The Grand Dark. Richard Kadrey

free hand, he took the cocaine vial from his pocket and held it in front of her. “Look at what else I have.”

      Remy spun around, kissed him, took the vial, and pressed it lovingly between her breasts. Her smile was both wicked and silly, like a naughty child’s after she’d been caught stealing sips of the adults’ dinner wine. He loved seeing her in such a delighted mood. “What a treat. But we’ll keep it for later, all right? We’re going to a party at Werner Petersen’s house. Do you know him? He’s a great arts patron.”

      Largo’s heart sank a little and the desire from a moment before evaporated. He always felt clumsy and drab around Remy’s artist friends, and his clothes were pathetic. But maybe more cocaine would help his mood. He took the vial back and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

      Remy pressed against him and cupped his groin in her hand. In her silkiest voice she said, “Morphia, please. Now, please.”

      Her hunger helped to lift his mood once more. He kissed her lips when he took out the bottle. Remy grinned as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Largo put two drops under her tongue. Then she snatched the bottle from his hand and did the same for him. They kissed, letting the morphia mix and melt their bones at the same time. A moment later, Remy let her head fall back. “Why is it so necessary for people to get dressed when they go out? I feel too wonderful for clothes. Why can’t I just go like this?”

      “You’d certainly be the hit of the party,” said Largo. She shivered when he touched her nipples. “But I’m afraid we might both be arrested on the way. Besides, it’s cold out. You’d freeze your poor toes.”

      Remy dropped down into a chair by the dressing table. “All right, I suppose for the sake of my toes I’ll put on shoes.”

      Largo went to the clothes stand where her dress hung from a padded hanger. It was black silk and opaque for the most part, but with a flower pattern down the front that revealed glimpses of her skin and the flesh-colored brassieres she favored. He held it up before her and said, “Come on. I’ll help you put it on.”

      “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not wearing anything under it. I plan to fuck you quite violently when we get home and there’s no point in wearing anything that will get in the way.”

      “A bold fashion choice, but one I heartily endorse.”

      Remy stood and held up her hands as Largo slipped the dress over her and zipped her up in the back.

      “Can you see my tits?” she said, standing in front of a full-length mirror mounted behind the dressing room door.

      “Quite well,” he said.

      “Good. I want everyone to be jealous of you tonight. Some of the people who will be at the party are quite delightful, but you know how it is with rich art benefactors. A lot of their friends are more prudish than a country priest.”

      “Trust me, you’ll make them forget their vows,” said Largo. “But I’m not so sure about me.”

      “What’s wrong?” said Remy, turning and touching his cheek.

      “Look at me. My coat has holes at the elbows and my shirt looks like someone stole it from a corpse bound for Potter’s Field.”

      “But you look adorable that way. My handsome waif with the lovely cock.”

      Largo looked at her and said, “Am I how you go slumming?”

      “Don’t be silly,” said Remy. “I love you for you, and because you’re not like the jaded snots I work with. Pretty boys from rich families who expect the world to open its legs for them. I know that you’ve worked for what you have, and that makes you better than them.”

      Largo kissed her when she was done. Remy had saved the day after all, the way she had so many times before. “Thank you,” he said. “But I still look like a scarecrow.”

      Remy waved away his worry as if it were nothing and ran her fingers along Largo’s jaw to his lips. “Your coat is perfect. Some of the artists will be wearing much worse. Everyone will think you’re a famous painter or poet. As for the rest, wait here.”

      Remy left the room and came back a moment later with a pressed white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons down the front. “Where did you get that?” Largo said.

      “From the doll that plays Blixa. This is one of his extra shirts. Try it on. I think it will be perfect.”

      Feeling extremely foolish, Largo stripped off his shirt and slipped on the new one. Earlier he’d been tempted to wear the knife and harness to amuse Remy, but now standing foolishly in her dressing room in doll clothes he was glad he hadn’t. Remy buttoned the shirt for him. “You look wonderful,” she said. “It’s like it was made for you.”

      “The collar is a bit tight,” he said.

      Remy rolled her eyes at him. “Practically everything women wear is too tight or too loose or too hot. Welcome to our world,” she said.

      Largo gave her a small bow. “Then as one lady to another, shall we go?”

      Remy took his hand and led him to the door. On the way out, she swatted him on the rear end. “Lovely ass, Fräulein.”

      “Am I to suffer all the indignities of a woman tonight too?” said Largo.

      “We’ll see,” said Remy. “I think you’d look darling in lipstick, but not false eyelashes, so you’re safe for the moment.”

      “It’s the little mercies that help us sleep at night.”

      She cocked her head and looked at him. “Pardon?”

      They went out the backstage door and Remy hailed a Mara cab for them.

      “It’s just something Herr Branca said at work today,” said Largo. He left his bicycle chained behind the theater and held the door for her as they got into the cab.

      “No,” said Remy firmly. “I forbid you to talk about him or work. This is a night for fun, not worrying about the cares of stuffy old men.”

      “I agree completely,” said Largo as Remy spoke Werner Petersen’s address into a small Trefle mounted in the back seat of the cab.

      “Thank you,” said the Mara in a static-filled voice. It whirred to life and sped off. Largo put his arm around Remy and she rested her head on his shoulder. While he was still nervous about the party, the morphia helped him to not care too much.

       A CURSED PLACE

      From the profile “The Theater of the Grand Darkness” in Ihre Skandale

      It seems entirely appropriate that the land where the Grand Dark sits was once known to the area’s residents as “Ein Verfluchter Ort”: a cursed place.

      A boardinghouse once stood where the theater is now. Among the house’s long-term residents was Otto Kreizler, the serial killer better known as the Brimstone Devil for his habit of burning his victims alive. In the year it took the authorities to track Kreizler down, he murdered at least thirteen people. After a short trial, he was hanged and his body was buried in an unmarked prison grave. Still, it seemed that the Brimstone Devil hadn’t finished his work, since soon after his death the boardinghouse where he’d once lived burned to the ground, killing three people.

      After the boardinghouse burned, the land stood vacant for some time. Since the area was known as an entertainment district for the lower classes, the first building to occupy the spot was Kammer des Schreckens, a wax museum of horrors depicting famous historical murders. This was later expanded to include a small cinema specializing in illicit erotica, thus adding to the area’s already dire reputation. Still, the Kammer drew steady business, so local cafés and merchants didn’t complain.

      During the Great War, stray bombs leveled every building on