Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“Destruction?” I said.

“You say the nicest things, sweetie. I never met the Lady Faire because I never got invited to those sorts of parties. I’m a simple girl at heart. I couldn’t even tell you what she looks like . . .”

“I should have asked the Armourer for a photo, before I left,” I said. “I don’t know much more than the legend, myself.”

“There might not be any photos,” said Molly. “If she’s as secretive as everyone says.”

“Oh, there’s bound to be one somewhere,” I said. “My family has files on everyone who is anyone.”

“And yet they’re saying they don’t know where she is right now?”

“I think it’s more . . . they don’t want to know.”

“Ah,” Molly said wisely. “There’s a story there. I can smell it.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said.

I had told her about Uncle James, but neither of us mentioned him. Of such small concessions and agreements are relationships made.

“The Lady Faire does get around,” said Molly. “According to the stories, barroom gossip, and general character assassination I’ve heard . . . she’s set up shop in every major city on the planet at one time or another. Chasing the Intelligence community from one hotspot to another, like the glamorous little parasite she is. And even to a few dark and disturbing neighbourhoods that aren’t on any official map. The Lady Faire goes where the action is. She was the toast of San Francisco society through most of the Seventies, and Queen of the Night in Bangkok in the Nineties. And you don’t even want to know what she got up to in the Nightside, for almost two years.”

“I know what she got up to in Soho, in the Sixties,” I said. “I was the Drood field agent in London for several years, remember. And they were still telling stories about her conquests and exploits, some fifty years after she left. Most of which I prefer not to believe, for my own peace of mind.”

“Believe them all,” said Molly. “Especially the really bad ones. Because they’re the ones she’s most proud of. I used to be a real party animal, back in the day . . . But the word was and is that no one can party like the Lady Faire.”

I frowned. “She’d been around for quite a while, even before Soho in the Sixties . . . So how old do you suppose she is?”

“She’s one of the Baron Frankenstein’s creations,” said Molly, shrugging. “She could be alive, or dead, or any number of states in between.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But where do we look for her now? Where can we go where they’d know?”

“The Wulfshead,” said Molly. “They always know the very best gossip. And I could use a drink.”

“Never knew you when you couldn’t,” I said. “But I was just there, remember? They’ve got their own problems, cleaning up after the MI 13 intrusion. I doubt there’ll be many patrons around for a while.”

“Strangefellows!” said Molly, clapping her hands together delightedly. “Everyone goes to Strangefellows!”

“Only because no one else will have them,” I said. “I keep telling you: Droods can’t go into the Nightside. And I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Why not?” said Molly, immediately bristling. “I can look after myself!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,” I said. “But you are just a little bit too prone to temptation and getting distracted, in the Nightside.”

“Well, yes,” said Molly. “That’s what it’s for . . . But there are a great many powerful and determined people and organisations looking for us right this minute. And the Nightside is the one sanctuary and neutral ground that everybody recognises.”

“I can’t go in as a Drood,” I said. “People would notice. And the whole point of our current situation is that we don’t want to be noticed. By anyone. Not until we’ve got our hands on the Lazarus Stone, and got my parents back safely.”

Molly pouted sulkily. “You could always go in as Shaman Bond.”

“No, I couldn’t,” I said. “They’d know.”

“You’re right,” said Molly. “They would. It’s the Nightside.”

“Wherever we go, someone is bound to recognise one or both of us,” I said. “Shaman Bond’s reputation might be smaller than yours, but it’s just as widespread. And no matter how fast an in and out we make it, word will get back to my family, and they’ll come after us. Along with all the other organisations in our line of work, everyone from the London Knights to the Soulhunters. I’m not sure it’s safe for us to show our faces anywhere.”

Molly smiled, and rested her head against my shoulder. “Takes you back, doesn’t it? To when you and I first got together? On the run from everyone, with the whole world at our backs and at our throats?”

“Only you could get nostalgic about that part of our lives,” I said. “I really hoped we’d put that behind us. I’m not built for running. No, we need a plan. And for that, we need information. And for that we need . . . the OverNet.”

“Oh bloody hell,” said Molly, stepping away from me and looking down her nose in disgust. “Really?”

The OverNet is the dark, shadowy side of the Internet, a secret overlay unsuspected by even the fiercest hackers, dealing exclusively with supernatural and super-science matters. The kind of sites even the most feral conspiracy nuts have never dreamed actually existed. All the information on the hidden world is there, somewhere, on the OverNet. If you can find it, if you can find your way in, and if you can get back out again with your mind and your soul still attached. An endless repository of strange facts, unnatural gossip, and really secret shit, everything you ever wanted to know that most people have enough sense to leave strictly alone.

“The OverNet can be very useful,” Molly said carefully, in her best tactful tone, “but it’s not exactly reliable , now is it? I mean, a lot of it is just nasty people, and other things, dishing the dirt on one another.”

“I know,” I said, “But it is a very good place to ask questions. Someone will know something about the Lady Faire, or point us in the direction of someone who does. It’s the best place to start. Now, I can’t log on through any of my usual Drood connections, and even the most secure underground cybercafes won’t be safe for us, under current conditions. I can’t even use the computer in my London flat; the family will be looking up all my known addresses and setting people to watch for us. The Voice said no talking to my family. I think I’ve already pushed that as far as I dare.”

“We could always go back to my old place in Ladbrook Grove,” said Molly. “I sublet it to myself, under an assumed identity, just in case I ever needed to go back. Or one of my sisters needed somewhere to crash in a hurry. Because I didn’t want them staying with us. There’s a Door here in the wild woods that will take us right there.”

“No,” I said. “We can’t do that. My family has that address on file; it’s how I found you in the first place. They’re bound to have the place staked out by now.”

“Hold everything, hit the brake, go previous,” said Molly, just a bit dangerously. “Your family has a file on me?”

“Of course,” I said. “We keep files on everyone who is anyone.”

“But I’m almost a part of your family now! I’m with you!”

“We keep files on everyone. Especially members of the family.”

“Droods are weird,” said Molly.

“Why do you think I left, first chance I got?”

“All right, where do you think we should go?”

“I think we need to go to one of my underground safe houses,” I said. “One of my off-the-map and under-the-radar addresses that aren’t in any file. Very secure bolt-holes that I maintain just for occasions like this. When I don’t want anyone to know where I am, very definitely including my family.”