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I put Suzie carefully to one side, laying her tenderly on the bloody floor. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. I stood up and faced Belle. The whole front of my coat was soaked in Suzie's blood. More of it dripped from my clenched hands. I grinned at Belle, cold as ice. "Let's dance, darling."
She laughed in my face. "You wouldn't hit a lady, would you?"
"Sure," I said. "Know any?"
And while she was still laughing, I hit her with my sharply focused gift, driving it right past all her defenses. I can find anything, with my gift. This time, I found the single small magic that Belle used to hold all her acquisitions together, that made it possible for her to access all their various attributes. And it was the easiest thing in the world for me to tear that magic away from her and crush it with my mind. Belle screamed once as the magic vanished, and her control over her various armors disappeared with it. The werewolf pelt fell away from her back and head, revealing only bare meat showing, red and glistening, with no skin left to cover it any more. The long gloves and boots cracked and rotted and fell apart,
leaving bare muscles and tendons showing on her arms and legs. And half her face, the younger half, slipped away from her head, disintegrating into dust. Belle shrieked horribly, half her face a horror show.
I stepped forward and hit her once, breaking her neck. She was dead before she hit the floor.
I leaned over her and grabbed the werewolf pelt. It started to come apart in my hands, but I thought it would hold together long enough for what I had in mind. I looked around for Walker, but he was gone. Presumably in search of reinforcements. I knelt down beside Suzie. She was lying ominously still, scarcely even breathing. I pushed her guts back into the tear in her stomach, then held the werewolf pelt over the gaping wound. I crushed the pelt with both hands, wringing the last of its blood out of the pelt so that it dripped into the open wound. Werewolf blood, with all its regenerative properties. For a moment I couldn't breathe, then the edges of Suzie's wound slowly crept together, and vanished, as though it had never been there at all.
The pelt crumbled and fell apart, and I threw it away. It had done its job. I sat Suzie up again and cradled her in my arms, rocking her slowly back and forth. Her breathing became stronger, and more regular, and suddenly her eyes snapped open, wide and questioning. For a moment she just breathed steadily, as though it was a new thing and not to be trusted, and then her bloody hands went to her stomach, where the wound had been. Finding nothing, she looked at the unmarked flesh for a while. Then she smiled tremulously and turned her head back to look at me. I nodded and smiled, and she smiled back.
She slowly raised one hand and touched my face with her fingertips. I sat very still, afraid to do anything that might break the moment. Her fingertips moved slowly, hesitantly, across my cheek, my lips, delicate as the breath of a butterfly's wing. And then she pushed herself away from me, almost throwing me away. She knelt on all fours, with her back to me, breathing heavily and shaking her head back and forth.
"Suzie..." I said.
"No. I can't dothis!" she said, in a voice so harsh it must have hurt her throat. "I can't.Not even with you."
"It's all right," I said.
"No it isn't! It'll never be all right. No matter how many times I kill him."
She rose unsteadily to her feet, looked around for her shotgun, and snatched it up from the floor. And then she shot Belle in the face three times, until there was hardly anything left above the neck.
"Just in case," said Suzie. "Besides, look what the bitch did to my best jacket."
I got to my feet and looked at her resolutely turned back, and for once in my life I didn't have a damned clue what to say. There was the sound of hurrying fee outside in the corridor, and Suzie and I both turned quickly to face the door. I think right then both of us would have been happy to see Walker with reinforcements. We could have used something to hit. But it was only Razor Eddie, appearing abruptly in the open doorway with his pearl-handled straight razor in his hand. He saw Belle's body, and relaxed a little.
"Where the hell were you?" said Suzie, lowering her shotgun.
"It will take more than a three-storey drop to kill me," said Eddie, in his pale ghostly voice. "But there's a limit to how fast even I can take three flights of stairs. Still, you seemed to have coped quite well in my absence. Where's Walker?"
"He made himself scarce when the trouble started," I said. "No doubt he'll soon return, with backup."
"Someone's coming," said Eddie. "I can feel it. Someone's coming, but it isn't Walker."
And we all looked round sharply as we suddenly realized we weren't alone in the office any more. Standing by the desk was a grey man in a grey suit. Up close, even his face looked grey. The angels had found me.
"Get out of here, John," said Razor Eddie. "There are more coming. Lots of them." He moved forward to put himself between the angel and Suzie and me. "Move! I'll hold them off."
He raised his left hand, and in it was the Speaking Gun, poisoning the air with its presence. The angel began to glow, a light so bright it seemed to come from another place entirely. Suzie and I ran for the open door. We clattered down the stairs at full speed, a terrible pressure building on the air behind us. It felt like a storm was coming. It felt like thunder in the blood, and lightning in the soul. We hit the lobby together and kept running. And from far away and close at hand, we heard the awful sound of a single backwards spoken Word. Something screamed, so loudly I thought my head would burst. Suzie and I ran out into the street and kept going, and the whole damned warehouse exploded behind us. The shock wave almost blew us off our feet, but somehow we kept going, and didn't stop running until we were at the end of the street.
We finally stumbled to a halt and looked back, breathing harshly. The walls of Big Sergei's Warehouse collapsed slowly inwards, and disappeared in a great outrushing of black smoke. In a moment, there was nothing left of the building except a great pile of rubble.
"Think Eddie got out in time?" said Suzie.
"I think so," I said. "Razor Eddie's always been very hard to kill."
"Isn't that what they used to say about Belle?"
"We'd better get moving," I said. "More angels will be on the way."
'Terrific. Where can we go that will be safe from angels?"
"Strangefellows," I said, trying hard to sound confident. "I've got an idea."
"Oh, that's always dangerous."
"Shut up and run."
Seven
- Manifesting Merlin
Eight
- Cats and Robots and One Last Vicious Truth
She laughed in my face. "You wouldn't hit a lady, would you?"
"Sure," I said. "Know any?"
And while she was still laughing, I hit her with my sharply focused gift, driving it right past all her defenses. I can find anything, with my gift. This time, I found the single small magic that Belle used to hold all her acquisitions together, that made it possible for her to access all their various attributes. And it was the easiest thing in the world for me to tear that magic away from her and crush it with my mind. Belle screamed once as the magic vanished, and her control over her various armors disappeared with it. The werewolf pelt fell away from her back and head, revealing only bare meat showing, red and glistening, with no skin left to cover it any more. The long gloves and boots cracked and rotted and fell apart,
leaving bare muscles and tendons showing on her arms and legs. And half her face, the younger half, slipped away from her head, disintegrating into dust. Belle shrieked horribly, half her face a horror show.
I stepped forward and hit her once, breaking her neck. She was dead before she hit the floor.
I leaned over her and grabbed the werewolf pelt. It started to come apart in my hands, but I thought it would hold together long enough for what I had in mind. I looked around for Walker, but he was gone. Presumably in search of reinforcements. I knelt down beside Suzie. She was lying ominously still, scarcely even breathing. I pushed her guts back into the tear in her stomach, then held the werewolf pelt over the gaping wound. I crushed the pelt with both hands, wringing the last of its blood out of the pelt so that it dripped into the open wound. Werewolf blood, with all its regenerative properties. For a moment I couldn't breathe, then the edges of Suzie's wound slowly crept together, and vanished, as though it had never been there at all.
The pelt crumbled and fell apart, and I threw it away. It had done its job. I sat Suzie up again and cradled her in my arms, rocking her slowly back and forth. Her breathing became stronger, and more regular, and suddenly her eyes snapped open, wide and questioning. For a moment she just breathed steadily, as though it was a new thing and not to be trusted, and then her bloody hands went to her stomach, where the wound had been. Finding nothing, she looked at the unmarked flesh for a while. Then she smiled tremulously and turned her head back to look at me. I nodded and smiled, and she smiled back.
She slowly raised one hand and touched my face with her fingertips. I sat very still, afraid to do anything that might break the moment. Her fingertips moved slowly, hesitantly, across my cheek, my lips, delicate as the breath of a butterfly's wing. And then she pushed herself away from me, almost throwing me away. She knelt on all fours, with her back to me, breathing heavily and shaking her head back and forth.
"Suzie..." I said.
"No. I can't dothis!" she said, in a voice so harsh it must have hurt her throat. "I can't.Not even with you."
"It's all right," I said.
"No it isn't! It'll never be all right. No matter how many times I kill him."
She rose unsteadily to her feet, looked around for her shotgun, and snatched it up from the floor. And then she shot Belle in the face three times, until there was hardly anything left above the neck.
"Just in case," said Suzie. "Besides, look what the bitch did to my best jacket."
I got to my feet and looked at her resolutely turned back, and for once in my life I didn't have a damned clue what to say. There was the sound of hurrying fee outside in the corridor, and Suzie and I both turned quickly to face the door. I think right then both of us would have been happy to see Walker with reinforcements. We could have used something to hit. But it was only Razor Eddie, appearing abruptly in the open doorway with his pearl-handled straight razor in his hand. He saw Belle's body, and relaxed a little.
"Where the hell were you?" said Suzie, lowering her shotgun.
"It will take more than a three-storey drop to kill me," said Eddie, in his pale ghostly voice. "But there's a limit to how fast even I can take three flights of stairs. Still, you seemed to have coped quite well in my absence. Where's Walker?"
"He made himself scarce when the trouble started," I said. "No doubt he'll soon return, with backup."
"Someone's coming," said Eddie. "I can feel it. Someone's coming, but it isn't Walker."
And we all looked round sharply as we suddenly realized we weren't alone in the office any more. Standing by the desk was a grey man in a grey suit. Up close, even his face looked grey. The angels had found me.
"Get out of here, John," said Razor Eddie. "There are more coming. Lots of them." He moved forward to put himself between the angel and Suzie and me. "Move! I'll hold them off."
He raised his left hand, and in it was the Speaking Gun, poisoning the air with its presence. The angel began to glow, a light so bright it seemed to come from another place entirely. Suzie and I ran for the open door. We clattered down the stairs at full speed, a terrible pressure building on the air behind us. It felt like a storm was coming. It felt like thunder in the blood, and lightning in the soul. We hit the lobby together and kept running. And from far away and close at hand, we heard the awful sound of a single backwards spoken Word. Something screamed, so loudly I thought my head would burst. Suzie and I ran out into the street and kept going, and the whole damned warehouse exploded behind us. The shock wave almost blew us off our feet, but somehow we kept going, and didn't stop running until we were at the end of the street.
We finally stumbled to a halt and looked back, breathing harshly. The walls of Big Sergei's Warehouse collapsed slowly inwards, and disappeared in a great outrushing of black smoke. In a moment, there was nothing left of the building except a great pile of rubble.
"Think Eddie got out in time?" said Suzie.
"I think so," I said. "Razor Eddie's always been very hard to kill."
"Isn't that what they used to say about Belle?"
"We'd better get moving," I said. "More angels will be on the way."
'Terrific. Where can we go that will be safe from angels?"
"Strangefellows," I said, trying hard to sound confident. "I've got an idea."
"Oh, that's always dangerous."
"Shut up and run."
Seven
- Manifesting Merlin
Suzie Shooter and I ran through the Nightside, with Heaven and Hell close behind. Angels circled overhead in a narrowing gyre, riding the night skies on widespread wings, closing in remorselessly as Suzie and I sprinted down one deserted street after another. The night was full of fires and explosions, death and destruction. All the power and sleazy majesty of the Nightside, brought low in a single night, crushed under celestial heels. I looked quickly about me, trying to get my bearings. I didn't know the warehouse district that well, and I was so turned around now that the only thing I was still sure of was that I was a long way from home and safety. I chose another street at random and plunged down it, Suzie pounding away at my side. I had a stitch in my side that was killing me, and she wasn't even breathing hard.
Something moved in the street ahead, and I stumbled to a halt. Suzie saw it too, and crashed to a halt just ahead of me, automatically bringing her shotgun to bear. Two dim figures came running down the street towards us, silhouetted against the fires burning behind them. They both looked... wrong, somehow. And then the skin of Count Video came flapping down the street, raw and empty, with his flayed body running weeping after it. Suzie and I drew back to let them pass. There was nothing we could do.
"I don't think the city resistance is faring too well," I said, trying hard to sound calm.
"Just when you think you've seen everything..." said Suzie. "These angels are hard-core. We have got to get off the street, Taylor. But I am fresh out of ideas. Think of something. Fast."
From up above came the sound of great wings, beating on the night. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, sounding lower all the time. I glared about me, looking for inspiration. We had the street pretty much to ourselves. Everyone else had either gone to ground or was waiting to be buried under it. Dark, hulking, anonymous buildings lined the street to either side. Some of them were more damaged than others, but none of them had lights in their windows. Suzie and were on our own, surrounded by the enemy, and miles and miles from friendly territory. Business as usual, really, only more so. And just when things couldn't get any worse, they did.
Grey figures appeared out of nowhere, blocking off the street ahead of us. A dozen grey men in grey suits, watching us, unnaturally still and focused. I looked behind me, and, sure enough, there were more grey figures there. The angels had found us. I looked up at the sky, half-expecting to see winged figures plunging down, to snatch us out of the street and carry us away, but there was no sign of any attack. Presumably they thought we still had the Speaking Gun. Once they figured out we didn't, we were dead in the water.
The figures up ahead pulsed suddenly with a bright and brilliant light, pushing back the night. Suzie and I both cried out, dazzled, and had to raise our arms to shield our faces. We'd grown too accustomed to the gloom. Widespread wings blazed like the sun. I looked back, eyes smarting, only to see grey figures disappear inside a sea of darkness that rolled slowly up the street towards us. A complete and unrelenting shadow, far darker than any mere absence of light could ever be. Unbearable light ahead, and a merciless dark behind.
"Oh shit," said Suzie.
"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Please don't shoot at the angels, Suzie. If you do, and they notice, they'll get even more annoyed with us."
"What do you mean us, white man?" Suzie flashed me a brief smile. "These bastards really do want you, don't they, Taylor?"
"They want my gift, my ability to find things. Whichever side controls that is pretty much guaranteed to get to the Unholy Grail first."
"Well," said Suzie, "given that we are outclassed, outnumbered, and almost certainly out-gunned, might this be a good time to strike some kind of deal?"
"No," I said immediately. "I don't work for free. And I don't trust extremes, of whatever kind."
"I really don't think they're in the mood to take no for an answer."
"And there is the very real possibility that either side would be willing to destroy me, rather than lose my gift to the enemy." I looked at Suzie. "They only want me. You could ..."
"No I couldn't," said Suzie. "I'm not leaving you. That much I can do for you."
The light swept slowly down the street, while the darkness advanced from behind. It would have been a close bet which was the most disturbing to look at. Such pure manifestations didn't belong in the material world. And I really didn't want to be still standing here when the two forces met. I looked about me while Suzie hefted her shotgun unhappily.
"All this, just for you, Taylor? Haven't these creeps ever heard of overkill?"
"They're angels, Suzie. I think they invented the concept. Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? And we're facing agents from Above and Below... The light and the dark, and us caught right in the middle."
"Story of my life," Suzie said briskly. "Come on, Taylor, I'm waiting. What are we going to do? What can we do?"
"I'm thinking!"
She sniffed. "You always did freeze in the clinch, Taylor."
Suzie turned her shotgun on a recessed door in the wall beside us and let fly with one blast after another, as fast as she could work the pump. The door collapsed and blew inwards in a cloud of smoke and splinters, blown right off its hinges. Suzie dived through the jagged gap into the gloom beyond, with me crowding her heels all the way.
Once inside, we moved to either side of the open doorway and pressed our backs against the wall, while we waited for our eyes to adjust to the dim light. The wall felt comfortably thick and solid, even though I knew it wouldn't even slow the angels down. I felt as much as saw a huge, echoing space before and around me. A little light came through slit windows set high up on the walls, and I began to make out a series of narrow aisles between towering stacks of piled-up merchandise. Outside in the street, inhuman voices rose in rage and frustration. The sound was pure and primal and painfully loud. The two forces swept down the street and slammed together with a sound like mountains crashing. The floor shook underfoot, and the walls of the warehouse trembled. Flashes of bounding light flared through the slit windows, illuminating the warehouse like lightning going to war. And above it all, the sound of giant wings beating furiously. The air was heavy with significance, with the feeling of vital matters being decided by forces far above Humanity. I snorted, and shook my head. Like I was going to let that happen. This is the Nightside, you bastards. We do things differently here...
"Any idea where the hell we are?" said Suzie. "All I can see is crates, and all I can smell is sawdust and cat's pee."
"If we're where I think we are, they manufacture lucky charms here. Let's hope some of it will rub off. This way, I think."
I pushed myself away from the wall and strode off into the gloom, Suzie padding along beside me. We threaded our way through the piles of stacked crates, heading for the far end of the warehouse. We hadn't made twenty feet before what was left of the doorway was blown inwards by a blast of concentrated light. The gloom was banished in a moment, every part and content of the warehouse thrown into sharp relief. I ran like hell, and Suzie was right there beside me. The floor shook under our feet like an earthquake as angels punched through the warehouse wall like it was made of paper. I put my head down and kept running.
The floor broke open right in front of me, a jagged crack that widened in an instant into a gaping crevice. I tried to jump it, but didn't even come close. My stomach lurched as my kicking feet found nothing beneath them, and I fell into a darkness that seemed to fall away forever. At the last moment I caught the far edge of the crevice with one flailing hand, and fastened on to it with a death grip. My shoulder exploded with pain as my fall was suddenly halted, all my weight hanging from the one arm. I scrambled for the edge with my other hand, but I couldn't quite reach. The ground was still shaking, and the edge under my hand didn't feel at all secure. I looked up, and there was Suzie, on the far side of the gap, looking down at me. I should have known she'd make it. She knelt, studying my situation, her face entirely blank.
"Get out of here," I said. "They don't want you. And I think I'd rather fall than let them use me."
"I can't let you fall, Taylor."
"You can't touch me, remember?'
"Hell with that shit," said Suzie Shooter.
She reached down with one hand, and I reached up with my free hand and grabbed it. Suzie's face set into cold, determined lines, and her grip was as sure as death, sure as life, sure as friendship. She hauled me up out of the crevice, and we both fell sprawling on the far side of the gap. She let go of me the second I was safe, and we both scrambled to our feet on our own.
"You'd be surprised what I can do, when I have to," said Suzie.
"No I wouldn't," I said. "I've tasted your cooking, remember?"
Sometimes humour is all we have to say the things that can't be said.
Angels came crashing through the warehouse wall as though it was nothing more than heavy mist. As though the angels were more solid, more real than anything in the material world they currently moved in. And perhaps they were, at that. Brilliant light and pitch-darkness invaded the warehouse, consuming everything they touched. Suzie glared at me.
"Tell me you've come up with an idea, Taylor. Any idea. Because I think we've run as far as we're going."
"I do have an idea," I said. "But I'm reluctant to use it."
"It's a wonderful idea," Suzie said immediately. "Whatever it is, it's a marvelous idea. I am in love with this idea. What is it?"
"I have a short cut that can take us straight to Strangefellows. Sometime back, in a weak moment, Alex Morrisey gave me a special club membership card, for use in emergencies. Once activated, the magic in the card will transport us right into the bar.
Alex heard about a rather unpleasant experience I had with the Harrowing, outside his club..."
Suzie was staring at me ominously. "You've had it all along, and you haven't used it?"
"There's a catch."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Magic like this leaves a trail," I said patiently. "The angels will know immediately where we've gone. I was still hoping we might shake them off... but that doesn't seem to be an option any more."
"Use the card," said Suzie. 'Trust me, this is the right time to use it. Morrisey's always boasted his place had major-league protections. I say it's well past time we put that to the test."
"He won't be pleased to see us."
"Is he ever? Use the card!"
I already had it in my hand. A simple embossed card, with the name of the club in dark Gothic script, and the words You Are Herein blood red lettering. I pressed my thumb against the crimson words, and the card activated, thrumming with stored energy. It leapt out of my hand and hung in mid-air before me, pulsing with light and bubbling with strange energies. Alex always liked his magics showy. The angels sensed what was happening, and both sides surged forward. The card grew suddenly in size and became a door, which opened before me. Comfortable light and convivial sounds spilled out into the warehouse. Suzie and I ran through the opening into Strangefellows, and the door slammed shut behind us, cutting off the frustrated screams of thwarted angels.
I suppose I must have made more impressive entrances into Strangefellows, but I can't think when. Certainly the two of us appearing out of nowhere, crying Run for your lives! The angels are coming!made one hell of an impression. The crowd of assorted suspects and dubious types drinking in the club all suddenly remembered they had urgent appointments somewhere else and left the bar in an extreme hurry. Some used the doors, some used the windows. A few vanished in impressive puffs of black smoke, while others opened their own doors to less immediately threatening locations, and disappeared into them. One thoroughly panicked shapeshifter turned himself into a barstool, and hoped not to be noticed. And one guy (there's always one) took advantage of the general confusion to vault over the bar top and make a grab for the cash register. But Alex's bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, got him before he'd taken a dozen steps. Betty took the register away from him, Lucy kicked his ass up around his ears; then they let the dumb bastard run (or more properly limp) away. The Coltranes were both pretty sure they were going to have more important things to worry about. Alex stood behind the bar, watching it all and looking even more bitter and put upon than usual. A the last of his patrons vanished, and the place fell unusually quiet, he threw his mopping-up rag onto the bar top and glared at me.
"Thanks a whole bunch, Taylor. There go my profits for the evening. I knew I should never have given you that bloody card."
Suzie and I leaned on the bar, breathing heavily, and Alex grudgingly pushed a bottle of brandy towards us. I took a good swallow, then passed the bottle to Suzie, who drank the rest of it. Alex winced.
"Why do I even bother giving you the good stuff? You never appreciate it. Now what's this about angels coming here?"
"They're right behind us," I said. "And in a really bad mood."
'Tell us this place is protected," said Suzie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I really need to hear this dump is seriously protected."
"It is protected," said Alex. "But possibly ... not thatprotected."
"Be specific," I said. "What have you got?"
Alex sighed heavily. "I hate giving away trade secrets, but... Basically, this whole building is protected by wards, shaped curses and genetic-level booby-traps laid down by various magicians down the centuries, all of them pretty powerful and vicious as all hell. Grandfather put a really nasty curse on people who miss the urinals in the toilet. And, of course, my ancestor Merlin's still buried somewhere under the wine cellar. More than enough to keep the flies off, even in the Nightside, but no-one ever said anything about bloody angels! I don't suppose anyone ever thought the possibility would arise. Of course, they didn't know about you, Taylor."
"You could always turn me over to the angels," I said. "I'd understand."
"This is my bar!" Alex snapped immediately. "No-one messes with my patrons, even if it's you. And no-one tells me what to do in my own bar, not even a bunch of celestial storm troopers. Should I lock all the doors and barricade the windows?"
"If you like," I said.
"Won't it help?"
"Not really, no."
"You're a bundle of fun to be around, Taylor, you know that?"
Suzie had her back to the bar, her shotgun in her hands, glowering warily about her. "Taylor, how long before the angels get here?"
"Not long," I said.
"Am I at least allowed to ask why both of you are soaked in what looks revoltingly like fresh blood?" said Alex. "Not that I care if you're hurt, of course. I ask only for information, in the interests of hygiene."
"I met up with an old friend," I said.
"Anyone I know?"
"Belle."
"Oh," said Alex. "Her. Is she... ?"
"She rests in pieces."
"Good," said Alex. "Snooty bitch. Never liked her. Always putting on airs and looking down her nose at my bar snacks. And she always ordered the best champagne and never paid for it."
"You wouldn't happen to have a really, really big gun stashed away behind your bar, would you?" Suzie said hopefully.
Alex sneered in her face. "Even if I did, I'm not stupid enough to annoy an angel by pointing it at him. Anyway, last I heard, you and Taylor had the Speaking Gun . . . Tell me you still have the Speaking Gun."
"We lost it," I admitted.
Alex really looked like he was about to have a fit. His fists clenched, his teeth clenched, and he actually shuddered for a moment with frustration and outrage. He grabbed two tufts of spiky hair sticking out from under his beret and tugged at them dangerously.
"That is typical of you, Taylor! As long as I thought you had the Speaking Gun, I thought we might actually have a chance. But no! You get your hands on one of the most powerful weapons in the Nightside, and you lose it! You're a jinx, Taylor, you know that? You are nothing but bad news, and always have been! I can feel one of my heads coming on... How are we supposed to defend ourselves now? Buy the angels a round and spike their drinks? Lucy, Betty, emergency measures! Right now!"
The Coltranes fell to with a will, moving all the furniture away from in front of the bar, and opening up a large clear space. (The shapeshifted barstool yelped quietly at the rough handling, but refused to turn back.) Once the Coltranes had created a big enough space, they laid out a large pentacle, using salt cellars from behind the bar to mark the lines. They made a really professional job of it, considering they were drawing it freehand. Bouncers have to know many special skills, especially in the Nightside. We all took our places inside the pentacle, then Lucy and Betty sealed and activated the design by scrawling disturbing signs in the vales between the five points. Betty drew the last sign with a flourish, and the salt lines blazed with blue-white energies. Properly constructed pentacles drew their power from ley lines, the living nervous system of the material world. Unfortunately, angels drew their power from somewhere even more impressive.
Betty and Lucy Coltrane sat down together and held each other tightly. They'd done all they could. Suzie and I stood back-to-back, watching and waiting. Alex muttered darkly to himself while trying to look in all directions at once. At least when he wasn't shooting dark glances at me that clearly said This is all your fault. Do Something. And you 'd better have a really good plan.As it happened, I did. But I wasn't going to tell him about it just yet Because he really wasn't going to like it.
Upstairs, the front door to the club blew in. There was the sound of great wings beating, followed by the tread of heavy feet. A blindingly bright light spilled out of the foyer but stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs leading down into the bar proper. A heavy tension built on the air, oppressive and threatening like a storm about to break, as the angels pressed against Strangefellow's ancient defenses. All of the windows shattered at once, vicious shards of glass flying through the air, only to fall just short of the pentacle's glowing lines. A blackness far darker than the night oozed through the windows, swallowed them up, then crept slowly across the walls.
"They're here," said Suzie. "Heaven and Hell."
"And poor Humanity caught in the middle, just like always," I said. I turned to Alex. "And now, it's up to you. We need your ancestor, Alex. We need Merlin."
"No," he said. "No way. I won't do it."
"He's the only one powerful enough to make a stand against angels, Alex."
"You don't know what you're asking, John. I can't do it."
"That's your big plan?" said Suzie. "Call up Merlin? What's he but another dead sorcerer who won't lie down?"
"According to some Arthurian legends, his full name was Merlin Satanspawn," I said. "Because his father was supposed to be the devil."
"Just when you think things can't get any worse..." Suzie scowled unhappily. "I can see a rock and a hard place moving into position around us. If you like, I could just shoot us all now. It might be less painful."
"Relax, Suzie," I said. "I'm on the case. Alex..."
"Don't make me do this, John," he said quietly. "Please. You don't know what it's like, what it does to me. When I call him up, he manifests through me. He takes my place in the world. I have to cease to exist, so he can be real. It feels like dying."
"I'm sorry, Alex," I said. "Really. But we don't have the time for me to be kind."
I pushed my gift into his head, found the connection that still existed between Alex and his most ancient ancestor, and pushed it hard.
"Merlin Satanspawn; come forth!"
Alex cried out, in pain and shock and horror, and ran out of the pentacle before any of us could stop him. He got as far as the bar before the change hit him. The whole world seemed to shudder, as reality shifted and changed... and where Alex had been, suddenly someone new, or rather very old, came into the world. He sat in state upon a great iron throne, the heavy black metal carved and scored with crawling, unquiet runes. He was naked, his corpse-pale body decorated from throat to toes with curving Celtic and Druidic tattoos. Many were unpleasant and actually disturbing to look upon.
Between the ancient designs, his skin was blotchy and discolored and visibly decayed in places. He'd been dead a long time, and it showed. His hair was long and grey, falling past his shoulders in convoluted knots, and stiffened here and there with clay and woad. Upon his heavy brow he wore a crown of mistletoe. His face was heavy-boned and ugly, and two fires leapt and danced in the sockets where his eyes should have been. There was an ancient wound in the centre of his chest, where skin and muscle and bone had been torn apart, leaving a gaping hole. His heart was gone, torn out, long and long ago. He was Merlin, dead but not departed, powerful beyond hope or sanity. Merlin, sitting on his ancient throne and smiling horribly.
They say he has his father's eyes...
He only still existed through an awful act of will. Life and death and reality itself bowed down to his magics. Though there were those who said he was only still around because neither Heaven nor Hell would take him.
"Who disturbs me at this time?" Merlin's voice was deep and dark, and grated on the ear like fingernails dragged across the soul.
"I'm John Taylor," I said, politely. "I called you. Angels have come to the Nightside, from Above and Below, in search of the Unholy Grail. They threaten this place, and your current descendant."
"Damn," said Merlin. "If it isn't one thing, it's another."
A voice spoke from the top of the stairs; a choir of voices speaking in a harmony so perfect it was inhuman. "We are the Will of the Most High. We are the soldiers of the shimmering plains, and the Courts of the Holy. Give us the mortal, for we have need of him."
Another voice spoke, from out of the darkness that had enveloped the windows and was spreading slowly across the walls. Its harmonies were dissonant and disturbing, but still inhumanly perfect. "We are the Will of the Morningstar. We are the soldiers of the Pit, and the Inferno. Do not stand in our way. The mortal is ours."
"Typical angels," said Merlin, sitting utterly at ease and unmoved on his iron throne. "All bluff and bluster. Bullies, then and now. The Hereafter's attack dogs, only with less manners. Guard your tongues, all of you. I am the Son of the Morningstar, and I will not be spoken to in such a fashion. I could have been the Anti-Christ, but I declined the honor. I was determined to be free, from both Heaven and Hell. I gave birth to Camelot, and the song that never ends. I made a Golden Age for Mankind, an Age of Reason. And then the Holy Grail came to England's fair shores, and no-one could think of anything else. They all went riding off on their stupid quests, abandoning their duty to the people. And, of course, it all fell apart. What is Reason, in the face of dreams? I still miss Arthur. He was always the best of them. Arthur, my once and future King."
"Did you really get to see the Holy Grail?" said Suzie, who would interrupt anybody. "What was it like?"
Merlin's smile softened, just for a moment. "It was ... wonderful. A thing of beauty, and of joy. Almost enough to be worth losing the world for. Almost beautiful enough... to shame me for the shallowness of my vision. Man cannot live by Reason alone."
"And now the Unholy Grail's come here," I said. "I've been told it would be a really bad thing if either set of angels gets their hands on it. Judgement Day was mentioned, and not in a good way."
"The somber chalice..." Merlin raised one rotting hand to the gaping hole in his chest. "I suppose it was inevitable the ugly thing should turn up here. The Nightside was created to be the one place where neither Heaven nor Hell could intervene directly. A place apart, free from the tyrannies of fate and destiny. In the Nightside, even the Highest and the Lowest can only work through agents. Which is why the angels are so much weaker here."
Suzie and I exchanged a glance. If these were angels in a weaker form... "Excuse me, Sir Merlin," I said, with all the politeness at my command, "Did you just say the Nightside was created for a specific purpose? Who created it, and why?"
Merlin looked at me with his flame-filled eyes, and smiled unpleasantly. "Ask your mother."
Somehow, I'd known he was going to say that.
"If some of these angels are agents of Heaven," said Suzie, in the manner of someone who had a problem bone, and was determined to worry at it until she got an answer that satisfied her, "why have they been killing people, and turning them to salt, and blowing up perfectly good buildings?"
"We only punish the guilty," said the chorused voice in the light. "And so many here are guilty of something."
Suzie looked at me. "They have a point."
"Of course," said Merlin, "here, all the angels are cut off from their Masters. Poor things, they're not used to having to think for themselves. Which is why they've made such a mess. Decision-making isn't really what you do best, is it, boys?"
"We are here for the Unholy Grail," said the light.
"Do you dare stand against us?" said the dark.
"Why not?" said Merlin. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Now back off, all of you, or I'll fry your pinfeathers."
The light faded back a little, and the darkness stopped spreading, but the sense of surrounding presences was as strong as ever.
'Taylor," Suzie said urgently. "Tell me there was more to your plan than just this ..."
"Not even half of it," I murmured. "Hang in there.
Sir Merlin, with your leave I think I can sort out this whole mess in a way that will please... well, nobody really, but it'll be a solution we can all live with. Livebeing a relative term, of course. I don't know where the Unholy Grail is, but I'm pretty sure I know someone who does. You see everywhere, Sir Merlin, so could you please grab the Collector and bring him here?"
Merlin gestured languidly with a heavily tattooed hand, and suddenly the Collector was standing right there in the pentacle with us. He looked around, startled, and his eyes all but popped out of their sockets with outrage. He started to say something, then saw Merlin sitting on his throne and shut his mouth quickly before it could get him into even more trouble. The Collector was a podgy, middle-aged man with a thick neck and a florid face, wearing a white jumpsuit and cape, as popularized by Elvis in his later days. It didn't suit him at all.
"Wow," said Suzie, sticking the barrel of her shotgun in the Collector's ear. "Now that's what I call service."
"Oh shit," said the Collector.
"Language!" said Suzie. "There are angels present."
"Hello, Collector," I said calmly. "How's the leg?"
"Taylor! I might have known you were behind this!" The Collector started to say something else, but Suzie shoved her gun a little further into his ear, an he stopped himself again. He glowered at me. "I had to grow a new leg, thanks to your interference all those years ago. Put me right off time-traveling. Never was cost-effective. And besides, I kept bumping into myself, and I kept giggling at me, which was unnerving, to say the least. Now will someone please tell me why I have been transported here against my will!"
"Because you're needed," I said, and then hesitated, because I just had to know. "Is that outfit you're wearing the real thing?"
The Collector pulled himself up to his full, not particularly impressive, height, and preened. It wasn't a pretty sight. "Of course it's real! Graceland hasn't even noticed it's missing yet."
I grinned. "Are you wearing the authentic nappy under it?"
The Collector's eyes narrowed so much they almost disappeared. "What... do you want, Taylor?"
"The Unholy Grail. You've got it."
"Yes, and I'm keeping it. The dark chalice is a totally unique piece. It's going to be the pride of my collection. The rest of the collecting fraternity will just die when they hear I've got it!"
"We could all die if we don't get this mess sorted out right now," I said.
"Starting very definitely with you," Suzie growled, applying a little more pressure to the gun barrel in the Collector's reddening ear.
He slapped the gun aside and glared right back at her. "Don't you threaten me, Shooter. I'm protected in ways you can't even imagine."
"Unfortunately, he probably is," I said. "So ease off a little, Suzie. Collector, in case it's slipped your attention, we are currently surrounded by whole armies of angels, all of whom would be quite willing to take you apart, right down to the molecular level, while still keeping you alive and aware and screaming horribly if that's what it takes to get you to hand over the Unholy Grail. Only Merlin's power is holding them back, for the moment. You really think your protections are good enough to hold off a whole bunch of really angry angels?"
He sniffed, but he was visibly weakening. "They don't even know where my collection is."
"It's on the Moon," said Suzie, smiling smugly. "Under the Sea of Tranquility."
The Collector actually stamped his foot, he was so angry, and he waved his pudgy fists in the air. "I knew I couldn't trust Razor Eddie... but he had me over a barrel, the bastard. It doesn't matter. Let the angels try and take my prize away from me. They'll discover I can summon up worse things than angels!"
"You're not fooling anyone, little man," said Merlin, and his cold, rasping voice dismissed the Collector's confidence in a moment. "Give up the somber chalice, while you still can. It's already corrupting your mind."
"It's mine!" said the Collector. "You can't have it! You just want it for yourself!"
Merlin laughed briefly, and everyone winced at the awful sound. "Hardly, little man. I once held the true cup of the Christ in my hands. The Sangreal itself. Nothing less will ever tempt me again."
"I won't give up the Unholy Grail!" the Collector shouted. His face was an unhealthy shade of purple. "I won't, and you can't make me! Not even you, Merlin Satanspawn. Not as long as you still want me to find your missing heart for you someday. Everyone else has failed you. I'm your last hope."
Suzie looked at me, and I sighed. "Okay, very quick prйcis of a verylong and complicated story. Merlin lost his heart to a young witch called Nimue, back when the world was a lot younger. She then lost it in a card game. Without his heart, Merlin's power is only a fraction of what it once was. The heart's been through almost as many hands as the Unholy Grail, down the centuries, and is currently... missing in action."
"Couldn't you find it for him, with your gift?" said Suzie.
"Perhaps. That's why Merlin's helping us now. Right, Sir Merlin?"
He smiled and nodded, the flames leaping in his eye sockets. What I didn't tell Suzie was that I had absolutely no intention of ever trying to find Merlin's heart. Nobody in their right mind wanted Merlin to regain his full powers. Even dead, he'd be more trouble than the angels...
"You can't keep the Unholy Grail," I said bluntly to the Collector. "You don't have anything strong enough to hold off angels, and you can bet they'd be ready and willing to destroy your entire collection, fighting each other over possession of the Unholy Grail."
The Collector pouted sullenly. "They would too, wouldn't they? Bloody winged philistines. All right, you can have it! Ugly damned thing anyway. Merlin? Back to the Moon. Please."
"With a little company, to keep you honest," said Merlin.
I looked at Suzie resignedly. "Hang on to your aura," I said. Suddenly Suzie and I and the Collector were somewhere else.
Something moved in the street ahead, and I stumbled to a halt. Suzie saw it too, and crashed to a halt just ahead of me, automatically bringing her shotgun to bear. Two dim figures came running down the street towards us, silhouetted against the fires burning behind them. They both looked... wrong, somehow. And then the skin of Count Video came flapping down the street, raw and empty, with his flayed body running weeping after it. Suzie and I drew back to let them pass. There was nothing we could do.
"I don't think the city resistance is faring too well," I said, trying hard to sound calm.
"Just when you think you've seen everything..." said Suzie. "These angels are hard-core. We have got to get off the street, Taylor. But I am fresh out of ideas. Think of something. Fast."
From up above came the sound of great wings, beating on the night. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, sounding lower all the time. I glared about me, looking for inspiration. We had the street pretty much to ourselves. Everyone else had either gone to ground or was waiting to be buried under it. Dark, hulking, anonymous buildings lined the street to either side. Some of them were more damaged than others, but none of them had lights in their windows. Suzie and were on our own, surrounded by the enemy, and miles and miles from friendly territory. Business as usual, really, only more so. And just when things couldn't get any worse, they did.
Grey figures appeared out of nowhere, blocking off the street ahead of us. A dozen grey men in grey suits, watching us, unnaturally still and focused. I looked behind me, and, sure enough, there were more grey figures there. The angels had found us. I looked up at the sky, half-expecting to see winged figures plunging down, to snatch us out of the street and carry us away, but there was no sign of any attack. Presumably they thought we still had the Speaking Gun. Once they figured out we didn't, we were dead in the water.
The figures up ahead pulsed suddenly with a bright and brilliant light, pushing back the night. Suzie and I both cried out, dazzled, and had to raise our arms to shield our faces. We'd grown too accustomed to the gloom. Widespread wings blazed like the sun. I looked back, eyes smarting, only to see grey figures disappear inside a sea of darkness that rolled slowly up the street towards us. A complete and unrelenting shadow, far darker than any mere absence of light could ever be. Unbearable light ahead, and a merciless dark behind.
"Oh shit," said Suzie.
"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Please don't shoot at the angels, Suzie. If you do, and they notice, they'll get even more annoyed with us."
"What do you mean us, white man?" Suzie flashed me a brief smile. "These bastards really do want you, don't they, Taylor?"
"They want my gift, my ability to find things. Whichever side controls that is pretty much guaranteed to get to the Unholy Grail first."
"Well," said Suzie, "given that we are outclassed, outnumbered, and almost certainly out-gunned, might this be a good time to strike some kind of deal?"
"No," I said immediately. "I don't work for free. And I don't trust extremes, of whatever kind."
"I really don't think they're in the mood to take no for an answer."
"And there is the very real possibility that either side would be willing to destroy me, rather than lose my gift to the enemy." I looked at Suzie. "They only want me. You could ..."
"No I couldn't," said Suzie. "I'm not leaving you. That much I can do for you."
The light swept slowly down the street, while the darkness advanced from behind. It would have been a close bet which was the most disturbing to look at. Such pure manifestations didn't belong in the material world. And I really didn't want to be still standing here when the two forces met. I looked about me while Suzie hefted her shotgun unhappily.
"All this, just for you, Taylor? Haven't these creeps ever heard of overkill?"
"They're angels, Suzie. I think they invented the concept. Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? And we're facing agents from Above and Below... The light and the dark, and us caught right in the middle."
"Story of my life," Suzie said briskly. "Come on, Taylor, I'm waiting. What are we going to do? What can we do?"
"I'm thinking!"
She sniffed. "You always did freeze in the clinch, Taylor."
Suzie turned her shotgun on a recessed door in the wall beside us and let fly with one blast after another, as fast as she could work the pump. The door collapsed and blew inwards in a cloud of smoke and splinters, blown right off its hinges. Suzie dived through the jagged gap into the gloom beyond, with me crowding her heels all the way.
Once inside, we moved to either side of the open doorway and pressed our backs against the wall, while we waited for our eyes to adjust to the dim light. The wall felt comfortably thick and solid, even though I knew it wouldn't even slow the angels down. I felt as much as saw a huge, echoing space before and around me. A little light came through slit windows set high up on the walls, and I began to make out a series of narrow aisles between towering stacks of piled-up merchandise. Outside in the street, inhuman voices rose in rage and frustration. The sound was pure and primal and painfully loud. The two forces swept down the street and slammed together with a sound like mountains crashing. The floor shook underfoot, and the walls of the warehouse trembled. Flashes of bounding light flared through the slit windows, illuminating the warehouse like lightning going to war. And above it all, the sound of giant wings beating furiously. The air was heavy with significance, with the feeling of vital matters being decided by forces far above Humanity. I snorted, and shook my head. Like I was going to let that happen. This is the Nightside, you bastards. We do things differently here...
"Any idea where the hell we are?" said Suzie. "All I can see is crates, and all I can smell is sawdust and cat's pee."
"If we're where I think we are, they manufacture lucky charms here. Let's hope some of it will rub off. This way, I think."
I pushed myself away from the wall and strode off into the gloom, Suzie padding along beside me. We threaded our way through the piles of stacked crates, heading for the far end of the warehouse. We hadn't made twenty feet before what was left of the doorway was blown inwards by a blast of concentrated light. The gloom was banished in a moment, every part and content of the warehouse thrown into sharp relief. I ran like hell, and Suzie was right there beside me. The floor shook under our feet like an earthquake as angels punched through the warehouse wall like it was made of paper. I put my head down and kept running.
The floor broke open right in front of me, a jagged crack that widened in an instant into a gaping crevice. I tried to jump it, but didn't even come close. My stomach lurched as my kicking feet found nothing beneath them, and I fell into a darkness that seemed to fall away forever. At the last moment I caught the far edge of the crevice with one flailing hand, and fastened on to it with a death grip. My shoulder exploded with pain as my fall was suddenly halted, all my weight hanging from the one arm. I scrambled for the edge with my other hand, but I couldn't quite reach. The ground was still shaking, and the edge under my hand didn't feel at all secure. I looked up, and there was Suzie, on the far side of the gap, looking down at me. I should have known she'd make it. She knelt, studying my situation, her face entirely blank.
"Get out of here," I said. "They don't want you. And I think I'd rather fall than let them use me."
"I can't let you fall, Taylor."
"You can't touch me, remember?'
"Hell with that shit," said Suzie Shooter.
She reached down with one hand, and I reached up with my free hand and grabbed it. Suzie's face set into cold, determined lines, and her grip was as sure as death, sure as life, sure as friendship. She hauled me up out of the crevice, and we both fell sprawling on the far side of the gap. She let go of me the second I was safe, and we both scrambled to our feet on our own.
"You'd be surprised what I can do, when I have to," said Suzie.
"No I wouldn't," I said. "I've tasted your cooking, remember?"
Sometimes humour is all we have to say the things that can't be said.
Angels came crashing through the warehouse wall as though it was nothing more than heavy mist. As though the angels were more solid, more real than anything in the material world they currently moved in. And perhaps they were, at that. Brilliant light and pitch-darkness invaded the warehouse, consuming everything they touched. Suzie glared at me.
"Tell me you've come up with an idea, Taylor. Any idea. Because I think we've run as far as we're going."
"I do have an idea," I said. "But I'm reluctant to use it."
"It's a wonderful idea," Suzie said immediately. "Whatever it is, it's a marvelous idea. I am in love with this idea. What is it?"
"I have a short cut that can take us straight to Strangefellows. Sometime back, in a weak moment, Alex Morrisey gave me a special club membership card, for use in emergencies. Once activated, the magic in the card will transport us right into the bar.
Alex heard about a rather unpleasant experience I had with the Harrowing, outside his club..."
Suzie was staring at me ominously. "You've had it all along, and you haven't used it?"
"There's a catch."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Magic like this leaves a trail," I said patiently. "The angels will know immediately where we've gone. I was still hoping we might shake them off... but that doesn't seem to be an option any more."
"Use the card," said Suzie. 'Trust me, this is the right time to use it. Morrisey's always boasted his place had major-league protections. I say it's well past time we put that to the test."
"He won't be pleased to see us."
"Is he ever? Use the card!"
I already had it in my hand. A simple embossed card, with the name of the club in dark Gothic script, and the words You Are Herein blood red lettering. I pressed my thumb against the crimson words, and the card activated, thrumming with stored energy. It leapt out of my hand and hung in mid-air before me, pulsing with light and bubbling with strange energies. Alex always liked his magics showy. The angels sensed what was happening, and both sides surged forward. The card grew suddenly in size and became a door, which opened before me. Comfortable light and convivial sounds spilled out into the warehouse. Suzie and I ran through the opening into Strangefellows, and the door slammed shut behind us, cutting off the frustrated screams of thwarted angels.
I suppose I must have made more impressive entrances into Strangefellows, but I can't think when. Certainly the two of us appearing out of nowhere, crying Run for your lives! The angels are coming!made one hell of an impression. The crowd of assorted suspects and dubious types drinking in the club all suddenly remembered they had urgent appointments somewhere else and left the bar in an extreme hurry. Some used the doors, some used the windows. A few vanished in impressive puffs of black smoke, while others opened their own doors to less immediately threatening locations, and disappeared into them. One thoroughly panicked shapeshifter turned himself into a barstool, and hoped not to be noticed. And one guy (there's always one) took advantage of the general confusion to vault over the bar top and make a grab for the cash register. But Alex's bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, got him before he'd taken a dozen steps. Betty took the register away from him, Lucy kicked his ass up around his ears; then they let the dumb bastard run (or more properly limp) away. The Coltranes were both pretty sure they were going to have more important things to worry about. Alex stood behind the bar, watching it all and looking even more bitter and put upon than usual. A the last of his patrons vanished, and the place fell unusually quiet, he threw his mopping-up rag onto the bar top and glared at me.
"Thanks a whole bunch, Taylor. There go my profits for the evening. I knew I should never have given you that bloody card."
Suzie and I leaned on the bar, breathing heavily, and Alex grudgingly pushed a bottle of brandy towards us. I took a good swallow, then passed the bottle to Suzie, who drank the rest of it. Alex winced.
"Why do I even bother giving you the good stuff? You never appreciate it. Now what's this about angels coming here?"
"They're right behind us," I said. "And in a really bad mood."
'Tell us this place is protected," said Suzie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I really need to hear this dump is seriously protected."
"It is protected," said Alex. "But possibly ... not thatprotected."
"Be specific," I said. "What have you got?"
Alex sighed heavily. "I hate giving away trade secrets, but... Basically, this whole building is protected by wards, shaped curses and genetic-level booby-traps laid down by various magicians down the centuries, all of them pretty powerful and vicious as all hell. Grandfather put a really nasty curse on people who miss the urinals in the toilet. And, of course, my ancestor Merlin's still buried somewhere under the wine cellar. More than enough to keep the flies off, even in the Nightside, but no-one ever said anything about bloody angels! I don't suppose anyone ever thought the possibility would arise. Of course, they didn't know about you, Taylor."
"You could always turn me over to the angels," I said. "I'd understand."
"This is my bar!" Alex snapped immediately. "No-one messes with my patrons, even if it's you. And no-one tells me what to do in my own bar, not even a bunch of celestial storm troopers. Should I lock all the doors and barricade the windows?"
"If you like," I said.
"Won't it help?"
"Not really, no."
"You're a bundle of fun to be around, Taylor, you know that?"
Suzie had her back to the bar, her shotgun in her hands, glowering warily about her. "Taylor, how long before the angels get here?"
"Not long," I said.
"Am I at least allowed to ask why both of you are soaked in what looks revoltingly like fresh blood?" said Alex. "Not that I care if you're hurt, of course. I ask only for information, in the interests of hygiene."
"I met up with an old friend," I said.
"Anyone I know?"
"Belle."
"Oh," said Alex. "Her. Is she... ?"
"She rests in pieces."
"Good," said Alex. "Snooty bitch. Never liked her. Always putting on airs and looking down her nose at my bar snacks. And she always ordered the best champagne and never paid for it."
"You wouldn't happen to have a really, really big gun stashed away behind your bar, would you?" Suzie said hopefully.
Alex sneered in her face. "Even if I did, I'm not stupid enough to annoy an angel by pointing it at him. Anyway, last I heard, you and Taylor had the Speaking Gun . . . Tell me you still have the Speaking Gun."
"We lost it," I admitted.
Alex really looked like he was about to have a fit. His fists clenched, his teeth clenched, and he actually shuddered for a moment with frustration and outrage. He grabbed two tufts of spiky hair sticking out from under his beret and tugged at them dangerously.
"That is typical of you, Taylor! As long as I thought you had the Speaking Gun, I thought we might actually have a chance. But no! You get your hands on one of the most powerful weapons in the Nightside, and you lose it! You're a jinx, Taylor, you know that? You are nothing but bad news, and always have been! I can feel one of my heads coming on... How are we supposed to defend ourselves now? Buy the angels a round and spike their drinks? Lucy, Betty, emergency measures! Right now!"
The Coltranes fell to with a will, moving all the furniture away from in front of the bar, and opening up a large clear space. (The shapeshifted barstool yelped quietly at the rough handling, but refused to turn back.) Once the Coltranes had created a big enough space, they laid out a large pentacle, using salt cellars from behind the bar to mark the lines. They made a really professional job of it, considering they were drawing it freehand. Bouncers have to know many special skills, especially in the Nightside. We all took our places inside the pentacle, then Lucy and Betty sealed and activated the design by scrawling disturbing signs in the vales between the five points. Betty drew the last sign with a flourish, and the salt lines blazed with blue-white energies. Properly constructed pentacles drew their power from ley lines, the living nervous system of the material world. Unfortunately, angels drew their power from somewhere even more impressive.
Betty and Lucy Coltrane sat down together and held each other tightly. They'd done all they could. Suzie and I stood back-to-back, watching and waiting. Alex muttered darkly to himself while trying to look in all directions at once. At least when he wasn't shooting dark glances at me that clearly said This is all your fault. Do Something. And you 'd better have a really good plan.As it happened, I did. But I wasn't going to tell him about it just yet Because he really wasn't going to like it.
Upstairs, the front door to the club blew in. There was the sound of great wings beating, followed by the tread of heavy feet. A blindingly bright light spilled out of the foyer but stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs leading down into the bar proper. A heavy tension built on the air, oppressive and threatening like a storm about to break, as the angels pressed against Strangefellow's ancient defenses. All of the windows shattered at once, vicious shards of glass flying through the air, only to fall just short of the pentacle's glowing lines. A blackness far darker than the night oozed through the windows, swallowed them up, then crept slowly across the walls.
"They're here," said Suzie. "Heaven and Hell."
"And poor Humanity caught in the middle, just like always," I said. I turned to Alex. "And now, it's up to you. We need your ancestor, Alex. We need Merlin."
"No," he said. "No way. I won't do it."
"He's the only one powerful enough to make a stand against angels, Alex."
"You don't know what you're asking, John. I can't do it."
"That's your big plan?" said Suzie. "Call up Merlin? What's he but another dead sorcerer who won't lie down?"
"According to some Arthurian legends, his full name was Merlin Satanspawn," I said. "Because his father was supposed to be the devil."
"Just when you think things can't get any worse..." Suzie scowled unhappily. "I can see a rock and a hard place moving into position around us. If you like, I could just shoot us all now. It might be less painful."
"Relax, Suzie," I said. "I'm on the case. Alex..."
"Don't make me do this, John," he said quietly. "Please. You don't know what it's like, what it does to me. When I call him up, he manifests through me. He takes my place in the world. I have to cease to exist, so he can be real. It feels like dying."
"I'm sorry, Alex," I said. "Really. But we don't have the time for me to be kind."
I pushed my gift into his head, found the connection that still existed between Alex and his most ancient ancestor, and pushed it hard.
"Merlin Satanspawn; come forth!"
Alex cried out, in pain and shock and horror, and ran out of the pentacle before any of us could stop him. He got as far as the bar before the change hit him. The whole world seemed to shudder, as reality shifted and changed... and where Alex had been, suddenly someone new, or rather very old, came into the world. He sat in state upon a great iron throne, the heavy black metal carved and scored with crawling, unquiet runes. He was naked, his corpse-pale body decorated from throat to toes with curving Celtic and Druidic tattoos. Many were unpleasant and actually disturbing to look upon.
Between the ancient designs, his skin was blotchy and discolored and visibly decayed in places. He'd been dead a long time, and it showed. His hair was long and grey, falling past his shoulders in convoluted knots, and stiffened here and there with clay and woad. Upon his heavy brow he wore a crown of mistletoe. His face was heavy-boned and ugly, and two fires leapt and danced in the sockets where his eyes should have been. There was an ancient wound in the centre of his chest, where skin and muscle and bone had been torn apart, leaving a gaping hole. His heart was gone, torn out, long and long ago. He was Merlin, dead but not departed, powerful beyond hope or sanity. Merlin, sitting on his ancient throne and smiling horribly.
They say he has his father's eyes...
He only still existed through an awful act of will. Life and death and reality itself bowed down to his magics. Though there were those who said he was only still around because neither Heaven nor Hell would take him.
"Who disturbs me at this time?" Merlin's voice was deep and dark, and grated on the ear like fingernails dragged across the soul.
"I'm John Taylor," I said, politely. "I called you. Angels have come to the Nightside, from Above and Below, in search of the Unholy Grail. They threaten this place, and your current descendant."
"Damn," said Merlin. "If it isn't one thing, it's another."
A voice spoke from the top of the stairs; a choir of voices speaking in a harmony so perfect it was inhuman. "We are the Will of the Most High. We are the soldiers of the shimmering plains, and the Courts of the Holy. Give us the mortal, for we have need of him."
Another voice spoke, from out of the darkness that had enveloped the windows and was spreading slowly across the walls. Its harmonies were dissonant and disturbing, but still inhumanly perfect. "We are the Will of the Morningstar. We are the soldiers of the Pit, and the Inferno. Do not stand in our way. The mortal is ours."
"Typical angels," said Merlin, sitting utterly at ease and unmoved on his iron throne. "All bluff and bluster. Bullies, then and now. The Hereafter's attack dogs, only with less manners. Guard your tongues, all of you. I am the Son of the Morningstar, and I will not be spoken to in such a fashion. I could have been the Anti-Christ, but I declined the honor. I was determined to be free, from both Heaven and Hell. I gave birth to Camelot, and the song that never ends. I made a Golden Age for Mankind, an Age of Reason. And then the Holy Grail came to England's fair shores, and no-one could think of anything else. They all went riding off on their stupid quests, abandoning their duty to the people. And, of course, it all fell apart. What is Reason, in the face of dreams? I still miss Arthur. He was always the best of them. Arthur, my once and future King."
"Did you really get to see the Holy Grail?" said Suzie, who would interrupt anybody. "What was it like?"
Merlin's smile softened, just for a moment. "It was ... wonderful. A thing of beauty, and of joy. Almost enough to be worth losing the world for. Almost beautiful enough... to shame me for the shallowness of my vision. Man cannot live by Reason alone."
"And now the Unholy Grail's come here," I said. "I've been told it would be a really bad thing if either set of angels gets their hands on it. Judgement Day was mentioned, and not in a good way."
"The somber chalice..." Merlin raised one rotting hand to the gaping hole in his chest. "I suppose it was inevitable the ugly thing should turn up here. The Nightside was created to be the one place where neither Heaven nor Hell could intervene directly. A place apart, free from the tyrannies of fate and destiny. In the Nightside, even the Highest and the Lowest can only work through agents. Which is why the angels are so much weaker here."
Suzie and I exchanged a glance. If these were angels in a weaker form... "Excuse me, Sir Merlin," I said, with all the politeness at my command, "Did you just say the Nightside was created for a specific purpose? Who created it, and why?"
Merlin looked at me with his flame-filled eyes, and smiled unpleasantly. "Ask your mother."
Somehow, I'd known he was going to say that.
"If some of these angels are agents of Heaven," said Suzie, in the manner of someone who had a problem bone, and was determined to worry at it until she got an answer that satisfied her, "why have they been killing people, and turning them to salt, and blowing up perfectly good buildings?"
"We only punish the guilty," said the chorused voice in the light. "And so many here are guilty of something."
Suzie looked at me. "They have a point."
"Of course," said Merlin, "here, all the angels are cut off from their Masters. Poor things, they're not used to having to think for themselves. Which is why they've made such a mess. Decision-making isn't really what you do best, is it, boys?"
"We are here for the Unholy Grail," said the light.
"Do you dare stand against us?" said the dark.
"Why not?" said Merlin. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Now back off, all of you, or I'll fry your pinfeathers."
The light faded back a little, and the darkness stopped spreading, but the sense of surrounding presences was as strong as ever.
'Taylor," Suzie said urgently. "Tell me there was more to your plan than just this ..."
"Not even half of it," I murmured. "Hang in there.
Sir Merlin, with your leave I think I can sort out this whole mess in a way that will please... well, nobody really, but it'll be a solution we can all live with. Livebeing a relative term, of course. I don't know where the Unholy Grail is, but I'm pretty sure I know someone who does. You see everywhere, Sir Merlin, so could you please grab the Collector and bring him here?"
Merlin gestured languidly with a heavily tattooed hand, and suddenly the Collector was standing right there in the pentacle with us. He looked around, startled, and his eyes all but popped out of their sockets with outrage. He started to say something, then saw Merlin sitting on his throne and shut his mouth quickly before it could get him into even more trouble. The Collector was a podgy, middle-aged man with a thick neck and a florid face, wearing a white jumpsuit and cape, as popularized by Elvis in his later days. It didn't suit him at all.
"Wow," said Suzie, sticking the barrel of her shotgun in the Collector's ear. "Now that's what I call service."
"Oh shit," said the Collector.
"Language!" said Suzie. "There are angels present."
"Hello, Collector," I said calmly. "How's the leg?"
"Taylor! I might have known you were behind this!" The Collector started to say something else, but Suzie shoved her gun a little further into his ear, an he stopped himself again. He glowered at me. "I had to grow a new leg, thanks to your interference all those years ago. Put me right off time-traveling. Never was cost-effective. And besides, I kept bumping into myself, and I kept giggling at me, which was unnerving, to say the least. Now will someone please tell me why I have been transported here against my will!"
"Because you're needed," I said, and then hesitated, because I just had to know. "Is that outfit you're wearing the real thing?"
The Collector pulled himself up to his full, not particularly impressive, height, and preened. It wasn't a pretty sight. "Of course it's real! Graceland hasn't even noticed it's missing yet."
I grinned. "Are you wearing the authentic nappy under it?"
The Collector's eyes narrowed so much they almost disappeared. "What... do you want, Taylor?"
"The Unholy Grail. You've got it."
"Yes, and I'm keeping it. The dark chalice is a totally unique piece. It's going to be the pride of my collection. The rest of the collecting fraternity will just die when they hear I've got it!"
"We could all die if we don't get this mess sorted out right now," I said.
"Starting very definitely with you," Suzie growled, applying a little more pressure to the gun barrel in the Collector's reddening ear.
He slapped the gun aside and glared right back at her. "Don't you threaten me, Shooter. I'm protected in ways you can't even imagine."
"Unfortunately, he probably is," I said. "So ease off a little, Suzie. Collector, in case it's slipped your attention, we are currently surrounded by whole armies of angels, all of whom would be quite willing to take you apart, right down to the molecular level, while still keeping you alive and aware and screaming horribly if that's what it takes to get you to hand over the Unholy Grail. Only Merlin's power is holding them back, for the moment. You really think your protections are good enough to hold off a whole bunch of really angry angels?"
He sniffed, but he was visibly weakening. "They don't even know where my collection is."
"It's on the Moon," said Suzie, smiling smugly. "Under the Sea of Tranquility."
The Collector actually stamped his foot, he was so angry, and he waved his pudgy fists in the air. "I knew I couldn't trust Razor Eddie... but he had me over a barrel, the bastard. It doesn't matter. Let the angels try and take my prize away from me. They'll discover I can summon up worse things than angels!"
"You're not fooling anyone, little man," said Merlin, and his cold, rasping voice dismissed the Collector's confidence in a moment. "Give up the somber chalice, while you still can. It's already corrupting your mind."
"It's mine!" said the Collector. "You can't have it! You just want it for yourself!"
Merlin laughed briefly, and everyone winced at the awful sound. "Hardly, little man. I once held the true cup of the Christ in my hands. The Sangreal itself. Nothing less will ever tempt me again."
"I won't give up the Unholy Grail!" the Collector shouted. His face was an unhealthy shade of purple. "I won't, and you can't make me! Not even you, Merlin Satanspawn. Not as long as you still want me to find your missing heart for you someday. Everyone else has failed you. I'm your last hope."
Suzie looked at me, and I sighed. "Okay, very quick prйcis of a verylong and complicated story. Merlin lost his heart to a young witch called Nimue, back when the world was a lot younger. She then lost it in a card game. Without his heart, Merlin's power is only a fraction of what it once was. The heart's been through almost as many hands as the Unholy Grail, down the centuries, and is currently... missing in action."
"Couldn't you find it for him, with your gift?" said Suzie.
"Perhaps. That's why Merlin's helping us now. Right, Sir Merlin?"
He smiled and nodded, the flames leaping in his eye sockets. What I didn't tell Suzie was that I had absolutely no intention of ever trying to find Merlin's heart. Nobody in their right mind wanted Merlin to regain his full powers. Even dead, he'd be more trouble than the angels...
"You can't keep the Unholy Grail," I said bluntly to the Collector. "You don't have anything strong enough to hold off angels, and you can bet they'd be ready and willing to destroy your entire collection, fighting each other over possession of the Unholy Grail."
The Collector pouted sullenly. "They would too, wouldn't they? Bloody winged philistines. All right, you can have it! Ugly damned thing anyway. Merlin? Back to the Moon. Please."
"With a little company, to keep you honest," said Merlin.
I looked at Suzie resignedly. "Hang on to your aura," I said. Suddenly Suzie and I and the Collector were somewhere else.
Eight
- Cats and Robots and One Last Vicious Truth
Every time I get teleported anywhere, I end up watching my whole life flashing before my eyes. Or at least, edited highlights. Most of it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time. I live in fear that someday Someone will find a way to slip in commercials.
Suzie and the Collector and I materialized out of nowhere, surrounded by thick clouds of noxious black smoke. Merlin learned his magic in the Old School, and still believed in traditional effects. Suzie batted at the smoke with her hand, swearing harshly in between racking coughs, while I checked to make sure I still had two of everything I should have. You can't be too careful with other people's teleport spells. Hidden extractor fans soon sucked most of the black smoke away, and we were able to take a clear look at our surroundings. We'd arrived in an almost blindingly technicolor reception area, with bright hanging silks for walls, dyed in every color of the rainbow, and twice as gaudy, while thick checkerboard padding covered the floor and the ceiling. My feet sank deeply into the cushioned floor, and walking across it I rose and fell so suddenly that I almost felt seasick. The air smelled strongly of something very like pine. Suzie glared about her suspiciously, the shotgun in her hands, but there were no obvious threats.
The Collector brushed aside one hanging silk to reveal a small high-tech console, all gleaming steel and crystal displays. He stabbed at the controls with his podgy fingers, ignoring everything else, while muttering something to his console that sounded suspiciously like Daddy's home.I was more concerned with the fact that I couldn't see a door anywhere. Suzie finished her coughing by hacking up what sounded like half a lung, and then spat viciously on the padded floor.
"I wish Merlin would get over his need for flashy special effects," she growled. "That smoke always plays hell with my sinuses."
"Boys and their toys," I said. "We have to allow Merlin his little eccentricities. Because if we don't, he'll probably turn us into frogs. Collector, what are you doing?"
"Shutting down some of my internal security systems," he snapped, without looking round. "I have all kinds of hidden protections here, and I don't want them all opening fire on you the moment you enter my warehouse. Some of my collection might get damaged. I have to be careful. There are always people trying to break in and steal my precious things. Bastards!"
"The nerve of some people," I murmured. "Thinking they could steal some of the many things you've stolen."
The Collector said nothing, still hunched over his console. I bounced a few times on the padded floor, checking my weight. If we really were somewhere under the Sea of Tranquility on the Moon, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make things feel like home. The gravity, air, and temperature all seemed perfectly normal. Which suggested that the Collector must have a lot more high-tech hidden away somewhere else. Suzie prowled restlessly back and forth in the confined space, poking at the hanging silks with the barrel of her gun. She jabbed at the padded floor with one boot heel and sniffed loudly.
"I always said you belonged in a padded cell, Collector."
"I believe in being comfortable and indulging myself," he said, finally turning away from his console. "The padding is there to protect me in the event of sudden, unexpected fluctuations in the artificial gravity. Most of the tech that keeps this place running comes from a possible future I visited, and I have to admit I'm not fully sure how all of it works. I know which buttons to push, but the minute anything goes wrong, I have to fall back on trial and error. Mostly I let my robots run things. You'll meet them later."
"That's the trouble with looting," I said. "There's so rarely enough time to grab the instruction manual as well."
"I do not loot! I collect and preserve!"
"So where is this famous collection?" said Suzie. "Don't tell me we came all this way to hang around what looks suspiciously like a tart's boudoir? We are on something of a tight schedule, remember?"
"Right through here," said the Collector, a little sullenly. "Follow me."
He ducked past a deep puce hanging silk and opened a concealed door. He gestured for Suzie and me to go first, but neither of us was having any of that. We made him go first, then followed quickly on his heels as he led us into the biggest damned warehouse I have ever seen. It seemed to stretch away forever, the walls so far off I couldn't even see them. There was no ceiling, just a bright unfocussed glow from somewhere up above. And filling this gigantic warehouse; thousands upon thousands of wooden crates, in every size you could think of. They were stacked in towering piles, each marked with a stenciled number. Narrow aisles ran between them. I looked around, trying to get some idea of the size of the collection, but the sheer number of crates numbed my brain. There was nothing on display, nothing to admire or examine. Just crates.
Suzie and the Collector and I materialized out of nowhere, surrounded by thick clouds of noxious black smoke. Merlin learned his magic in the Old School, and still believed in traditional effects. Suzie batted at the smoke with her hand, swearing harshly in between racking coughs, while I checked to make sure I still had two of everything I should have. You can't be too careful with other people's teleport spells. Hidden extractor fans soon sucked most of the black smoke away, and we were able to take a clear look at our surroundings. We'd arrived in an almost blindingly technicolor reception area, with bright hanging silks for walls, dyed in every color of the rainbow, and twice as gaudy, while thick checkerboard padding covered the floor and the ceiling. My feet sank deeply into the cushioned floor, and walking across it I rose and fell so suddenly that I almost felt seasick. The air smelled strongly of something very like pine. Suzie glared about her suspiciously, the shotgun in her hands, but there were no obvious threats.
The Collector brushed aside one hanging silk to reveal a small high-tech console, all gleaming steel and crystal displays. He stabbed at the controls with his podgy fingers, ignoring everything else, while muttering something to his console that sounded suspiciously like Daddy's home.I was more concerned with the fact that I couldn't see a door anywhere. Suzie finished her coughing by hacking up what sounded like half a lung, and then spat viciously on the padded floor.
"I wish Merlin would get over his need for flashy special effects," she growled. "That smoke always plays hell with my sinuses."
"Boys and their toys," I said. "We have to allow Merlin his little eccentricities. Because if we don't, he'll probably turn us into frogs. Collector, what are you doing?"
"Shutting down some of my internal security systems," he snapped, without looking round. "I have all kinds of hidden protections here, and I don't want them all opening fire on you the moment you enter my warehouse. Some of my collection might get damaged. I have to be careful. There are always people trying to break in and steal my precious things. Bastards!"
"The nerve of some people," I murmured. "Thinking they could steal some of the many things you've stolen."
The Collector said nothing, still hunched over his console. I bounced a few times on the padded floor, checking my weight. If we really were somewhere under the Sea of Tranquility on the Moon, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make things feel like home. The gravity, air, and temperature all seemed perfectly normal. Which suggested that the Collector must have a lot more high-tech hidden away somewhere else. Suzie prowled restlessly back and forth in the confined space, poking at the hanging silks with the barrel of her gun. She jabbed at the padded floor with one boot heel and sniffed loudly.
"I always said you belonged in a padded cell, Collector."
"I believe in being comfortable and indulging myself," he said, finally turning away from his console. "The padding is there to protect me in the event of sudden, unexpected fluctuations in the artificial gravity. Most of the tech that keeps this place running comes from a possible future I visited, and I have to admit I'm not fully sure how all of it works. I know which buttons to push, but the minute anything goes wrong, I have to fall back on trial and error. Mostly I let my robots run things. You'll meet them later."
"That's the trouble with looting," I said. "There's so rarely enough time to grab the instruction manual as well."
"I do not loot! I collect and preserve!"
"So where is this famous collection?" said Suzie. "Don't tell me we came all this way to hang around what looks suspiciously like a tart's boudoir? We are on something of a tight schedule, remember?"
"Right through here," said the Collector, a little sullenly. "Follow me."
He ducked past a deep puce hanging silk and opened a concealed door. He gestured for Suzie and me to go first, but neither of us was having any of that. We made him go first, then followed quickly on his heels as he led us into the biggest damned warehouse I have ever seen. It seemed to stretch away forever, the walls so far off I couldn't even see them. There was no ceiling, just a bright unfocussed glow from somewhere up above. And filling this gigantic warehouse; thousands upon thousands of wooden crates, in every size you could think of. They were stacked in towering piles, each marked with a stenciled number. Narrow aisles ran between them. I looked around, trying to get some idea of the size of the collection, but the sheer number of crates numbed my brain. There was nothing on display, nothing to admire or examine. Just crates.