away. But when he spoke again, his voice sounded normal. “And you know Russell is Nocturne because when he was a child, he told you about his Incubus.”
“Yes.”
Jinx thought about this for a moment. “It could be a coincidence. And Sanderson did tell us we were off the case…”
There are times when I wish Day Jinx was more like his nocturnal counterpart. Night Jinx would’ve been halfway to the door, ready to investigate before I’d finished my explanation. Day Jinx’s reaction might’ve been lukewarm, but at least he hadn’t said no. Better yet, he was no longer chastising me for taking the mem.
Jinx went on. “I was planning on trying out a new seafood place downtown for an early dinner. But I suppose it will have to wait.” He sighed, as if he were making a supreme sacrifice. “Our first step should be to determine whether Dr Kauffman is still in practice.” He turned to Deacon. “Do you have a phone book we could use?”
Before Deacon could answer, I said, “We can look her up on a wisper, you know.”
Wispers can function as phones on Earth and can connect to the Internet. Information is displayed via a holographic screen projected in the air above the user’s wrist.
Jinx gave me one of Those Looks. “We’re supposed to avoid using wisper technology on Earth whenever possible. You know this.”
“What’s the point of having supercool tech if we hardly ever get to use it?” I countered. “Besides, we’re in Wet Dreams, not standing out on the street in broad daylight. It’s not like anyone in here is going to–”
A loud crash interrupted me, and we all turned to see Cancer Jack lying on the floor, the broken remnants of a wooden chair scattered around him. Lizzie stood over him, half a chair back gripped in her hands, looking down at Jack with an expression of raw anger.
“Looks like the on-again, off-again switch has been flipped to off,” I muttered.
“Indeed,” Jinx said.
Without thinking about it, I slid off my s
tool and started walking toward Jack and Lizzie’s table. I didn’t check to see if Jinx followed me. Day Jinx might prefer pursuing aesthetic pleasures to fighting, but at his core, he was a Shadow Watch officer, and I knew he’d have my back. My legs were a little wobbly on the way over, and I knew I hadn’t fully recovered from the mem I’d taken, but I was determined not to let Lizzie and Jack see that I wasn’t functioning at full capacity. Incubi, regardless of which Aspect they’re in, can be like wild animals. You can never let them think you’re weak – especially when you are.
As I approached their table, I made sure to keep my hands down and held away from my body. I didn’t want Lizzie to think that I was going to draw a weapon and attack her. I found myself wishing Maggie and the Darkness hadn’t left. Jack and Lizzie would’ve probably continued to behave themselves if they were still around. Even if they hadn’t been intimidated by the Darkness’ Day Aspect, they wouldn’t have wanted to be on the end of one of Maggie’s infamous tongue-lashings.
“Hey, Lizzie,” I said, keeping my voice casual and pleasant. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up at me, eyes wild, face red, chest heaving. At first, there was no recognition in her gaze, and I debated reaching for my trancer. But then her eyes focused more clearly on me, and she relaxed a little. Not much, but enough so that I didn’t feel I had to shoot her. Not yet, anyway.
“Nothing’s wrong, Audra.” She glanced down at Jack, who was moaning and trying to push himself up off the floor. He still had a cigarette in his mouth – I’ve often wondered if that ever-present cigarette of his is a bit of Incubi magic that follows him even into his day persona – but it was bent at a right angle.
When Lizzie saw her sometime lover start to rise, she placed her foot between his shoulder blades and shoved him back to the floor. “Jack just needed another lesson in how to behave himself.”
“What did he do this time?” I asked.
Jinx went over to help Jack up. Lizzie glared at him, but she made no move to stop him.
“I told him I was thinking of getting a new tattoo, and he agreed with me.”
