Nightside - Agents of Light and Darkness

      Leo Morn shrugged and grinned, finished his drink, and went to grab his drummer by the collar. His place at the bar was immediately taken by a new arrival, a fat middle-aged man in a crumpled suit. Slobby, sweaty, and furtive, he looked like he should have been standing in a police identification parade somewhere. He smiled widely at Alex, who didn't smile back.
      "A splendid night, Alex! Indeed, a most fortunate night! You're looking well, sir, very well. A glass of your very finest, if you please!"
      Alex folded his arms across his chest. "Tate. Just when I think my day can't get any worse, you turn up. I don't suppose there's any chance of you paying your bar bill, is there?"
      "You wound me, sir! You positively wound me!" Tate tried to look aggrieved. It didn't suit him. He switched to an ingratiating smile. "My impecunious days are over, Alex! As of today, I am astonishingly solvent. I..."
      At which point he was suddenly pushed aside by a tall, cadaverous individual, in a smart tuxedo and a billowing black opera cape. His face was deathly pale, his eyes were a savage crimson, and his mouth was full of sharp teeth. He smelled of grave dirt. He pounded a corpse-pale fist on the bar and glared at Alex.
      "You! Giff me blut! Fresh blut!"
      Alex calmly picked up a nearby soda syphon and let the newcomer have it full in the face. He shrieked loudly as his face dissolved under the jet of water, then he suddenly disappeared, his clothes and cloak slumping to the floor. A large black bat flapped around the bar. Everyone present took the opportunity to throw things at it, until finally it flapped away up the stairs. Alex put down the syphon.
      "Holy soda water," he explained, to the somewhat startled Tate. "I keep it handy for certain cocktails.
      Bloody vampires... that's the third we've had in this week. Must be a convention on again."
      "Put it from your thoughts, dear fellow," Tate said grandly. 'Tonight is your lucky night. All your troubles are over. I will indeed be paying my bar bill, and more than that. Tonight, the drinks are on me!"
      Everyone in the bar perked up their ears at that. They never had any trouble hearing the offer of a free drink, even with King Crimson going full blast. It wasn't something that happened very often. A crowd began to form around the grinning Tate, pleased but somewhat surprised. Frankenstein's creature pushed forward his can for a refill. Alex still hadn't uncrossed his arms.
      "Absolutely no more credit for you, Tate. Let's see the color of your money first."
      Tate looked around him, taking his time, making sure he had everyone's full attention, and produced from inside his jacket a substantial wad of cash. The crowd murmured, impressed. Tate turned back to Alex.
      "I have inherited a fortune, my dear boy. Taylor finally found the missing will, and I have been legally proclaimed the one and only true heir; and I am now so rich I could spit on a Rockefeller."
      "Good," said Alex. He neatly plucked the wad of cash out of Tate's hand, peeled off half of it and gave the rest back. "That should just about cover your tab.
      Hopefully once you've paid Taylor, he'll be able to settle up his bill too."
      "Taylor?" Tate said disdainfully. He gestured grandly with what remained of his wad of cash. "I have creditors of long-standing and exhausted patience waiting to be paid. They come first. Taylor is just hired help. He can take a number, and wait."
      He laughed loudly, inviting everyone else to join him. Instead, everyone went very quiet. Some actually began to back away from him. Alex leaned forward over the bar and gave Tate a hard look.
      "You're planning on stiffing Taylor? Are you tired of living, Tate?"
      The fat man pulled himself up to his full height, but unfortunately he didn't have far to go. He glared at Alex, his mouth pulled into a vicious pout. 'Taylor doesn't scare me!"
      Alex smiled coldly. "He would, if you had the sense God gave a boll weevil."
      He looked past Tate, and nodded a hello. After a moment, everyone else looked round too. And that was when Tate finally turned around, and saw me standing at the foot of the stairs, from where I'd been watching and listening. I started towards the bar, and people who weren't even in my way hurried to get out of it. The crowd around Tate quickly melted away, falling back to what they hoped was a safe distance. Tate stood his ground, chin held high, trying to look unconcerned and failing miserably. I finally came to a halt right in front of him. He was sweating hard. I smiled at him, and he swallowed audibly.
      "Hello, Tate," I said calmly. "Good to see you. You're looking your usual appalling self. I'm pleased to hear the inheritance is everything you thought it would be. I do so love it when a case has a happy ending. Now, you owe me money, Tate. And I really don't feel like waiting."
      "You can't bully me," Tate said hoassly. "I'm rich now. I can afford protection."
      His podgy left hand went to a golden charm bracelet around his right wrist. He grabbed two of the bulky, ugly-looking charms, pulled them free, and threw them onto the floor between us. There was a brief lurch in the bar as a dimensional gateway opened between the worlds and the two charms were replaced by the two creatures they'd summoned. They stood glowering between me and Tate, two huge reptiloid figures with muscles on their muscles and great wedge-shaped heads absolutely bristling with serrated teeth. The reptiloids looked at me, and I looked at them, and then they both turned to look at Tate.
       "He'swhy you called us?" said the one on the left. "You summoned us here to take on John bloody Taylor?Are you crazy?"
      "Right," said the one on the right. "We don't do lost causes."
      And with that, they disappeared back to where they'd come from. Tate tried all the other charms on his bracelet, in increasing desperation, but none of them would budge. I just stood there, looking calm and relaxed and not at all bothered, while my heart slowly returned to its usual rate. Those reptiloids really had been worryingly large ... Sometimes it helps to have a reputation as a dangerous and extremely ruthless bastard. Tate finally gave up on the bracelet and looked, very reluctantly, back at me. I smiled at him, and he seemed very, very upset.
      In the end, he gave me every piece of cash, all his credit cards, all his jewelry, including the charm bracelet, and basically everything else he had on his person. And I let him walk out of the bar alive. He was lucky I let him keep his clothes. I settled down to chat with Alex, and everyone else went back to what they were doing before, vaguely disappointed because there hadn't been any blood.
      Alex poured me a large brandy. "So, John, where are you living these days?"
      "In the real world," I said, deliberately vague. "I commute into the Nightside to work. It's safer."
      "You're not still sleeping in your office, are you?"
      "No, now I'm getting regular work here, I can afford a decent place again." I checked the money I'd taken off Tate. "In fact, it may be time for an upgrade."
      "Stick to the real world," said Alex. "Now you're back on the scene again, there are a lot of people out there looking for you with bad intent in their hearts. Some of them have looked in here. You'd be surprised how much certain people are willing to pay for hard information on where you rest your head. I take their money and give them all different lies."
      "I sleep more soundly in the real world," I admitted. The Harrowing are always out there, somewhere. It was why I'd stayed away from the Nightside for so long.
      "Glad to be back?" said Alex.
      "I don't know yet. It's good to be working again. I do my best work here. It might even be where I belong. But..."
      "Yeah," said Alex. "But. This is the Nightside, the dark side of everyone's dreams." It was hard to tell past the sunglasses, but there was an expression on his face that in anyone else I would have said was concern. "Word is, a lot of people want you dead, John. Lotof people. You know . . . you're always welcome to crash here, for a while. If you need a place. Somewhere you could feel safe."
      "Thanks," I said. I was touched, but knew better than to show it. It would only embarrass him. "I'll bear it in mind. So, what's new?"
      Alex considered. "Surprisingly, not a lot. Jessica Sorrow, of course, but you know about that. Don't know if it's connected, but a lot of the usual players have dropped out of sight just recently. Keeping then-heads down and hoping not to be noticed. Or it could be connected with the latest hot rumor, which is that angels have come to the Nightside."
      I had to raise an eyebrow at that. "Angels? Really?"
      "From Above and Below, apparently. No-one's reported any actual sightings as yet. Probably because no-one's too sure what to look for. It's been a long time since any angel manifested in the material worlds. Demons, yes, but they're not in the same league as the Fallen ..."
      "I encountered ... something, at St. Jude's," I said thoughtfully. "Something very nearly as upsetting as the Unbeliever herself... Angels in the Nightside ... That's got to be a Sign. Of something.
      "They'd better watch their step around here," Alex said briskly. "Some of the scumbags in this locale will steal anything that isn't actually nailed down, electrified, or cursed. Wouldn't surprise me if I looked out of here one morning and found St. Michael himself propped up on bricks with his wings missing."
      I looked at him thoughtfully. "You don't know much about angels, do you, Alex?"
      "I do my best to steer clear of moral absolutes," said Alex. "They tend not to approve of establishments like this. And they leave lousy tips."
      He didn't mention his own ancestry. He didn't have to. Alex is famously descended from Arthur Pendragon on one side, and Merlin Satanspawn on the other. Merlin himself was buried somewhere under the wine cellar. He still manifested on occasion, to lay down the law and scare the crap out of everyone. Being dead doesn't necessarily stop you being a major player in the Nightside.
      "Forget all your usual notions about angels," I said patiently. "All the usual images of angels as nice guys with wings, long nighties, and a harp fixation. Angels are God's enforcers, his Will made manifest in the world of men. The spiritual equivalent of the SAS. When God wants a city destroyed, or the firstborn of a whole generation slaughtered, he sends an angel. When the Day of Judgement finally comes, and the world is brought to an end, it will be the angels who do all the dirty work. They are powerful, implacable beings. I don't even want to talk about the Fallen kind."
      And then there was a voice behind me. Polite, well-spoken, and tinged with an accent I couldn't place.
      "Excuse me, please. Would you be John Taylor?"
      I took my time turning around, careful not to look startled, even though my heart had just missed a beat. There aren't many people capable of catching me by surprise. I pride myself on being very hard to sneak up on. In the Nightside, that's a survival skill.
      Standing before me was a short, stocky type with a dark complexion, kind eyes, and jet-black hair an beard, both carefully shaped. He was wearing a long flowing coat of a very expensive cut.
      "I might be," I said. "Depends. Who might you be?"
      "I am Jude."
      "Hey, Jude."
      He frowned slightly. It was clear he didn't get the reference. I smiled patiently.
      "I'm Taylor. What can I do for you, Jude?"
      He glanced at Alex, then took in the other beings lining the bar, all pretending not to listen with varying amounts of skill. Jude turned back and met my gaze steadily. "If we could talk in a private place, Mr. Taylor. I have a commission for you. It pays very well."
      "You just said the magic words, Jude. Step into my office."
      I led him to one of the private booths at the back of the bar, and we sat down facing each other across the table. Jude gazed around the bar. It was clear this was all unknown territory to him. He didn't look like the kind of person you'd find in a bar, though on the other hand I wasn't sure where I would place him. There was something about the man... He didn't fit any of the usual patterns. He looked like someone with secrets. He fixed me again with those warm brown eyes, as though willing me to like him, and leaned forward across the table to address me, his voice low and confidential.
      "I represent the Vatican, Mr. Taylor. The Holy Father wishes you to find something for him."
      "The Pope wants to hire me? What happened? Somebody steal his ring?"
      "Nothing so trivial, Mr. Taylor."
      "Why didn't he send a priest?"
      "He did. I'm ... undercover." He glanced around the bar again, and didn't seem at all pleased or comfortable with what he saw. It wasn't so much that he looked judgemental, more ... mystified, and perhaps even uneasy. He looked back at me and smiled almost shyly. "I don't get out much, these days. It's been a long time since I was out in the world. I was chosen to approach you because I have . . . some special knowledge of the missing item. You see, normally I'm in charge of the Forbidden Library at the Vatican. The secret, hidden chambers underground, where the Church stores texts too dangerous or too disturbing for most people."
      "Like the Gospel According to Pilate?" I couldn't help showing off a little. "The translation of the Voynich Manuscript? The Testimony of Grendel Rex?"
      Jude nodded slightly, giving nothing away. "Things like that, yes. I am here because an object of great power has suddenly resurfaced in the world, after being missing for centuries. And, of course, it has turned up here in the Nightside."
      It was my turn to nod and look thoughtful. "This object of power must be something really important, if the Vatican's getting personally involved. Or ... something really dangerous. What exactly are we talking about here?"
      "The Unholy Grail. The cup that Judas drank from at the Last Supper."
      That stopped me in my tracks. I had to sit back in my chair and consider that for a few moments. "I never heard... of an Unholy Grail."
      "Not many have," said Jude. "Luckily for us all. The Unholy Grail magnifies all evil by its presence, encourages and accelerates evil trends and events, and utterly corrupts all who come into contact with it. It is also a source of great power... It's passed from hand to hand down the centuries, previous owners are said to include Torquemada, Rasputin, and Adolf Hitler. Though if Hitler had possessed all the mystical items rumor has gifted him with, he wouldn't have lost the war. Anyway, the Unholy Grail is currently on the loose and up for grabs, somewhere in the Nightside."
      I felt like whistling loudly, impressed, but I didn't. I had a reputation to maintain. "No wonder there are angels in the Nightside."
      "Already?" Jude leaned forward sharply. His eyes didn't look kind any more. "Are you sure?"
      "No," I said calmly. "So far it's only talk. But the word is, we have visitors from Above and Below."
      "Shit," said Jude, startling me just a bit. You don't expect language like that from a priest and librarian.
      "Mr. Taylor, it's imperative you locate the Unholy Grail for us, before agents of the Lord or the Enemy become directly involved. Make no mistake, if agents of the Principalities go to war here, they could level the Nightside."
      "If the Unholy Grail is here, I can find it," I said, giving Jude my best confident smile. He didn't seem impressed or reassured.
      "It won't be easy, Mr. Taylor. Even with your famous talent. A lot of people are going to be searching for the Unholy Grail, for all manner of good and bad reasons. And in the wrong hands, its power could conceivably upset the balance between Above and Below. The Last Days could come early, and we're not nearly ready yet."
      "So if the angels don't destroy the Nightside, whoever gets to the Unholy Grail first could do the job too? Wonderful. I just love working under pressure."
      "But you'll take the commission?"
      "I can find anything. It's what I do. That is why you came to me, isn't it?"
      "You came highly recommended," said Jude. "Though for the sake of your ego, I don't think I'll say by whom. Now, the Unholy Grail was being kept in the House of Blue Lights, one of the hidden complexes deep under the Pentagon. But a guard somehow got past all the defenses and protections, and smuggled it out. He couldn't hang on to it, of course, the poor fool. It had just used him to escape."
      I remembered the man in black at St. Jude's, and what had happened to him. The awful voice(s) had mentioned a Grail. But I didn't say anything. I had no reason to keep things from Jude, but I still wasn't ready to trust him entirely either. I was pretty sure he was keeping things from me.
      "If it's here, I can find it," I said flatly. "But I'm not so sure I should turn it over to the Vatican. Your reputation's taken a series of knocks recently. Everything from banking to the Ratlines."
      "The Unholy Grail would go straight from me to the Holy Father," Jude said earnestly. "And he would ensure it would be locked away and properly contained. Until the End of Time, if necessary. If you can't trust the Pope to do the right thing, Mr. Taylor, whom can you trust?"
      "Good question," I said. I wasn't convinced, and he could tell. He thought for a moment.
      "We only want to preserve the status quo, Mr. Taylor. Because Humanity isn't ready yet for any of the alternatives. I have been authorized to offer you a quarter of a million pounds. In cash. Fifty thousand in advance."
      He placed a stuffed envelope on the table between us. I didn't touch it, though my fingers were itching to. A quarter of a bloody million?
      "Danger money?"
      "Quite," said Jude. "You'll get the rest when you place the Unholy Grail in my hands."
      "Sounds good to me," I said. I picked up the envelope and tucked it away, giving Jude my best confident smile. "You've got yourself a deal, Jude."
      And then we both looked up as three large gentlemen loomed over us. They took up positions standing as close as they could get without actually joining us in the booth. I'd heard them coming, but hadn't said anything because I didn't want Jude distracted while he was talking about money. The three gentlemen glared at us both impartially. They were the best-dressed thugs I'd seen in some time, but the attitude gave them away. They might as well have been wearing I am a mafioso hit manT-shirts. They looked slick and heavy and dangerous, and each of them had a gun. All three were professionally calm, forming a semicircle to cover both me and Jude, while efficiently blocking us off from the rest of the bar. No-one could see what was happening, and we wouldn't be allowed to shout for help. Not that I had any intention of doing so. The largest of the three gunmen flashed me a humorless smile.
      "Forget the pew-polisher, Taylor. From now on, you're working for us."
      I considered the matter. "And if I prefer not to?"
      The gunman shrugged. "You can find the Unholy Grail for us, or you can die. Right here, right now. Your choice."
      I smiled nastily at him, and to his credit he didn't flinch. "Your guns aren't loaded," I said.
      The three gunmen looked at each other, confused. I held up my closed hands, opened them, and let a stream of bullets fall out to clatter loudly on the table-top. They pulled the triggers on their guns, and looked very upset when nothing happened.
      "I think you should leave now," I said. "Before I decide to do something similar with your internal organs."
      They put away their guns and left, not quite running. I smiled apologetically at Jude. "Boys will be boys. You leave the matter with me, and I'll see what I can turn up."
      "Soon, please, Mr. Taylor," said Jude. He fixed me with his deep brown eyes, positively radiating sincerity and earnestness. On anyone else, it would probably have worked. "We're all running out of time."
      He rose to his feet, and I got up too. "How will I find you, when I have something to report?"
      "You won't," he said calmly. "I'll find you."
      He walked off through the bar, not looking back. Interestingly enough, people moved to get out of his way without even seeming to notice they were doing it. There was more to Jude than met the eye. Mind you, there would have to be. The Vatican wouldn't send just anybody into the Nightside. I went back to Alex, who was refilling the hand in the top hat's glass. Frankenstein's creature was moodily tightening the stitches in his left wrist. Alex nodded to me.
      "Got yourself a new client?"
      "Looks like it."
      "Interesting case?"
      "Well, different, anyway. I think I'm going to need Suzie's help for this one."
      "Ah," said Alex. "One of thosecases."
      There was a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, a billowing of dark sulphurous smoke, and a sorcerer appeared at the bar right next to me. He wore dark purple robes and the traditional pointy hat. He was tall, dark, and imposing, with long black fingernails, a neat goatee, and piercing eyes. He gestured dramatically at me, while fixing me with a ferocious glare.
      'Taylor! Find the Unholy Grail for me, or suffer an eternity of my wrath!"
      While the sorcerer's attention was fixed on me, Alex calmly produced a heavy bung-starter from behind the bar. He plucked off the sorcerer's tall pointy hat and hit him over the head with the bung-starter. The sorcerer yelped once, and collapsed. Alex raised his voice.
      "Lucy! Betty! Time to take out the trash!"
      Lucy and Betty Coltrane, Alex's body-building bouncers, arrived and cheerfully hauled away the unconscious sorcerer. Alex glared at me.
      "Unholy Grail?"
      'Trust me, Alex. You really don't want to know."
      He sighed. 'Taylor, get out of here. You're bad for business."

Three - Meetings in Dark Place

      The long and narrow alleyway outside Strangefellows was as dark, gloomy, and filthy dirty as always. The heavy blue light from the huge moon hanging overhead gave the cobbled alley a bleak, sinister air, like the uneasy streets we walk in our dreams, and never to anywhere good. Business as usual, in the Nightside. I headed for the bright city lights at the end of the alley, picking my way carefully through the rubbish littering the way. There were severed hands everywhere, and not a few feet, all hard as ice and dusted with hoarfrost. The Little Sisters of the Immaculate Chainsaw had been busy tonight. The Christmas season must be starting early this year.
      A figure appeared suddenly at the far end of the alley, standing silhouetted against the glaring neon, and I stopped dead in my tracks. For a moment my heart slammed painfully against my chest, and I forgot how to breathe. The last time I'd walked down this alley, I'd been ambushed by my enemies. The faceless horrors of the Harrowing had come for me, and I'd only escaped with the help of my old friend Razor Eddie. Of course, he'd been the one who set me up for the ambush; but that's friends for you, in the Nightside.
      But this time there was only the one figure, with a distinctly female silhouette, and as she started down the dark alleyway towards me, a soft golden glow appeared around her, lighting her way. She was exceedingly blonde and pretty, and almost overpoweringly voluptuous, moving with easy grace in her own pool of light. Marilyn Monroe, in her glorious prime, in her iconic white halter dress. Not a look-alike or a double, but indisputably the real thing, wrapped in glamour, bursting with life and laughter, just like in her films. Sweet and sexy Marilyn, walking in her own spotlight.
      She came to a halt before me, and smiled dazzlingly. She smelted of sex and sweat and sandal-wood, of roses and rot, and though her smile was a inviting as ever, there was no matching warmth in her eyes.
      "Hello, sugar," she said, in a voice like a caress. "I'm so glad I found you. I've got a message for you."
      "That's nice," I said, carefully non-committal.
      She laughed her famous laugh, wrinkled her nose at me, and handed me a long white envelope with the tips of her fingers. "This is for you, sweetie. Inside the envelope, there's a blank check! Signed by Mr. Hughes himself. He wants the Unholy Grail for his collection. All you have to do is find it for him, and you can fill in the check for whatever amount you like. Isn't that generous of him?"
      "Pardon me for asking?" I said. "But aren't you dead?"
      She laughed huskily and tossed her head. Her wavy hair moved in slow sensuous waves. Being bathed in the glow of her open sexuality was like staring into a blast furnace.
      "Oh, that wasn't me. Howard looks after his friends."
      "I rather thought he was dead too."
      "Men that rich don't die, sugar. Not if they don't want to. They just move to another plane, for tax reasons. He's mixing with some really powerful people these days."
      "People?"
      "Loosely speaking."
      I weighed the envelope in my hands thoughtfully. I'd never been offered a blank check before. I was tempted. But... I smiled regretfully at Marilyn.
      "Sorry, dear. I already have a client. I'm spoken for."
      "I'm sure Mr. Hughes can match any offer..."
      "It isn't the money. I gave my word."
      "Oh. Are you sure ... I couldn't do anything to persuade you?"
      She took a deep breath, and her breasts seemed to surge towards me. I was finding it hard to breath "I'm probably going to hate myself in the morning," I said finally, "but I have to say no. My services are for sale, but I'm not."
      She pouted at me with her luscious mouth. "Everyone has their price, darling. We just haven't found yours yet."
      "I'm always loyal to my client," I said. "It's all the honor I have left."
      "Honor," said Marilyn, wrinkling her nose again. "See how far that gets you, in the Nightside. See you again, sugar. Boop boop de boop."
      She blew me a kiss, turned elegantly on her left high heel, and strode off down the alley. Her shoes made no sound on the cobbles. She walked in glamour, still in her own spotlight, like the star she was. I watched her disappear back into the neon noir of the city streets, and only then looked down at the envelope in my hand. My first impulse was to tear it up, but wiser thoughts prevailed, and I put it carefully in my inside coat pocket. You never knew when a check with Howard Hughes's signature on it might come in handy.
      I looked around for a dark doorway. They tended to come and go, but you could always rely on a few, this close to Strangefellows. I walked over to the nearest, kicked a few hands aside, and sat down cross-legged. No-one would disturb me here, and I had work to do. If one major player already knew I was on the trail of the Unholy Grail, then it was a safe bet everyone knew. Or at least, everyone that mattered. They'd all be looking for me, and the people they'd send wouldn't all be as pleasant and polite as Marilyn. This was the kind of treasure hunt that started serious turf wars. And the last thing I needed was the Authorities getting involved. No, I needed to get my hands on the Unholy Grail as quickly as possible, and that meant using my gift. I'm always reluctant to do that, because when I use my special talent, my mind blazes like a beacon in the darkness of the Nightside, signaling to all my enemies exactly where I am. But it's my gift that makes me what I am, that enables me to be so very good at what I do.
      My gift. I can find anything, or anyone. No matter how well hidden they are.
      So I sat there in the deep dark shadows, my back pressed against the wall, breathed deeply, and close my eyes, concentrating. And opened the eye deep in my mind; my third eye, my private eye. Energies swirled within me, rough and roaring, then flowed out of me, rushing off in all directions, lighting up the night so I could See everything. The thunder of a million voices descended upon me, not all of them in any way human, and I had to struggle to focus, to narrow my vision to the one thing I was searching for. The bedlam died away, and already I could begin to sense a direction, and the beginnings of distance. And then Something reached down out of the over-world, snatched my mind right out of my body, and bore it away. There was a sensation that might have been flying or falling, as the alley and the material world disappeared. And I was somewhere else.
      This time, it was my turn to stand in the spotlight. A light stabbed down from somewhere above me, brilliant and blinding, holding me in place like a bug transfixed on a pin. I felt horribly naked and exposed, as though the light showed up everything inside me, the good and the bad. All around me there was only darkness, a deep concealing darkness, and somehow I could tell it was there to protect me, because I was not worthy or strong enough to see what lay beyond my small pool of light. But I could sense that I was not alone, that to either side of me there were vast and powerful presences, two great armies assembled on an endless unseen plain. There was a feeling of restless movement, and what might have been the fluttering and flapping of wings. My mind, or more likely my soul, had been hijacked. Brought into the over-world, the boundaries of the immaterial. The over-world wasn't Heaven or Hell, but it was said you could see them both from there.
      A voice spoke to me from one side, and it was a harmony of many voices, like a crowd chanting in syncopation, a choir that sang only in descants. My skin crawled at the sound of it. I'd heard such a voice before, in St. Jude's. It was a powerful, imperious voice, steeped in ancient, unanswerable authority.