Darren Shan - Procession of the dead

I checked in at reception and passed over my shoes. There were bottles of foot deodorant for those who were feeling the effects of the heat but mine were fresh from the shower. I was in loads of time-thirty minutes too early-and waiting for the elevator to arrive when I noticed the door to the stairs. I'd been in the building a lot since my first night, dealing with the administrative heart of The Cardinal's empire. In the beginning I'd had to come for new papers, official forms and ID cards to legitimize me (I must have left my own papers behind when I came to the city). I'd also done a lot of business here, making use of the building's enormous records rooms-spread over eight floors-which were the most comprehensive in the city, with files on everyone who was anyone, as well as lots of people who were nobody. Access was limited and I was allowed on only three of the floors, but the amount of paper I'd encountered was incredible, enough to account for a rain forest or two. The Cardinal didn't believe in transferring his files to computer-hacking was too easy and the risk involved far outweighed the benefits.

In all my visits I'd never used the stairs. There was no need, when the building was equipped with a fine array of efficient elevators. But I was feeling brisk after my exercise earlier in the day. The thought of jogging up fifteen flights appealed to me. It would waste some of the time and I could slip into a toilet up there and dab under my armpits to get rid of the sweat it would draw.

The staircase was dimly lit, the darkest place in the otherwise luminescent building. I didn't encounter a soul until the eleventh floor. People simply didn't use the stairs, even if they were only going up or down a flight. It wasn't so much general laziness, more the decree of The Cardinal, which said that in his building, on his time, you better damn well get to where you were going in a hurry.

Somewhere around the seventh floor I began to think about the woman again. I slowed, narrowed my eyes, and got my best picture of her yet. I saw her in a variety of situations and poses, each segueing into another after a few seconds. She was in a kitchen, over a barbecue, serving a tennis ball, kissing me, lying by an open fire with a chessboard before her and no clothes on, driving a car, making love (I guessed to me), tossing a pancake, nervously twisting her wedding ring, watering flowers, laughing-laughing a lot of the time.

Whoever she was, real or a phantom of my imagination, she liked to laugh. A genuinely happy person, lines around her eyes and mouth from smiling so much. Every time her lips lifted, my chest constricted a notch, as if I was in love with her. I couldn't understand it. Why should I feel so strongly about a dream woman?

I tried recalling past girlfriends. Maybe she was one of them, one I'd forgotten, or a conglomerate, my ideal woman pieced together from all of those I'd loved and left behind. I moved even more slowly, almost coming to a bemused stop.

I couldn't remember them.

My girlfriends and previous lovers. I could recall many since coming to the city but before that, nada. I was drawing a blank again, the blank I'd been noticing more and more these last few months. There were gaps in my memory. I must have had girlfriends before I came to the city but I couldn't remember any of them. Hell, it was hard enough for me to remember what my parents looked li-

With a sickening lurch I stopped short on the eleventh floor. I couldn't remember! My mother, my father… Did I have brothers or sisters? I didn't know! Everything was a blank. Every day, every face, everybody I may or may not have known before I stepped off the…

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman above me. I wouldn't have bothered with her if she'd been moving normally, coming down loud and clear like a person with nothing to hide. But she was skulking, sneaking down the stairs. When she saw me, she stopped and tried to slip back into the shadows. Ironically, it was this attempt to conceal herself which alerted me to her presence.

She froze when I looked up. She was clad in black. As I stared, moving up a step for a better look, she resigned herself and came out of the shadows, affording me a proper look. She was tall, maybe my own height, long legs angling up to wide hips, narrowing to a trim waist, building up to what looked like a nice pair of breasts. She had a long face, not beautiful by any standards. Quite dark skin, though that might have been a trick of the dim light. A triangular chin, ears hidden by a long mane of black hair. I felt myself hardening as I looked her over and it took an effort to focus on the business at hand.

"What are you doing?" I asked sharply. She obviously wasn't here on legitimate business. But how had she entered the building? I had thought Party Central was impenetrable. "Who are you?" I let my right hand travel to the small of my back, giving the impression-I hoped-that I was carrying a weapon. "What's your name? Why are you-"

I stopped. She'd moved forward and was eyeing me intently, head bent to one side. Her face creased, as though she knew but couldn't place me. Then, with a sexy grin that disarmed me completely, she brought her hands to her hips, undid her buttons and wriggled out of her trousers.

My hand fell away from my imaginary gun. She was wearing large, white panties. Nothing sexy about her choice of underwear but I didn't have long to look at them, because seconds later they'd joined the trousers in a heap at her feet.

She moved down the stairs, her dark pubic hair the only thing my eyes could fix on. She probably had a knife but I didn't care. I was like a man hypnotized.

She stopped four steps above me. "Hey," she said softly. I tore my eyes away and looked up. She licked her lips and fell on me.

We went down instantly, kissing and tearing. My hands grabbed her breasts, then pushed down her body. She bit my neck hard. Found my zipper with her hands, ripped it open. Her fingers were cold as she pulled me toward her, urging me on (like I needed any urging!).

We rutted like cats. Rolled across the stairs to the wall, where we found our feet. I pushed her up against it, then she reversed our positions. Down again a few thrusts later. I'd never fucked so wildly. I freed one of her breasts and moaned as I sucked. I climaxed but kept pounding, still hard. She clutched me closer and bit my ear, muttering obscenities. Neither of us wanted to stop. Neither of us could. Until-

Suddenly I rolled off, breathing hard. I was dizzy and had to give my head time to clear. When I looked at her again she was sitting up, shaking her head, one hand on her knee, the other touching her groin softly. She grinned shakily, stood and pulled on her panties and trousers. Blew a kiss to me and left without a word.

I lay there like a fool and watched her go. She might have left a bomb in the building but that didn't matter. I could no more have stopped her than I could have stepped off the roof of Party Central and flown.

After a while I rose in a daze and buttoned up. I checked my watch-I still had time. The romp had only lasted a few minutes. I hurried to a washroom and cleaned up. And then, red-faced and breathing raggedly, I went to see The Cardinal.

There were several people waiting outside his office. They were from every social stratum, dressed in suits, rags, even clerical garb. The receptionist waved me past the lot. They stared jealously as I walked by, eyes smoldering.

The Cardinal was playing with his puppets when I entered, squatting behind a small table. There was a white sheet of cloth stretched across the front, lit from behind by a bright bulb. The Cardinal had two stick puppets mounted on the ends of long rods, which he pressed against the sheet and jigged about, so from the front it looked as though they were freestanding shadows.