Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth Part 7

Dead Boy headed immediately for the rack of wine bottles at the far end of the room, sampled several of them in an experimental sort of way, before finally settling for a thick blue liquor that seethed heavily against the containing gla.s.s. Personally, I wouldn't have used it for cleaning combs. Dead Boy took a long drink straight from the bottle, shuddered slightly, then grinned widely.

"It takes a lot to affect you, when you're dead," he said cheerfully. "But this stuff's got a kick like one hundred and twenty per cent embalming fluid."

I wrestled the bottle away from him and put it to one side. "Trust me," I said. "You really don't want to do what I've got in mind while you're drunk."

"I hate it already," said Dead Boy.

We arranged ourselves as comfortably as we could on the embroidered throw cus.h.i.+ons, and I explained slowly and carefully just what it was I had in mind. First, I described in some detail the devastated future Nightside I'd seen in the Timeslip. The ruined buildings and the terrible silence, in which the only things moving were swarming mutated insects. Humanity was gone, and all the world was dead and cold. A future that was my fault, somehow. Julien and Dead Boy listened intently, drinking in the details. They'd heard rumours of what I'd seen, most of the Nightside had, but I'd never told anyone the whole story. And even now, I kept a few things to myself. They didn't need to know about the Razor Eddie I found there, the last living man in the world. They didn't need to know I killed him, with his own razor, as a mercy.

Of course, when I finished my story they had to argue with me. They were far too sophisticated to believe in a single, unavoidable future. In Fate, or Destiny.

"There are any number of potential time-lines, possible futures," said Julien, a little condescendingly. "None of them more certain than any other."

"Right," said Dead Boy. "My own car comes from an alternate future that clearly has nothing to do with the one you described."

"Once, that might have been true," I said. "But our future, the future our time-line is heading towards, is getting more certain all the time. I've... seen things. Signs, portents, details coming true despite everything I could do to avoid them. According to Old Father Time, the number of possibilities for our time-line is narrowing down, steadily decreasing to only one inevitable future."

"Because of your mother," said Julien.

"Yes," I said. "Because of Lilith. She's such a powerful Being that her mere presence here is enough to overturn the whole apple-cart and rewrite the rules of reality itself."

I let them consider that for a while, then pressed on. They had to understand the background of my thinking, in order to appreciate what I intended to do.

"I have become increasingly convinced," I said slowly, "that the War I'm supposed to start with Lilith and her followers could be the very thing that will bring about the destruction of the Nightside. That we'll tear the world apart, fighting over it. So I've decided I can't go any further, in good conscience, without better information. And the only people who can offer me that... are my Enemies. The people who've been sending their agents to kill me for as long as I can remember."

Julien leaned forward eagerly. "You finally found out who they are?"

"Yes," I said. "They're the last surviving major players of the devastated future, hiding out in the final stages of the War, sometime before my visit in the Timeslip. The few remaining heroes and villains, desperately sending their agents back into the Past, to kill me before I do... whatever it is I do, to d.a.m.n everyone."

Mien and Dead Boy looked at me, silenced by shock, by the staggering implications of what I'd just said.

"Who... ?" said Julien.

"Familiar names, familiar faces," I said. "You'd know them."

(I didn't tell Julien Advent that he would become one of my Enemies, in that terrible future. Or that he would die trying to kill me, and his dead body would be made over into one of the awful agents they sent back after me. He didn't need to know that.) "Why have you never told me any of this before?" Julien said, finally.

"Because you would have told everyone," I said. "That's what you do. And I wasn't ready to trust... everyone."

"This is sounding more and more like a closed circle," said Dead Boy. "How can you... talk with your Enemies?"

"By travelling forward through Time into their future," I said steadily. "And confronting them. Because they're the only ones who know what happened, to bring about their future. They can tell me... what I mustn't do."

What can I do? I'd asked the future Razor Eddie, moments before I killed him. What can I do to prevent this happening?

Kill yourself, he said.

"But... they're your Enemies!" said Dead Boy. "They'll kill you on sight!"

"Then I'll have to be very persuasive," I said. "And talk really quickly."

"And if they kill you anyway?" said Julien.

"Well, that might solve the problem," I said. "But trust me, this is not a suicide run. I have every intention of coming back alive, with the information I need to put Lilith back in her box and avoid the end of the world."

"It's a good thing I'm already dead," said Dead Boy, "or I think I'd be very worried about this."

"Travel through Time takes a h.e.l.l of a lot of power," said Julien, frowning heavily. "There's not many who can do it. Or would do it for you, John. I suppose I could talk to Old Father Time, on your behalf. Put in a good word for you."

"Oh, I think he's got a very good word for me," I said. "He's already arranged one trip through Time for me, and after the way that turned out, I don't think he'll be doing that again, anytime soon." Julien looked at me sharply, scenting a story, and I shook my head. "Trust me on this, Julien, you really don't want to know."

"All right," said Dead Boy, "if Old Father Time is out of the picture, who does that leave?"

"I've been thinking about that," I said. "The Collector is supposed to have a whole bunch of really weird Time travel mechanisms; but he's still mad at me. For a whole bunch of reasons."

Dead Boy sniffed loudly. "The Collector's mad at everyone. And vice versa. I wouldn't p.i.s.s down his throat if his heart was on fire."

"Then there's the Chronovore," I said loudly. "Who eats up all the little lost moments of your life, the ones that you can never account for. But he works strictly for cash these days. Serious cash. There's always the Travelling Doctor, but you can never rely on him being around when you need him."

"That's everyone I know of," said Julien. "Who else is left?"

"This is where it all starts getting a bit risky," I said carefully. "I think I know someone On High who might owe me a favour. So... I plan to summon an angel down from Heaven."

I don't think I've ever seen two such appalled faces in my life. Dead Boy's eyes actually bulged in their sockets, and Julien Advent's face went as pale as Dead Boy's. They both tried to say something, but couldn't get the words out for spluttering.

"It's really not all that different from calling up a demon," I said quickly, trying hard to sound confident. 'The principle is the same, only in reverse. "That's why I needed both of you, for my plan to work. Dead Boy, to help me send my message beyond the planes of the living, and Julien, to help me contact the Courts of the Holy. You have a singular nature, Dead Boy, being both dead and alive at the same time, and I can use that ambiguity to punch my way through a lot of the usual barriers. Julien, you created a drug to split apart the best and worst elements in man. You embraced the best elements, of course, and became a hero, a pure soul. Or at least, as close to one as I'm going to find in the Nightside. Your purity of spirit will help my message get where it needs to go. Theoretically."

"And that's it?" said Dead Boy, when he finally got his voice back. "That's your marvellous plan? You were right, I don't like it. In fact, I think I would go so far as to say I hate it! Have you lost your mind, John? I can't even count all the ways this could go horribly wrong. You and Julien could get killed, I could... well, I'm not entirely sure what could happen to me, but I am ready to bet good money that it would be really, really bad! I think I'm going to have one of my turns... Look, you can't just go banging on Saint Peter's Gates and demand he send down an angel to talk to you! We're all going to end up as pillars of salt, I know it..."

"For once I find myself in complete agreement with Dead Boy," said Julien, glaring at me sternly. "If we summon an angel, and please note the emphasis I am placing on the word if, what we'll get will be the real thing. A messenger of G.o.d, complete in all its power and glory. Not the weakened, limited things that are normally all that can manifest in the Nightside. And you of all people should remember how much damage and loss of life those weakened presences brought about during the angel war last year. They're still rebuilding parts of the city. If we call down the real thing, what's to stop it wiping us all out on a whim?"

"First," I said, "the angel will be contained within a protective circle, just like a demon. Second, your presence and Dead Boy's will add to the protections considerably. That's why I waited to connect with you two, before I tried anything. It is... possible, for things to go wrong, yes. Summonings are a bit like fis.h.i.+ng-you can never be sure whether you'll hook a sprat or a killer shark. The last time I tried this..."

"Hold everything," said Mien. "You actually tried this before?"

"Once, when I was a lot younger," I said defensively. "When I was really desperate for information about who and what my missing mother was. I thought, if anybody would know..."

"What happened?" said Dead Boy.

"Well," I said, "you know that really big crater, where the Hotel Splendide used to be?"

"That was you?" said Julien. "It's still radioactive!"

"I really don't want to talk about it," I said, with great dignity.

"Give me back my bottle," said Dead Boy. "There is no way in h.e.l.l I'm doing this sober."

"I have yet to be convinced we should do it at all," said Julien. "In fact, I'm still rather hoping this is all some terrible dream I'm going to wake up from soon."

"G.o.d, you're a pair of wimps! Everything's going to be all right." I leaned forward, doing my best to project certainty and trustworthiness. "I'm going after a specific angel this time, and I'm sure having you two along will make all the difference."

"Don't worry," Dead Boy said to Julien. "It's not that bad, being dead. It's actually quite restful, sometimes."

Julien helped me clear away the throw cus.h.i.+ons and the rugs to reveal the bare floor-boards beneath, while Dead Boy went downstairs, and came back with a bucket full of the Beadle's blood. He handed it over sulkily, muttering something about how he'd been saving that blood, to make blood pudding and stock later. I ignored him and had Julien p.r.i.c.k his thumb and add a few drops of his own blood to the bucket, to purify it. (Working on the principle that some trace of the drug that brought out his best elements was still in his system.) I then used the blood to draw a really big restraining circle, surrounded by every protective symbol I knew. It took a long time and used up most of the bucket of blood.

"I don't even recognise some of the languages you're using," said Julien.

"Think yourself lucky," said Dead Boy, and I had to agree.

Finally, it was done. It looked pretty impressive, even if it did smell really rank. The three of us sat down together, inside a second smaller protective circle, holding hands; and that was it. No chanting, incense, dead chickens, or waving your hands around. In the end, most magic is really primarily a matter of will and intent. The signs I'd so carefully daubed were the spell's address, along with a few extra things to get the recipient's attention, and a few safeguards so the recipient couldn't simply wipe us all out for interrupting them at a particularly inconvenient moment. You'd be surprised how many demons screen their calls these days. Everything else was down to me, Julien Advent, and Dead Boy, and our combined will and determination.

"Something's happening," said Dead Boy, after a while. "I can feel energies forming all around us. I can See... I can See avenues opening up, levels of reality unfolding like the petals of a flower, more levels, more and more... I can See further than I ever could before... and I don't like it. It scares me. It's too big..."

"Look away," I said sharply. "Shut down your Sight and reinforce your mental barriers. Concentrate on the summoning."

"I can feel something," said Julien.

"Don't," I said.

Dead Boy and Julien both had their eyes squeezed shut now, beads of sweat standing out on their strained faces. I kept my eyes open. One of us had to, and I was more used to Seeing the unseen realms. I still kept my mental barriers firmly in place. There were things none of us could afford to see, if we wished to remain in the mortal world. The glory of the s.h.i.+mmering plains is not for mortals. By now we could all feel Something approaching, from a direction we all instinctively recognised but couldn't identify. It felt like above, in all senses of the word. Something was coming into our world, Something impossibly large and powerful, downloading itself into a mortal frame that wouldn't blow all the fuses in our merely human minds.

Brilliant light exploded within the main circle, and we all cried out and turned our heads away as an angel manifested; a blazing light far too fierce to look at directly. We could only catch brief glimpses of it, out of the corners of our watering eyes. It was vaguely human in shape, pure light, pure energy, pure magic, with just an impression of wide wings. Simply being close to it made me feel small and insignificant, simple and undeveloped, like a chalk drawing next to the Mona Lisa. The angel regarded us, and its attention embraced us all, like a judgement only barely tempered with mercy and compa.s.sion.

"Hi," I made myself say. "Glad you could drop in. Is that you, Pretty Poison?"

I don't use that name any more, said a Voice like thunder in my head. All three of us groaned out loud, as the angel's words filled our minds. I have my old name back now. Thanks, in part, to you, John Taylor. I know what you want. We know everything. It's part of the job description. And yes, I will help you, just this once. Because of what you did, for me and my beloved. But understand this, John Taylor; although I can send you into the future, getting back again will be your own problem.

"Can you help us against Lilith and her followers?" said Julien Advent. He was actually able to look at the angel for more than a few seconds at a time. Maybe he really did have a pure soul, after all. "You must know what she's done, what she plans to do."

Yes. We know. But all of Heaven and all of h.e.l.l are forbidden to intervene directly in the Nightside. Some of the lesser ranks from Above and Below volunteered to try to intercede, and were destroyed for their trouble. Lilith designed the Nightside specifically to diminish all spiritual messengers who entered it. So all future interventions have been forbidden, in the place where all the decisions that matter are made. In the Courts of the Holy. It's up to the Nightside to save itself, if it can. I am bending the rules to help you, John Taylor, and I will not do so again. Good luck. And don't call this number again.

I knew a hint when I heard it. She was telling me to get on with it, before Someone else called her back. So I raised my gift and focused my Sight on all the various time-lines radiating out from this place, this moment, this decision. I could only see the most immediate timetracks, but even so the sheer number of images almost overwhelmed me. I narrowed my regard still further, searching through the time-lines for the single path that led to my Enemies. Near futures flashed on and off all around me. I saw my friends die, fighting Lilith and her people. I saw different versions of myself, and them, and we all died fighting Lilith, over and over again. I saw my friends support Lilith, while I led a coalition of those who had once been my foes against her, and we all died again. I saw myself, wearing an expression I didn't recognise, sitting at my mother's feet as she contemplated a mountain of skulls and smiled, while monsters danced in the flickering light of burning buildings.

Other versions of the future pressed in from all sides-other, stranger, alien Nightsides. I saw inhuman structures that might have been buildings, with unnatural lights burning in them, while impossible forms lurched and mewled through the s.h.i.+fting streets. I saw huge cavernous shapes, rounded structures with an organic sheen, great insects crawling all over them. I even glimpsed a version of the carnivorous jungle I'd visited briefly in the Past, with its trees made of meat and lianas like hanging intestines, where hissing roses rioted in the ruins of long-abandoned cities. I fought hard to focus my gift, forcing aside all the irrelevant futures, until I found what I was looking for: the dark and devastated future that was home to my Enemies.

And once I was locked on to that terrible place, the angel tore me loose from the Present, and sent me rocketing forward through Time. The world speeded up around me, Time flas.h.i.+ng by impossibly fast. Days became months became years, piling up behind me. I saw the Nightside fall, its great buildings cras.h.i.+ng down, crumbling like sand castles in the path of an oncoming tide. I saw the great oversized moon in the night sky explode, its pieces raining down like fiery meteors. And I saw the stars start to go out, one by one by one.

There were Voices all around me, growling and muttering and howling, outside of Time. Strange Presences, all speaking at once in no human tongue, yet still I could understand the gist of it. Slowly they became aware of me, then the Voices began to cajole, to warn, and to threaten. I think they were frightened of me. I refused to listen, making myself concentrate only on my destination, until finally Time slammed to a halt again, and I was spilled out into the dark future I'd visited before. The dead end of the Nightside, and maybe all of history.

And all of it my fault.

Seven.

The Night, So Dark

It was even worse than I remembered. A night dark as despair, cold as a lover's rejection, silent as the grave. Everywhere I looked, there were buildings fallen into ruin and rubble, whole areas stamped flat or burned down. As though a mighty storm had pa.s.sed through the Nightside, levelling everything it touched. Only this storm had a name. I looked up into the night sky, and there was no moon and only a sprinkling of scattered stars. The end of the world, the end of life, the end of hope. And all because of me.

It was bitter cold, the harsh air burning in my lungs, so cold it even numbed my thoughts. All around me for as far as I could see, there were only the stumps and sh.e.l.ls of what had once been proud, tall buildings. Shattered brickwork, cracked and broken stone stained from the smoke of old fires, windows with no gla.s.s and empty doorways like gaping mouths or wounds. The streets held only abandoned, crushed and burned-out cars, along with piled-up rubbish and refuse. And shadows, shadows everywhere. I'd never known the Nightside so dark, without its bright neon, its gaudy glare of bustle and commerce. What light there was had a deep purple hue, as though the night itself was bruised.

And yet I wasn't alone. I could hear something, vague sounds off in the distance. Something large, cras.h.i.+ng through an empty street. I thrust my hands deep into my coat pockets, hunched my shoulders against the cold, and went to investigate. That's what I do. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. I made my way cautiously through the dark streets, stepped around and over all kinds of debris. I peered into the trashed vehicles I pa.s.sed, but there was never anyone in them. Thick dust puffed up around my feet with every step, only to fall straight back again. There wasn't even a puff of wind. The cold air was still, lifeless. The sounds grew louder as I drew nearer. They were coming from more than one direction. I remembered the giant, mutated insects from my last visit and moved more slowly, more quietly. Until finally I came to the edge of a great open square, and when I saw what walked there, I shrank back into the darkest, deepest shadow I could find, holding my breath so as not to give away even the slightest sign of my presence.

It lurched across the open square, its weight cracking the ground with every step, huge and bulging like a living cancer growth, all red-and-purple striations, with rows of swollen eyes and mouths dripping pus. It stalked unsteadily forward on tall stilt legs that might have been leg-bones, once upon a time. It stopped abruptly as something else entered the square from the other side. Something tall and vague, made up of s.h.i.+fting unnatural lights. It surged forward in sudden spurts and jerks, spitting and sparking vivid energies, discharging lightning bolts at everything metal it pa.s.sed. The two monsters howled and squalled at each other, terrible sounds, like two great Beasts disputing territory.

The hideous racket called others. They burst out of side streets and the sh.e.l.ls of broken buildings, huge monstrosities that could never have survived and prospered in a sane and rational world. They snapped and snarled at each other, stamping and coiling and rearing up jagged heads full of teeth. Something big and brutal with too many clawed arms circled warily around something with a long scarred carapace that leaked slime. It waved long, serrated claws in the air, while something else like a ma.s.sive squashed over-ripe fruit, big as a bus, humped its way across the square, leaving a trail of steaming acid that ate into the bare stone ground.

All their movements were sudden, erratic, disturbing. Their raised cries were awful, actually painful to the human ear. They struck at each other, or at nothing, or charged each other head-on, like rutting stags. They did not move or act like sane things. You only had to watch them to know that their minds had gone bad, their spirits broken by this terrible place, this end of all things. They looked as though they were sick inside, everything gone to rot and corruption, dying by inches.

I knew what they were. What they had to be. These hideous, distorted things were all that was left of Lilith's children, the last of the Powers and Beings she'd recruited from the Street of the G.o.ds to follow her. Stripped of their might and glory, mutated and driven mad. I backed slowly away from the square, away from them, away from the world I'd made. But one of them found me anyway.

At first, I thought it was just another deep shadow, cast against the unusually high wall of a jagged building, but then it moved, lurching out into the street to block my way. It rose before me like a ma.s.sive black slug, big as a building, wide as a lobby, made up of living darkness. It didn't gleam or glisten, and it had no discernible details; what light there was seemed to just fall away into it like a bottomless pit. It had no eyes, but it saw me. It knew I was there, and it hated me. I could feel its hatred, like a pressure on the air. Hatred without cause, or character, or even consciousness.

I took a cautious step backwards, and it came after me. I stopped immediately, and it stopped, too. Something else slowly manifested on the air, besides the hatred. It was hungry. I turned and ran, side-stepping and lunging across the piled-up rubbish in the street, and behind me came the Beast. I ran carelessly, taking crazy risks with my footing, not caring where I was going. I chose the narrowest streets and darted down side alleys, but it came relentlessly after me, cras.h.i.+ng through the sides of crumbling buildings, never slowing or diverting from its path. Its bulk smashed through the material world like it was made of paper, while falling masonry bounced harmlessly off its dark hide. Dust rose in thick clouds, and I coughed harshly as I ran. I was faster, more manoeuvrable, but it was inexorable. And finally, it cornered me.

I chose the wrong turning and ended up in a side street blocked by piled-up cars. Too tall to climb and no way past. There was a door to one side. I grabbed at the bra.s.s handle and it came away in my hand, jerked right out of the rotten wood. I kicked at the door, and it absorbed my foot like spongy fungus. I pulled my foot free and turned around, and there was the great black slug, blocking the street, towering over me. I leaned forward, gasping for breath, coughing out the dust in my lungs. I had nothing on me that could deal with such a monster, no tricks or magics or last-minute escapes. I started to raise my gift, hoping it could find me a way out, then the black slug lurched forward, and my concentration shattered.

Up close, it stank of brine, of the sea. Of something that should have remained hidden at the bottom of the deepest ocean. It hung over me, impossibly huge, then it stopped, as though... considering me. I could have reached out and touched it, but I could no more have made myself do that than plunge my bare hand into a vat of acid. And then, slowly, a reflection formed on the flat black surface of the Beast, facing me, coming into focus like an old photo, or an old memory. An image of me. The Beast remembered me. Slow ripples spread across the black surface, increasing in speed and urgency, and it lurched backwards, returning the way it had come, until finally it disappeared back into the night.

It knew me. And it was terrified of me.

I sat down on some rubble and concentrated on getting my breathing back under control. I could feel my heart hammering like a pile-driver, and my hands were shaking. It was times like this that I wished I smoked. Eventually my composure returned, and I looked around me. I had no idea where I was. All the landmarks were gone, beaten down into mess and ruin. Everywhere looked the same. Civilisation had come and gone, and only monsters stalked old London's streets. I shuddered suddenly. It was very cold, here at the end of the world. But I still had work to do. No rest for the wicked. I got to my feet again, beat my numbed hands together, and raised my gift. There was nothing to See. The unseen world was as dead and gone as everything else. But when I concentrated, it only took me a moment to find the lair of my Enemies. Their light was feeble and flickering, but still it shone like a beacon in this darkest of nights. I shut down my gift and set off in the direction it had shown me. It wasn't far.

I kept well away from the Beasts. Or maybe they were keeping away from me. Either way, nothing crossed my path till I came to my Enemies' hideout. Again, it looked just as I remembered it. A cracked, crumbling house in a rotted tenement, with nothing obviously different about it. No light showed at any of the shuttered windows, but I could feel light and life inside, hidden, barricaded against the monsters of the night. I advanced slowly, carefully, using just enough of my gift to See the concealed protections and magical b.o.o.by-traps covering all possible approaches to the house. Most were of the Don't see me, nothing here, move along kind, but surprisingly they were all keyed to abhuman energies. None of them would activate even if I walked right through them. Perhaps they no longer had any reason to expect human visitors. Or maybe they just needed to be able to get back inside at a moment's notice. The outer door wasn't even locked.

I let myself in and moved silently through the gloom and tension of the broken-down house. My eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the end of the world, but it was still hard to see anything inside. I trailed the fingertips of one hand along the nearest wall, to keep my bearings, and the plaster crumbled into dust under my touch. I strained my ears against the quiet, and finally I caught the first faint traces of sound, from the end of the corridor before me. I padded forward and came to a door camouflaged in the wall. It wasn't locked either. I slipped through the door, and for the first time there was light, real light. I stopped to let my eyes adjust. b.u.t.ter yellow light leaked round the edges of another door, in the wall ahead. The light looked warm and comforting. It looked like life. I eased over to the door. It was a little ajar. I pushed it open a few more inches, and looked through. And there were my Enemies, just as I'd seen them before, in my vision.

They had a great haunch of unidentifiable meat cooking over an open fire, turning slowly on a rough metal spit. They were all crouched around it, utterly intent, not even aware of my presence. Such familiar names and faces. Jessica Sorrow, Larry Oblivion, Count Video, King of Skin, Annie Abattoir. All of them major players and even Powers in their time, now fallen far from what they had once been. They were huddled together, as much for companions.h.i.+p and comfort as against the cold that seeped through even into the hidden room. All of them small ragged figures, with fear and hopelessness written deep in their bony, malnourished faces.

Jessica Sorrow, no longer the terrible Unbeliever, looked almost unbearably human and vulnerable as she sat cross-legged before the fire, as close to the flames as she could get without burning herself. She hugged an ancient teddy bear in her skinny arms, holding it close to her shrunken chest. She wore a battered black leather jacket and leggings, that looked a lot like the ones Suzie always wore.

Next to her sat Larry Oblivion, the dead detective. Betrayed and murdered by the only woman he ever really loved, brought back as a zombie, surviving now even when he would probably rather not, because he couldn't die again. His dead pale flesh showed through the tatters of what had probably once been a very expensive suit. Unlike the others, he didn't look tired, or defeated. He just looked angry.

Count Video was a mess. He wore nothing but a collection of leather straps, and his skin was wrinkled and loose in places, from where it had been st.i.tched back on after the angel war. Heavy black staples held him together, in places. Silicon nodules and sorcerous circuitry projected from puckered skin, soldered into place long ago to form the necrotech that powered his binary magics. Plasma lights sputtered on and off around his wasted body, and a halo of intermittent energies cast an unhealthy light on his twitching face.

King of Skin was just a man here, stripped of his once-terrible glamour. In my time he could have killed with a word or enslaved with a look, but not here, not now. He was all skin and bone, his gaze distant and unfocused. Objects of power hung about him on tangled silver chains, half-hidden under a thick fur coat with patches torn away. He rocked back and forth on his haunches, perhaps lost in memories of better times, because memory was all he had left.

And finally, Annie Abattoir; a.s.sa.s.sin and seductress, secret agent and confidence trickster, praised and feared and d.a.m.ned in a dozen countries. She wore what was left of a long crimson evening gown, the low-cut back showing off the mystic symbols carved deep into the flesh between her shoulder blades. She'd always been very hard to kill, though many had tried, often with good reason. Though she was six-foot-two and still mostly muscle, her face held little of its old striking charm. She looked... diminished. Beaten down.

I finally announced my presence with a polite cough, and they all spun round, scrambling to their feet, ready to fight. Their eyes widened, and a few jaws dropped as they recognised me, then King of Skin cried out like a hurt child and scurried away to crouch in a corner, terrified and trembling. Count Video's face convulsed with rage, and new energies crackled around him as his necrotech sparked into life.