by Tim Waggoner
I changed the subject. “Looks like you’re ready to go out.”
Jinx had changed into a new shirt and gray suit. He wore a conservative blue tie and black dress shoes. His sartorial tastes were vastly different from those of his other Aspect.
“I was just about to head out to the Art Institute when I heard you… well, when I heard you.”
His expression of concern – which he’d worn the entire time we spoke – now deepened, and I thought I detected guilt in his gaze. But then he gave me one of what I thought of as his “day smiles”. Thin-lipped and barely noticeable.
“Have you changed your mind about coming with me? Aesthetic experiences can refresh the human mind just as well as physical rest in their own way, you know.”
“Thanks, but I think I should stay here and rest – really rest – some more.” I faked a smile. “I obviously need it.”
Jinx’s smile fell away and his expression grew serious. “Audra, you didn’t… take anything, did you?” he asked.
Anger flashed bright and hot in me, and I had to fight to keep from snapping at him. “Only water,” I said, my voice tight.
He regarded me a moment longer before finally nodding. “Very well. I’ll be back at least an hour before sunset.”
Day Jinx knew better than to allow his night self to roam the city streets alone. Without me to babysit him, there’s no telling what sort of mischief he’d get up to.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Promise me you’ll stay here until I get back?”
“I promise.”
“And try not to get too broody about the meeting with Sanderson. I’m sure he’ll come up with another assignment for us soon.”
“Sure.”
He gave me a last look, one that I couldn’t interpret, and then he left, closing the door gently behind him.
I heard the apartment door open and close, followed by the sound of Jinx locking it. I then waited an extra ten minutes just to be sure he was gone. Then I got up and put my suit on.
It was time to get back to work.
I didn’t want to waste any time, so I caught a cab to the Near North and got out a couple blocks from my destination. The place I was going to wasn’t secret exactly, but when you work for an other-dimensional law enforcement agency, you tend to err on the side of paranoia.
Wet Dreams is a hole-in-the-wall bar that doesn’t advertise. No website, no entry in the phone directory, not even a sign out front. No windows, either. Just a plain wooden door, unremarkable except for the ornate brass knob fashioned in the shape of a demon’s head. At night, you have to be careful opening the door because if the knob is in a bad mood, it might bite your hand. But it was day now, and the knob was only cold, lifeless brass. I turned it, pushed the door open, and went inside.
As always, the first thing that hit me was the smell. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not talking about the stink of stale beer, dried piss, and old vomit. It was a subtler smell than any of those, a combination of air after a thunderstorm and the acrid tang inside the reptile house at the zoo. It was the smell of Incubi – a lot of them. Over the years, the odor had worked its way into the floor, walls, ceiling, and furniture, and even when the bar was mostly empty – like now – it still smelled as if it were packed full of living nightmares. I’ve worked with Jinx long enough that I’ve gotten used to the scent. It helps that Incubi don’t smell as strong in their Day Aspects, and there are so many competing smells in Nod that my olfactory sense is usually stunned into submission when I’m there. But here, in the enclosed windowless space, the scent slammed into me like a brick between the eyes. I thought of the backstep I’d just experienced. Jinx had smelled like this when he came to me at night.
My stomach twisted with nausea, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, and it was getting close to lunch. I have a bad habit of forgetting to feed myself. And not resting enough. And disobeying Sanderson’s orders whenever I didn’t agree with them.
The latter was the reason I’d come here, and I’d come alone because while Night Jinx is a living embodiment of chaos, his day self has a stick up his ass a mile long. He was a stickler for… well, everything. But especially for rules. If he’d known what I was up to, he’d chastise me for going against Sanderson’s wishes, nag me to stop, and keep nagging me. At least until sunset. And I simply wasn’t up to dealing with that right now. Besides, after the memory I’d relived during my backstep, I didn’t want to be around Jinx, regardless of which Aspect he was in.
Wet Dreams’ interior is about as no-frills as it was possible for a bar to get. Brick walls, concrete floor (complete with suspicious stains), round wooden tables and uncomfortable chairs, and a bar that looked like, well, a bar. The lighting was dim, which added to the bar’s overall miasma of gloom. Incubi, regardless of their Aspect, are more comfortable in dark places. Light doesn’t hurt them in any way, but it does make them uncomfortable.
The action at Wet Dreams doesn’t really pick up until after dark, but there were a dozen or so regulars present. I was familiar with them all, but some I knew better than others, and none were all that happy to see me. An Incubus named Scattershot got up from his table as soon as I walked in, and headed for the exit. As far as I knew, he wasn’t involved in anything shady, but I made a mental note to check up on him later.
Lizzie Longlegs was sitting at a table with Cancer Jack, both of them looking relatively normal in their Day Aspects. Jack eyed me warily as I entered, ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips, but Lizzie gave me a smile and a nod. Lizzie and Jack had been an on-again, off-again couple for years, longer than I’d been an officer. Maybe longer than I’d been alive. Their relationship ran hot and cold. When it was hot, it was very hot, but when it turned cold… well, it was better – and safer – to stay as far away from them as possible.
I tried to get a read on which extreme the pendulum of their relationship was currently at, but their body language gave nothing away. They weren’t sitting close, but they weren’t sitting far apart, either. They weren’t touching, but they weren’t shooting venomous looks at each other, so that was a good sign.
Abe Chen sat at the bar, and he glanced over his shoulder at me, face expressionless, and then faced forward once more. Abe’s a middle-aged man whose Incubus – some kind of bird creature he called Budgie – left him not long after its Ideation was complete. He had no idea where it might’ve gone, and he never heard from it again.
There’s no law that says an Incubus has to remain near its creator. Once they come into existence, they’re separate beings, free to make their own choices and act as they will. Even so, they tend to stay close to their Ideators if they stay on Earth, even if they don’t maintain contact with them. There’s a bond – or maybe link would be a better word – between Ideators and Incubi. One that goes both ways. It’s not uncommon for Ideators to follow their Incubi to Nod, and if for some reason they can’t find each other or become separated – or if one dies – they feel as if there’s something wrong in their lives, something vital. They often end up lonely and depressed.
Although in Abe’s case, no one really believed there ever had been a Budgie. He was commonly thought to be a nightfreak, a human who’d somehow become aware of Incubi and wanted so much to be a part of their world that he posed as an Ideator. Abe was a nice guy and harmless enough, so the customers at Wet Dreams played along with his pretense, myself and Jinx included.
At the opposite end of the bar sat one of the creepiest Incubi I’ve ever encountered – the Darkness – along with his Ideator, a woman in her sixties named Maggie Martin. In his Day Aspect, the Darkness looked like a young man in his early twenties. In his Night Aspect… well, maybe it’s better if I leave that up to your imagination. Maggie was a petite firecracker of a woman who loved life with the gusto of a teenager and who didn’t suffer fools. She looked upon the Darkness as the son she never had and made sure to keep the darker side of his nature on a very short leash.
I took a seat at the bar between Abe and Maggie and the Darkness. Not because I was being antisocial, but because I hadn’t come here to chat.
The man behind the bar was larger than life, even in his Day Aspect. Deacon Booze stands close to seven feet tall, is broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, and his arms are as thick as most people’s legs. He has a full head of dense black hair that he wears bound in a ponytail that reaches down to the small of his back. His mustache and beard are just as black as his hair, and the tips of the mustache are curled up in an old-fashioned style. His features are pronounced and sharp, and they look as if they were carved from solid granite. But his eyes are a warm brown, and he always wears a friendly smile. He was dressed in a white work shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. I’ve never see him dressed in any other way. Some Incubi are so old and strong that they retain a small measure of their power even during the day, and I sometimes wonder if that’s the case with Deacon. His shirts aren’t just white. They’re always spotless, and they practically glow with their own light. He always wears a button pinned to his shirt with the words In Vino Veritas on it. Latin for In wine, there is truth.
“Hey, Audra,” he greeted me as he came over to see me. “Flying solo today?”
“There’s an exhibit at the Art Institute that Jinx wanted to see.”
“The Titian? That’s a good one. He’ll really enjoy it.”
As far as I know, Deacon never leaves his bar – literally. In fact, that’s one of the conditions for his being allowed to stay on Earth. But I didn’t ask how he knew about the exhibit.
As a Shadow Watch officer, I’d learned long ago not to ask my friends questions I might not like the answer to.
“What’ll it be?” Deacon asked. His voice is a mellow baritone, and every time I hear him speak, I wonder what he’d sound like singing. Pretty damn good, I bet. “A glass of white wine? Or maybe something stronger? I imagine you can use it after what happened last night.”
I wasn’t surprised that Deacon knew about last night’s clusterfuck. When it comes to the Incubi community, he was information central. Which was why I’d come here, of course.
“Neither, thanks. But I was hoping you might be able to offer me a little… insight into what happened.”
Deacon’s smile widened, revealing teeth so very white they nearly gleamed. “I thought you and Jinx were off the case.”
“We are. That means anything you tell me is off the record.”
He chuckled. “And if I’m able to provide any useful insight?”
“Then Jinx and I will owe you a favor.”
“A sizeable one.”
“Let’s say medium-ish.”
He thought for a moment. “All right. I’ll tell you what I can. Shoot.”
What I can meant what he felt comfortable telling me, but I knew it was the best I’d get out of him. I didn’t bother filling him in on the details of our battle with Quietus or the assassin’s subsequent escape. I wouldn’t dream of insulting him by telling him what he already knew. Instead, I asked, “Any idea who the masked man with the monster dog is?”
“He’s an Ideator who calls himself Nocturne. Cute alias, huh? I don’t know what his real name is. He calls the dog Bloodshedder.”
Nocturne. I wasn’t familiar with the name. It struck me as a bit pretentious, but Bloodshedder, however, was a perfect name for his beast.
“Who’s he work for?” I asked.
“Himself. He’s freelance.”
“Which is another way of saying mercenary.”
Deacon shrugged. “From what I understand, he’s more of a jack-of-all-trades than hired muscle. Whatever you want done, he can do it. Except killing. He’ll do it when he’s forced to, mind, but he’s not an assassin.”
Interesting. A bad guy with a moral code. I’ve never had a thing for bad boys, but I was beginning to think in his case I could make an exception.
Now for the big question. “He ever come in here?”
Deacon’s frown was all the answer I needed. Deacon views himself as a true neutral party when it comes to Incubi affairs, and he insists that Wet Dreams be respected as neutral territory by all his customers. Asking him to reveal whether or not Nocturne was a customer was tantamount to asking him to take sides – and he didn’t like it.
Maggie got up from her stool, came over, and sat next to me.
“I couldn’t help overhearing, hon,” she said.
“Only because you were listening so hard,” the Darkness said sullenly.
Maggie ignored him.
“I’ve seen Nocturne in here a couple times. The first time, he brought that awful dog of his, but the horrid thing took a gigantic dump on the floor, and Deacon told Nocturne that the next time he came back, he had to leave the dog outside. Although where you could possibly leave a beast like that without drawing any attention is beyond me.”
As Maggie spoke, Abe got up and came over to join us. “It climbs up the alley wall and hangs there like a lizard or a spider. I saw it once when I was coming in. Damn creepy.”
I imagined Bloodshedder clinging to the surface of a brick wall high above me as I walked through the alley. It would make a perfect vantage point to watch prospective prey and then, when the time was right, launch an attack. That was a detail I planned on remembering.
Deacon’s frown deepened into a scowl as the conversation continued, but he didn’t try to prevent Abe and Maggie from talking with me. As I said, he prefers to remain as neutral as possible, even when it irritates him.
“He came in late both times I saw him,” Maggie said. “Three, four o’clock.”
“I’ve seen him several times, too,” Abe added. “Always around 3am or so.”
Late, but not too late for Incubi or Ideators. There was still an hour or two before dawn. And not every Ideator or Incubus heads back to Nod before sunrise, and since we don’t sleep, late and early don’t mean much to us. Still, it was another detail to take note of.
“What did he do when he was here?” I asked. “He hang out with anyone in particular?”
“You mean someone like Quietus?” Maggie asked. She has a loud voice, something she seems unaware of, and when she spoke Quietus’ name, the few other customers in the bar grew quiet and turned to look at her. I gave them my best “I’m an officer on official duty” look, and they turned away and went back to what they were doing.
“Quietus isn’t allowed in here,” Deacon said, voice tight with anger. “You know that, Maggie. Too many people hold grudges against him. I can tolerate a fight in here from time to time. After all, it is a bar. But I refuse to have people killing each other left and right in here. It’s bad for business.”
I watched Deacon’s face closely as he spoke. He wasn’t above lying to protect his bar, and if Quietus did come here from time to time, Deacon wouldn’t admit it to me. I decided he was telling the truth, though. He wouldn’t want the hassle of allowing Quietus to drink here. Assuming the faceless Incubus could drink.
Before I could speak again, Lizzie Longlegs let out a high-pitched laugh that sliced through the air with all the sharpness and force of a finely honed katana. Everyone in the bar turned to look in her direction, suddenly on edge. She smiled and patted Cancer Jack’s hand, though, and everyone relaxed.
I turned back to Deacon, Maggie, and Abe. “I’m interested in anyone Nocturne might have associated with,” I said. “I’m trying to get a sense of who he is, what his habits are, that kind of thing.”
Both Maggie and Abe thought for a while after that.
“He sat at a table by the door when I saw him,” Abe said after a time.
Maggie nodded. “Same here. I don’t recall anyone sitting with him, though. Do you, Abe?”
He shook his head. “He drank alone. Draft beer.”
Damn! I was hoping I could get a lead on any friends or associates of his that I might be able to track down and question. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. On impulse, I asked, “Did he wear his mask?”
Both Maggie and Abe confirmed that he’d worn his mask the entire time he’d been in Wet Dreams.
“Is that important?” Abe asked.
Before I could answer, the Darkness let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Of course it is,” he said. “It means Nocturne doesn’t want anyone to recognize him, which means he’s afraid someone will. Someone important.”
Deacon had been silent for a while, but now he said, “Could mean he just wants to keep a low profile. When you’re not fussy about who you work for, you’re bound to piss off a few folks.”
The Darkness finished the last of his Coke, put the glass down on the bar a little harder than necessary, and shook his head. “With that Incubus of his? Mask or no mask, there’s no hiding who he is with that thing accompanying him. If he’s trying to hide his identity, it’s so no one knows who he is during the day on Earth.”
I was impressed. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“Of course it does,” the Darkness said, his voice rising. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do you think I’m too stupid to come up with good ideas?”
A look of concern came over Maggie’s face, and she got up and went back over to the Darkness. She smiled as she put a hand on his shoulder.
“Inside voice, hon.”
The Darkness’ features twisted into a mask of fury, but then all his anger drained from him, and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” Maggie said. “Let’s go, sweetie. We’ll get some ice cream. That always puts you in a good mood.”
I knew what Maggie was doing. The calmer she could keep the Darkness during the day, the easier she’d be able to control him at night.
“I don’t want to,” the Darkness said, almost pouting.
“You can get extra sprinkles.”
The Darkness took that in, considered, then nodded. He rose from his bar stool and headed off with Maggie.