The Bride Wore Black Leather by Simon R. Green Read Free Book Online

coming months ago. So who are you here for? What have they done?”
    I grinned. “Like I’d ever tell you.”
    “Oh poo.” She batted her fantastically long lashes at me. “Not even for old times’ sake? You can tell me, darling. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Are we? The last thing you said to me was, ‘I never want to see you again.’”
    “That was personal. This is business.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “A little bird told me you’re getting married tomorrow. My invitation must have got lost in the post.”
    “Sorry,” I said. “But we’re being very strict on
no reporters
. On the grounds that Suzie has this unfortunate tendency to shoot them on sight. So an ex of mine who’s also a reporter? They’d be fishing pieces of you out of the guttering for weeks.”
    Bettie smiled. “I’m an ex? Did something happen that I didn’t notice?”
    “Not for want of trying on your part,” I said.
    “Not the way I remember it, darling,” said Bettie. “Some people simply don’t know how to flirt. Oh come on, sweetie, please . . . you have to give me something I can use or the editor won’t sign off on my expenses. Is there going to be trouble?”
    “Of course,” I said. “I’m here.”
    Bettie stuck her cute little nose in the air and stalked off. The moment she was safely away, the television news crew moved in, scenting blood in the water. The Nightside has its very own television station, covering all the stories the outside world never gets to hear about. It broadcasts across the Nightside and reaches out to a whole bunch of other worlds, dimensions, and special-interest groups. Subscription only. Lots of people like to keep up with what’s happening in the Nightside—if only so they can have advance warning of which way to duck.
    The female news reporter shoving a microphone right into my face was not unknown to me. I’d seen her stuck behind the news desk, on occasion, reporting the lighter stories with an unrelenting professional smile, but we’d never met. Charlotte ap Owen was short, blonde, and busty, currently kitted out in a skin-tight leopard-skin outfit, for that important streetwise slutty look. (It said so in a woman’s magazine I happened to be reading in my dentist’s waiting room.) She had a face so surgically perfect, it was almost characterless, and she pointed her mike at me like it was a weapon. To my knowledge, this was her first assignment outside the studio, and Charlotte was positively bursting with practised charm and barely restrained nervous energy.
    “No, Elvis will not be making an appearance here, as far as I know,” I said solemnly, before she could get a word in. “Also, yes, I am the new Walker, and no, I’m not going to tell you what happened to the old one. If you’re expecting any scandal or excitement at the Ball of Forever, I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed. Nothing of any real interest will happen here because nothing ever does. Immortals are very private people and wouldn’t dream of doing anything that mattered where outsiders might see it. The real meetings, wheeler-dealings and love affairs will be conducted somewhere else, behind firmly closed doors, as always. Immortals do have their feuds and disagreements, their business deals and vendettas; but those tend to play out over centuries, one move at a time, because these people have all the time in the world to get even.”
    “But something is bound to happen,” said Charlotte in her best hot and smoky voice. “You’re here! That has to mean something! Why would the freshly appointed Walker of the Nightside come to the Ball of Forever unless there were bad guys to pursue, villains to put down, and injustices to be avenged! I’ve followed your career for years, and I know what it means when you turn up somewhere unexpectedly. Blood and guts and entrails hanging from the chandelier! You’re news!”
    “Not if I can help it,” I