Property of a Lady Faire

CHAPTER NINE

The cold hit Molly like a hammer, driving her to her knees. She cried out once, despite herself, an awful sound of shock and pain, and then she couldn’t get her breath back. All the colour was forced out of her face in a moment, and her mouth and eyes stretched painfully wide. I knelt down beside her and took her in my arms, but she was shaking and shuddering so much I could barely hang on to her. A terrible cold wind buffeted us this way and that. I wrapped myself around Molly as best I could, trying to protect her from the cold and the wind with my body and my armour. She clung to me desperately, making horrible straining sounds as she fought for breath.

I couldn’t help her at all.

There was no snow or ice, just black and grey rock, in a world more bleak and bare than anything I had ever seen before. I could feel the cold even through my armour. Molly had no magics left, no shields or protections. She was only human, in a place not meant for anything human to live. She collapsed against me. I called out to her, but she couldn’t hear me. She was dying of the savage cold, in the place I’d brought her to.

I looked desperately around for help or inspiration, or just something that might serve as shelter, but there was nothing. We’d appeared some way down a narrow valley set between two great mountains thrusting up into a purple sky. No sign of people or civilisation anywhere. The valley channelled the raging wind, so that it howled and shrieked as it hit us like a battering ram, again and again. There wasn’t a cave or a crevice, an overhang or windbreak. Nowhere I could take Molly to hide and protect her.

I had to do something; either I came up with some way to save her, in the next few moments, or I could watch her die. And all I had was . . . my armour. I seized on the idea. The armour protected me; there had to be a way it could protect Molly too. The armour came from my torc. I called on it, and it came out to cover me. But what if it could cover more than just me? I had learned to reshape my armour, through willpower, so what if I could make it cover both of us at once? I concentrated, and the golden armour surged and rippled all over me . . . but it wasn’t enough. Ethel had created the armour to cover just me. One torc, one Drood. I raised my head and called out.

“Ethel! Please! You made this armour; help me use it to save the woman I love! Please, Ethel, I need to do this! For her!”

And from a world away, her voice came to me, quiet but distinct.

Oh, all right. Just this once.

I concentrated again, and the golden armour leaped out from me, surging forward to cover Molly in a glistening golden wave . . . before contracting suddenly to armour her from head to toe. Sealing her off from the killing cold. She stopped shaking immediately, and I heard her draw a great, ragged breath. We were two golden statues, clinging to each other. She raised her head to look at me, and two featureless golden masks reflected each other. But I could still feel her gaze. And I could hear her laughing. She let go of me, and I helped her to her feet. And we stood together, side by side in Ultima Thule. Two suits of strange matter armour, linked by two fused golden hands. We couldn’t let go; that golden umbilical cord was all that sustained Molly’s armour. But as long as we remained linked, nothing Ultima Thule could throw at us could hurt us.

“You see?” said Molly from behind her mask. “I knew you’d find a way to save me. You should learn to have more faith in yourself. I do. Damn! This feels good! I feel better than good-I feel great! I could get used to this . . .”

“Don’t,” I said. “This is a strictly temporary solution, to get us to the Winter Palace. There’s a reason why my family introduces strict training from a very early age. Wearing Drood armour can easily become . . . addictive. We’re trained to control our armour, so it doesn’t control us.”

“I can cope!” said Molly. “Oh, it feels so good to be warm again! Been so long I’d almost forgotten what it feels like . . .” She looked around her, taking in the desolate landscape. “Miserable bloody location. Worse than Siberia. At least that had snow. This is Ultima Thule, is it? Looks like the end of the world.”

“The final winter of the world,” I said. “The end of everything. Look at the sun.”

We both looked up. In a bruised and empty sky, the sun was just a dull red circle, hanging low above the mountaintops. It looked tired and worn out, a dying star for a dead world.

“The heat is going out of this place,” I said. “I don’t think this pocket dimension was made to last. Unless it was made by someone who liked feeling miserable. I think we’re in the far future of the world, in the dying days, when Entropy is King.”

“But why?” said Molly. “I mean, really, why? If you could create a whole pocket dimension, why settle for this? What purpose does it serve?”

“Presumably,” I said, “it provides a proper setting for the Winter Palace.”

Molly sniffed loudly. “I don’t see it. Are you sure the Gateway brought us to the proper location?”

I pointed down the long, narrow valley, and there, right at the end, set between two great towering precipices, stood a single massive structure, half as large as the mountains around it. Made entirely out of gleaming ice, wide and vast and impossibly intricate, its long projections branched endlessly in all directions. Like a single massive snowflake, half buried in the cold cold ground. Shining and shimmering, blazing with its own fierce light. Unlike anything a human mind might conceive, it was overwhelming in its perfection. And yet there was something about it that made me think of an ancient fairy-tale castle. The Winter Palace of the Ice Queen, who made everyone love her, whether they wanted to or not. Who summoned men and women to her with her siren song, and made them love her until they died of it.

“The Lady Faire built that?” said Molly.

“Hardly,” I said. “The Winter Palace has been around a lot longer than she has. No, she just rents it, on occasion. Like everyone else.”

“Rents it from who?”

“Good question. If you ever find out, do let me know. Come on, let’s get moving. The sooner we get safely inside, the better. I’m not sure how long even Drood armour can protect us from such an extreme environment.”

“Why have a palace in a place like this?” said Molly, not unreasonably.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably to discourage unwanted visitors. All the properly invited guests are teleported in, arriving safely inside the Winter Palace without having to brave the cold.” I looked carefully around me. “I’m not Seeing any security fields, or force shields, or any kinds of protection set in place around the palace . . . No hidden mines, no floating curses, not even the most basic sensor arrays, to let people know there’s anyone out here . . . Perhaps they believe Ultima Thule is all the protection they need. And with anyone else, they’d probably be right. Come on, we have to find a way in, infiltrate the Lady Faire’s Ball without being spotted, and get our hands on the Lazarus Stone. Lots to do, lots to do . . .”

“And how, precisely, are we going to do all that?” said Molly.

“Once we get inside the Winter Palace, separately,” I said. “We’ll be far too conspicuous together. I’m hoping the Lady Faire will have invited enough guests that we can just blend in, and disappear in the crowd. But we can’t risk drawing undue attention to ourselves. Which means I can’t use my armour in there, and you can’t use your magics.”

“Oh poo!” said Molly. “I was just getting used to this armour. And I can feel my magics rushing back! I think being inside your armour is speeding up the process wonderfully.”

“Drood armour is designed to keep its wearer invisible from pretty much anything, under normal circumstances,” I said. “But the Winter Palace is bound to be bristling with all kinds of specialized security measures, to protect the guests from outside threats. And probably, from each other . . . My torc should be able to hide itself, as long as I don’t call on it, but if you even try to summon your magics, you can be sure they’ll hit you with everything they’ve got. Suddenly and violently and all at once.”

“All right!” said Molly. “We have to be sneaky. I get it! We go our own ways once we get inside, first one to grab the Stone signals the other, and then we both leg it back to the real world, at speed. Anyone would think I’d never done this before.” She stopped, and looked around her. “You know, I still can’t see the Gateway we came through.”

“That’s because it isn’t there, here,” I said. “It’s a one-way Gate; it only exists on the other side. So we can’t use it to get back. We’ll have to break into the Winter Palace’s teleport stream to get home again.”

“Wonderful,” said Molly. “More complications. And the more I look at the Winter Palace, the less I see anything that looks like an entrance. What if the only way in is by teleport?”

“Look, if breaking into the Winter Palace was easy, everybody would be doing it.”

“Someone got out of the grumpy side of bed this morning. So what does the Lazarus Stone look like? What are we actually looking for? An earring, or a stone big enough to club someone over the head with?”

“No idea,” I said. “I never even heard about the bloody thing till today. Does make things a bit tricky, doesn’t it? I suppose it’s too much to hope that it’ll be out on display somewhere, with a really big sign saying This Is the Lazarus Stone; Please Don’t Touch . . . Hmmm. I think our best bet is to locate someone inside the Winter Palace who does know what the Stone looks like, and get them to take us straight to it. Though of course when I say us . . .”

“I get it! Really! Separate ways, no looking back. Like I need you cramping my style . . .”

• • •

We started down the long, narrow valley, still holding hands. I did consider creating some kind of umbilical cord, but our link seemed precarious enough already, without adding any further strains to it. I didn’t want to push Ethel’s gift too far. We strode on, leaning into the teeth of the roaring wind, fighting its vicious gusting flurries with our armoured strength. The ground was hard and unyielding under our feet, cracked open in jagged splits and wide crevices. Some we could step over; others we had to jump. And sometimes I looked down and thought I saw sullen red lava, bubbling away at the bottom of the deepest cracks.

Apart from the howling wind, there wasn’t another sound to be heard. Nothing moved but us. Not a living thing anywhere, not even vegetation. Not even any rocks or pebbles, as though everything had been worn down, reduced to its barest essentials. My hands and feet were numb, despite my armour. Ultima Thule’s cold was seeping in. Which was . . . disconcerting. I’d never known any conditions that could get through Drood armour before, no matter how harsh or severe the environment. Which led me to believe this wasn’t any ordinary dimension. If it was the end of the world, Earth’s final days, then perhaps this was a spiritual cold. The touch of Entropy itself.

No one really knows the limits of my family’s armour, because we’ve never encountered them. But Time brings all things to an end.

“How sure are we that the Lady Faire’s security people don’t know about the Gateway we came through?” said Molly.

“Not sure at all,” I said, glad of some conversation to take my mind off things. “But I think if they did know, or even suspect, they’d have put some kind of defence in place out here, to deal with whoever came through, the moment they arrived. Take them out while they were distracted by the cold. I prefer to believe that since the Gateway doesn’t exist on this side, it can’t be detected from here. Believe what makes you happy, that’s what I always say.”

And then we both stopped, as the ground fell sharply away before us, revealing two long rows of ice blocks, stretching away, facing each other. Each block was around seven feet tall and three wide, solid ice containing a human form. Men and women, frozen in place forever. Molly and I helped each other down the steep incline; and then we walked slowly down the central aisle between the ice blocks, looking closely at the figures frozen inside. Dead faces peered sightlessly out through the ice, their features preserved in emotions that would last an age, in this awful place. Shock and horror, mostly. Clawed hands scrabbled desperately at the inside of the ice, caught in one last attempt at escape before the ice closed in on them. Clothes and outfits, equipment and weapons, from a hundred different times and countries. And much good any of it had done them.

“Warnings,” I said finally. “Made from those who came before us. Turn back, intruder, while you still can.”

“Except we can’t,” said Molly. “Not that we would, of course, but . . .”

“Yes,” I said. “It would be nice to have the option.”

“So we’re not the first people to try to break into the Winter Palace from Outside,” said Molly. “You think these people came here through the Gateway?”

“No way to ask them now,” I said. “They didn’t have the advantage of Drood armour, so here they are. Preserved, permanent scarecrows.”

“Except we don’t scare,” said Molly. “Still, I have to say, leaving them here, like this . . . That’s cold.”

“Yes,” I said. “It is. I don’t know who these people were, or why they came here, but they deserved better than this. I will make someone pay for this.”

“Of course you will, Eddie.”

Molly squeezed my linking hand, and we strode on between the two long rows of ice blocks. After a while I stared straight ahead, so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact. You can’t keep feeling sorry for people; it wears you out. And I was having a hard enough time feeling confident as it was. I hate missions where there are too many unknowns, too many variables, and this whole case was nothing but.

We left the ice blocks behind and moved on down the valley, slipping and sliding on ground polished like glass by the endless wind. The Winter Palace loomed up before us, growing larger and more intricate the closer we got. Dazzlingly huge, breathtakingly detailed. The biggest snowflake in the world, in the last winter of the world. I finally stopped, to look it over carefully. Molly was all for pressing on, impatient to get started, but we were still linked by our joined hands and I wasn’t going anywhere till I’d thought about it some more. Molly stood reluctantly beside me, bouncing up and down on the soles of her golden feet.

“I am not seeing any door, or opening, or entrance anywhere,” I said. “And since all the properly invited guests appear inside, it may be that there is no way in from out here.”

“I told you that!” said Molly. “I suppose . . . we could break in.”

“We’re trying to be sneaky, remember?”

“Why should there be any openings?” said Molly, in her most irritatingly reasonable tone of voice. “I mean, it’s a snowflake! Which are famous for not having holes. However, now most of my magics have returned, thanks to this marvellous armour of yours, I can sense the teleport stream the guests arrive through. I think I can tap into it, even from this distance . . . and get us inside. With a bit of luck.”

I looked at her. “How much luck?”

“Well . . . We would be jumping blind. I’m pretty sure I can arrange for us to materialise in an open space . . .”

“Hold it!” I said. “I’ve got a better idea! The Merlin Glass! That’s our way in!”

“Why didn’t you think of that before?” said Molly. “We could have used it back at the Gateway, and avoided this bloody walk!”

“I got distracted,” I said.

“Ah,” said Molly. “Of course you did.”

I eased my free hand through my armoured side, and reached for the hand mirror, but the damned thing avoided my grasp again, refusing to cooperate. Presumably because it didn’t want to be exposed to the cold of Ultima Thule. I could understand that. I chased the Merlin Glass around my pocket for a while, just on general principles, and then gave up. I removed my empty hand, and Molly shook her head sadly.

“Not again . . .”

“Once this increasingly infuriating mission is over,” I said, “I am going to have a very firm talk with the Merlin Glass. In fact, once everything’s been sorted out, and I have reestablished communications with my family . . . I think I’ll take the Glass down to the Armoury and let the lab assistants play with it. That should frighten it.”

“Shall I try my teleport spell now?” Molly said sweetly.

“How accurate can you be, working blind?” I said. “We don’t want to materialise inside the furniture. Something like that can be very hard to explain.”

“Trust me,” said Molly. “That hardly ever happens. I have an instinct for these things. If I tap into the existing teleport stream and follow that, we should be perfectly safe.”

“Should?”

“Look, do you want the truth, or a comforting lie?”

“Guess.”

“Everything’s going to be fine!” said Molly.

We appeared inside a very small room. So small we were standing face-to-face, surrounded by all kinds of objects pressing in on us.

“We’re inside a broom closet, aren’t we?” I said.

“It was the best I could do!” said Molly. “It was the only enclosed space next to the teleport station.”

“It’s a broom closet!”

“I know! It was either this or the toilets!”

I scrabbled along the wall with my free hand, found the light switch, and turned it on. Flat yellow light from a bare hanging bulb illuminated a space just big enough to contain the two of us and assorted cleaning products. I suppose even a Winter Palace needs janitorial staff. I armoured down, and Molly appeared before me. She smiled at me brightly, gave my hand one last squeeze, and reached for the door. I stopped her quickly.

“Hold it,” I said. “Better check out who’s outside first. Might look a bit odd for the two of us to just walk out of a broom closet.”

“Not at the Lady Faire’s Ball,” said Molly. “I’ll bet there are all kinds of furtive assignations going on here, in all sorts of places.”

“I’ll go first,” I said. “Remember, no magics.”

“Bet I get to the Lazarus Stone before you do,” said Molly.

“Yell if you do,” I said. “And then I’ll race you to the teleport station.”

“What if the station’s locked down?” said Molly. “I got us in here, but there’s no guarantee I can get us back to the real world.”

“One problem at a time,” I said.

I squeezed past her, eased open the broom closet door, and peered cautiously through the gap. All kinds of people were hurrying past, but they all seemed intent on their own business, and didn’t even glance at the broom closet. And after all, why should they? I looked back at Molly.

“Okay, I am out of here. Give me a minute, and then it’s your turn. Try not to kill anyone you don’t absolutely have to, there’s a dear.”

“Teach your grandmother to suck . . .”

I slipped out into the corridor and closed the door firmly behind me.

• • •

The interior of the Winter Palace could have been any first-class, extremely expensive and very elite hotel, anywhere in the world. Lots of wide-open space, richly polished wood, gleaming marble, and deep-pile carpeting. Every conceivable luxury out on display. And well-dressed, very important people hurrying back and forth on their own very important business. No windows anywhere, though. It was comfortably warm, for which I was very grateful. I’d had more than enough of the cold of Ultima Thule. I could feel the last of the bitter chill seeping out of my bones, and out of my soul, as I strode quickly through the wide corridors of the Winter Palace.

I acted as though I belonged there, as though I had every right to be there, so everyone just assumed I did. It helped that as a field agent, I had been trained to have one of those faces that everyone thinks they half recognise. Just a familiar kind of chap, the kind you see every day, everywhere. I smiled and nodded easily to everyone I passed, and they nodded and smiled easily back. Because that was what you did in places like this. Where everyone was bound to be someone, and you were bound to have met them somewhere before . . . It never occurred to any of them that I might be an outsider, or an intruder, because they knew the only way to get in was through the teleport station. And for that, you needed an invitation.

There seemed to be a great many corridors, heading off in every direction. There were any number of signs and helpful directions on the walls, in all kinds of languages, but not one pointing to the Ballroom. Maybe the directions were on the invitation . . . I couldn’t just walk up to the reception desk and ask, without giving myself away. And I couldn’t ask any of the guests. So I walked up and down, and back and forth, peering in through all sorts of doors, until it started to feel like I was walking in circles. I stopped, and looked thoughtfully about me.

In and among the many fine guests, in their formal attire and peacock displays, their designer dresses and fashion abominations, were a lot of people who were quite obviously not guests. They wore formal uniforms, neat and efficient with gleaming buttons, all of them topped with stylised white full-face masks, revealing only the eyes. Security people, hotel staff, all the rank and file you need to keep a place the size of the Winter Palace running smoothly. And all of them coming and going completely unchallenged, because if you were wearing a uniform you must be staff. And no guest would lower himself to notice mere functionaries. I looked the staff over carefully.

It was easy enough to spot the security people, in their sharp white leather uniforms. Something in the way they moved, in the way they held themselves, suggested they were used to taking care of problems. And the blank white masks had distinct possibilities . . . I was reminded for a moment of the masked blood-red men on the Trans-Siberian Express, but these were all quite definitely different people.

I picked one at random, followed him at a cautious distance, and watched closely as he reported to the Head of Security. Who fortunately wore much the same uniform and mask as everyone else. Presumably a style thing. I followed the Head of Security through the bustling corridors, and he didn’t even notice, he was so caught up in his own duties and responsibilities and in looking important. He had a bulky comm unit stuck in one ear, and was constantly talking loudly to somebody about something. I waited, choosing my moment carefully, and when he finally made the mistake of pausing in a deserted side corridor, I eased quietly in behind him and seized the back of his neck in a nerve pinch. His head lolled back, his eyes rolled up, and I caught hold of his collapsing body before it hit the floor. I slung one of his arms across my shoulders, and looked quickly around for somewhere handy to dump him. A well-dressed couple paused at the entrance to the side corridor, looking dubiously at me and the Head of Security. I gave them a cheerful smile.

“I’d give the shellfish a miss, if I were you.”

The couple moved on. I found a convenient cupboard, hauled the door open, and bundled the unconscious Head of Security inside. There was just room enough in the cupboard for me to join him. I closed the door carefully. I was getting really tired of huddling inside small rooms. I changed clothes with the Head of Security, banging my elbows repeatedly in the confined space. Fortunately the Head was a rather larger person than me, so I could get into the uniform without straining. Though I did have to pull his belt right in to keep my trousers up. The stylised face mask peeled off easily, and slapped itself onto my face the moment I brought it close enough. Some kind of static cling deal. I wished briefly for a mirror. The uniform felt like it was flapping about me, and only fitted where it touched. Hopefully people would pay more attention to the uniform than to the man inside it.

I stuck the comm unit in my ear, and immediately a rush of overlapping conversations filled my head as everyone tried to talk to me at once, asking why I’d gone quiet for so long. Apparently they were used to being micro-managed. I growled something about maintaining security, and told them all to shut the hell up until I told them they could talk again. Everyone went quiet. Clearly the Head of Security ran a tight ship. I rummaged through my new pockets and came up with a small laminated ID pass, labeled Burke Tallman. I had to smirk. With a name like that, he pretty much had to go into the security business, if only in self-defence. I lowered my voice again, and growled into the comm unit.

“I want this channel kept clear until further notice, for emergency purposes. No one says anything until I say otherwise. Got it?”

There was a quick rush of hurried agreements, and then the earpiece went quiet. I shook my head. What kind of security force didn’t even recognise their own Head’s voice? They just assumed it had to be Tallman, because I was speaking on his channel. You’d never get away with that at Drood Hall. Still, it was good to know Tallman’s staff was used to obeying orders they didn’t necessarily understand. I should be able to take advantage of that.

I stepped out of the cupboard and closed the door carefully behind me. A few people walking down the side corridor looked at me curiously. I glared right back at them, and they hurried past. I went strolling through the corridors of the Winter Palace, and people fell back on all sides to give me plenty of room. No one messes with a Head of Security, be they guests or staff. The odds were that few of them knew Tallman by sight; they were just reacting to the uniform and the attitude. So long as I played the part and barked out orders with confidence, no one short of the Lady Faire was going to challenge me. I stopped the next security man I met, stuck my mask into his, and demanded directions to the Ball. He looked at me hesitantly.

“But don’t you know? Sir?”

“Of course I know,” I growled. “I’m just checking that you do! Now give me the directions, and be succinct! And do up those buttons!”

He quickly did so, then gave me detailed instructions on how to get to the Ballroom. I dismissed him with a look, and he hurried off, not looking back, eager to escape before I decided to quiz him on something he might not know. I smiled behind my mask. And went to the Ball.

• • •

The Ballroom of the Winter Palace turned out to be absolutely huge, overwhelmingly impressive, and almost obscenely opulent. It had been fitted out to look like a massive ice cavern, gleaming and shimmering, complete with stalactites hanging down from the arching ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the mirrored floor. Even the various fixtures and fittings gave every appearance of being made from snow and ice. All of it entirely artificial, of course. It might look convincing, but the whole place was more than comfortably warm, from some hidden heating system. And nothing was melting.

There were long tables with every kind of sophisticated buffet food, and tall towers of champagne glasses, the booze running down them like bubbling waterfalls. What looked like entirely authentic furs had been scattered across the floor, mostly polar bears and pandas. King-sized penguins waddled back and forth like miniature waiters, only revealing themselves to be automatons when they spoke to the guests. And there were guests everywhere, hundreds and hundreds of them, crowding the Ballroom and filling it from wall to wall. Who knew the Lady Faire had . . . got about so much? I moved easily among the packed guests, and no one challenged my right to be there. Just having the Head of Security present made everyone feel that much safer, and protected.

It was hard to believe one person could have had this many lovers in one lifetime. Even if she wasn’t, strictly speaking, a person at all, being a ladything. There were men and women, gods and monsters, and at least three aliens. Plus a whole bunch of famous names and faces, from all across the world. Politicians and celebrities, movers and shakers, and not a few Names that wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone outside the hidden world. If they really were all past lovers of the Lady Faire, she must have been very busy down her extended lifetime.

Everyone seemed to be getting on well enough, chatting politely and even pleasantly with one another. Drinking fine wines and comparing party nibbles, acquired absently from waiters and waitresses carrying them around on silver platters. The waiters looked like butlers, and the waitresses looked like French maids.

The Ball boasted a wide and varied selection of Very Important Personages, who would have been at each other’s throats anywhere else. But they all came together companionably enough to discuss the one thing they had in common. Their memories of the Lady Faire.

Music came from a small orchestra on a raised stage at the far end of the Ballroom. Fronted by a French singing sensation so famous even I’d heard of her-the inimitable Rossignol. She was singing some obscure French torch song, leaning heavily on the vowels and hitting the r sounds for all they were worth when I entered. But she broke off abruptly as a member of the hotel staff hurried onto the raised stage and murmured in her ear. She had a quick conference with the musicians, and then they launched into the old Petula Clark hit “Downtown.” Followed by “Always Something There to Remind Me.” Either it was Sixties Night at the Winter Palace or these were some of the Lady Faire’s favourites. Nothing comforts an old soul like the popular music of one’s youth. I knew the songs because Uncle Jack was always playing Sixties compilations in the Armoury.

I moved off to one side and put my back to a wall, the better to observe the guests. Some of them I knew immediately, because they knew me. As Shaman Bond, or Eddie Drood, or both.

Dead Boy was there, of course, imposing his appalling personality on anyone foolish enough to come within reach and not run away fast enough. He lurked beside a much-depleted buffet table, standing tall and Byronically dissolute in his deep purple greatcoat, with the usual black rose at the lapel. He always left the greatcoat hanging open at the front, so he could show off his autopsy scar. Apparently he saw it as a conversation piece.

For a returned soul possessing his own dead body, Dead Boy was a cheerful enough sort. And for a quite definitely deceased person, he was putting away a hell of a lot of party food, stuffing his mouth with one hand, and stuffing his coat pockets with the other, for later. A waitress passed by, bearing a tray of champagne glasses. Dead Boy took the tray away from her and drank the lot, one glass at a time.

Not far enough away, the Vodyanoi Brothers were putting on their usual obnoxious show. Two very large Russian gentlemen, in matching expensive black leather jackets and trousers, with shaven heads and nasty grins. Kicked out of the Moscow Mafiosi, for crimes far too unpleasant to discuss in civilised company, they travelled the world, hiring themselves out as shock troops and enforcers. They were werewolves, and complete arseholes. People stared at them in open disgust and repulsion, as the Vodyanoi Brothers did their best to command everyone’s attention.

“Greetings, everybody!” said Gregor, the older brother. “We are being Vodyanoi Brothers! Pirates and adventurers, and very dangerous people! Oh yes! Show them how dangerous, Sergei!”

The younger Vodyanoi Brother turned abruptly into a huge humanoid wolf, with silver grey fur and massive muscles bulging under his thick pelt. Guests fell back, coughing at the sudden rank, musky scent on the air. The wolf grinned widely, the better to show off his vicious yellow fangs.

“Highly dangerous, I think you will agree!” said Gregor, smiling a smile with no humour in it at all.

None of the other guests seemed particularly impressed. It took more than a simple shape-change to impress someone who’d slept with a ladything. Most of the guests’ expressions suggested that the Lady Faire must really have been slumming it when she lowered herself to sleep with those two. Or at the very least, in the mood for some seriously rough trade. Sergei noticed that being a really big wolf just wasn’t cutting it, and so he shrank back to human shape again. He glared sullenly about him, and then spotted Dead Boy.

He strode right up to Dead Boy, and started to say something aggressive, only to break off as Dead Boy grabbed him by the throat with one pale hand, pulled him close till they were face-to-face, and then bit off Sergei’s nose. The werewolf howled, struggled free of Dead Boy’s grip, and fell back several steps, both hands clasped over the part of his face where his nose used to be. Blood pumped thickly between his fingers. Dead Boy chewed carefully, considering the taste, and then smiled slowly. Sergei regarded him with wide eyes, and then lowered his hands to reveal a regrown nose. Dead Boy looked at him thoughtfully, and Sergei ran back to his big brother. Gregor growled at Dead Boy, who smiled happily back.

“I love Russian food!” he said loudly.

The Vodyanoi Brothers huddled together, and then fell back, disappearing into the crowd. Dead Boy picked something out of his teeth. I didn’t stay to see what. I moved on before he could spot me.

Jimmy Thunder, God for Hire, was trying to impress an elven princess with the size of his hammer, Mjolnir, and getting nowhere. Jimmy was a genuine descendent of the old Norse Gods, at a great many removes and on the wrong side of many blankets. A huge figure, with a great mane and beard of fiery red hair, he had a voice so low it seemed to rumble up from somewhere deep in his chest. He wore much-used biker leathers, with gleaming steel studs and hanging chains, and heavy boots with steel toe-caps. He had a chest like a barrel, and shoulders so broad he often had to turn sideways to get through a door. The elven princess turned up her nose at him and stalked away, and Jimmy fastened Mjolnir back on his belt. Just as well. The hammer had been a famous weapon in its day, but it was well past its prime now, and getting senile. Word was, Jimmy never threw the hammer any more, because he couldn’t be sure it would remember who it was supposed to come back to.

Jimmy Thunder was a private investigator, bounty hunter, and supernatural bail bondsman. When he felt like it.

And then there was the original Bride of Frankenstein, along with her current paramour, the latest incarnation of the Springheel Jack meme. The Bride was seven feet tall if she was an inch, and very well-fleshed. The Baron had to make his earliest creations somewhat oversized, to be sure of getting all the bits in. Her face was pale and taut, as if stretched by too much surgery, though I knew for a fact she’d never let anyone touch her with a scalpel since her creation. She had huge black eyes that didn’t blink nearly often enough, a prominent nose, and lips the colour of dried blood. She was striking rather than pretty, but quite definitely attractive, in a spooky and downright disturbing way. She wore her long black hair piled up in a beehive tall enough to put Amy Winehouse to shame, and she wasn’t bothering to dye out the long white streaks any more. Or using makeup to cover the heavy stitch marks at her throat and wrists. She wore a flouncy powder blue blouse, cut deep at the front to show off her magnificent cleavage, over navy blue slacks tucked into thigh-length riding boots with heavy silver spurs.

Up close, I knew she would smell of attar of roses and formaldehyde.

Springheel Jack stuck close at her side, bestowing cold, considering looks on anyone he thought was getting too near. He was tall and slim, cool and calm, and handsome enough in a sinister sort of way. Dark and dignified, he wore the traditional black opera cape, flowing about him like folded bat wings, and an old-fashioned top hat. The look came with his inheritance of the old Springheel Jack meme, the deadly assassin of Old London Town, who predated Jack the Ripper by some fifty years. Springheel Jack was a terrible idea given shape and form, jumping from one generation to another in the same cursed family. Cold blue eyes met mine, briefly, and they were old, old eyes. It was the burden of his inheritance that he carried in his head all the experiences of his many predecessors. I couldn’t see any sign of the long cut-throat razors that were the other part of his inheritance, but I had no doubt they were about his person somewhere, security checks be damned.

There were other guests I knew well, if only by reputation. The Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian were swanning around in all their usual arrogant display. Six versions of the same personality, dwelling in six different bodies. Supposedly some kind of soul-share deal, one person inhabiting an endless series of bodies, co-opting new ones as the old ones wore out. They were all dressed in the same smart grey business suit, complete with the same Old School Tie. Their faces were hidden behind identical thinly beaten steel masks. Again, I was reminded unpleasantly of the masked blood-red men, but it was clear these were all very different body shapes. I watched them for a while, unobtrusively. There was something familiar about them . . . Even though I knew for a fact I’d never encountered the Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian before.

According to the family files, they’d worked for us on occasion. Co-opting people we didn’t want around any longer.

The Living Shroud was just a long, grubby winding sheet, of the kind used to wrap the dead before they went into the grave. The usual cerements of the dead, thick with dust and cobwebs, except there didn’t seem to be anyone inside them. Certainly nothing I could see, and there aren’t many things that can hide from me. But something was giving the Shroud its human shape as it drifted slowly through the crowd. Apparently entirely unmoved by, or uninterested in, the other guests.

The Living Shroud made a living, if that’s the correct term, by haunting people for hire. Apparently you paid the Living Shroud to stalk people, at increasingly close quarters, until they gave up and paid what they owed. The current record for surviving the Living Shroud’s presence was seventeen hours. I had to wonder, if the Living Shroud really didn’t have a body, how could it be one of the Lady Faire’s ex-lovers? Maybe she knew it before it became . . . whatever it was now.

Next up on my radar was the Lady Alice Underground. Everyone had heard of her. An elderly but not in any way frail dowager dressed in dull black Victorian mourning clothes, the Lady Alice was an explorer of the Underverse. Those spatial dimensions that exist beneath our own, populated exclusively by symbols and icons and archetypes. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, her thin grey hair pulled back in a tight bun, but her eyes were sharp and fey and wild, almost feral. She had the look of someone who’d spent too much time among things and people that weren’t really people or things. The Lady Alice Underground was the last of the old school adventurers, the ones who went forth in a spirit of conquest.

And then there was the Last of Leng. Everyone had heard of that cruel and awful people, living in their ancient city on the Plateau of Leng. A vicious people, feared by all. Black Heir destroyed the entire city with a backpack nuke, some time back, and pretty much everyone in the world threw a party. Horrible place, horrible people. But one member of that appalling city survived, somehow. The Last of Leng. Walking alone in the world, because no one else wanted anything to do with it.

It walked alone at the Ball too. It went where it wanted, because no one dared turn it away, but it was always unwelcome. Certainly no one at the Ball wanted anything to do with it. The Last of Leng was a broad, hunched figure, its hooded head thrusting out before it, dressed in poison green robes, with long rags and tatters trailing out behind it. The hood was pulled well forward, to hide the face in impenetrable shadows. Just looking at the lurking figure made my skin crawl. I couldn’t believe even the Lady Faire would have had . . . intimate knowledge of something as physically and spiritually foul as the Last of Leng.

I kept moving, hugging the walls of the massive Ballroom. I was careful to avoid the Vodyanoi Brothers, because they knew me as Shaman Bond. They’d currently retreated to a far corner, snarling at everyone. Sergei kept fingering the nose that had grown back, as though afraid it might fall off. Every now and again, they would call out to some passing waiter or waitress, for food or drink, but the staff was all careful to ignore the two werewolves. Until finally the Vodyanoi Brothers jumped on a waiter who’d strayed too close, pulled him down, and loudly announced their intention of eating him. They glared happily about them, defying anyone to stop them. Which was all the excuse I needed.

I used the Head of Security comm channel to send out a general call ordering my security people to remove the Vodyanoi Brothers. At once, by force, by any means necessary. And then throw them out of the Winter Palace. Invitations revoked. Security people descended on the Vodyanoi Brothers from all directions at once, the guests falling back to give them room to operate. But not so far that they couldn’t see what was happening. The security men and women quickly surrounded the Vodyanoi Brothers, who both turned wolf and glared defiantly about them. They sank their claws into the whimpering waiter, refusing to give him up. The white-uniformed security people closed in, and hit the Vodyanois with a dozen Tasers at once.

Electricity spat and sparked loudly on the air, and all the silver grey fur stood on end. It might take silver to kill a werewolf, but Tasers will still shock the shit out of it quite successfully. If you use enough of them, and keep your finger on the trigger.

Gregor and Sergei Vodyanoi convulsed violently, shaking and shuddering as they were forced back into their human shapes. They let go of the waiter, who was quickly dragged away. The security people shocked them some more, just on general principles, and then shut down their Tasers and moved in to give the Vodyanois a good kicking. The two twitching bodies were then dragged away.

Most of the guests applauded.

One of the security men came diffidently forward to report to me. “The problem has been dealt with, sir. Any further orders, sir?”

“Put them outside,” I growled. Just to make sure. “Let them walk home.”

“Of course, sir.”

He hurried away. I was pretty sure the Vodyanoi Brothers would turn up again, somewhere. They were harder to kill than cockroaches.

I continued moving around the perimeter of the Ballroom, keeping an eye on everyone and everything, still waiting for the Lady Faire to show her face. The only person in the Winter Palace I knew for sure knew what the Lazarus Stone looked like. As Head of Security, it shouldn’t be too difficult for me to lure her away and make her take me to it. And I was curious to see what she looked like . . .

The guests had quickly recovered from seeing the security forces in action. Most were chatting quite cheerfully about it. The Bride and Springheel Jack were dancing with Dead Boy and a costumed adventurer from the Nightside, one Ms. Fate. No doubt exchanging gossip, swapping barbed bons mots, and discussing the possibility of getting together later. The Lady Alice Underground was swapping brittle smiles with Tommy Oblivion, the existential private eye, who specialised in cases that may or may not have actually occurred. He might or might not have slept with the Lady Faire; he probably couldn’t be sure himself. The Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian were keeping to themselves, and everyone else let them. The Last of Leng had got into a staring contest with a Yeti that looked like it could go on for some time. And everyone danced and chattered, ate and drank, and threw occasional tantrums . . . as they waited for the guest of honour to appear.

I kept moving, doing my best to appear inconspicuous, or at least not worth paying attention to.

And then I spotted Molly. She was wearing the French maid outfit, all stiff starched black and white with unnecessary bows, moving easily among the guests as just another waitress, offering a selection of smoked nibbles from her silver platter. Presumably to give her an excuse to get close to people, and listen in on their conversations. In the hope of finding someone who knew what and where the Lazarus Stone was. She looked . . . pretty damned good in the outfit. She had once offered to send off for a French maid outfit by mail order, but in the end I chickened out and said I wouldn’t wear it.

Molly turned her head suddenly and looked right at me. She didn’t smile, or even drop me a wink, before turning deliberately away and moving on. I made a point of moving off in the opposite direction.

Clearly neither of us was any closer to discovering the Lazarus Stone. And I wasn’t sure how much time we had left before one or the other of us said or did the wrong thing and was discovered.

I finished a complete circle of the Ballroom, and stopped to look around me. If the Lady Faire didn’t deign to turn up soon, I’d have to leave the Ballroom and go looking for her. Which presented its own difficulties. I still had no idea what she looked like, and it wasn’t like I could ask anybody. The one thing everyone in this place had in common was that they all knew their hostess.

I moved back the way I’d come, passing a group of several leaders of small countries, and some who were now ex-leaders, all in deep conversation. Many were actually deadly enemies out in the real world, but here at least they seemed quite comfortable in one another’s company. Several very well-known film stars had attracted their own circles of admirers. Every now and again the admirers would lose interest in their star and look away, hoping for the arrival of the Lady Faire, and then the film stars’ smiles would vanish in a moment, reappearing only when their admirers’ attention returned to them.

A butch dyke dressed only in assorted leather straps, a noted supporter of conservative family values in the real world, was dancing with Something from a Black Lagoon. An ex-pope who was supposed to have been safely dead for some time was dancing the Argentinean tango with an alien Grey. I passed by the Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian, and they all made a point of turning their backs on me.

And then the Bride and Springheel Jack walked past me, and the Bride did her best to hide a double take as she recognised me. She might not be able to see my face through my security mask, but her more than normal eyes could See my torc. The Bride hurried Springheel Jack along. His face didn’t change at all as he glanced at me. He did look like he wanted to ask the Bride a whole bunch of questions, but she just kept him moving. When a woman that big has you by the arm, you move.

I would have worried about them, but I was distracted almost immediately, because I had to move quickly to interrupt a fight between Jimmy Thunder and the Living Shroud. It seemed the Living Shroud had tried to cut in with Ms. Fate, and Ms. Fate had declined. The dead thing had insisted, and the Norse godling was now towering over it with Mjolnir in his hand. Jimmy never could resist being chivalrous when there was a young lady to impress. Everyone fell back as Jimmy told the Living Shroud to get lost, in a loud and carrying voice. The empty grave trappings stood its ground, trembling with anger, dropping cobwebs and dead spiders all over the floor. A cold malevolence emanated from the Living Shroud, like bad spiritual radiation. Jimmy shuddered abruptly, and looked briefly uncertain, and then he grabbed a handful of the Shroud’s grave wrappings, to pull it closer. The rags just rotted and fell apart in the godling’s hand, and he pulled a disgusted face. The Living Shroud slapped Jimmy Thunder across the face with an empty sleeve, and the sheer power in the blow sent Jimmy’s head whipping round. There was definitely something solid inside the grave wrappings. Jimmy Thunder roared with anger and raised Mjolnir on high. All the watching guests leaned forward, eager to see some serious smiting.

The hammer came crashing down, and I stopped it in mid-air with a very briefly golden hand. I didn’t care what happened to the Living Shroud, but I couldn’t let it happen on my watch, or people might start to wonder why. And I didn’t want anything to happen that might dissuade the Lady Faire from appearing. So I armoured up my hand, just for a moment, and thrust it in the way of the descending hammer. The golden glove absorbed all the impact, stopping Mjolnir dead in its tracks. And then I pulled the golden strange matter back into my torc before anyone noticed it was there. It was a risk using my torc, even so briefly, but I had no choice. It didn’t seem to have set off any alarms.

Jimmy Thunder swore loudly, his whole arm twitching painfully from being stopped so suddenly. He stepped back, looking at me with shocked, startled eyes. I glared back at him, secure behind my security mask.

I moved in between him and the Living Shroud, and gave my full attention to the inhabited grave clothes as they flapped and fluttered agitatedly before me. They rose up, growing and expanding. Strange energies flared around them. And then Molly appeared behind the Shroud, and threw a tray of champagne glasses over it. The alcohol soaked quickly into the rags, and Molly set fire to them. The grave wrappings immediately went up in blue flames, burning fiercely.

The Living Shroud howled miserably and spun round and round, beating at its burning self with empty sleeves, which only seemed to encourage the flames. The Shroud went running up and down the Ballroom, burning brightly, while people fell back delightedly and cheered and applauded. Until finally the Lady Alice Underground put the Shroud out with a handy soda siphon. The Living Shroud stood very still, half its rags just scorched tatters, falling away in blackened lengths. There was still no sign of whatever might be inhabiting what remained.

I called the security people back to the Ballroom, and they quickly surrounded the Living Shroud. There was a tense moment, and then the Shroud allowed itself to be escorted out. Leaving a trail of dark smudges on the floor behind it. Some of the guests actually got down on their hands and knees to pick up charred bits of rag, for souvenirs. I glared at Jimmy Thunder, who just shrugged. He’d been glared at by far worse than me. He went back to join Ms. Fate, who gave him a stiff talking-to, on the grounds that she operated as a costumed adventurer in the Nightside, and thus could be considered quite capable of looking after herself.

I nodded to Molly. “Thank you. That was very helpful. You can return to your duties now.”

She bobbed an almost convincing curtsey. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

She moved quickly away. I was still getting my breath back, when I found myself suddenly confronted by the Last of Leng. It crouched before me, giving the distinct impression it was glaring up at me from under its lowered hood. Up close, the poison green robes and tatters smelled strongly of rotting flesh and ordure. My torc burned at my throat, trying to protect me against something.

“Where is the Lady Faire?” said the Last of Leng in a harsh, grating voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be here, when she’s ready,” I said smoothly.

“Not good enough. Go. Tell the Lady Faire I am here. Tell her to come. Now.”

“I am Head of Security,” I said, careful to keep my voice calm and polite. “I have duties and responsibilities here. I’m sure the Lady Faire will appear, in good time.”

“I gave you an order!”

“So you did. And this is me, ignoring it, because I don’t work for you. Now be a good little last survivor of an appalling civilisation, and piss off. Before I throw an entire security force at you.”

I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but after all, this was the Last of Leng. There are limits.

“You dare!” shrieked the Last of Leng.

“Frequently,” I said. “Famous for it. One more word out of you, and I’ll have you thrown out into Ultima Thule, and you can spend the long journey home knocking icicles off your wrappings. Except you can’t go home, because some sensible and public-spirited person blew it up. So beat it, you bum.”

The Last of Leng started to say something, and then turned abruptly and strode away. Several guests nodded approvingly. They would have liked to applaud, but it was the Last of Leng, after all, and they weren’t as brave as me.

I turned away, and there was Dead Boy, waiting for me, grinning all over his deathly pale face. I sighed inwardly. As if I didn’t have enough problems . . . Dead Boy had a tall glass of something dark and steaming in one hand, and a half-eaten dodo leg in the other. He dropped me a heavy wink.

“I knew it was you! I never mistake an aura. Don’t worry,” he said, in what he probably thought was a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve got your back.”

“Oh good,” I said. “I’m sure whoever you think I am is very grateful. Now will you please go away and ruin somebody else’s day?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Dead Boy.

He dropped me another heavy wink, with his heavily mascaraed eye, and swaggered away. Dead Boy didn’t care what I was doing here. He just thought it was funny. Being dead for so long has given him an odd sense of humour. I wasn’t sure whether having his support felt comforting or not. I watched him latch on to a waiter with a new tray of party snacks, and launch himself in hot pursuit. Dead Boy had the attention span of a goldfish swimming in a bowl of liquid LSD. I sighed quietly again, and wondered what else could go wrong. I was attracting far more attention than was good for me. In fact, I was starting to wonder whether I should just leave the Ballroom and start bullying hotel staff until one of them told me where the Lazarus Stone was.

And then I spotted a face I knew, deep in the milling crowd. A face I recognised immediately, that I had thought never to see again. My heart hammered painfully in my chest, and I had trouble getting my breath. A tall, distinguished figure in a formal tuxedo moved easily through the crowd. He looked exactly like my uncle James. My late uncle James, the legendary Grey Fox. I hadn’t seen him since he died right in front of me, in Drood Hall, all those years ago. He couldn’t be here. He died. I went to his funeral. Unless . . . somebody had already used the Lazarus Stone.

Unless someone had rewritten History, bringing James back from the dead. But if History had been changed, I wouldn’t still remember the way things used to be . . . would I? I had survived the destruction of the Sceneshifters . . . so I was the only person in the world who still remembered them . . . I plunged forward into the crowd, pushing people out of my way and ignoring their objections, but by the time I got to where I’d seen my uncle James, he wasn’t there any more. I looked quickly about me, while everyone else stuck their noses in the air and made pointed comments about my rudeness, but I couldn’t see Uncle James anywhere.

If he’d ever really been there.

I was seized with an awful sense of urgency, a need to do . . . something. If the Lady Faire, or anyone else, had started using the Lazarus Stone after all these years . . . we were all in real trouble. But deep down, I didn’t believe it. If James’ death had been undone, I wouldn’t still remember him dying. Hell, I probably wouldn’t still be standing here. So whoever it was I saw, it couldn’t have been the Grey Fox. Just someone trying to pass as him. Unless . . . Could Uncle James have pulled off the greatest trick and comeback of his career? Faked his own death, back then? I saw him die, but so had a great many people, down the years, and he’d always bounced back, smiling broadly, refusing to explain how he’d done it. All part of the legend of the Droods’ greatest field agent: the infamous Grey Fox.

But he wouldn’t have done that to me . . . would he?

Or could it be some shape-shifter or face-dancer, pretending to be him? Wearing James’ face to get into the Lady Faire’s Ball, to get to the Lazarus Stone? I smiled coldly behind my security mask. If someone here was hiding behind Uncle James’ reputation, I would have their balls.

I wished Molly was with me, so I could discuss this with her. She would have known what to say, what to do. She always was the professional one.

Then, quite suddenly, everything stopped. The noise broke off as everyone stopped talking. The music stopped and the singer fell silent. Everyone in the Ballroom stood very still. We were all looking at the Lady Faire, standing in the open doors at the far end of the Ballroom, come at last.

She held an effortlessly aristocratic pose, smiling on her gathered guests. Someone started applauding, and everyone joined in. I did too. Just couldn’t help myself. People started cheering, and shouting happily. Some wept, quite openly. The great ice cavern filled with a joyous sound, overwhelming and overpowering. A spontaneous outbreak of good cheer and affectionate tribute. The Lady Faire was here at last, and everyone wanted to show how much they still cared for her. Perhaps the one great affair, or even love, of their troubled lives. The only person who had ever really mattered to them. The Lady Faire smiled graciously about her, accepting it all as her right. Her right of conquest, perhaps.

Everyone was looking at her in the same way, or at the very least, in varieties of the same way. Looks of love and hunger and lust, but more than that . . . They were the looks of a subjugated people, of those who had been touched by the Lady Faire and loved it. Or had been made to love it, by the perfect honey trap. The Baron Frankenstein had done his work well. The Lady Faire was so much more than an ex-lover to these people. She was a living goddess. Male and female and everything in between; they had loved her once and they loved her now, despite themselves. And having finally seen her, I could understand why.

The Lady Faire, that most infamous omnisexual and ladything, the most successful seductress in the history of espionage, the Ice Queen herself . . . was tall and stately and wore a perfectly fitted white tuxedo. Her hair had been shaped and dyed into a perfect re-creation of Jean Harlow’s platinum bombshell. Her face was handsome and striking and beautiful, all at once, with a strong bone structure. She had golden-pupiled eyes, a pointed nose, and pink rosebud lips. Her smile was a practised thing, but charming as all hell. More a man’s smile than a woman’s . . . Shapes and movements inside the white tuxedo suggested a woman’s body, and then a man’s, both and neither and more.

There was no point in even trying to guess her age. She looked perfectly youthful, no more than her twenties. But there was a suggestion of age, of long experience, in her eyes and her smile, in every small movement, and in the grace and elegance that hung about her like a well-worn cloak. Much used, and invisibly mended. You could tell that here was someone who had been around. Who had seen things and done things, some of them awful. Not that she cared, and nothing she would ever apologise for. You just knew, from looking at her. She had a feminine glamour, and a masculine presence. There was nothing androgynous about her. She was quite definitely female. And male. And so much more.

The Lady Faire took your breath away, sweet as cyanide.

She certainly made one hell of a first impression. My torc was burning fiercely at my throat, or I might have fallen under her spell too. She-it was easier to think of her that way, less complicated-was overpoweringly sexual, seductively alluring, without even trying. I could feel the attraction burning off her, like the light that calls moths to throw themselves into the flame and perish. Looking at her was like staring into a spotlight aimed personally at you. And yet . . . there was something else there too. Like a maggot squirming deep in an apple. An almost arachnid revulsion, a bone-deep, soul-deep aversion to something that just shouldn’t exist in the natural world.

Or maybe that was just me. After all, I’ve been around a bit myself.

I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t. I felt the same need, the same hunger, that drew everyone else to the Lady Faire. I fought it, drawing on the strength of my torc, and my armour, and my Drood training. To always be in control, and never the one controlled. I was half tempted to armour up, just so I could hide behind it. I thought of Molly, and all she had come to mean to me, and that helped. What was a living goddess in the face of the wild witch of the woods? There was no room left in my heart for the Lady Faire. But still, I couldn’t look away. I knew the Lady Faire was a honey trap, and a danger to everything I cared about . . . but I was finding it hard to care.

She was just like the legendary Ice Queen. You looked at her, a sliver of her ice entered your eye, and you were hers forever.

Except I was a Drood. A field agent trained to never give in to outside influences. Trained from an early age to be loyal only to Droods. Anything, for the family. I concentrated on my torc, and immediately a tendril of golden armour shot up my neck to form a mask under my security mask. And just like that, I could See the Lady Faire so much more clearly.

No one else could tell, but I could See her pumping out pheromones on an industrial scale. Musk, mating signals, bypassing the conscious mind to appeal directly to the unconscious, affecting people on the most basic, fundamental level. No wonder I’d been having so much trouble thinking clearly. I breathed deeply through my hidden golden mask, and felt my head clear as though a cold wind was rushing through it.

The Lady Faire still looked just as impressive, but also . . . beautiful and horrible. Human and inhuman. As though two sets of impressions were at war with each other. She was still strikingly attractive, but no longer seductive. The brute force of her chemical appeal made her seem more like an Insect Queen than an Ice Queen. I could See cracks in her perfect face, in her practised composure. Age had taken its toll, after all, and she was no longer the great creation she had been.

And just like that, I could remember everything Molly meant to me. I could see her face and hear her voice, and there was no one else in the world I wanted as much as I wanted her.

It was a shock to the soul, to step back from the precipice I’d been ready to leap over. To realise how close I’d come to jumping off that cliff edge along with all the other lemmings. Molly was back, like she’d never been away. I didn’t think I would ever mention this to her. How I’d felt, for those few delirious moments. I felt a certain sense of relief, now that I understood what had been happening to me. It wasn’t all down to the pheromones, to the chemical impulses, but they had definitely got to me. The Baron had put a lot of thought into his creation. The bastard.

The Lady Faire finally got bored just standing there, and strode regally forward into the Ballroom. Her ex-lovers were all still cheering and applauding, trying to outdo one another and catch the Lady Faire’s eye. She moved easily among her conquests, stopping here and there to favour this one and that, by remembering their name. And then she would remember a place or a time or a moment, and everyone hung on her every word and smile and gesture. Great men and women fawned over her openly, competed shamelessly for every glance, and debased themselves just for the chance of a smile. Sometimes she would lay a hand briefly on a shoulder, or caress a face with her fingertips, and the guests so favoured all but swooned.

But the Lady Faire never paused for long, always moving on, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind her. All over again.

No one made any move to touch the Lady Faire. Not, it seemed to me, because it was forbidden; they just didn’t dare. Even with the maddening pheromones hitting these people full blast, she still had complete control over them. I looked carefully around the milling crowd, and even at the farthest edges of the Ballroom, where logic suggested the pheromones wouldn’t even have reached yet, everyone still seemed perfectly dazzled and bewitched. Even so, a phalanx of uniformed security people followed close behind the Lady Faire, keeping an eye on things, clearly ready to slap down anyone who even looked like they were getting out of hand.

I was still thinking on how best to separate her out from her audience so I could grill her on the Lazarus Stone, when the Bride took advantage of the general chaos to come over and join me for a quiet word. While everyone else had all their attention fixed on our hostess. The Bride nodded easily to me, while Springheel Jack hung back a little, ready to see off anyone who looked like they were trying to listen in.

“So,” the Bride said quietly, “do I have the honour of addressing Shaman Bond, or Eddie Drood?”

“Neither,” I said just as quietly. “I’m currently passing as the Winter Palace’s Head of Security. Hence the uniform and mask. Try to look impressed.”

“I thought it must be something like that,” said the Bride. “You do have a tendency to show up at all the most interesting events, whoever you’re being. I didn’t think the Lady Faire was one of your past indiscretions . . .”

“I didn’t think she’d be one of yours,” I said. “Or is it Jack who’s taken a stroll up that very well-worn path?”

“I’ll never tell,” said the Bride. “Not that I have any time for the Lady Faire, you understand. I don’t think anyone outside her enchanted circle has, really. You don’t love the Lady Faire; that’s not what she’s for. Everyone here likes to refer to themselves as ex-lovers, but it’s really just another term for something far more basic. She and I are both creations of the Baron, but she thinks she’s so much more. So much better than the rest of the Spawn of Frankenstein. She never turns up at any of the reunions.”

“Then why are you here?” I said bluntly.

The Bride grinned. “She does throw the very best parties, darling. Wait till we play Twister later.” She leaned in close, to kiss me chastely on the forehead. “Thank you, for all you’ve done for the Frankenstein family. We do not forget our debts.”

She drifted away, accompanied by her faithful Springheel Jack, and they disappeared back into the crowd. I had to grin. Twister . . . a game that should only be played by adults, while drunk. Naked. Greased. And then my smile disappeared as I spotted someone in the crowd who shouldn’t have been there. There was just no way on this earth that the Lady Faire would have lowered herself to sleep with Jumping Jack Flashman. That renowned short-range teleporter, infamous thief, and well-known scumbag. Jumping Jack would have boasted to everyone in the world about it if he’d ever got that lucky.

No, he hadn’t been invited to the Ball. Odds were he was here for the same reason I was: to get his hands on the Lazarus Stone.

He wasn’t exactly in disguise, but he certainly wasn’t looking himself. He’d spent some serious money on some serious clothes, and had dyed his hair bright red. Presumably as a distraction. He was behaving himself for the moment, not picking anyone’s pocket or lifting their jewellery. But I still couldn’t have him here, running loose. Let the Lady Faire realise she had one uninvited guest, and she’d be bound to start looking for others. And once she knew there was a thief in the fold, who knew what kind of security measures she might place around the Lazarus Stone. No, I had to shut Jumping Jack Flashman down fast.

I went back on Tallman’s comm channel, and told his people to very quietly bring all the anti-teleport systems online and isolate the Ballroom. No one in or out until I said otherwise. A brief rush of voices through my earpiece assured me that this was being done. I sent out more instructions, to the security people inside the Ballroom, telling them who to look for. I only needed to mention Jumping Jack Flashman, and immediately men and women in white uniforms locked onto him and started closing in. No one wanted to take any chances with this particular slippery little devil.

The guests realised something was up, and fell back to give the security people room to work. Interestingly, none of the guests looked guilty, or evasive, as though they had something to hide. They all just immediately assumed the security staff must be after someone else. Jumping Jack’s head came up sharply as he spotted the first few security people closing in on him. He sneered at them and tried to teleport out.

The look of shock on his face when he discovered he couldn’t get out of the Ballroom was priceless. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his whole body radiated panic. He flickered in place several times as he tried to force his way past the Ballroom’s shields, but he didn’t go anywhere.

He tried again and again, flickering on and off like an angry light bulb, and then he lost it big time as the security staff closed in. He went jumping back and forth around the Ballroom in a series of short-range teleports, appearing here and there among the guests, who all thought it was great fun. They laughed happily as he appeared and disappeared among them, and yelled his location to the security staff. Of course, by the time any of them got there, he was gone again. Shouts and cries went up everywhere, as Jumping Jack tried to find an exit that hadn’t been blocked off, and the security staff ran themselves ragged trying to keep up.

Once the guests realised they were in no danger from Jumping Jack, they decided it was all just a game and started rooting for the underdog. They cheered Jumping Jack on, and took open delight in not quite getting in the way of the pursuing security people. I looked to the Lady Faire and saw immediately that she wasn’t in the least pleased about what was happening. Her own security people had her pinned up against a wall, so they could surround her. Just in case. Her face and eyes had gone quite cold. If only because Jumping Jack’s appearance had stolen her thunder, and no one was admiring her any more.

I decided I’d better do something before she started looking around for the Head of Security and demand that he Do Something. I still had my armour in place under my white security mask, and I used the strange matter covering my eyes to slow down the passing of Time, so I could follow the teleporting more easily. Slowed right down, a pattern in the jumps quickly became obvious, and it was easy enough for me to figure out where Jumping Jack was going to appear next. He was following a familiar, well-rehearsed pattern, not nearly as random as it seemed. So I just needed to position myself carefully for his next appearance.

I eased my way through the crowd, and no one paid me any attention. They were all having far too much fun watching the security staff race back and forth. And laying down bets on where the teleporter would appear next. Jumping Jack materialised right where I’d calculated, and in the moment after his arrival, while he was still getting his bearings, I grabbed the back of his neck in a nerve pinch and he went out like a light. I caught him before he hit the floor, and looked reproachfully at the dozen or so security staff as they came panting and lurching through the crowd to join me. I handed the unconscious body over to them, and they hauled him away.

I did feel a bit sorry for Jumping Jack. If ever a man was out of his depth . . .

The crowd were all chattering quite happily with each other, enjoying the unexpected excitement. The general feeling was that this was the best Ball the Lady Faire had thrown in a long time. I got on my comm channel again.

“Put the teleporter somewhere safe and very secure,” I growled. “I’ll want to talk to him when he wakes up. Starting with how he got in. So don’t damage him; I need him able to answer questions. You can drop the teleport shields now, but keep your eyes open! This shouldn’t have happened! You people are seriously underperforming! Go check the perimeter; make sure the Winter Palace is secure. And yes, I mean all of you! Go! Go!”

A series of affirmations came quickly through my earpiece, as everyone headed for the farthest parts of the Winter Palace. Hopefully, to keep themselves busy and occupied, so they wouldn’t notice me and Molly going after the Lazarus Stone. Wherever the hell the bloody thing was. It amused me that no one had challenged me yet. Apparently a uniform and a mask will get you anywhere if you just act arrogant enough. I was still congratulating myself on that when I looked up to find the Lady Faire heading straight for me. I felt like running, but I was in the middle of a crowd and a long way from the nearest exit. So I stood my ground, drew myself up, and nodded respectfully, as though there was nothing at all out of the ordinary here, nothing to be worried about.

With anyone else, that would probably have worked.

The Lady Faire planted herself right in front of me, looked at me thoughtfully for a worryingly long moment, and then gestured imperiously for her security people to withdraw. They did so, reluctantly. They’d been well trained to trust absolutely no one. The Lady Faire looked me up and down, and then smiled pleasantly.

“Hello. Who are you?”

I took a deep breath, in spite of myself. She really was very impressive up close, even with my armoured mask filtering out her pheromones. Having the Lady Faire smile directly at you was like taking a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. From a rusty needle. My pulse was racing, and my hands were sweating. My torc burned fiercely at my throat, fighting her influence. The Lady Faire’s proximity was smothering, dizzying. I made myself concentrate on my torc and my training, and just nodded casually to the Lady Faire.

She actually looked surprised, for a moment. She wasn’t used to people not falling immediately under her spell.

“Who am I, my Lady?” I said. “I am Head of Security for the Winter Palace.”

“No, you aren’t,” she said pleasantly. “I chose Burke personally to take charge of my Ball. He’s one of my old conquests. I only have people around me that I know, and know I can trust. Don’t worry, whoever you are. If you’re good enough to get in here without an invitation, and without causing a fuss like the poor fool you just captured, you’re certainly worth talking to. You’re a Drood. I can See your torc. Which is presumably why you’re not as . . . impressed, as most of the people I meet. I find that rather refreshing. One does so crave for something new, as one gets older. So why are you here, Drood? I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset your family recently.”

“This is personal,” I said carefully. “I am Eddie Drood. I’m here because you knew my uncle James.”

“Of course!” said the Lady Faire. “The Grey Fox. A very interesting man. Almost as infamous as me. I was quite sorry to hear of his death.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “I’m almost sure I saw him here, in the crowd, just a few moments ago.”

The Lady Faire shook her magnificent head. “Unlikely. I don’t allow ghosts to hang around. There are just too many of them, and they’re all so clingy . . . I have regular exorcisms performed wherever I go, to clean house. It’s the only way to get any peace. I make an exception for Dead Boy because . . . Well, because you have to. But you didn’t come all this way to pursue a ghost, Eddie Drood. What do you want with me?”

I looked at her thoughtfully. Things were finally working out. “Is there . . . somewhere we could speak privately?”

She looked me over. “Yes. I think so. Come with me, Eddie Drood.”

She led me out of the Ballroom, gesturing for her security people to keep their distance. They glared at me, but didn’t even think of disobeying their Lady’s orders. A great many of the guests looked impressed, or possibly jealous, as the two of us left the Ballroom. Some looked as though they would have liked to warn me . . . And it did worry me that I couldn’t see Molly anywhere at all.