The Best New Horror 1

by Stephen Jones

  “I’m out of here.”

  “. . . to the publishers’ party tonight. . .”

  “Please do sit down, Cody,” Kane invited.

  The tugging pain from his ear pendant abruptly dragged Lennox back onto his vacated seat.

  “That’s better,” said Kane. “I’ve always wanted the two of us to have a chat.”

  “. . . for all of his authors,” Allard concluded.

  “And you must be Jack Martin.” Kane stood up to shake hands. “I’ve read all your books. I like the one about Damon.”

  “Are you a writer?” asked Martin, wincing. “Or what?”

  “He’s a what,” said Lennox, gulping Marsh’s lager.

  “Mr. Kane here—or is that your first name?”

  “It’s just Kane. Like Sting or Cher or Donovan.”

  “Kane here,” Allard continued smoothly, “recently acquired Midland Books. He’s now our major British publisher. I guess you guys hadn’t heard the news.”

  “Just cut the deal. I know it will prove to be a good investment. But, hey, we’re all of us in this outlaw profession together.” Kane raised his mug. “Death to publishers.”

  “And Midland Books is having a party for its authors tonight,” Allard informed them, thinking good job he’d phoned his agent this morning for the insider information.

  “So, do you write yourself?” Martin persisted.

  “Barbarian fantasy,” said Kane. “Under a pseudonym. Some time back. I’m sure you’ve never read any of it.”

  “Can the rest of you guys see him, too?” wondered Lennox.

  “Invitations, Kent, as promised,” said Kane, distributing engraved cards. “Relatively small gathering of some of my authors and staff. Please do feel free to bring along friends. It’s just over at the Hotel Russell, so I know you can find your way.”

  “You’re not British, are you,” said Lennox.

  “A citizen of the world,” Kane explained helpfully. “And by the way, I believe I owe you 20p change.” He handed Lennox a coin.

  “A pre-convention bash, is it?” asked Marsh.

  “Naturally we’ll discuss business matters amidst the champagne. Must do it up proper for taxes, after all. And I’m particularly interested in talking over your current projects, Cody.”

  “I’m writing a novel about demonic trilobites who gobble people’s brains. It’s called The Biting.”

  “Much to be explored there. Is the small community in New England or California?”

  “How’d you know to find us here?”

  “Synchronicity.”

  “Mike, let’s go get something to eat.” Lennox stood up.

  “Actually, Kent phoned the office to say you were meeting here for lunch.”

  “Kane is taking us all to lunch,” Allard said smugly. “I love this man.”

  “I got a previous engagement. No time. Come on, Mike.”

  “Tell Klesst I’ll be counting on her as hostess again tonight,” Kane called after them.

  “You’ve got to sort of make allowances for Cody,” Marsh told Kane. “Sure, he’s drinking too much. But he’s really been through Hell lately.”

  “And he’s likely to remain there,” said Kane, “without a little help from his friends. And I already count him as my friend. My round, I think.”

  VIII. A Big Chrome Baby and a Black Leather Doll

  CARSON WAS examining the engraved invitation. “Do you think I might bring along some prints to show tonight?”

  Lennox was searching for a cab. “Kane’s no publisher.”

  “We can take the tube. It’s just over there.”

  “Horrid and malevolent tentacled things lurk beneath underground platforms.”

  “So, where are we really going?”

  “Kensington Market. I need an obscene tattoo and some gross t-shirts.”

  Lennox secured a cab, and they piled in. “Ken High Street. Anywhere near Holland Road.”

  “You’re missing lunch, and your publisher’s paying. What do you think about the prints?”

  “Do you know anything about Kane? Anything at all?”

  “Never heard of him before today. Kent said Kane’s bought Midland, and Kent would know. You know how it is with publishers today—new owners taking over one after another and then selling to the next one. Doesn’t do you good to walk out on your publisher. He was going to buy us lunch. Maybe just a few prints, what do you think? He’ll have seen some of the covers I’ve done for Midland.”

  “The pubs are still open, and it’s my round. What was your impression of Kane?”

  “Intense. Mega. Crucial. Must work out twice a day.” Carson then turned serious. “Buys our lunch, but I wouldn’t want to have him come round to the flat after closing. He looks as though he might break you in half if he wanted.”

  “I never saw Kane before just now. At least, I don’t think I really did.” Lennox found some cigarettes, poked one toward Carson. He’d almost quit. “But I’ve dreamed about Kane. I’ve seen Kane before, and I’ve talked with Kane before, and it all seemed totally real. In my dreams. In my nightmares.”

  Carson lit their cigarettes. He said, cautiously: “Sometimes, when you’ve been drinking bad . . .”

  “I only hope that it is just the booze. I can sober up tomorrow or next week. Then, what if Kane’s still here?”

  “What’s your worry? It’s just that he’s your new publisher. You must have read about him in the papers, seen pictures of him somewhere. Let’s just go have a pint, Cody. It’ll steady you some.”

  “We’re here,” announced Lennox, rapping on the Austin’s glass partition. “Just let us out anywhere.”

  “What’s here?” asked Carson.

  “Kensington Market. Klesst said she has a stall here.”

  “The wicked malt whose book you signed yesterday? The original lady in blue pumps?”

  “She says she’s Kane’s daughter.”

  “And when did she tell you all this?”

  “She said she has a stall here. She said that in one of my dreams. What if my dreams are true?”

  “Then we’ll find her, and then we’ll all steam into the closest pub.”

  “That would mean that it wasn’t a dream. That it was all true.”

  “What’s true, then?”

  “Kane. And all the madness he’s told me.”

  “You’ve just met him. All of us just did. He’s only your publisher.”

  “I used to do a whole lot of acid back in my Haight-Ashbury days,” Lennox confided.

  Carson was getting major worried. “Let’s just have a look through, and then we’ll find a pub. Maybe an off-license, and we can sit on the benches out behind the church across the way.”

  Kensington Market enclosed three or so floors crammed with many tiny shops, catering primarily to the latest punk styles. Latex and leather fashions, all glistening black and tailored like a second skin, crowded the aisles—reminding Lennox of the fetish boutiques in L.A. and New York. He guessed that PVC probably meant vinyl or something, and while it was all very shiny and kinky, it looked very hot to wear, and it was sweltering in here. The place smelled like a tire graveyard on a hot day, and was about as organized. It was all a bit too trendy, more sideshow than sordid. Punkers were everywhere, and Lennox suddenly became aware that, for once, his was maybe the straightest appearance on the scene. He felt more secure when he noticed that some eyes were glancing toward the omnipresent photographs of James Dean, then turning back to study his face.

  Carson was thoughtfully looking at Dead Kennedys records.

  The sunburst pendant in his ear seemed to turn Lennox’s head and his attention away from the record stall. It was very, very hot. And claustrophobic. Images came to mind of Doré illustrations for Dante’s Inferno. He moved aimlessly along the crowded aisles. He wished he had a drink.

  “Hello, Cody. So good of you to drop by.”

  Klesst had a stall just down from Xotique. She was wearing a black leather bra, a very brie
f black leather miniskirt, an exposed suspender belt holding up black stockings, and black stiletto boots. This much Lennox took in at first glance. At second glance he saw that she wore an ear pendant similar to his own, but it was her face on the sunburst.

  “Klesst?” Lennox’s voice was uncertain. This was probably just another hallucination. Got to keep thinking of them as dreams. Nothing more.

  “So, Cody. You recovered from last night. Dad was off looking for you earlier. You see him?”

  Lennox faltered, then gave it up. “He caught up with me at the hotel bar. Gave me an invitation. To a party. To-night. Said to remind you that you’re to be hostess.”

  “Boring.”

  “What are you?” Lennox’s voice held panic.

  “Good question. What are we all? Why are we here? Do you know Jean-Paul Sartre?”

  “Not socially. He doesn’t hang out much these days.”

  “Next question.”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “I thought Kane started to explain that to you last night.”

  “Sometimes I can’t tell my dreams from reality.”

  “Sometimes there is no distinction.”

  “I think I’m starting to lose it.”

  “Are you going to stand here paralyzed in some existential dilemma, or are you going to buy something?”

  Lennox stared without focus at her clutter of punk jewelry and studded leather accessories. Extreme. From the corner of his eye, he could see Carson still flipping through the record display. He supposed he ought to re-enter the real world if he could find it, or at least go through the motions. Did he really need a spiked collar?

  “Perhaps an earring.”

  “Then I’ll just pierce your other ear. No charge.”

  “No problem. I’ll just take this one out.”

  “Can’t be done.”

  “Say, what?”

  “Do you remember last night?”

  “I got very drunk as is my custom. I had some crazy dreams. You were in them. And Kane. That’s all. What would you know about my dreams?”

  “That was near-time, but real enough. Kane put his mark upon you. Now you bear the mark of Kane. There’s no removing it. Ever.”

  “Tell that to Vincent van Gogh.”

  “Never fancied pictures of flowers. You’re signed and sealed.”

  “Come again?”

  “And be glad for it. They’ll try to kill you, now that they can’t possess you. What actually do you think happened to you last night?”

  “I got very drunk and walked back to my hotel.”

  “Kane thinks they were trying for him as much as for you. They never else would have called in a mundane. The Harmonic Convergence has increased their powers, but they still have no control of time-time.”

  “Look. I read The Sun today, page three and all of it. Nothing about Soho being devastated or stray bits of zombies found strewn all about.”

  “I told you: that took place in near-time. Very dangerous. Kane has much less power there, and that’s why they lured you there. But now that you’re aligned with Kane, they’ll come looking for you in real-time as well.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “And is Kane really your father?”

  “Obviously.”

  “He doesn’t look old enough.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Kane killed her.”

  “And how did you feel about that?”

  “She meant to sacrifice me to a well-known demon. She’d made a pact at my birth.”

  Lennox wondered if he were the only sane person here. And how sane was that?

  “Klesst, you’re a really beautiful person. May I even say, you’re devilishly intriguing. And if I were twenty years younger I’d deck myself out in some of these outrageous costumes they sell here, and I’d carry you off to some dingy basement club where people dance till dawn by bashing their heads together, and afterward I’d tell Kane we were running off to live together in my gentrified loft in New York’s SoHo, and if he objected I’d just have to punch him out. However, I’m not twenty years younger, and Kane is bigger than me, so instead I’d like to fix you up with a really good psychiatrist.”

  “I’m lots older than you think.”

  “Delighted to hear you say that. I wasn’t sure about British laws on the matter.”

  “So, are you going to buy anything?”

  “I haven’t really looked about. Maybe a nice leather bra for my closet.”

  “Have you had your nipples pierced? I can do it here, and I have some lovely golden rings.”

  “Not today.”

  “But I’d like that.” Klesst moved toward him suddenly, and Lennox as suddenly was afraid.

  “Christ, you really did find your lady here.” Carson wandered into the stall, holding a Nico album in a plastic bag. He was looking at his watch, calculating how many pints might be sunk before closing.

  “She wants to pierce my nipples,” complained Lennox.

  “Why not just get a tattoo?” Carson compromised. He rolled up his left sleeve. Lennox saw a devil’s head above the numbers 666. “Can’t remember where I had it done. I’d been pissed for weeks before I noticed it.”

  “I did it,” said Klesst. “Looks great.”

  “This is Kane’s daughter,” said Lennox. “I’ve mostly seen her in my dreams, but I think she’s real enough.”

  “You might find out how real tonight.”

  “See there, Carson. They throw themselves at me. Klesst, why did you say that I was aligned with Kane?”

  “Ought to be more careful about what you sign your name to, Cody. Yesterday. The book.”

  “I like the British,” said Lennox. “You just have to get used to their odd sense of humor.”

  “I’m not British,” said Klesst. “And you still haven’t bought anything. Let you have that spiked collar for a fiver.”

  “Are the pubs still open?” Lennox asked Carson.

  “Try it on.”

  “We’d best be going,” said Carson.

  Klesst moved very quickly, and it was over before Lennox could think to struggle.

  “Radical,” she said. “That’s a fiver.”

  “Klesst, you’re beautiful, but you’re a true space cadet. Close up, and I’ll buy you lunch. You’re really from California, aren’t you? That can be cured.”

  “So can reality, Cody. See you tonight.”

  Lennox fingered his studded leather collar. It chafed his neck, but he paid her anyway. He was aware that he was in serious danger of becoming sober, and he intended to remedy that without further delay.

  “I think I’m on to something here,” he told Carson. “She was coming on strong to me. Real strong.”

  Carson looked back. “She’s not there now.”

  Lennox turned around. The labyrinthine aisles of stalls seemed to be shimmering in the stagnant air. He couldn’t pick out Klesst’s stall. He couldn’t see Klesst.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute here.” He started to go back.

  Carson took his arm. “Let’s just go have a pint.”

  Lennox fumbled with his collar. “I think this is locked.”

  “Get the key after the pubs close.”

  IX. Say a Prayer in the Darkness for the Magic to Come

  LENNOX NEARLY slept past the party, but his hangover and the pain from his earlobe woke him up around seven. He found a half-bottle of Scotch and medicated himself. In the mirror his earlobe did not appear to be inflamed, and it no longer hurt. He tugged at the ear pendant, but it didn’t want to come loose. Probably encrusted. Lennox dabbed more whisky onto his earlobe as a safeguard.

  He wondered what he was doing wearing a spiked collar, then remembered that Klesst had locked it there and kept the key. He fumbled with its lock, wishing it would open, and the catch snapped. Must be a trick to it, he thought, dropping the collar onto his table.

&nbs
p; Just time for a quick shower. The cold water helped to wake him up. He had some vague memories of sitting on a bench behind some church in Kensington and drinking several cans of strong lager, while he explained to Carson all about synchronicity. Carson had managed to get him into a cab and back to his hotel.

  Lennox felt much better after he finished with the shower, and he took time to trim his near-beard. He put on a baggy cotton designer shirt and matching trousers, a narrow necktie loosely knotted, and his favorite linen jacket. Got to look the part for your publisher, and besides there was Klesst.

  Kane had reserved a large suite of rooms at the Hotel Russell, so it was just a short walk along Southampton Row. Lennox found his somewhat crumpled invitation, rechecked his image in the mirror, and sailed off in high spirits.

  The party had already started, and a hulking biker in a dinner jacket met him at the door and wanted to see his invitation.

  “Let him in, Blacklight,” Klesst called out. “He’s one of us.”

  Klesst gave him her hand. “Champagne?”

  “For sure.”

  She was wearing some sort of gleaming black sheath dress that laced openly across her breasts and back. The latex dress and stockings clung tightly to her very lovely body, and Lennox decided that these kinky London fashions weren’t all that bad, and that having an affair with his publisher’s spaced-out daughter was worth checking out.

  “Here we are.” Klesst lifted two glasses from a passing tray and handed one to Lennox.

  “Cheers,” he said, touching their glasses.

  “Ah! There you are, Cody. So glad you could make it. I see Klesst is taking care of you.”

  Kane shook his hand. He was casually dressed, as were most of those in the room, and he was playing the perfect host.

  “Lots to munch on over there. I imagine you already know most of the people here. Mingle and enjoy. We’ll talk later on.”

  Lennox downed his champagne and reached for another glass. He did know most of the thirty or so people here. It really was just another publisher’s party. Jack Martin had seen Lennox and was working his way over to him.

  “Well, Klesst,” Lennox said. “That’s a very lovely dress you almost have on. Are you the Queen of Spades?”

  “Wrong card. Have another drink, Cody.”