"Crow's feet!" he yelled, in a harsh, strident voice. "Holy water! Hexes! Wooden stakes and silver bullets! You know you need them! Don't come crying to me if you end up limping home with someone else's spleen instead of your own!"

He broke off as Joanna and I approached. He sniffed the air suspiciously, cocking his great blind head to one side. His fingers worked busily at a rosary made from human fingerbones. He stepped forward suddenly to block our way and stabbed an accusing finger at me.

"John Taylor!" he snapped, almost spitting out the words. "Damnation's child! Demonspawn and Abomination! Bane of all the Chosen! Avaunt! Avaunt!"

"Hello, Pew," I said easily. "Good to bump into you again. Still working the old act, I see. How's business?"

"Oh, not too bad thanks, John." Pew smiled vaguely in my direction, putting aside his official Voice for the moment. "My wares are like travel insurance; no-one ever really believes they'll need it, until it's too late. It can't happen to me, they whine. But of course, in the Nightside it can, and it will. Suddenly and violently and usually quite horribly too. I'm saving lives here, if they'd only pay attention, the fools. So; what are you doing back here, John? I thought you had more sense. You know the Nightside isn't good for you."

"I'm working a case. Don't worry; I won't be stopping."

"That's what they all say," growled Pew, shifting his broad shoulders uneasily inside his threadbare

cloak. "Still, we all do what we have to, I suppose. Who are you looking for this time?"

"Just a runaway. Teenager called Catherine Barrett. Don't suppose the name means anything to you?"

"No. But then, I'm pretty much out of the loop these days, by my own choice. Hard times are coming ... word of advice, boy. I hear things, bad things. Something new has come into the Nightside. And people have been mentioning your name again. Watch your back, boy. If anyone's going to kill you, I'd much rather it was me."