Night Terrors (21 page)

She let out a hissing laugh, although I couldn’t tell where it came from, since she didn’t have a mouth. Not one I could see, anyway.

“Call me Coilsss,” she said. “And I’ve got what you need. For a reasonable prissse, of courssse.” She laughed again.

I’ve never been especially afraid of snakes, and I’d gotten used to seeing all kinds of grotesque beings in Nod, but I found Coils to be more than a bit unnerving. It wasn’t just her appearance – although that was bad enough. It was the way the separate serpents that comprised her form were in continuous movement, muscles expanding and contracting, bodies rippling and stretching. The effect was as repulsive as it was mesmerizing.

I tried to put up a tough façade. “I don’t see you holding any rev, and it doesn’t look like you have any pockets.”

Another hissing laugh.

“I’ve got something better than pocketsss. I’ve got a medisssine chessst.”

The coils covering her chest pulled back to reveal a cavity filled with various drugs: tinglies, stunners, mem, jump juice vials, and – hallelujah! – rev inhalers. Three, to be precise, and the only reason I didn’t reach into her chest and grab all three was the knowledge that her coils would close around my hand the instant I tried it, catching me fast. Her snake-head fingers would then be on me before I could free myself. And were they venomous? I didn’t want to find out.

“How much for the rev?” I asked.

All pretense of sounding tough or cool was gone. I sounded desperate and eager, and although I hated myself for it, it didn’t matter. Not as long as I got some rev. Then one puff on the inhaler, and my strength and energy would come flooding back. I’d be able to think straight again, and I could come up with a plan for finding Jinx. Just. One. Hit.

“Twenty yooniesss,” Coils said. “But ssseeing asss how you’re in a bad way – not to menssshun you being an offissser and all, I can let you have one for sssixxteen yooniesss. You won’t find rev in the Pit for lesss than that!”

That wasn’t true. I knew I could find it for fourteen, maybe even twelve yoonies. But I was in no condition to shop around, and Coils knew it. Unfortunately, I had no coins on me. I almost wished I hadn’t used the yoonie I’d found in the alley against the Fader, not that one coin would do me any good now.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m tapped out.”

Coils said nothing for a moment. Then, “You’re an offissser. You could alwaysss threaten to haul me to the Rookery for ssselling illegal drugsss, unlesss I give you freebie.”

Now it was my turn to be silent. My mouth was dry, and I trembled all over.

“How about I jussst give you a freebie, and you’ll owe me a favor sssomeday?”

I wanted the rev.
Needed
it. But I hesitated. Maybe it was because I could finally admit to myself that Sanderson had been right. I wasn’t a machine. I needed rest, even if I didn’t need sleep. Maybe it was because I’d used the last shot of rev I had to hurt my partner. Or maybe it was because I imagined the disappointment in Day Jinx’s eyes if he ever learned what I’d done to try and save him.

“I… never mind. Thanks anyway.”

I turned and started walking away from Coils. She didn’t say anything as I departed, didn’t urge me to come back, didn’t curse me for wasting her time. All she did was laugh that hissing laugh of hers, and all I did was keep walking.

 

I needed a way to locate Jinx – or at least those who’d taken him. But my tired brain refused to cough up any ideas. I was about to turn around, go find Coils, and attempt to beg some rev off her, despite my earlier decision not to, but then a neon sign caught my eye, and I forgot about the drug. The sign said EAT ME, each letter a different bright color, and I smiled. I’d been so fuzzy-headed that I hadn’t realized I’d gone this far into the Cesspit, but I was grateful I had. With any luck, I’d just stumbled across someone who could help me.

The sign hung above an open doorway. No windows, though. Most buildings in the Pit don’t have them. Given the level of violence in that section of the city, windows wouldn’t last long, so most business owners don’t bother with them.

I started toward the doorway, but before I could enter, an Incubus stepped out. His face resembled that of a distorted hairless rat with bulging red eyes and a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth. He was dressed in a top hat and tails, with room for his fleshy tail to stick out. He wore no shoes, and the claws on his feet made clicking noises on the sidewalk as he emerged. But his most striking feature was his hugely distended belly. The protruding mound of tight pink flesh had burst through the rat-thing’s shirt and hung almost to his knees. The creature had packed so much into his belly that the mound didn’t bounce or jiggle as he walked, and I had the impression that if I still had my M-blade and merely touched the pointed tip to the stretched-tight surface of the stomach, the rat would explode like a too-full water balloon.

“Oh, my!” the rat said in a bad imitation of an upper-class British accent. “I’ve eaten many things in my time, but I’ve never had a repast to equal what I have just experienced! I do believe I need to find a spot to rest and digest for a week or two. Bon appétit!”

He doffed his top hat to me and then began waddling at a stately pace down the sidewalk. I felt my gorge rise as I watched him go, but I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The place wasn’t fancy: a dozen round tables with four chairs apiece, featureless walls, and a hardwood floor that looked in desperate need of replacing. The lighting was dim, but there was more than enough illumination to see by. The place was packed. Diners sat at every table, and more customers stood against the walls, holding plates and eating. Most of Eat Me’s clientele were Incubi, but there were several humans among the patrons.

With swift, fluid precision, servers delivered fresh plates loaded with candy. Milk, dark, and white chocolate, caramels, gum drops, licorice, peanut brittle, fudge, taffy, hard candy, and more. The servers then removed the empty plates, which were always licked clean. The tables were arranged in circular patterns around a rotating dais in the center of the restaurant. The words “I am what you eat” were printed on the side of the dais in the same multicolored lettering as on the neon sign outside. In the middle of the dais, sitting in a high-backed leather chair, was an Incubus I was very familiar with.

I started toward the dais.

One of the servers, who had a spine-covered head that reminded me of a sea urchin, tried to stop me. I scowled as I looked into its eyes – or at least where I figured its eyes should be – and said, “Official Shadow Watch business.” I pulled out my dream catcher badge and showed it to him for good measure.

Urchin-Head regarded me for a moment, and then its spines quivered once, and it moved off to see to another customer. Wise choice.

I slipped my badge back into my pocket and continued to the dais. The Incubus who owned the joint sat there, breaking off pieces of his body and depositing them on plates the servers held out.

“Hello, Candy,” I said.

The Candy Man was bent over, snapping off his chocolate toes. He looked up at me with eyes made of Red Hots, and his red licorice lips curved into a smile.

“Audra!”

He tossed a big toe to me, and I caught it.

“On the house!” he said. His voice was smooth, warm, and honey-sweet.

I smiled but quickly placed the toe on the plate of a server as she hurried by. I then rubbed my hand on my pants leg, not caring if I smeared chocolate on the fabric.

“Thanks,” I said, “but as delicious as you are, you know I can’t accept.”

The dais continued to turn slowly, and I walked with it so I could continue to face Candy, who went back to breaking off chunks of himself and depositing them onto servers’ trays as we spoke. I hung back several feet so I wouldn’t get in the servers’ way.

“I need a favor, Candy.”

His gumdrop eyebrows curved into a frown.

The Candy Man’s body is formed from a chocolate base, with other varieties of candy covering his skin like bizarre tumescent growths. He wears no clothing, which is more than a little awkward since his genitals are made from a huge peppermint stick and two large marshmallows. I’ve never seen him break these off before, but the rumor is that he saves them for only the most special of customers.

Whenever he’s working, his chocolate flesh is dotted with holes where he’s pried off bits of himself, and he’s always missing pieces – ears, nose, fingers, toes, sometimes entire limbs. He claims it doesn’t hurt to pare himself out as dessert for his customers’ enjoyment, and since he lives in Nod and has access to constant exposure to Maelstrom energy, he heals swiftly, so he has an endless supply of goodies to sell.

I’ve never tasted any of his, uh, offerings. As far as I know, no officer has. One of the first things new Shadow Watch recruits learn is to stay clear of the Candy Man. Jinx and I find him useful, so we visit him from time to time to talk with him. But we never eat.

Abstaining wasn’t easy for me, though. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, and the Candy Man exudes a tantalizingly sweet aroma that’s so powerful, your mouth starts watering the moment you walk in, and your stomach rumbles like an angry bear. I’ve heard rumors that if a diabetic so much as sets foot inside the restaurant, he or she will keel over dead in a matter or moments, just from the smell. I believe it. Word on the street is that Candy was created in the nightmares of a dentist’s son. But however he came to be, in his own way – a way not known to most of Nod’s citizens – he’s one of the most powerful Incubi who’s ever lived.

“I’m busy right now, Audra.” His voice no longer sounded like warm honey. It was cold and off-putting, like ice cream that had been left in the freezer too long.

He popped out one of his eyes and dropped it onto a plate. Then Candy reached for his other eye.

I lowered my voice. “I’ll tell.”

He didn’t respond, but I knew the threat carried weight with him.

Candy paused in mid-gouge to regard me. After a long moment, he let go of his eye and lowered his hand.

“I can give you five minutes,” he said. Then he stood and raised his voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear him. “I need to take a short break, ladies and gentlemen!”

A collective groan rose from the room.

“My apologies, but I need a chance to, shall we say, restock?” Candy said.

His skin was mostly picked clean of candy, and he had no toes, and both his left foot and most of his left arm were gone.

The crowd laughed and applauded as Candy stepped off the rotating dais. Since he only had one foot – and his other foot had no toes – I was afraid he might lose his balance as he stepped down, but I didn’t reach out to steady him. I didn’t know if the candy that formed his body was addictive, but he does get a hell of a lot of repeat customers, and I didn’t want to risk any prolonged physical contact with him. I had enough problems with addiction as it was.

Walking like a pirate with a peg leg, Candy made his way toward the back of the restaurant, and I followed. He led me through a swinging door into the kitchen. Since Candy supplies all the eats, the kitchen is primarily for washing and storing plates. A narrow hallway branched off from the kitchen, and Candy headed down it. Again, I followed. We ended up in front of another door, and he gestured toward it with the nub where his left arm had been. It was already regrowing, but slowly.

“Humans first,” he said.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

NINE

I expected to enter an office, but it looked more like a dressing room. A mirrored table, a straight-backed chair, and a red satin robe hanging from a hook on the wall. Candy entered, closed the door behind him, and then walked over to the robe. He removed it from the hook, put it on, and then took a seat at the table in front of the mirror. There was no other chair in the room, so I stood.

Candy faced the mirror, his back to me, but I could see his reflection. A new eye was beginning to emerge from the depths of the chocolate socket. Not a Red Hot this time. It was yellow. A lemon drop, maybe.

“Make it quick,” Candy said. “I’ve got a lot of hungry people out there.”

“And you have to make sure their bellies don’t get too empty, or else you’ll lose your psychic connection to them. And if that happens, you won’t be able to see and hear what they do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Even so, I don’t like being threatened.”

“Duly noted.”

He nodded once. With his right hand, he gently touched his emerging eye, as if he wanted to make sure it was setting up properly.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I need to find Jinx.”

The Candy Man shrugged. “So call him.”

“I don’t have my wisper, and neither does he.”

“Then go to the Rookery and get your people to help.”

“That would take too long. I need to find him as soon as possible.”

Candy paused, then he asked, “Is he in danger?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

He nodded again. “And might you also be reluctant to ask the Shadow Watch for help because you and your partner were ordered off your last case?”

I wondered which of my fellow officers hadn’t been able to resist Candy’s sweet, sweet charms.

The Candy Man has a special ability. Once someone – Incubus or human – eats a portion of his body, he can see what they see and hear what they hear, at least for a short time. The more someone eats, the longer the effect lasts. This is why Shadow Watch officers are warned to stay away from Candy. Sanderson isn’t thrilled by the idea of anyone being able to access his officers’ senses, even if only temporarily.

Jinx and I, however, had on occasion found Candy to be a good source of information, not that we let on that we knew how he came by his info. He wasn’t in Deacon Booze’s league, but he was damn close. If anyone who Candy had a link with had seen or heard anything about Jinx – or better yet, had actually seen Jinx – he’d know it.