Other books by Richard Kadrey:

Angel Scene

Kamikaze L’Amour

Metrophage

The Covert Culture Sourcebook, Volumes 1 & 2

From Myst to Riven

Night Shade BookS

S a N F r a N c i S c o

Butcher Bird © 2007 by Richard Kadrey

Originally published online in a somewhat different form as Blind

Shrike, on The Infinite Matrix, April 2005.

This edition of Butcher Bird © 2007 by Night Shade Books

Author photo by Bart Nagel

Cover art by Dan dos Santos

Jacket design by Claudia Noble

Interior layout and design by Jeremy Lassen

All rights reserved

First Edition

ISBN 978-1-59780-086-0

Night Shade Books

Please visit us on the web at

http://www.nightshadebooks.com

For N, with love

“This whole world’s wild at heart and weird on top.”

— Barry Gifford, Wild at Heart

oNe

auto-da-Fé

“they say that when your head gets chopped off, it can still see and

hear for a few seconds, so I’ll have to go with beheading,” said

Spyder Lee to Lulu Garou.

Spyder Lee was drinking shots of Patrón Añejo tequila with Lulu,

his business partner, at the Bardo Lounge just off Market Street in San

Francisco.

Lulu looked into her empty glass and thought for some time, took a

drag off her Marlboro Light and winked at the woman tending bar. “Being beaten to death,” said Lulu. “Badly. I don’t mean like with a baseball

bat or rebar so you’re out cold, but something small.” She crushed out

her Marlboro in the ashtray the bartender slid in front of her. “An eight

ball in a sweat sock. That’d give your killer a good workout.”

“Not if the guy hit you in the head right off,” said Spyder.

“My mama was pretty free with her hands. I’m a faster ducker,” Lulu

replied. She grinned. Spyder could tell she was unimpressed with his

argument.

“Burning at the stake,” he said.

“Drawn and quartered,” Lulu countered.

Rubi, the bartender, took their empty glasses away. “Exactly what are

you two rattling about?”

“Worst ways to die,” said Spyder. “Being covered in honey and staked

out on a red ant hill.”

“Dying of thirst. Like right now,” said Lulu.

Rubi slid her hand across the bar and took hold of Lulu’s left pinkie.

“You parched, baby?”

“I’m drier than Candy Darling’s cunt.”

“Candy Darling was a man,” said Spyder.

“Exactly.”

Rubi leaned forward and kissed Lulu’s pinkie. “I’ll get you both another

— richard kadrey

round. On me.” As she left to make their drinks, Lulu called after her,

“That ain’t all that’s gonna be on you tonight.” Rubi stuck her tongue

out at Lulu.

“Being crucified. That’s supposed to be horrible,” said Spyder.

“You’re only saying that ’cause that’s how they talk about it in movies.

You ever known anyone who was crucified? Or even heard of one? Hell

no. Maybe being crucified is great. Maybe it’s a fucking hoot. Maybe

it’s a blow job and ice cream on your birthday.” Lulu took out another

Marlboro Light and lit it with a pink fur Zippo. “Know what would really

suck? Being force fed a bucket full of black widows.”

Spyder made a face, half frown and half smile. “Jesus, girl,” he said.

“You’re upping the ante on me.”

It was the end of another day at the tattoo studio and piercing parlor

Spyder and Lulu ran together. Spyder did the ink while Lulu handled

the metal. It was a pleasant business. It let them both pretend to be artists while making money and getting a lot of tail on the side. Rubi, for

instance, had been one of Lulu’s earliest and most regular customers.

“She’s got about five pounds of me on her at all times,” Lulu liked to

tell friends.

Rubi brought back their drinks and set them on the bar. “What time

you getting off tonight?” asked Lulu.

“Early,” said Rubi. “’Bout an hour.”

“Sweet.”

“Being eaten alive, Night of the Living Dead-style,” said Spyder.

Lulu turned to him. “You mind? We’re having a moment here.”

“Wait, better than that,” Spyder went on. “Being starved to death, but

given topical anesthetic and surgical equipment, so the only way you

could stay alive’d be to amputate your own limbs and eat them.”

Rubi said, “You two ought to get married. Move into the Bates Motel.”

She went down the bar to serve other customers.

“Now you ruined our surprise,” Spyder called after her.

Lulu took a long pull on her tequila. “Flayed alive and drowned in

pickle brine.”

Spyder looked at his hands. The back of one was covered in an intricate

black tribal snake pattern while the other hand sported a cartoon red

sacred heart. MANS RUIN was tattooed across the knuckles of both

hands. He’d gotten the letters while doing a year in reform school for car

theft. They were bullshit tats. Kid stuff. But they marked a period of his

life, so he never bothered to have them lasered off. From his neck to the

tops of his feet, Spyder Lee was an explosion of images and pigments.

Butcher Bird —

He’d never felt normal until he’d been tattooed for the first time. The

ink felt like some kind of magic armor. His tattoos, even the stupid ones,

made him feel bulletproof.

He was one of those lanky Texas boys you see working on cars in

oil-stained driveways, a cooler full of Coors, his only concession to the

summer heat. A perpetually messy mop of black hair and long arms

covered in grease working on the transmission of a vintage Mustang of

questionable ownership.

“Split open, your organs torn out with hooks and replaced with red

hot coals,” he said.

Lulu leaned in close. “Strapped to the front of a burning boat and

driven through a mile and a half of electrified razorwire in a Tabasco

sauce hurricane.”

They both broke up in drunken laughter, spitting and slamming their

hands on the bar.

“You’re both wrong,” said a woman sitting to Spyder’s right. He and

Lulu turned to look at the woman. She was small, with fine features and

the smooth grace of a dancer. The woman was drinking red wine and

wearing sunglasses. In her right hand she held a white cane, the sort

used by the blind.

Lulu called over Spyder’s shoulder, “Okay Ray Charles, what’s the

worst way to die?”

The woman finished her wine and stood up. “To be betrayed by the

one you love.”

She turned on her heels and, swinging her cane in small arcs in front

of her, pushed her way through the crowd and out of the bar.

Spyder watched the door as it closed behind the woman. Lulu took

a drag off her Marlboro. “Stupid bitch,” she said, and dropped the butt

into the woman’s empty wine glass.

two

the great divide

t he Earth was born in a furnace. When the world grew strong enough,

it crawled into the dark void to cool and heal itself. Soon, however, it

grew too cold and shivered with ice.

The Earth looked around and found a small star to warm it up. Deciding

it liked the neighborhood and the climate, there the Earth stayed.

Life appeared across the Earth, splashed in the water and glided on

thermals through the sky. It didn’t take life long to grow so abundant that

it began preying on itself.

Crows, bats and eagles, the lords of the air, scooped up fish from the seas

and dumped them in the desert until the dry lands were piled high with

their bones. These carcasses became the Earth’s first mountains.

Other animals learned to climb the trees and attack the birds as they

hunted for food. The land dwellers decorated the bare trees with the birds’

feathers and painted the ground with their blood. The gray earth suddenly

had color.

Every creature who lived in the sea—the fish, the whales, the seals, the

crabs, the squids and the rays—met in the South Seas and beat their fins,

claws and tentacles, and raised an enormous tidal wave. The wall of water

shot across the earth, drowning millions of the land and air beasts. This is

how the many rivers and oceans of the world were born.

After an eon or two of mass murder, when the surface of the Earth was

a stinking slaughterhouse, the lords of the different realms of life met at

the ancient human city of Thulamela to see if they could end the butchery.

This wasn’t all that simple, since the many different creatures of the Earth

were going to have to live on the same planet, but give each other plenty

of room.

They divided the world into three Spheres, with each Sphere being invis-

ible and out of the reach of the others. Humans and the most numerous

animals of the land, sea and air were given one Sphere.

Butcher Bird —

A Second Sphere was home to the rarest creatures—the phoenix, selkies,

vampires, barbegazi, corrigans, tengus, lamias, rompos, sylphs, gorgons,

volkhs, wyverns, trolls and other exotic beasts.

The last realm was left to the most glorious and dangerous inhabitants

of the planet: angels and demons.

So it was that each of these groups lived and grew old and died in its own

Sphere, inhabiting the same time and space as all the other Spheres, but

rarely touching—unless a creature was powerful or clever enough to learn

the spells of crossing over. Because the town meeting that divided the world

had taken place in a human city, cities became the places where the creatures

who moved from Sphere to Sphere would meet up to talk, joke, eat, exchange

spells and news, make love or commit the occasional genocide.

Over the next few thousand centuries, the creatures who dwelled in the

second and Third Spheres struck a kind of détente. Unfortunately for the

beasts in the First Sphere (which included ninety-nine percent of human-

ity), they forgot about the other Spheres completely and only glimpsed them

in their dreams.

Or so they thought.

three

StraNge attractorS

Later, Spyder went out the back and into the alley behind the Bardo

Lounge for a quick piss.

It wasn’t Spyder’s habit to urinate in public, but at the best of times

the Lounge’s toilets were questionable. Sometime during the day, Rubi

told him, they had committed hara-kiri. “One summer during college I

was trekking in Nepal,” Rubi said. “First night out we came to this little

village and I asked this lady who ran the local teahouse where the toilets

were. In Nepali she said, essentially, ‘Anywhere but here,’ and pointed to

an open field.”

As Spyder unzipped in the alley, he considered the club’s name and

wondered if the real afterlife would be at all like this. A tab at your favorite

bar. Pretty girls to chat up. The occasional piss in an alley next to God’s

own dumpster. It didn’t seem like the afterlife would be too bad a place.

Spyder wondered who the bouncer in the Bardo Realm would be. The

Black Bhairab, he decided. Shiva’s most wrathful form. The six-armed,

crown-of-skulls-wearing Mad Max of the afterlife.

Spyder zipped up and turned to reenter the club. Like a bad dream,

the Black Bhairab was right there beside him. Something big enough,

strong enough and wild enough to be the Black Bhairab, though Spyder

knew that these qualities were also present in many of your dedicated

crackheads. This particular crackhead grabbed Spyder by the front of

his shirt and lifted him off him feet, tossing him into the trashcans and

empty liquor boxes at the back of the alley.

Stunned, Spyder reached for his cash, hoping this would get the guy

to back off. The mugger came up and slammed his boot into Spyder’s

midsection, then kept kicking, even after he’d snatched the money from

Spyder’s hand. Spyder didn’t even get a decent look at the guy and that

really bothered him. He wanted to see the face of the man who was

about to kill him.

Butcher Bird —

As if the mugger had heard Spyder’s thoughts, he felt himself being

pulled up by his collar until he was standing upright. Then Spyder’s feet

lifted from the dirty alley floor and he hung limp in the air at the end of

the mugger’s arm. “You know how to whistle don’t you? Just put your

lips together and blow,” Spyder croaked as he hung there. He punched

the crackhead as hard as he could. The guy’s face gave as if there were

no bones in there, just a lot of flesh-colored pudding.

The mugger’s face began to change. His skin crawled in the jittery sodium light from a streetlamp. The mugger’s eyes swelled and burst from

their sockets, black and glittering with facets. His lips seemed to melt,

drawing down into a long, twitching tube. Cracked, curved horns burst

from the sides of his head. The mugger exhaled a fetid cloud of steaming

breath. Spyder’s brain was on overload. The adrenaline rush and oxygen

deprivation had him flashing on a frantic stream of schizophrenic data.

Snakes. Insects. Wolves. Angels. The mugger had a smell. Overwhelmingly sweet. Vanilla roses. Rotting fish. The perfume of dead schoolgirls.

Spyder thought of his room in high school. He’d had a poster on the

wall, a parody of the kind of out-of-date Civil Defense instructions they

used to give kids in case of nuclear attack. The last line had read: Put

your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye.

Spyder vomited on the mugger’s arm. The puke seemed to have some

kind of mysterious juju power because at that moment the mugger’s

head sheered off and rolled to the alley floor. His body, which still had a

solid grip on Spyder’s collar, followed a second or two later.

When he could open his eyes, Spyder saw a pair of shiny vinyl boots

in front of his face. He closed his eyes again, ready for this new intruder

to finish him off.

“Get up,” came a woman’s voice.

Spyder looked up and saw the blind dancer he and Lulu had spoken to

in the bar earlier that night. She was holding a long and bloody sword

in her hands.

“I’m tapped out. The dead guy got all my money,” said Spyder.

“I’m not mugging you, fool. I’m saving you. Not that you deserve it.”

The blind woman reached down for Spyder’s arm and helped him to

his feet.

“Thanks. What the fuck just happened?”

“A Bitru demon attacked you. I killed it.”

“I don’t believe in demons.”

The woman nodded. “All right. It was a junkie with the head of an

insect and possessing superhuman strength.”

— richard kadrey

“Okay,” Spyder croaked.

Spyder looked at the body at his feet. He hadn’t been hallucinating.

The body wasn’t even vaguely human.

“What the fuck… Why would a demon want me?”

“A Bitru doesn’t just drop by for blood and crumpets. He doesn’t come

unless he’s called.”

“I did not call any goddam bug monster thing to kick my ass. I wouldn’t

even know how.”

“You must have his mark on your body. Near your heart,” said the

woman. She ran both sides of her sword across the demon’s body, cleaning

the blood from the blade. Planting the tip of the sword on the ground, she

gave it a hard shake. The sword blurred and when she stopped shaking,

it had transformed into the white cane she’d had earlier.

“Damn.” Spyder opened his shirt and looked at his chest. “I have a lot

of ink on me. Geometrics. Tribal work. Religious geegaws.”

“Any runes or symbols?”

“A shitload.”

“And do you know the meanings of all those runes?”

“’Course. Some. In a Trivial Pursuit kind of way. They’re just designs.”

“So says the man covered in demon blood.” The woman moved closer

to Spyder. “Did it ever occur to you that those symbols have meaning

and power?”

“Where? How? I’ve done a thousand tattoos like that on people.”

“Some of them are probably going to have a dream date like the one

you just had.” She laid her hand over his heart. “You don’t believe in

demons, but you believe in magnetism, right? These symbols you put

on your body, like the Bitru’s sigil, these are a kind of magnetism. You

don’t have to understand how they work. The demons do.”

“What can I do?”

“Take it off. Change it. All the signs and symbols that you don’t

know.”

“What’s your name?” asked Spyder.

The woman took her hand from his chest. “Most people just call me

Shrike.”

“Thank you, Shrike.”

She ran a hand lightly over Spyder’s cheeks and jaw. “Good thing you’re

pretty. You’re not the quickest little pony on the track, are you?”

“You underestimate me,” said Spyder. “This was all my clever plan to

meet you. I think it went pretty well.”

Butcher Bird —

“Take care of yourself,” Shrike said, moving back toward the mouth

of the alley.

“My name is Spyder,” he called to her.

“Take care of yourself, Spyder.” She waved without turning around.

“Wait. Do you have a phone number or email or something? I owe

you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I’m madly in love with you and stuff.”

She turned gracefully and continued walking backwards, never breaking stride. “Not the quickest pony at all.”

She was gone. Spyder started after her, but when he tried to take a

step, his legs shook so much that he fell against the alley wall. A few

minutes later, Lulu came outside looking for him and helped him back

into the Bardo Lounge. Spyder noticed that Lulu didn’t seem to see the

large dead demon lying nearby in the alley. Together, Spyder and Lulu

got very, very drunk.

Four

traFFic Jam

it was light out when Spyder woke up, but his eyes refused to focus, so he

couldn’t read the time on the Badtz-Maru clock radio near the bed.

His head felt as if someone had scooped out his brains and filled his

skull with broken glass and thumbtacks. When he tried to sit up, every

part of his body ached. He rose slowly to his feet and walked stiffly to

the bathroom. Spyder’s shoulder throbbed and when he switched on the

bathroom light he saw why.

There was a long gash running across his shoulder and down his chest.

He had a black eye, a swollen lip and his arms and ribs were spotted in

livid purple bruises. Spyder remembered the scene in the alley. It wasn’t

a dream. He had been mugged.

Blood from the gash had dried on his skin, gluing part of his white

wife-beater to his chest. Spyder stood under the hot shower until the

blood softened and the water soothed his knotted muscles.

When he stepped out of the shower, he left the wet shirt draped across

the towel rack beneath the framed Lady from Shanghai poster that Jenny

hated. The gash on his shoulder burned and his headache was coming

on strong behind his eyes. Spyder slapped on some gauze squares and

taped them down with white medical tape.

Christ, he thought, I was supposed to call Jenny last night and tell her

I was going to be late. She must be pissed. Then it hit him, as it had hit

him almost every morning for weeks: Jenny was gone. She’d packed up

and moved the last of her stuff to LA. That’s why he’d gotten so drunk

with Lulu. It was the one-month anniversary of her desertion.

No fucking way I can put ink on anyone today, he thought. It was already after one in the afternoon. Spyder didn’t want to go to the studio,

but he needed to call his clients and reschedule. He dressed quickly into

battered black jeans, steel-toed Docs and the largest, loosest gray Dickies

shirt he could find in his closet. A pile of Jenny’s abandoned textbooks

0

Butcher Bird —

were stacked at the back, The Gnostic Gospels, Heaven and Hell in the

Western Tradition, An Encyclopedia of Fallen Angels. Spyder slammed

the closet door.

The warehouse Spyder rented was across town from the tattoo studio.

He usually rode the Dead Man’s Ducati—the bike he’d bought cheap

from a meth dealer he knew down in Tijuana; the previous owner had

gone missing and did Spyder want first dibs?—but he felt too shaky for

two wheels today. He called a cab and waited by the curb in the warm

afternoon sun.

“Do you have the time?”

Spyder was so out of it, he hadn’t seen the tall man in the gray business

suit approach him. The man was bald, but tanned and healthy-looking,

with deep wind and sunburn creases on his cheeks. It took Spyder a

second to answer.

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“No worries,” the man said with a slight shrimp-on-the-barbie accent.

“Lovely day.”

“Yeah. Great,” said Spyder

“You all right, mate?”

“Just a little hungover’s all.”

The businessman laughed. “That’s how you know you had a good time,”

he said, and clapped Spyder on his sore shoulder. “Cheers.”

As the man walked away, Spyder saw something attached to his back.

It was sort of apelike, but its head was soft, like a slug’s. It had its teeth

sunk into the man’s neck and was clinging onto his back by its twisted

childlike limbs. Spyder wanted to call out to the man, but his throat was

locked tight in fear and disgust. The parasite’s head throbbed as it slurped

something from the businessman’s spine.

Spyder took a step back and his shoulder touched a rough wooden pole

planted in the ground through a section of shattered pavement. Pigeons

and gray doves were nailed up and down the pole. Animal heads were

staked around the top. An alligator. A Rottweiler. A horse. Other more

freakish animals Spyder couldn’t identify. Each head was decorated with

flower garlands and its eye sockets and mouth stuffed with incense and

gold coins, like offerings.

Across the street, a griffin, its leathery wings twitching, was lazily chewing on the carcass of a fat, gray sewer rat. Emerald spiders the size of a

child’s hand ran around the griffin’s legs, grabbing stray scraps of meat

that fell from the beast’s jaws. The spiders scrambled up and down the

griffin’s hindquarters. Gray stingray-like things flapped overhead, like a

— richard kadrey

flock of knurled vultures. A coral snake lazily wrapping itself around the

sacrifice pole stopped its climb long enough to call Spyder by name.

Spyder’s head spun. He stepped into the street, flashing on the demon

in the alley the night before. The mugging had been real. Had the monster

part been real, too? He leaned his head back. Spinning in the sky overhead

were angels with the wings of eagles. Higher still crawled vast airships.

Their soft balloon bodies glowed in the bright sun, presenting Spyder

with profiles of fierce mythological birds of prey and gigantic lotuses.

A cab turned the corner onto Harrison Street and Spyder frantically

flagged it down. “Haight and Masonic,” he said to the driver, trying not

to sound as deranged as he felt. Spyder slid into the backseat and as the

driver pulled away, he peered out the cab’s rear window. The businessman was on the corner, talking to three pale men in matching black

suits. Their clothes and general formality reminded Spyder of bankers

in an old movie.

One of the bankers stepped forward, reached into the businessman’s

chest and pulled out his heart. Turning stiffly, he dropped the organ

into an attaché case held up by another of the trio. That done, the third

banker used a knife to carefully peel the businessman’s face off. The cab

turned the corner and Spyder lost sight of them.

Five

commuNicatioN BreakdowN

“how you voting on Prop 18?”

Spyder looked up. The cabbie looked exhausted, Spyder

thought. One of those guys in his forties with eyes that make him look

ten years older. His skin hung loosely on a gray, unshaven face.

“The companies make it sound like it’ll put more cabs on the street,

but really it’s just going to screw up the medallion system even worse

and give all the power to the big cab companies. We aren’t employees,

you know. All us cabbies are freelance. I owe money the moment I take

my cab out. The moment I touch it. A cab driver has the job security of a

crack whore. Worse than slaves, even. We’re up at the big house begging

the master for more cotton to pick.”

“I’m sorry, said Spyder. “I don’t know anything about Prop 18. I don’t

vote…ever.”

The driver shook his head. His black hair stuck out at odd angles, as if

he’d been sleeping on it just a few minutes earlier. “Voting’s not a right,

you know. It’s not a privilege. It’s your duty. My daddy died in the war

so you could vote.”

“Hey driver, uh,” Spyder looked at the name on the man’s taxi license,

“Barry. Do you want to play a game?”

“I don’t think so.”

“There’s a $20 tip in it for you. “

“Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“Fag?”

“No.”

“You from the cab company?”

“No, Barry.”

“What kind of game?”

“Don’t rush getting me to the Haight,” Spyder said. He leaned his head

— richard kadrey

against the window. It was cool on his forehead. “Take your time. Let the

meter run. As we hit each corner, you’re going to tell me what you see.

“What’s on the corners you mean? Like buildings and people?”

“Exactly. Big or small. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

“Give me a for instance,” said Barry. “Like this corner.”

“Okay,” said Spyder leaning forward to peer out the windshield. “That

semi up ahead. The blonde eating a taco in front of a bodega. The mailbox

painted like a Mexican flag. That blimp shaped like Garuda.”

“What’s a Garuda?”

“A bird-beaked messenger deity from Thailand.”

“I don’t see nothing like that.”

“Tell me what you see.”

Barry breathed deeply and craned his head on the end of his long,

doughy neck. “Some bums with shopping carts. Some hookers. Mexican

or Asian, maybe. Can’t tell from here. They got on high heels and the

littlest goddam skirts. You can see all the way to Bangkok when they

bend over.”

“Keep going,” said Spyder.

“Just stuff?”

“Just stuff.”

“A Goodwill. A closed down porn theater. Cholos drinking fortyouncers by a low-rider. A cop car stopping near ’em…” Barry fell into a

singsong pattern, reciting as they drove. “A mom with her kid in a stroller.

A couple a dogs fucking. Get some, boy! Some dope dealers. Bunch of

teenyboppers cutting school. Little shits. Don’t learn to read and we end

up paying their welfare so they can have babies.” Barry glanced into the

rearview mirror at Spyder. “This is kind of a stupid game, buddy. When

is it your turn?”

“My turn?” Spyder lit a cigarette, his first of the morning. “Everything

you saw, I saw. But there were other things, too.

“Dazzle me.”

“A winged horse. A lion turning into a golden bird, then into smoke.

An angel sharing a cigarette with a horned girl whose skin’s blue and

hard, like topaz.”

“Jesus fuck, man,” said Barry. Spyder saw the driver’s eyes widen in the

mirror. “Are you on drugs or do you need drugs?”

“There’s a naked, burned man walking down the street. No, not burned.

Cooked. Glazed and cooked like a ham. There’s a swarm of little sort of

bat things flying around him taking bites. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“I’m letting you out at the corner, guy.”

Butcher Bird —

“Keep going or you don’t get your tip.”

Barry shook his head. “Keep it. Getting stabbed by some psycho fuck

isn’t worth twenty dollars.”

“Do I seem like a psycho to you, Barry?” asked Spyder.

“I dunno. Sure talk like one.”

“I understand. This is weird for me, too.”

“Then maybe you just want to be quiet and not talk about it anymore,”

Barry said. “Anyway, we’re almost to your drop.”

“Do you see that building on the corner? I can’t tell what it’s made

of. It’s like pink quartz, but the walls are shifting like the whole thing is

liquid,” said Spyder.

“It’s a vacant lot, man.”

“Maybe I’m just dreaming.”

“If it’s a dream, you can give me a fifty-dollar tip instead of twenty.”

Spyder smiled. “Or I could stab you in the head, suck out your eyes

and skull fuck you. I mean, if this is just a dream.”

The cab screeched to a stop. “Get out.”

“Let me get my money,” said Spyder.

Barry turned around to face him. He had a lime green windbreaker

draped over his arm to hide the old Browning .45 automatic he was

holding. “Get the fuck out.”

“Jesus, Barry. Tell me that’s not your daddy’s gun,” said Spyder. “Pretty

Freudian, don’t you think?” The cabbie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m kidding,

man. I’m just having a weird day. Let me give you some money.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them and get out. I’ll shoot you and

tell the cops you tried to rob me. When they find all the dope in your

blood, they’ll believe me.”

“Sorry I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me, you pissed me off,” said Barry. “Can’t you tell

the difference?”

Spyder got out of the cab and leaned in the front passenger window.

Barry kept the gun pointed at him. “Funny, my ex said something like

that when she split.”

Barry gave Spyder the finger, gunned his engine and shot straight down

Haight Street before being caught at the next corner by a half-dozen

jaywalking punks.

That guy was going to shoot me, thought Spyder. He considered that

as he walked the last half block to the studio. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad

option. The hallucinations weren’t letting up. Maybe being shot was

what he needed to kick his brain out of the peculiar abyss into which it

— richard kadrey

had fallen. Spyder had the feeling that the day wasn’t going to get any

better.

Six

a trick oF the Light

Spyder walked with his head down, not allowing himself to look around

no matter how odd or enticing the visions: black hooves, crows chatting with rats, the suddenly sinister insect-silhouettes of panhandlers

he’d seen a thousand times before.

He smelled musk and ambergris, cook fires and sewage. It reminded

him of the Moroccan souks, but he was very far away from Morocco. In

fact, very far away from anything familiar right now.

A sense of relief came over Spyder when he entered the tattoo studio

and closed the door behind him. A couple of college girls were inspecting

the flash designs on the walls and giggling nervously to each other. They

didn’t have wings or horns or extra eyes. They were a beautiful sight.

Spyder could hear Lulu in the back with one of her piercing customers.

“You’ll feel some pressure, then a slight sting,” she said. “Just like popping your cherry.”

Hungry for a normal moment he spoke to the college girls. “If you

have any questions about the tattoo work, that’s what I do around here,

so you can ask me.”

The girls looked at him and the taller one, a café-au-lait brunette with

bright green eyes, said, “How much for the black panther? That’s a real

traditional one, right?”

“Yeah. All the pieces on that wall go way back. And we charge by the

hour, so the price depends on how big and where you want it. We have

a hundred-dollar minimum.”

The girls whispered to each other, then turned to Spyder. “We’re going

to think about it. Do you have a card?”

Spyder went behind the counter and found one of the studio’s cards.

He felt self-conscious handing it to the brunette. The card had a symbol

on it. Spyder knew it was something Celtic, but he had no idea what it

meant.

— richard kadrey

“Thanks,” said the dark-haired girl, letting her fingertips brush against

Spyder’s as she accepted the card. Under normal circumstances, Spyder

would have taken that as a signal to go into his charming act, complete

with self-effacing patter and a certain calculated awkwardness that gave

him the look of someone who might need just a little looking after.

Today, however, all he could muster was a tired smile. “Any time,” he

said, and turned away from the girls, looking for his appointment book

so he could cancel everyone set for that day. Maybe for the rest of the

week, he thought.

His head and body ached and his hands shook a little as he leafed

through the appointments. “Every rabbit hole has a bottom,” he said

quietly, remembering something that Sara Durango had told him after

giving him his first hit of acid when he was fourteen.

Lulu and her female client were coming out of the back room when

Spyder settled on the numbers he needed to call. He didn’t look up, not

ready to deal with the world, much less make eye contact with Lulu or

the girl.

“Remember,” said Lulu, “you’re going to want to soak in a sea salt bath

and use that antibiotic cream every day.”

“Every day,” said the other woman. Spyder heard the little bell over

the door ring as she left.

Spyder had to concentrate to make his fingers punch the right numbers into the phone. It rang a few times then gave a subtle click as it

switched over to voice mail. “Hi. This is Spyder Lee over at Route 666

Tattoos. Sorry, but I have to cancel our appointment for this afternoon.”

He settled back in his seat, giving Lulu a pained smile. “I’m not feeling

that well and…holy shit….”

Spyder set down the receiver and stood up, coming around the counter.

Something was terribly wrong. He took Lulu gently by the arm. “Goddam,” said Spyder leading her to a chair. “What happened to you?”

Lulu looked at him, puzzled. “Nothing happened to me. You’re the one

who got stomped, ’member sugar?” She laid her hand on his cheek. The

hand was cold and the skin was stiff, like dried-out leather.

“What happened to you?” Spyder repeated more insistently.

Lulu kept smiling. She had to. She had no lips. All the flesh from the

lower part of her face had been cut neatly away, leaving her with a permanent leer. She wore a T-shirt cut low from the neck, and her dry white

skin was crisscrossed with old scars and stained stitching. Spyder thought

of the cheap boots and vests he’d bought on teenage road trips to Juarez,

across the border from El Paso. Bad leather sewn together crudely and

Butcher Bird —

carelessly. Worst of all were Lulu’s eyes. They were gone. Over her empty

sockets torn scraps of paper were taped in place, each with a smeared,

childlike drawing of an eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

The exposed muscles around Lulu’s mouth twitched a little. She reflexively pulled away from Spyder and covered her face with her hands,

then quickly lowered them. “Oh my god, “ she said. “You really had your

brains rearranged last night.”

“Tell me I’m fucked up,” Spyder said. “I’ve been seeing the most horrible

shit all day. Monsters. Buildings that aren’t there. Dead people.”

“Not dead, most likely,” Lulu said. “There’s a whole lot more range between dead and alive than they taught us when we were kids, Spyder.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a lot no one taught us. Deep, dark secrets. Other worlds. Other

kinds of people. Hidden, but right in front of us.”

“This is a mistake.”

“I wish. There’s monsters in the world. Some of ’em were born and

some were made. I was made.”

“This isn’t happening. I’m still in the alley. I’m knocked out and I’m

dreaming.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. You’re not ready for this. You were never supposed

to see or know about it.”

“Know about what?” Spyder shouted. “What are you?”

“I’m Lulu, baby. Just Lulu.” She sat down next to him again, a horrible,

broken toy. “You’re just seeing another part of me. And I’m so sorry for

that.” Tears fell from her empty eye sockets, staining the paper drawings

taped there.

Spyder walked across the room and sat on the floor with his back

against the counter. “I refuse to accept any of this,” he said.

Lulu got up and locked the door to the studio, then sat back in the

chair in front of Spyder. “Darlin’, we’ve known each other since we were

six years old. You’re the first person I came out to,” she said. “I guess I’m

coming out again.”

“As what?”

Lulu leaned forward and laid her hand on his knee. “Please don’t touch

me,” Spyder said. She withdrew the hand.

“I’m not really a monster,” said Lulu. “I’m a damned fool, but I’m not

a monster. I just got into something a little over my head.”

“That part’s obvious.”

“I just had my eyes opened, so to speak,” she said, pulling her exposed

0 — richard kadrey

muscles into a smile. “Just like you.” She slid down next to him on the

floor, careful not to let her body touch his. Spyder shifted away from

her a few inches.

“Remember four, five years back when I was all messed up on Oxy? I

couldn’t work. Couldn’t do much of anything but steal and score.”

“You still owe me a CD player,” Spyder said.

Lulu let out an airy laugh, like wind through a keyhole. “Cheapass

county rehab didn’t work. Then, I met some people through this dealer.

They said they could get me clean. Make my hands steady, so I could

work again. Of course, I said Yes.”

“When was this? I remember you getting better in rehab,” said Spyder.

“Jesus, Spyder. I didn’t last ten days in there,” Lulu said. “I wouldn’t let

you visit, remember? I always called you? I checked out and was on the

street scoring until I met these people.”

“Who were they?”

“Monsters. Real ones,” she said. “’Course I didn’t know that back then.

They offered me the deal of a lifetime. I’d get clean, get my brain and get

my hands back. Can you imagine what that meant to me back then?”

“How’d you end up like this?”

“You know how is it with dealers. First one’s always free. Then the price

just keeps going up. You got a cigarette?”

Spyder pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, took one,

gave one to Lulu and lit them both. They smoked in silence for a few

moments.

Lulu blew a series of small smoke rings through the center of bigger

rings, something Spyder had been watching her do since junior high.

“The price for giving me back my life was my eyes,” she said. “They said

that sight’s mostly in the brain and they could make it so I’d see better

without them.” Lulu took a long drag off the American Spirit. Spyder

wanted her to stop talking. “They were right, only they didn’t tell me it

wouldn’t last. Every year or so, my sight would start to go and they’d show

up, ready to deal. They’d already taken my eyes, so they took something

else each time. Stomach. Liver. Skin. I don’t know what all anymore. But

not my heart. You’d be surprised what you can live without, but not your

heart.” Another long drag. A cloud of blue smoke. “Each time, they’d

do their little voodoo so my body’d keep going, till the next visit. No

one ever noticed the difference. When they took my eyes I saw a whole

new world. The world, I guess, you’re seeing now. Shit, Spyder, no one

knows anything. All the teachers and cops and priests and shrinks they

Butcher Bird —

sent us to, they don’t know what’s really going on. When I saw the real

world, knowing how long I’d been blind scared me a lot more than the

monsters.”

“You think this is some kind of goddam gift?” asked Spyder.

“For you it is. You got it for free. It cost me a little more.”

“Fuck this world and fuck this gift.”

“I’d rather fuck your sister.”

“I’ll trade you for your mom.”

“Deal,” said Lulu.

“Goddam,” said Spyder. “It is you, isn’t it?”

“’Fraid so.”

Spyder slid his arm around Lulu’s shoulders and pulled her to him. She

relaxed and lay her head on his shoulder. They sat on the floor until the

sun went down and the studio was dark. People knocked on the door,

but they didn’t answer.

SeveN

ShadowS

m any years ago, Ishtama was the mother of birds, Setuum was the

mother of fishes, and in a golden city in the south, Coatlique, the

Lady of the Skirt of Snakes—her body decorated with skulls, serpents and

lacerated hands—gave birth to the first man, Mixcoatl.

Mixcoatl’s sisters were the stars in the sky and he brought one to Earth

to be his wife. Their children were the human race.

As much as Mixcoatl’s wife loved him, she missed her sisters and longed

to visit them in the sky. Mixcoatl went to Apsu, the lord of the birds, to ask

him to fly his wife back to Heaven. When Mixcoatl arrived, however, Apsu

wasn’t there. Apsu’s wife, Tiamut, told Mixcoatl that his Shadow Brother,

Marduk, had murdered Apsu. Apsu was a friend and Mixcoatl grew very

angry at this news. He climbed to the top of the tallest mountain in the world

and cut out Marduk’s heart with an obsidian knife, throwing the Shadow

Brother’s body into a deep gorge that led to the center of the world.

When Mixcoatl went home, he told his wife what he had done. She was

afraid. “Our mother, Coatlique, the Lady of the Skirt of Snakes, is dead.

Your Shadow Brother, Huitzilopochtli, burst from her breast in battle armor

and a bone sword.”

Mixcoatl told his wife, “I have no brother, shadow or otherwise.”

His wife said, “Before she died, our mother warned that at some mo-

ment in our life, all men and women create their shadow form, born from

their desire and rage. These shadow forms do not manifest themselves in

flesh unless called into being by an act of violence or madness, a blow at

creation itself. When you rashly killed Marduk, you brought forth your

Shadow Brother and released pure chaos into the world. Huitzilopochtli

is you reborn as a soulless void. If you do not destroy him, he will kill you

and take your place.”

Mixcoatl put on his armor, called his sons to his side and took them to

war. For years they roamed the earth looking for Huitzilopochtli, but they

Butcher Bird —

didn’t find him. At night Mixcoatl had terrible dreams and awoke in the

morning pale and weak. Finally, Mixcoatl grew sick and his army rested

by the banks of the frozen sea at the bottom of the world.

One night, Mixcoatl awoke from fevered dreams to find Huitzilopochtli

sitting on his chest. Mixcoatl was too weak to resist and Huitzilopochtli cut

out his heart saying, “I’ve eaten you piece by piece in your dreams, Brother,

but don’t hate me. I’m not your enemy. I have no choice in killing you and

if I smile as I do it, remember it’s only the joy a humble servant feels when

he restores order to a disordered house, because, of course, there can’t be

two of us walking the earth.”

Huitzilopochtli took his brother’s place on the throne of the world. His

flightiness and endless cruelties inspired many beings to unwittingly turn

their shadows into flesh through acts of treachery or revenge. The different

Shadow Brothers—kings and farmers, birds, fish and horses—ruled the

Earth. This was the era of blood and massacres that caused the world to be

divided into Spheres, because no matter how the Shadow Brothers tried to

reason together, they couldn’t. They were soulless voids, and even the most

cordial exchanges usually ended in murder.

Thousands of years passed before the living things of the earth rose up

and killed all the Shadow Brothers in power. To make sure that shadow

forms never ruled again, each realm of life appointed auditors to keep the

world in balance. These celestial officers had the power of life and death

and could roam all the Spheres at will. They had different names among the

different animal tribes—such as Soul Weavers, Holy Clerks, Black Scribes,

and others. These beings didn’t destroy the Shadow Brothers, but they kept

their influence in check, even when they sometimes had to collaborate with

individual Shadow Brothers to set the world right. The loyalties of these

auditors weren’t to animal, plant or man, but to the universe. And like the

gods themselves, their plans were their own, subtle and unknowable.

They were thought to be beyond the influence of any god or beast in the

universe, and this was true. What no one considered were things outside

the universe.

eight

SLow chiLdreN

“did you ever feel like you were a million miles from where you’d

thought you’d be when you grew up? Like you thought you were

heading for a weekend in Vegas, but ended up in Mongolia instead?”

Lulu was lying across the three wooden garage-sale chairs they kept

up front for customers. Her arm hung down and a lit American Spirit

between her fingers pointed at the floor, illuminating the scars on her

arm with a faint red light.

“Sometimes,” said Spyder. “But then I remember the scariest truth

about being a grown up: that no one really knows anything. Maybe where

most people want to be is as wrong as where they end up.”

“We’ve been taking our happy pills, I see,” said Lulu. “Know what we

never, ever talked about: What did you really want to be when we were

kids?”

Spyder stood up and stretched, saying, “That’s easy. A private detective.

You know, a Sam Spade thing. The whole world’d be in black and white

and the streets would be slick with rain and lit like a film noir set.”

“Sam Spade was always lonely and miserable, least in the movies.”

“But at least he knew something. That makes him the exception.”

“When I was a girl, I wanted to be Mary Magdalene,” said Lulu. “The

most hated woman in the world, but Jesus saw her true heart and loved

her for it. I wanted that so much. To be hated by the riffraff, but loved

by that one perfect, bright-eyed soul who knew me from the inside out.

I used to jerk off to the picture of Jesus over my bed. He looked just like

Jim Morrison before the alcohol bloat.” Lulu took a drag off her cigarette. Spyder still wasn’t sure how she was able to smoke with no lips.

“When I realized I liked girls more, I jerked off imagining Jesus fucking

Mary Magdalene. I was Jesus, of course. I wonder, does that make me

narcissistic?”

“No, you’re more like Mother Teresa.”

Butcher Bird —

“I’d have fucked Mother Teresa.”

“You’d have fucked Nancy Reagan if she’d of held still.”

“If she was in that pink Jackie O outfit she wore to Ronnie’s second

inauguration, hell yes. I’d’ve bent her over the big desk in the Oval Office

and slipped her the high hard one next to the Bible Ronnie had Oliver

North give the Iranians. Hell, I’d have bent Ollie over, too. Gotta love a

man in a uniform.”

“You’re a damned pervert, Lulu.”

“What’s Dennis Hopper say in Blue Velvet? ‘Don’t toast to my health,

toast to my fuck.’”

“I wouldn’t be Dennis Hopper,” said Spyder. “I’d be Orson Welles. He

can act, write, direct, he married Rita Hayworth and you know, deep in

his heart, he’s a stone killer.”

“That arty fuck never has happy endings. He’s always dead or betrayed.”

“Yeah, but we all end up there if we live long enough. I love the guy’s

certainty. He was willing to ruin himself for whatever he was doing.

That’s the definition of balls.” Spyder checked the door again to make

sure it was locked, then turned on the light in the studio.

Lulu shielded her paper eyes and softly said, “Shit.”

“So, what happens now?” asked Spyder. “Do we open up tomorrow

like nothing’s different?”

“Things are only different if you act like they’re different.”

“Bullshit. Everything’s different.”

“I’ve been exactly what I am for years and it didn’t affect things. Why

should that change now?”

“That was before,” Spyder said, groping for words. “I was going to say

the world has changed, but it hasn’t. I’m changed. And I fucking hate it.

I take back what I said about Sam Spade and knowing things. I enjoyed

my ignorance. Give me three wishes and that’s what I’d ask for first.”

“Reality sucks,” said Lulu sitting up on the chairs. “But, if you wait long

enough, everything becomes normal. You’ll see.”

Looking out the studio window onto Haight Street, Spyder watched

the people outside going through their happy, blind lives. Couples were

going to dinner, ducking into bars. On the corner, a girl with blue hair

was kissing a boy in a cop shirt and vinyl shorts. Softly Spyder sang,

“When I’m lyin’ in my bed at night, I don’t wanna grow up, Nothin’

ever seems to turn out right, I don’t wanna grow up.” He looked at Lulu.

“Know that song?”

“Tom Waits. Jenny gave me the CD for my birthday.”

— richard kadrey

“When I see the price that you pay, I don’t wanna grown up, I don’t

ever wanna be that way, I don’t wanna grow up…” For the first time,

Spyder was glad that Jenny had left him. He couldn’t imagine trying to

explain all this to her. Where was she right that second? Was she happy?

He hoped so.

NiNe

hard thaNkS

Spyder straightened up when he realized that he and Lulu were no

longer alone.

Three smiling men, dressed like bankers in an old movie, were standing

in the studio. One of the men carried a large snakeskin ledger. All three

men were very pale and carried long, curved knives in their belts. The

banker in the middle was wearing the face of the businessman Spyder had

spoken to in the street that morning. The face was held in place on the

banker’s head by shiny brass clasps that stretched the skin like taffy.

“You are not alone?” said the banker in the middle, the one with the

book.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Spyder.

Lulu stood up and pushed him against the wall. “Shut up, Spyder.”

She looked at the bankers. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s not time yet. I

can still see fine.”

All three men were wearing skin masks. From under the stolen meat,

their flesh seemed to give off a cold chemical glow, like fungus on the

walls of a cavern. There was nothing at all human about the men’s presence, Spyder thought.

“This visit is not for you,” said the banker in the middle.

“It is for us,” said the one on the left.

“For accounts balance?” said the one on the right.

“I don’t owe you nothing. My account is balanced,” said Lulu.

“For now,” said the banker in the middle, who appeared to be the leader.

“Our concern lies with the future?”

“I saw what you did to that guy. Get the fuck out of here!” said Spyder,

grabbing one of the chairs and starting at the men.

The banker with the ledger calmly pulled his knife and pointed the

blade at Spyder. “This is not for you, young man. Please do not interfere.”

— richard kadrey

“Look at her. She doesn’t have anything left to give you.”

The three pale men nodded and laughed. “She lives and breathes? Yes.

There is always something. Her heart?”

Spyder looked at Lulu. “You said they didn’t take hearts.”

“We take hearts, when life is not honored or appreciated. But the oblation can not live without one, so we take them last.”

Spyder weighed the chair in his hands, knowing the moment to hit

someone had passed. When he set the chair down, the middle banker

put the knife back in his belt.

“You can’t have her,” said Spyder. “But from what she told me, you

don’t care about that. You just want a payment, right?”

“Accounts must be balanced. This is our burden,” said the one on the

right.

“Any will do, if given freely?” said the one on the left.

Spyder nodded, still trying to parse their odd, singsong speech. “Then

take something from me.”

“Shut up, Spyder!” shouted Lulu.

The middle banker said, “You owe us nothing. If we took from you,

we would be in your debt?”

“No. You’d leave Lulu alone, so we’d be even.”

“This is possible.”

“And you said this was for the future, so you wouldn’t need anything

from me right now…?” Spyder asked.

“Correct.”

“Okay then. It’s a deal. I’ll see you down the fucking road. The door

is that way. Use it.”

“There is no deal yet,” said the middle banker. He stepped forward

and grabbed Spyder’s arm with shocking speed and strength. With his

knife the banker cut a symbol into the underside of Spyder’s left wrist.

“Now we have a deal.” He smiled at Spyder. The flesh the banker wore

didn’t quite synch with his muscles, so the smile came in stages. First

the facial muscles worked, then the teeth appeared, and then the outside

flesh stretched into something a schizophrenic might call a smile. “So

that you will not forget? And no one else can claim you.”

Spyder had been tattooed, pierced and had a ritual scar on his chest, but

nothing he’d ever done prepared him for the pain of the banker’s knife.

It managed to be freezing and branding-iron hot at the same time. And

it didn’t feel as if the blade was cutting, but raking away large sections of

skin and muscle. However, when Spyder looked there was a small, neat

incision that was already cauterized.

Butcher Bird —

“Pardon us?” said the banker, and all three men started toward the

back of the shop.

“Hey, Barry White, tell me something,” said Spyder. “You knew she

wasn’t alone, didn’t you? This whole scene was just a vaudeville act. You

weren’t here to collect from her, but to rope in someone new.”

The middle banker nodded to his companions, then to Spyder. “You.

The girl. This does not matter. The debt matters. The restoration of balance? This is our burden.” One by one, the three men entered the little

bathroom at the back of the studio. When Spyder opened the door a

moment later, they were gone.

“What was that word he called you just now?” Spyder asked Lulu.

“Oblation,” she said. “It’s a kind of sacrifice. The kind you’re supposed

to give with thanks.”

“It’s not enough they zombify you. You’re supposed to send them a

thank you card, too?”

“Pretty much. You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but the Black

Clerks are all about having a good time.” Lulu put her hand lightly on

Spyder’s shoulder. “You have no idea what you just got yourself into.”

Spyder kissed the top of her head. “It’s all right. I think I know someone who can help.”

teN

doa

after dropping Lulu at home, Spyder took at cab to the Bardo Lounge.

He’d always preferred the night, but now he was falling in love with

it.

Spyder couldn’t really deny the angels in the sky or the anacondas

with the faces of crying children hiding in the palm trees along Dolores

Street, but in the dark the smaller curiosities were swallowed by shadows,

mostly invisible. Besides, night had always seemed a time of madness

and possibility. The visions just felt more natural at night.

The neighborhood around the Bardo Lounge had taken on a heavy,

wet jungle feel, as if the cab had stumbled into the abandoned set of

some expensive dinosaur movie. There were always a lot of film crews in

town and, for a moment, Spyder thought that they might have genuinely

rolled onto a set. But sacrifice poles dotted the corners, animal heads

and flowers dripping in the thick, humid air.

The Bardo Lounge was packed. Rubi was serving drinks. She gave Spyder a kiss on the cheek and brought him a tequila. He was relieved to see

that she was entirely normal, with none of Lulu’s mutilations.

The bar was alive with a happy, drunken weekend crowd. Leather-clad

boys and girls with hair in cotton-candy colors and lips shining brighter

than their vinyl skirts. Spyder wanted to wade out and dive into their

beauty, and be baptized by their sweat and saliva. But for the first time

since he was an awkward teenager, he couldn’t think of anything to say

to them. He felt as removed from the crowd as the monsters he’d been

seeing in the streets all day. Spyder turned away and drank his tequila.

There was a demon sitting on the stool next to Spyder. It was a huge

bare-chested olive-skinned man, his features lost beneath cascading rolls

of glistening fat. White geometric designs covered his arms and chest,

some kind of tribal markings. Considering everything, he didn’t look too

bad, Spyder thought. Pretty human, in fact. Not at all like the monsters

0

Butcher Bird —

in Jenny’s mythology textbooks. The demon stole the beer of the girl

sitting next to him and poured the whole thing into a wide, toothless

mouth that split open in the middle of his chest.

Spyder sighed and the demon caught him looking. The demon leaned

in close and said, “How do you get twelve humans to wear one hat?”

“How?” asked Spyder.

“You bite the heads off eleven.”

Spyder turned back to his drink. “Sorry for not laughing, but I’m going

to be over here ignoring you.”

“I’m Bilal,” said the demon, “ You’re the little prince, aren’t you? The

one Shrike killed for. What’s your story?”

“There is no story. I’m just an inker who had to take a leak.”

“That’s beautiful. Maybe they’ll carve that on your tombstone? You’ll

be an inspiration to future generations.” A stoned couple stumbled by

and Bilal delicately plucked the cigarette from the mouth of a cadaverous,

lavender-lipped boy. The demon sniffed the cigarette once and dropped

it into his chest-mouth. “Though I was really hoping you could justify

your existence. Like maybe you were some minor deity on pilgrimage.

Or a diplomat off to a secret rendezvous to stop a war.”

Bilal blew out a long puff of smoke out through his regular mouth.

“What’s it like being a demon here in a place like this?” asked Spyder.

“I don’t know. What’s it like being a human?”

Spyder looked in the mirror behind the bar, taking in the crowd. There

were other demons, mostly talking to each other. A couple of guys playing

pool were cut up in a way that looked like the work of the Black Clerks.

“Weird and getting weirder,” Spyder said. “Like Salvador Dali weird, all

melting clocks and checkerboard deserts.”

“Welcome to the world, boy. As for my personal complaints, you can

add having to deal with idiot talking meat like you.” Bilal pocketed a

two-dollar tip someone had left for Rubi. “See, that demon who died

last night was Nebiros. He was a friend of mine. In fact, my best friend

in this sorry Sphere.” Bilal put his hand on Spyder’s arm. Each of the

demon’s fingers was tipped with a scaly lizard mouth lined with tiny

needle teeth. The lizards bit into Spyder as Bilal squeezed his arm. “You

owe Nebiros a life, and me, well, I miss my friend and that makes me

mad. You know what I mean?”

The enormous mouth opened wetly in the demon’s chest and he pulled

Spyder closer. A leathery, black tongue darted out, licking Spyder’s face.

“Shit!” yelled Bilal, slurping the enormous tongue back into his chest.

He turned Spyder’s arm over, revealing the Black Clerk’s mark.

— richard kadrey

“You must shit candy and piss champagne, son. Everyone wants a piece

of you,” said Bilal.

“You mean you can’t hurt me because of this mark?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It sure as hell looked like it.”

“Smile while you still have lips. The Clerks have you penciled in. What

they’ll do to you is a hundred times worse than anything I’d do.”

“I’m looking for Shrike,” said Spyder.

“Just because I’m not eating you doesn’t mean I’m your pal.”

“Yeah, but if I find her and get her to help me, maybe she’ll get in

trouble with the Clerks, too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Shrike’s not that stupid,” Bilal said. He took the last of Spyder’s tequila

and swallowed it, glass and all. “Still, she likes them pretty and dumb.

You might drag her down to your level.” Bilal spat broken glass onto the

ground at Spyder’s feet. “She’s got a room at the Coma Gardens. It’s a

flophouse down by Pier 31.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s not for your kind.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Go to Hell.”

Rubi asked Spyder if he wanted another drink. He shook his head. “You

okay?” she asked. “You’ve been here muttering to yourself all night.”

“Just replaying that last fight with Jenny. I keep trying it different ways

hoping it comes out right.”

“You poor thing,” said Rubi.

“I’ve seen you in here a hundred times before. I’ve stolen your drinks

and I’ve spit in them. But you’ve never seen me,” Bilal said to Spyder.

“How does it feel to suddenly have to live in the real world?”

“It’s the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Good.” All of the demon’s mouths smiled. “I’ve been around and I

can tell the ones who are going to make it once they get the Sight and

you’re not one of them. You’ll be dead by Christmas. A bullet. Maybe

you’ll cut your wrists. I don’t see you as the hanging type.”

“I’m going to kill myself just because I see uglies like you? Not likely,

princess.”

“No, you’re going to kill yourself because you can’t stand the real

world. Reality is a two-ton weight strapped to your balls. And they just

keep getting heavier.”

“I’m going back to ignoring you now.”

“I’ve seen it a hundred times. You’re changed and there’s no going back.

Butcher Bird —

And everyone knows it. Look around. All those pretty girls who used to

flirt with you, your friend behind the bar, they’re all watching you having

a nice chat with an empty barstool. They’re already starting to wonder

about you. Tomorrow they’ll tell their friends. Maybe I can’t hurt you,

but I have friends who can influence mortal minds. Reinforce the doubt

that’s already there. By Monday, you’re going to be Charles Manson to

these people,” said Bilal. “Yeah, you’re going to kill yourself.”

“Tell me something, when you jerk off, do those little lizards on your

hands bite? I bet you like that.”

“And then there are the Clerks. They’ve claimed you and you know

what that means. They’re going to pick you apart like a maggot-covered

carcass. Could you feel them slicing you up with their eyes, deciding

what piece they’ll take first?”

Nick Cave’s “Red Right Hand” came on the jukebox. A girl whooped

drunkenly and Rubi turned the song up loud.

“I take it back. You won’t make it till Christmas,” said Bilal. “You won’t

even make it to Halloween.”

“Get a costume and come on over. I’ll put razor blades in some apples

for you. Enough for all your mouths.”

Bilal leaned over the bar and used the lizard mouths on his fingertips

to spear some cherries from Rubi’s drink set-ups. The demon popped

the cherries into his face-mouth one at a time. “Give Shrike a big kiss

from me. She’ll be so happy to see you, little prince.”

Spyder got up from his stool and started for the door. He couldn’t

help noticing that people were pointedly getting out of his way. At the

door Spyder heard Bilal yell, “An OD! You’re going to OD! How could

I have missed that?”

eLeveN

the voice oF the SphiNx

Spyder wondered what time it was. He was in another cab and doing

his best to ignore the chatty driver. It pained Spyder that he hadn’t

ridden his bike that morning. Without the bike, he always felt tied up

and weighed down.

Ever since he could ride, Spyder had always had a motorcycle of some

kind. “You never know when you’re going to need to get the hell out of

Dodge,” he told friends. “And you can only run so far in a cab.” He told

the driver to pull over.

“This ain’t even near the piers,” said the cabbie.

“I feel like walking.” Spyder paid the man and got out. He checked out

the landscape as the cab made a U turn and headed back the way they’d

come. Spyder had lived in San Francisco for ten years and during a brief

breaking-and-entering period in his early twenties, had prided himself

on knowing every backstreet, alley and bypass in the city. Right now,

however, he didn’t know where the hell he was.

Ahead of him, where he was certain the waterfront warehouses should

lead to the Fisherman’s Wharf tourist traps, were well-trodden sand dunes

sloped down to San Francisco Bay. A lot of the city had been built on

reclaimed beach. This, he was certain, was what the waterfront probably

looked like a couple of hundred years ago. Spyder’s reflexes told him

that ahead, past the dunes, was where the piers lay. But his eyes told him

that there was nothing but shifting beach and black water. Then he saw

a flicker—an orange light from the far side of the shifting sands. In that

moment of illumination, Spyder could see a line of silhouettes moving

along the edge of the dunes, heading over them. Some of the silhouettes

carried burdens on their backs. Others were merely misshapen. It was

enough. Spyder’s started walking.

At the top of the last big dune Spyder looked down onto a maze of

market stalls that sprawled down to the water’s edge. As he got closer,

Butcher Bird —

sounds and smells hit him: the screams of hawkers, a dozen different

musics pouring from out-of-tune instruments and cracked speakers,

the heavy smell of roasting meat, spices and creosote. There were toys

and piles of mismatched shoes, fresh vegetables, dried chameleons and

flowers that sighed when you smelled them. There were orreries and

telescopes, cracked eyeglasses and black eggs that hatched kittens who

(according to their seller) spoke perfect ecclesiastical Latin. Sellers tugged

at Spyder’s arm and waved squirming things, glittering things and mechanical things at him.

By a stall selling decomposing medical books and sex toys made of

black lacquer and amber (some with ominous-looking beetles sealed

inside) Spyder bumped shoulders with a tall, handsome man.

“Sorry,” said Spyder. “My fault.”

“You should watch your step, little brother,” said the big man. “Not

everyone in the market is as reasonable as I. Some are downright belligerent.” The man’s voice sounded the way black velvet looked and felt. Spyder

wondered if it might be some kind of magic trick. Not that he actually

believed in magic, but he was beyond ruling out that much anymore.

Though they were physically the opposite, the tall man reminded Spyder of Shrike. He held himself with the kind of grace that Spyder had seen

in the swordswoman. But the man was huge, more than a head taller than

Spyder. His face, while classically handsome, was marked with deep scars

that, at first, Spyder thought might be ritual, but then decided were some

terrible accident. Chainmail covered the man’s upper body and he wore

pants that seemed to Spyder like modified motorcycle leathers. Metal

plates and studs had been affixed along the legs, which were tucked into

heavy steel-toed boots. At his side, the man wore a wide-bladed Kan Dao

sword like ones Spyder had seen in maybe a thousand kung fu movies.

“Do I know you, little brother?” asked the big man.

“I don’t think so,” said Spyder. “I’m new here.”

“Still, you seem familiar.”

“I’ve got one of those faces.”

“Perhaps that’s it.”

The tall man picked up a particularly elaborate sex toy from the stall

and shook it. Six little legs sprang from the bottom and some kind of

spring-wound plunger popped from the top and began pumping the air

vigorously. The little legs kicked as if looking for something to grab on

to. When the tall man laughed at the thing, Spyder noticed that color on

his face was unnaturally intense. He realized that the man was wearing

makeup, trying to cover his scars. The sudden insight made Spyder feel

— richard kadrey

oddly more at home. Even here, down the rabbit hole or wherever the

hell he’d ended up, people still had egos and still worried about how

they looked.

“I’m looking for a place called the Coma Gardens. Do you know it?”

Spyder asked the man.

“Very well,” he replied. “Go down this aisle and turn toward the water

at the Sphinx. Be sure not to speak to her. She will never let you go. Keep

walking and when you see the Volt Eater, the Coma Gardens lie just

beyond. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” said Spyder, desperately wanting to ask what the hell a Sphinx

and a Volt Eater were, but thinking the better of it. He knew he’d find

out soon enough.

He wasn’t disappointed. Following the crowd in the direction the tall

man had pointed, Spyder saw a Sphinx. A living, breathing Sphinx, like

the sculptures in Golden Gate Park. The Sphinx sat up on its haunches,

its lion body acorn brown, muscled and sleek as a cruise missile. Gathered around the Sphinx was a rapt crowd. They were clearly in awe,

maybe hypnotized, thought Spyder. The Sphinx’s face—the face of a

human woman—was easily the most beautiful he had ever seen. Spyder

looked away when he caught himself staring, but the Sphinx had already

noticed him.

“Don’t be shy, my friend. Come closer. I can answer all your questions

and tell you your destiny.”

Spyder half-turned in her direction. “Nope. Sorry. No thanks,” he

said.

The Sphinx’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest and the crowd turned

to see who she was looking at. “Yes, you should keep moving,” she said

to Spyder. “Don’t let anything or anyone stop you from getting where

you’re going.” Lowering her voice, the Sphinx spoke to her adoring crowd.

Spyder slowed his gait, listening to her words. “See what passes, my children. A blind fool. A golden champion. What could he be seeking under

Heaven’s rough gaze? We have a mystery in our midst.” When Spyder

turned to sneak a last look at the Sphinx, she was staring him right in

the eye. The beautiful beast gave him a smile and a wink. “It looks as if

heroes are coming smaller this year.”

Spyder’s head spun. He turned away and hurried down the aisle. At the

end, he found what he figured must be the Volt Eater. An exotic barebreasted beauty, her skin oiled and gleaming, she was inhaling in long

draughts from a wrist-thick cable attached to a gas-powered generator.

After each breath, she spat lighting bolts, snaking and crackling, over

Butcher Bird —

the heads of the happily screaming crowd. People threw money at the

Volt Eater’s feet after each demonstration of her electric skills. It made

Spyder a little sad to see her. On any other night, she would have been

the hands-down highlight. He would have been in temporary love and

dreamed about her as he went home with whomever he was with that

night. Tonight, however, the Volt Eater was just a pretty girl spitting watts,

no more or less miraculous than Bible-quoting kittens or the lion-woman

who’d just pronounced him both a fool and a hero.

Just when Spyder thought he would never be surprised again, he came

to the edge of the market and saw the Coma Gardens. Bathed in light

the color of blood and pumpkins, the whole building was engulfed in

a spectacular fire. Part of the roof collapsed and flames shot fifty feet

into the night sky. The only thing more shocking than the fire was the

fact that no one in the market was paying the slightest attention to it.

They went on with their selling and haggling even as the whole structure

cracked and caved in on itself.

tweLve

cyaNide recaLL

the Coma Gardens kept on burning. The beams glowed as if they’d

been injected with magma, shedding hot jets of flame and debris

over the sales stalls. Spyder walked along the cement broadway between

the market and burning hotel, unsure what to do.

If Jenny hadn’t taken the cell phone, Spyder thought, he could call 911.

Of course, he wasn’t sure exactly where he was. Still, all he’d have to tell

them is that there was a burning building on the pier. The fire trucks

would be able to see it from all the way down at Fisherman’s Wharf. In

fact, someone had probably already called the fire in, which was both

good and bad. It was good in that the fire department would put it out.

It was bad in that it brought Spyder back to the fact that he had no idea

what he would do if Shrike was inside the burning building. He didn’t

want to think about it. Spyder turned around one more time to see if

anyone in the market was forming a bucket brigade. The market went

on as it had all evening—oblivious, a world unto itself.

Then Spyder saw someone at the edge of the crowd. She was talking

to a man wearing an enormous, jeweled bird mask, one that covered his

entire head (or actually was his head, Spyder later thought). The woman

wore her shades, and moved her white cane from one hand to the other so

she could shake the birdman’s feathered mitt. Spyder ran to her through

the smoke of the smoldering Coma Gardens.

“Shrike!” he yelled. The woman turned her head toward him as the

birdman walked away. Spyder ran up and grabbed her happily by the

shoulders. “It’s me, Spyder. You saved my life the other night.”

The blind woman gave him a crooked smile. “Oh yes. The pretty pony

boy. How are you?”

“I’m…” He started to answer, but realized he had no idea what to

say. He felt giddy at having found her, but there was the accumulating

wreckage of the rest of his life. “I’m fine,” he said. “I can see things now.

Butcher Bird —

The real world. That’s how I found the market. And you.”

“Good for you,” she said. “Maybe you’re more clever than I thought.

A trick pony. Me, I’m off to find new lodgings.”

“I can see why,” said Spyder.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Look! Your hotel is an in-fucking-ferno.”

“No, it’s not. I would be able to feel the heat.”

“Of course it is. I can see it burning from here.”

“Really? Because the Coma Gardens isn’t going to be built for another

fifty years,” she said. “And it’s not going to burn for another twenty after

that.”

“Then how were you staying in there?”

Shrike breathed deeply and nodded. “You can see things now. And it’s

all brand new and you don’t know what to think of it, do you? Take a

walk with me.” Shrike reached out and took one of his hands and led him

through the crowded market, swinging her white cane gently in front of

her feet. The effect of that cane was less that of a blind person feeling her

way along than her warning people that she was coming, Spyder thought.

Everyone and everything got out of her way.

“People are afraid of you,” said Spyder when they reached a less crowded

part of the market.

“They’re afraid of rumors and tall tales. And I let them be afraid. It

makes my job easier.”

“What is your job?”

Shrike sniffed the air as they passed a perfumer’s stall. “Smell that?

Raw ambergris. There’s nothing else that smells like that. It’s one of those

magical substances that makes everyone—humans, demons, angels,

ghosts and your little dog Toto—all swoon. There are merchants whose

entire trade is delivering ambergris to the markets in Purgatory.”

“A couple of days ago, I would have considered that a very odd thing

to say.”

Shrike nodded. “Yes. Your little vision problem,” she said. “First of all,

that burning hotel you saw… I’m sure by now you’ve noticed that the

world is a much more flexible place than you’re used to. Time isn’t the

same everywhere you go. And space can change depending on what time

it is. Understand?”

“Hello. My name is Spyder and I’m five years old. Have you seen my

mommy?”

Shrike smiled and looped her arm around his. Spyder liked how she

felt. “Listen,” she said, “the waterfront is one of the places where the

0 — richard kadrey

edges of all the Spheres, the planes of existence in which we live, meet.

It’s why the market’s here. I was able to stay at a hotel that hasn’t been

built yet in this Sphere of existence because it’s already been built in

another Sphere. Unfortunately, time being a slippery and relative thing

here, the hotel has already burned down in another Sphere. That’s what

you saw. For me, though, it hadn’t burned down. I was booted for an

exorcism trade show.”

“You went into the future, but you went into the wrong future?”

“Close enough. I was already in the future and the future I didn’t want,

the one with exorcists in party hats, drifted close enough to make my

room reservation disappear. I have to find another place to sleep.”

“You can crash at my place,” Spyder said.

“No, thanks.”

“I’m not coming on to you. My girlfriend’s moved out. There’s plenty

of room.”

Shrike removed her arm from his and leaned over to retie one of her

boots. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, but my client isn’t expecting to

find me in some cozy Victorian flat. Don’t take it personally. This is a

work-related rejection.”

“What the hell is that?” said Spyder. They were at the back of the market, walking back in the direction Spyder had come earlier that night.

San Francisco was white and chilly with fog. Looming out of the mist

exactly where it shouldn’t be was a gigantic stone archway sporting Roman columns. On top was a tarnished copper chariot being pulled by

four enormous horses. Shrike sniffed the air, turning her head this way

and that.

“It smells like Berlin,” she said. “Near the Brandenburg Gate.”

“Berlin? Like, the real Berlin?” asked Spyder. “I always wanted to go

there.”

“Here’s another secret for your scrapbook. There is no difference between San Francisco and Berlin. In all the world, there is only one city.

Because of how mortals perceive things, the one city appears as different

cities, broken up and scattered all over the globe. But if you know the

right doors to open, the right turns to make, the right tunnels and rocks

to look behind, even mortals can find their way from one city to every

other city. There are maps and trackers, ancient, hidden smuggling routes

that only a few in the thieving guilds know.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? I almost had enough frequent

flyer miles to take Jenny to Prague. Now, she’s gone and we could have

walked there all along.” Spyder stood in the quiet beyond the market,

Butcher Bird —

looking up at the gate. When he looked down again, mist was beading

on his jacket and he was growing cold. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I need

help. Can you put me back the way I was?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Can anyone?”

“Maybe.”

It might have been better if that thing had gutted me at the club, Spyder

thought. He said, “Why did you help me the other night?”

“I don’t know. I just had to. You were so clueless.”

“Why can’t you help me now?”

“I’m on my way to meet a client.”

“You didn’t answer me when I asked you earlier. What exactly do you

do?”

“You’ve seen what I do. I kill things,” Shrike said. “People. Beasts. Demons. Whatever a client wants dead.”

“The Black Clerks?”

“No one kills the Black Clerks. They’re elemental forces. Killing them

is like trying to kill wind or light. Why do you want to know?”

Spyder pushed up his jacket sleeve and put her hand on the scar on

his arm.

“Damn,” she said. “By the pike, you’re a fool.”

“There’s nothing to be done about this?”

“Not by me. When they come for you, offer the Clerks a better deal.”

“I could offer them you.”

Shrike moved close to Spyder. She smelled of musk and jasmine. She

whispered in his ear. “If I didn’t know you were such a fool that remark

could cost you your head.”

“I’m sorry,” said Spyder backing away from her. “I’m falling apart. I

would never do something like that.”

“I know that. I have a pretty good nose for treachery and dangerous

folk.”

“Where do I fit on the danger scale? Say that one is a pretty little butterfly and ten is the thing that beat me like a two-dollar drum the other

night.”

Shrike thought for a moment, then reached into the pocket of her coat.

“I don’t know exactly what you call one of these. It was a present from

my niece.” She held out a blue plastic rabbit that fit snuggly in the palm

of her hand. Shrike wound the rabbit up with a silver key in its side and

the toy started to vibrate while a little bell jangled inside. “I suppose this

could get stuck in an enemy’s throat and choke him, so it’s a one. You’re

— richard kadrey

a bit bigger and a little smarter, though. I rate around a two.” The toy

wound down and Shrike dropped it back into her pocket.

“You’re Death Valley. You know that? Beautiful, but harsh,” said Spyder.

He sat down on a sand dune and Shrike sat beside him. “I never got to

ask, if you’re blind how did you kill that demon?”

“I’ve trained for this all my life. My father taught me. Then a friend,

before he turned out to be exactly the bastard I’d been told he was. Besides,” she said, “there’s blind and there’s blind.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“My head is spinning. I have this magic juju sight and’ve seen such

demented shit in the last twenty-four hours. I wouldn’t mind being

blind for a while.”

“It’s not really magic sight, you know,” Shrike said.

“Then what is it?”

“Memory,” she replied. “When that demon had you, some part of

it—saliva, a fragment of tooth, a fingernail—infected your blood. Everything you’re seeing now you’ve seen all your life only you’ve chosen

to forget it an instant later. If you remembered anything of this part

of the world, it was in your dreams and nightmares.” Shrike pulled up

Spyder and started walking. “Don’t feel bad. Forgetting is the way it is

with almost every living thing in this Sphere. But now you can’t look

away and you can’t forget.”

“Poisoned with memory. And you can’t help me.”

“That’s right.”

“Can you at least point the way back to civilization?”

Shrike pointed back at the market with her cane. “Follow the stalls to

the right until you come to a café in an old railroad car. You’ll see streetcar

tracks just beyond. Follow them along the waterfront and they’ll take

you all the way to more familiar territory.”

“Thanks,” said Spyder. “Good luck with your client.”

“Take care. You know, I forgot to ask you. Are you Spider Clan?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Which is probably the perfect

way for us to say goodbye.”

“Take care, pony boy.”

Spyder walked slowly back to the market, following the route Shrike

had described to him. He passed horse traders and what looked like a

kind of sidewalk surgery, with a hand-lettered cardboard sign describing

procedures, from amputations to nose jobs, along with prices. Spyder

found the train car café a few minutes later. He was colder now. His body

Butcher Bird —

ached from his injuries and his shoulders were knotted with tension.

Somewhere in the dim back of his brain he knew he should be worried

about the Clerks and what he was going to do with Lulu and how he

was going to open up the shop tomorrow, but none of it got through

the fog of exhaustion that was narrowing the universe to thoughts of

walking and sleep.

At the edge of the market, by the last big dune, some teenagers were

juggling fire without moving their hands. They stared silently and the

balls of flame moved through the air all by themselves. Spyder started

walking up the dune, when he heard someone call his name.

“Spyder, are you there? It’s me!”

He turned and saw Shrike running after him through the sand.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, and she hurried toward his voice, to the

base of the dune.

“I’ve been thinking about it and I have a proposition for you,” Shrike

said, a little out of breath. “This client I’m meeting, she’s expecting me

to have a partner. But my partner isn’t here. Stand in for him and I’ll

pay you.”

“My rent’s covered. I want my life back.”

“I can’t give you that. But some of the people I work with have power.

If this client is who I think it is, she might be able to help you.”

“Might?”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“What would I be? Your bodyguard? Your windup rabbit?”

“Your job will be to stand next to me and say absolutely nothing,” said

Shrike. “I’ll do all the talking.”

“I’m a mute?”

“People interpret silence as strength. In your case, the less you say, the

better you get. I need you to look more dangerous than you really are.”

“And maybe she can help me.”

“No guarantees.”

Spyder walked down the dune to where Shrike was waiting. He stood

a little above her in the sand. “I’ll help you get your bags from the hotel,”

he said.

“That’s not necessary,” Shrike said. She removed a battered leather

book from an inside pocket of her coat. “Everything I need is right here.”

She opened it and little paper shapes stood up from the pages. Horses.

Swords. Things that might have been exotic fruits or vegetables. To Spyder,

it looked like a kid’s pop-up book.

Shrike put the book away and led Spyder over the dune in the opposite

— richard kadrey

direction. “Jean-Philippe, the bird-man, told me about a lovely deserted

warehouse where we can spend the night.”

“Feel that fog? We’ll be ice pops by morning,” said Spyder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll read to you,” said Shrike. “A good book will always

keep you warm.”

thirteeN

JourNey iNto Fear

Shrike led Spyder over the dunes toward North Beach, the old Barbary

Coast, for two hundred years the traditional haunt of pirates, thieves

and the kind of regular citizens who want to vanish into oblivion or into

newly invented lives.

Behind an abandoned furniture warehouse under the Bay Bridge, they

ducked through a hole in the hurricane fence and stomped through weeds

and smashed glass to the back of the building.

Spyder, who had broken into more than his share of warehouses,

spotted a smashed window near a rusting fire escape on the second

floor. “Looks like we can get in through an upstairs window,” he said

to Shrike.

Shrike was feeling her way along the back wall of the warehouse. When

she came to a door, she jiggled the knob, but the door was locked.

“Hey, there’s an open window,” said Spyder.

Shrike kicked in the door with her big boots. Her cane had already

flicked up and transformed into a sword. She held it in striking position as

she strode into the warehouse. Spyder was impressed, but kept quiet.

“Stay behind me,” she whispered.

“Hear anything?”

“Rats. People. Shh.”

The interior of the warehouse was a black hole decorated with a few

grimed windows inlaid with chicken wire and decorated with graffiti.

Shrike moved cautiously, but quickly, seemingly sensing where the trash

and broken furniture lay and avoiding it. Spyder stumbled along behind

her trying to keep up.

“Is it all open down here or are there any rooms?” Shrike asked him.

Spyder tried to see as deeply as possible into the dark. “I can’t see

much, but it looks all open down here. I think I can see some offices

upstairs.”

— richard kadrey

“Show me.”

Spyder led Shrike upstairs and she checked all the rooms until she

found one that was still locked.

“Move back,” she told Spyder.

Faster than his eye could register, Shrike brought her sword arcing

down and sliced the padlock off the door. The lock clattered to the floor

noisily. Half of it skipped way and rattled down the stairs. Spyder heard

low voices as doors leading to some of the other rooms opened.

Shrike turned toward the darkness, holding her sword at waist-level.

“You’re all welcome to stay here, but anyone stupid enough to come

through this door will end up like that lock.”

The interior of the office was dusty and littered with paper and rat

turds. It looked as if it might have been a records office. Old filing cabinets

stood against one wall along with a tilting, three-legged desk. Spyder had

stayed in worse places, but not recently. He described the scene to Shrike,

who walked from wall to wall, pacing off the room.

“Would you push the old furniture into a corner?” she asked.

When he’d dragged the rusting junk out of the way, Spyder said,

“There were some old sofa cushions and maybe a futon out there. I’ll

go get them.”

“If you want to sleep on mildewed trash, feel free. I prefer something

clean.”

Shrike had her pop-up book open to a page that, in the dark, looked

like a scene from The Thief of Bagdad. She whispered a few words and

the storage room was flooded in light and warmth.

The light came from burning braziers set at each corner of the room.

The floors were covered with Persian carpets and bright pillows. There

was an enormous bed against one wall and storage vessels and cabinets

against the opposite. The place smelled instantly of incense and spices.

“Welcome to my home away from home,” Shrike said.

“When I was five, I had a metal folding cup that I thought was the

coolest thing in the world,” said Spyder. “But I was wrong.”

“I’m glad you like it. You’re my guest. Please sit down. Are you hungry?”

“Now that you ask, yes.”

Shrike dropped her coat and sword onto the big bed and went to the

cabinets without hesitation. Spyder sat down on the edge of the bed

watching her sure movements. Even though it was occupying an alien

space, he thought, this was clearly her room.

“I’ve been on the road for a while, so I’m not really Suzy Homemaker

Butcher Bird —

these days,” said Shrike, opening and closing the cabinets. She came

back to the bed with a couple of bundles. “All I have is some wine and

focaccia.”

“The breakfast of champions,” Spyder said.

“My glasses are all broken, so we’re going to have to share the bottle,”

Shrike said.

“That’s okay. It’ll give me a chance to look butch for once tonight.”

Shrike smiled and sliced the wax and cork from the top of the bottle

with the edge of her sword, then handed the wine to Spyder. It tasted like

wind felt at the top of a hill on a summer night. He handed the bottle

back to Shrike. “Wow,” he said.

Shrike took a long drink. “Don’t forget to eat, too. Give it a chance, and

this wine will leave you half-naked, shoeless and wearing a dog collar,

with only a vague memory of how you got that way.”

“Does the wine have a sister?”

“You wish.”

Between bites of spicy focaccia Spyder said, “You’re not at the Coma

Gardens. How is your client going to find you?”

“Magic.”

“You’re not much like most girls.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“That’s how it’s meant.”

“Slow down on the wine, pony boy. You don’t want your mouth getting

too far ahead of your brain.”

“How long have you been living like this? Out of your little magic

book?”

“A long time. Since… Almost half my life.”

“You and your business partner, the one I’m standing in for.”

“He’d be the one.”

“What happened to him?”

Shrike chewed with great deliberation for some time. “He was killed

by assassins. Hellspawn.”

“You don’t ever do anything halfway, do you? It’s not enough that your

friend got iced. He was done in by hell’s hit men.”

“I didn’t ask for an exciting life, believe me. I crave boredom.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I don’t remember what seeing is like,” Shrike said.

“You used to be able to see?”

“Yes. After I went blind, I could still remember things. Colors. Moonlight. My father’s face. It’s all gone now, though.”

— richard kadrey

“When you cut that lock, I thought you were playing me. A pretty girl

just pretending to be blind to look less dangerous.”

“You’re not the first person to think that,” she said, and took off her

shades. “But I really am blind.”

Spyder looked at her for a long time. He wanted to be sure that what

he was seeing wasn’t a trick of the firelight. Shrike’s eyes were fractured,

like cracked glass. The misshapen pupils were ants trapped in amber.

Shrike’s eyes were bright, but dead.

“That can’t be natural,” he said.

“I was cursed.”

“The bastard lover you talked about?”

She nodded. “It’s a story I don’t feel like telling right now.” Shrike drank

more wine and lay back on the bed. “I’ve answered enough questions for

now. Tell me about you, Spyder Lee.”

“I’m a Leo. I like wine and focaccia, Seventies Kraut-rock, and I dig

chicks with their own swords.” Spyder lay down next to Shrike and kissed

her hand. She let him, he noted, but a moment later she put her hand

on his chest to keep him from going any further.

“Slow down, pony boy.”

“Sorry,” he said. “To answer something you asked earlier, I’m not Spider Clan. Or, hell, maybe I am. My father loved cars and he loved James

Dean. I’m named for the model of Porsche Dean raced. It’s also the car

that killed him.”

Shrike laughed. “You’re named for a dead man’s car?”

“I think the saddest day of my father’s life was when I saw my first

James Dean movie and only thought it was okay.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. We already had some problems, then he just sort of lost

interest in me. He wasn’t mean or anything. We just didn’t ever talk

much after that. I think I broke some kind of sacred bond I didn’t even

know was supposed to be there. It was his own fault. He took me to see

Journey into Fear. The old man had James Dean, but on my planet, Orson

Welles was the man.”

“I’ve heard of him. Tell me more.”

“Citizen Kane’s still the greatest movie ever. People don’t even know that

it’s a pure special effects flick. It all looks so real, so natural. But there’s

also Journey into Fear. Most people haven’t even heard of that one. Welles

directed it, but the studio fucked him and he didn’t get credit. He plays

a Turkish cop. He looked ten feet tall. I wanted him to be my father and

I wanted to be him at the same time.” Spyder sat up and fumbled in his

Butcher Bird —

pockets for a cigarette. The wine had left him lightheaded, but happily

so. He found half a pack of American Spirits and lit one. Shrike held

out two fingers in a V shape. Spyder placed the cigarette there. She took

a drag and handed it back to him.

“He was just a little older than me and had already made the greatest

movie ever, and was instantly washed up,” Spyder said. “I always wanted

to do something like Welles.”

“Be washed up at an early age?”

“No, dummy. Do something great. Something permanent. Even if it

was just a new tattoo style. Something that would tag some little part of

the universe so that I could say, ‘I did that.’ That’s mine.”

“And here you are, huddled in a warehouse with a blind stranger surrounded by snoring winos.”

Spyder brushed stray hairs from Shrike’s face. “I’m not complaining.”

“What’s it been, two minutes?”

“Thank you for pointing that out, princess. Okay, I told you my shameful film-geek secret. Tell me yours.”

“You already guessed it. I’m a princess.”

“Like with a crown or did your daddy just dote on you?”

“Both. I even had my own castle. Well, a wing of my father’s. Before it

all came down around us.”

“Let me guess: the bastard lover?”

She nodded. “He was a general in my father’s army. Unfortunately, we

were in a period of prolonged peace. Without anything to conquer, some

generals can grow restless. When he wasn’t screwing the king’s daughter,

he was studying magic with the most powerful wizards he could bribe

or blackmail. He studied hard enough that he became a powerful wizard

himself. Powerful enough to depose my father, throw my lands into chaos

and make himself king.”

“Damn. He’s still running things?”

“No. He went completely mad. Some of his senior officers were still

sane enough to see this. They banded together and killed him, burning

his body and scattering his ashes in three different oceans.”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

Shrike frowned. “He still has potent allies in power. And I don’t even

have a business partner, much less an army.” Shrike held out her hand

and Spyder again placed the cigarette in her fingers. She smoked quietly.

“I didn’t intend to tell you because I thought you’d laugh at a princess

caught up in a nasty little fairy tale.”

0 — richard kadrey

“How does the fairy tale come out?”

“The princess dies,” said Shrike, handing the cigarette back to Spyder.

“If the story goes on long enough, that’s how they all end. It’s what happens in between that matters.”

“I never kissed a princess before.”

“You think you’re going to kiss one now?”

“Pretend I’m a ten-foot-tall Turkish cop. That’s your type, right?”

Shrike laughed and when Spyder leaned down to her, she didn’t pull

away. Spyder felt her hand in his hair and she kissed him back hard, as

if she hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time and had missed it. She rolled

on top of him, grinding her crotch into his as they tasted each other’s

mouths. Spyder slipped his hands under her shirt, sliding over smooth

skin and hard muscle, to cup her small breasts. Whatever cord or clasp

was holding Shrike’s hair back came undone. Her hair fell in fat dreads

and braids halfway down her back and brushed Spyder’s cheeks. Mostly

black, her hair was streaked purple, crimson, yellow and grasshopper

green. Spyder rolled Shrike onto her back and pinned her hands above

her head. He kissed her and ran his tongue down the side of her throat.

When he bit her shoulder, her legs wrapped around him and squeezed.

Spyder felt her shudder.

Shrike broke her hands free and took Spyder by the shoulders, telling

him gravely, “I am a princess and I order you to take off every stitch of

clothing at once.”

Happy to play the diplomat, Spyder did exactly what he was told.

Later, covered in sweat, focaccia crumbs and spilled wine, Spyder

kissed Shrike on the neck and said, “Tell me more about the princess

biz.” Shrike was curled against his side, her head tucked into his neck.

“Is your kingdom somewhere I would have heard of?”

“No. It’s not even in this Sphere. Where I’m from, magic runs the

world. Your Sphere built the internal combustion engine. In mine, we

transmuted gold into lead.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I miss my home. And my father.”

“Did he escape?”

“He’s dead. I don’t even know where he’s buried.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother died when I was born. I never knew her.”

“Sorry. What’s the best and worst part about princessing?”

Shrike thought for a moment, running a hand idly around Spyder’s

Butcher Bird —

nipple. “The best part was the shoes and learning to fight. The worst part

was state dinners where you had to be charming with a full mouth.”

“Did the princess have a horse named Princess?”

She pinched his nipple. “I didn’t call my horse Princess because he

wouldn’t have liked it. He was a hundred shades of gray and terribly sick

when he was a colt. I nursed him and when he grew strong, I named

him Thunder.”

“Thunder is just the boy version of Princess.”

Shrike bit his ear.

“Why was your partner murdered?” asked Spyder.

“I don’t know.”

“Was it for someone you two killed?”

“Maybe.”

“Does it have something to do with this new client?”

“I honestly don’t know. But, yes, it could.”

“Peachy,” said Spyder. “By the way, when this is all over, can I tattoo

my name on your ass, princess?”

“Kiss me and I’ll think about it.”

FourteeN

what are LittLe BoyS made oF?

in Spyder’s dreams, a man was flicking lit matches at him. The little

flames arced out of the dark and hit him in the face, the arms and the

chest. All around him was machinery.

Age-grimed engines the size of skyscrapers blasted flames and blueblack smoke into a dingy green sky. A forest of enormous furnaces lay

ahead of him and wretched workers (twisted limbs and curved spines,

as if their backs had all been broken and not allowed to heal properly)

shoveled pale things into the flames. When his eyes adjusted to the light,

Spyder saw that the slaves (there was no other word to describe their

condition) were shoveling whole corpses into the fire pits. Where there

were no corpses, there were piles of desiccated limbs or putrid mountains of human fat. The crippled workers shoveled each of these into the

furnaces as diligently as the corpse stokers.

The man was flicking matches again. “You’re a fool,” he said to Spyder.

“A lost puppy. A sparrow with a broken wing, trapped on an anthill.

A little boy who’s fallen down a well. It’s enough to make a good man

cry.”

“Who are you?” asked Spyder.

“What’s the opposite of a good man?” asked the stranger. Spyder could

see him better now. He looked like one of the Black Clerks, but his movements were more fluid. “We have three brains, you know. A reptile brain

wrapped in a mammal brain wrapped in a human brain. We’re all three

people in one body. Which do you want to answer your question?”

“Where am I?”

“The dark side of the moon. Over the rainbow. Under the hill.” The

next match struck Spyder in the eye and he flinched. “But it’s never too

late to go back home.”

“I want to. I want to go home.”

“Liar,” said the man. “You want to play.” He rushed at Spyder, his broken

Butcher Bird —

black teeth bared in fury. He was one of the Black Clerks. Or what Spyder

would look like if he were a Black Clerk. The man’s skin was held loosely

in place by hooks, leather straps and brass clasps. He pulled off his face

to reveal some pitiful thing beneath, a blackened stick figure that smelled

of roses and shit, leaking an oily yellow dew from every orifice.

“Let’s see what’s under your mask, little boy,” said the Clerk Spyder and

he dug his spiky, broken nails into Spyder’s face, ripping away chunks

of flesh and muscle. “What are little boys made of? Meat and tears and

bones and fear, that’s what little boys are made of!”

Spyder awoke with a stifled scream.

Sitting on a small, child-size chair that looked like it was intended more

as a decoration than a functional piece of furniture was a pale, small man

in a brown suit at least two sizes too small for him.

“Who are you?” asked Spyder, hoping he wasn’t about to start the

whole dream over again.

The man stood up and made a small, stiff bow. “I am Primo Kosinski.

I have been sent to fetch the Butcher Bird to Madame Cinders’ home.”

Spyder shook Shrike, then realized she was already awake and playing

possum. “I heard him come in,” she said. “I just wanted a little more

sleep.”

“I am to bring you to Madame Cinders at your earliest convenience.”

The words rushed out of the little man’s mouth in a high, breathy

voice.

“We heard you the first time,” Shrike said. She snuggled closer to Spyder.

“I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s afternoon, ma’am.”

“Damn,” she said. “All right.”

The little man remained standing as Spyder crawled out of bed and

began to look for his clothes. Primo’s attention was anxious and unnerving. Like what a herd dog must make a sheep feel like, Spyder thought.

“Would you sit the hell down and relax?” asked Spyder.

“Certainly.” Primo sat, but it didn’t help much. He perched on the edge

of the little chair, his attention as keen as ever. “And close your eyes while

she dresses,” Spyder added. The little man closed his eyes and covered

them with his hands.

“I don’t care,” said Shrike. “It’s not like there’s anything here worth

lusting after right now.” Spyder knew how she felt. Whatever kind of

wine they’d been drinking, it left him lightheaded, clumsy and oddly

forgetful. Even when he found his clothes, it took him a few minutes

to decide that they were his. It was some small consolation that Shrike,

— richard kadrey

too, was moving slowly and painfully. The wine had kicked her ass, too.

Good, he thought. At least we’re starting out the day even.

“How far is it to Madame’s?” Shrike asked.

“From here, perhaps three hours,” said Primo, his voice muffled by his

hands. “There is a boat and then the Blegeld Passage.”

“You’ve arranged transport through the passage?”

“Yes, ma’am. A very agreeable tuk-tuk. Very luxurious.”

“There’s no such thing as a luxurious tuk-tuk,” said Shrike, pulling

on her boots.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The day was starting slow, but all right, thought Spyder. He remembered

that Shrike had not wanted him to speak much. That request was working out fine since, once again, he didn’t know what she and Primo were

talking about other than they were all going somewhere and, happily,

using a boat for part of the journey. At least he’d recognize something.

When they’d dressed, Shrike ordered both Primo and Spyder out of

the room. She stood in the doorway with the little book open flat on her

hands and said a few words. As Shrike slapped the book closed, the bed

and carpets were gone and the room was back to its original dingy state.

Even the dust hadn’t been disturbed. Shrike tucked her cane under her

elbow and took Spyder’s arm. “Lead us to the boat, Primo.”

“This way, please, ma’am.” He hurried down the steps ahead of them as

Spyder walked down with Shrike. Spyder couldn’t tell if she was walking

slowly because of the hangover or because she wanted to appear relaxed

and indifferent to their journey. In any case, it was pleasant to have her

on his arm again. Though all through the walk, Spyder felt as if he were

floating beside his body watching himself. He was so out of it, in fact,

that Primo was handing them the boat tickets before he realized they

were back at the ocean, on the edge of Fisherman’s Wharf.

“These are tickets for the tour boat to Alcatraz,” said Spyder.

“Yes, sir. You’re very observant,” said Primo brightly.

Spyder let it go since another thought had popped into his mind.

“We’re going to get in line for the boat. Please give us a moment alone,

Primo.”

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Shrike as Spyder pulled her away

from the little man and toward their gate on the dock. “It’s dangerous for

us to be alone like this. He might think we’re plotting against Madame

Cinders.”

“That wine we had last night. What was in it?” asked Spyder.

“Grapes. Spices. I don’t know all the ingredients.”

Butcher Bird —

“Was it some kind of magic wine?”

“No. Not magic.”

“Then chemical. My mind keeps floating and my memory feels like

it’s been pissed all over. And don’t tell me this is normal for a hangover

because I’ve had about a million, none like this.”

“It’s a special wine,” said Shrike. “I didn’t know you well last night. If

it had gone badly I would have let you drink a little more. I would have

had more, too. Then we would have both forgotten. That’s all. It’s just

something I keep around for passing situations that might turn sour. No

one needs that kind of thing cluttering up their head. You understand,

don’t you, pony boy?”

“Passing and sour, you know how to make morning-after sweet talk,

don’t you?”

“I didn’t let you forget it all. I didn’t forget, either. And it turned out

to be better than passing. Kind of nice. If you could remember, you’d

know that I stopped you from drinking too much.”

“If I could remember,” said Spyder.

“Don’t worry,” said Shrike. “When we do it again, I’ll make sure it’s

memorable.”

“When we do it again? You’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’m a girl with her own sword. That’s your type.” Then she added

quickly. “Don’t kiss me now. Primo will be watching. Wave him over. Be

careful from here on. No smiles and no talking. You’re the quiet, deadly

type.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have a hard-on.”

“Shh!”

FiFteeN

i Luv La

they crossed San Francisco Bay to Alcatraz Island with a hundred

other tourists and their children. Spyder hadn’t been to the island

in a couple of years. He’d always regarded the place as a bore and used

the foggy crossing and general gloom that surrounded Alcatraz’s abandoned maximum-security prison as compelling seduction tools. It usually worked.

Jenny had been the last woman he’d taken there and it felt odd to be

going back again. He looked at Shrike. She was at the bow of the boat,

looking fierce in the bay wind, and clearly enjoying the feel of it on her

face. Primo stood a few steps behind her and from where Spyder stood

on the opposite side of the deck, the little man looked even more ragged

than he’d first thought. Not only was Primo’s suit too small, but the seams

and the fabric itself looked frayed and was clearly torn in places. Spyder

wondered, if this Madame Cinders is such a big deal, can’t she dress her

help in something that doesn’t look like it was copped from a dumpster

behind the Salvation Army?

When they moored at Alcatraz, Spyder and his companions waited

until most of the families had gone ashore before exiting the boat. A park

ranger was giving the group a canned orientation lecture, explaining

that they shouldn’t damage the facilities and that donations were always

welcome. From earlier visits, Spyder remembered that the place had

originally been a military prison during the Civil War. He’d hated being

there, even for a few hours. He couldn’t imagine what being locked up

for years in that frigid, wind-beaten rock would be like. Alcatraz made

him think of a nasty monster-movie castle looming over a doomed village. He wondered what Shrike’s castle had been like. Nothing like this,

he hoped. If, of course, she were telling the truth and there was a castle.

It occurred to Spyder that she might have been telling him a tall tale.

She’d slipped him a Mickey Finn because he didn’t matter. Why should

Butcher Bird —

she bother telling him the truth about herself? She was beautiful, but he

resolved to be more careful around her, then smiled to himself knowing

how unlikely that was. He was into something whose depths he couldn’t

begin to guess. This was pretty much a hang-on-and-hope-you-get-towear-your-skin-home situation and that didn’t leave much room for

being aloof.

The ranger finished her spiel and the tourists split into smaller groups

to explore the island. Spyder and Shrike followed Primo up the hill

toward the prison cellblocks. As they climbed the steep grade, Spyder

became aware that many of the tourists, especially the fathers in family groups, lumbered under the weight of demonic parasites that were

attached to their bodies. Some of the parents bore scars from the Black

Clerks. Spyder met one man’s gaze—he still had his eyes—and the look

the man gave Spyder was filled with such resigned despair that Spyder

had to turn away. Out of the corner of his eye, Spyder watched the man

herding his wife and children into the prison gift shop.

Past the cellblocks, on the edge of the island looking back toward San

Francisco, were rusted steel double doors. They were chained loosely

together and, with a little effort, Primo was able to push himself through

the opening. Shrike, smaller, slid easily through the gap. Spyder had to

take his leather jacket off to get through and even then there was a lot of

grunting and dragging himself inside by inches. But he finally made it.

“I probably could have picked that lock,” he said once he was inside

the tunnel.

“Don’t worry. I have a key,” said Primo, and walked away into the

darkness.

“Then why…?” Shrike elbowed Spyder to remind him not to speak. He

followed them, giving up trying to understand his companions’ logic.

“This is one of the old animal pens,” Primo told them eagerly. “The

soldiers kept their horses here during the winter rains. You can still hear

them whinnying if you put your ear to the wall during storms.”

In the near, but never total, darkness, they climbed down ladders and

through storm grates. They walked passages with floors of mud, passages lined with planks, cobblestone passages and some whose floors

seemed to be some kind of soft, spongy metal that made Spyder want to

run like a little kid. He was sure that there was no way all these passages

were part of the prison complex. This was confirmed for Spyder as they

moved through a rocky tunnel whose walls were lined with clay water

pipes marked with inscriptions in Latin and Greek. Were they moving

in time as well as space? Spyder wondered.

— richard kadrey

They went through underground vaults and what looked like old sewer

sluiceways. Occasionally, they would meet another group moving in the

opposite direction. Some were dressed in rags, some looked like ordinary

city dwellers, while others looked like escapees from some particularly

mean and decrepit Renaissance Faire. The groups never acknowledged

each other. Spyder got the impression that the passages weren’t the safest place to be.

Up ahead, he noticed that Primo had slowed down and was nervously

wringing his hands. At a watery intersection that reminded Spyder of the

high gothic sewers where Orson Welles met his bloody fate at the end

of The Third Man, Primo stopped. The little man turned in slow circles,

peering into the distance. He stared hard at the walls, as if looking for

a message.

“What’s wrong?” asked Shrike.

“Our transport isn’t here. A tuk-tuk was supposed to be waiting.”

“Did Madame Cinders pay them in advance?”

“Naturally.”

“That was your mistake.”

“No. She knows this family well. They are reliable. That’s why she

employs only them to transport her guests.”

“Maybe they broke down,” said Shrike. “If they were anywhere nearby,

we could hear the damned racket from the tuk-tuk’s engine.”

“We shouldn’t remain still too long. It’s dangerous. I suppose we should

start walking.”

“That would be my suggestion,” said Shrike. Spyder didn’t like the idea

of being in the passages any longer than they had to. He looked back the

way they had come and saw things moving in the darkness. Golden eyes

glinted and slid along the floor. Spyder caught up to Shrike and made

sure not to fall behind again.

After what seemed like hours, they were moving through a passage

lined with old red brick and dry rot timbers. A cool breeze touched

Spyder’s face. Sand had piled in miniature dunes where the timbers met

the floor.

“Oh dear,” said Primo leaning over a broken machine in the tunnel

ahead. Twisted wheels lay on the bricks. Spyder could already smell

the stink coming from the wreck. Melted rubber, gasoline and burned

flesh.

“I’m guessing this is the tuk-tuk we were waiting for?” said Shrike.

“It would seem so,” replied Primo. “Hmm. I don’t believe this was a

motor accident. There appears to be an arrow in the driver’s eye. I wonder

Butcher Bird —

who could have put that there?”

“That would be us,” came a croaking voice from the roof of the passage.

Four men (and the gender of the intruders was just a guess on Spyder’s

part) dropped to the floor. The men weren’t holding anything, so Spyder

wasn’t sure how they’d been holding on to the ceiling. But what seemed

more important to him now was the men’s elongated faces and crocodilian skin. Each was dressed differently—one in a firefighter’s rubber

overcoat, another in priestly vestments, the third wore shorts and an I

LUV LA T-shirt and the fourth was wearing a high school letter jacket.

Spyder didn’t want to think about where the lizard-men might have acquired their clothes, but the rust-colored stains on the LA T-shirt gave

him some idea.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Primo, and he gave the lizards a bow. “I

am Primo Kosinski and I am conducting these guests to the abode of

Madame Cinders. The Madame has negotiated safe passage through the

Blegeld Passage for herself and all her guests.”

“She didn’t negotiate with us,” said the lizard-priest in a gravelly, hissing voice.

“That’s because the compact is universal. No one may ignore or prevent—” Primo began. Shrike cut him off.

“What will it cost us to get through?” she asked.

“The pretty green. Piles of it. Do you have that?”

“You know we don’t,” Shrike said.

“Good,” hissed the lizard in the letter jacket. He took a step toward

Shrike. Just as she was bringing her sword up, Spyder saw Primo ram his

shoulder into the lizard’s midsection, smashing him against the wall in

an explosion of bone, blood and dry skin. Next, Primo rounded on the

priest and back-fisted him, ripping off a good portion of the beast’s face.

Spyder was pulling Shrike back from the carnage. As awful as it was, he

couldn’t turn away. The first thing he noticed, aside from the fact that

Primo had the last two lizards by the throat and was slowly choking the

life from them, was that the little man’s clothes were no longer loose

on him. In fact, they seemed a little tight. His skin had turned a bright

crimson and long, thorned hooks protruded from every part of his body,

ripping through the fabric of his suit. Primo growled with animal fury

as he crushed the throats of the lizards until their heads hung at odd

angles on limp flesh. Dropping the attackers’ bodies, Primo turned to

Spyder and Shrike asking, “Are you both all right?”

“We’re fine,” Shrike said. “Thank you.”

0 — richard kadrey

The little man, for he was already shrinking back to his original size,

approached them, cleaning his hands on the T-shirt he ripped from the

body of one dead lizard. “Forgive me, please,” he said. “You were under

my protection and should never have had to even raise your weapon.

You may ask Madame for my life, if you like.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Shrike. “You protected us and we’re grateful.”

“I’m happy to be of service.”

“You’re of the Gytrash race, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Members of my family have been guides for Madame

Cinders and her friends for over a thousand years.”

“Your family should be very proud of you, Primo.”

“Thank you. I believe they are. At least, they sit well with me.”

Spyder felt Shrike’s hand on his arm, quieting him until Primo had

moved away to inspect the lizard-men’s bodies. When he was out of earshot, Shrike whispered quickly. “The Gytrash are nomads and escorts for

travelers. They are a very practical race. They eat their dead for nourishment, but also as ritual. It’s their highest act of love and praise.”

“We’re almost there,” said Primo. “Shall we continue?”

“Let’s,” said Shrike. Spyder walked beside her trying to decide which

member of his family, in a pinch, he could eat.

SixteeN

the Birth oF moNSterS

w hen the world began, there were no such things as monsters. Demons

were just fallen angels who, booted out of Heaven and bored with

Hell, wandered the Earth sticking little girls’ pigtails in inkwells and sinking

the occasional continent.

The word monster didn’t really exist until the Spheres separated and the

humans and beasts in the First Sphere forgot about their brethren in the

other Earth realms.

In fact, most of what people call monsters are at least partly human.

Many are the offspring of Romeo and Juliet encounters between mortals

and races from the other Spheres. The first monster was the offspring of a

man, Chrysaor, and Nyx, the snake queen. Their daughter, Lilith, was the

first of the Lamia race. When she fell in love with another human, Umashi,

and created the long-nosed Tengus. It wasn’t just humans coupling with

the older races. Earth was a romantic free-fire zone before the Spheres split.

Old races mated with the new ones, which created still newer races, new

cultures, new myths and new possibilities. Later, when mortals only saw

the other races of the Earth in their dreams, they called these long-forgotten

siblings monsters.

Of course, mortals weren’t always tops on the invitation list for parties,

either. A number of animal races, especially the ones in the oceans and air,

didn’t regard humans as truly sentient beings and considered mating with

them to be the grossest kind of bestiality. This generally low opinion of

humanity was widespread in the outer Spheres and didn’t change for thou-

sands of years, until certain mortal stories trickled out to the hinterlands.

Gilgamesh, for instance, was quite a hit with the swamp kings and lords of

the air. Other stories of reluctant heroes and reborn champions, characters

such as Prometheus and the trickster Painted Man, elevated humanity in

the eyes of the other races because in all those stories the heroes die or give

up some core part of their being for their people. That humans could grasp

— richard kadrey

the idea of self-sacrifice was big news in the outer Spheres. Humanity was

cut some sorely needed slack from races that previously regarded them as

a kind of chatty land krill.

Of course, while the creatures of the outer Spheres no longer thought of hu-

mans as vermin, they didn’t really want to live next door to one, either.

SeveNteeN

caNNiBaL orchidS

they emerged from the tunnel into what looked and felt like noon

light. After the darkness and relative quiet of the subterranean passages, the city was overwhelming.

The first thing that hit Spyder was the heat, then the din of car horns

and the heavy reek of exhaust fumes. They had emerged from a storage

room in the back of a small open-air café where bearded men in long

white garments sipped mint tea and smoked unfiltered Winstons.

Spyder had a hard time focusing on individual objects in the dazzling light. Shrike looped her arm through his and they followed Primo

through narrow, unfamiliar back streets that smelled equally of raw sewage and cumin. Shielding his eyes with his free hand, Spyder was able to

focus better and realized that the reason he couldn’t read the signs on

the shops was that they weren’t in English, or even Roman letters.

“Where are we?” he asked, knowing it violated his promise not to

speak, but not caring.

“Alexandria,” said Primo. “The Medina. The old city.”

“How far are we from Madame Cinders’?” asked Shrike.

“Very close. Just a few blocks, ma’am.”

Spyder had always wanted to go to Egypt, though he’d always imagined

going there by a more conventional means. Still, he told himself, he was

there with a cute girl on his arm and a guide who knew his way around.

For being utterly lost and nearly crazy from confusion and fear, it could

have been worse.

They turned a corner and were surrounded by the ruins of a burial and

temple complex that looked as if it were left over from the time of the

Pharaohs. Sandstone blocks the size of SUVs lay at odd angles amidst

a litter of columns and statues of animal-headed gods. Silent children

watched them from the tops of the shattered temples. Whole families were

living in the necropolis, Spyder realized, though he couldn’t say if they

— richard kadrey

were from his time, some antediluvian past or some weird future. The

temple inhabitants wore stiff, bulky robes the colors of the stones they

walked on. In their odd garments, they looked almost like living stones

themselves. The men were butchering the carcass of some large buffalolike animal and dragging bloody slabs of it off to their families.

Just past the necropolis was an old walled fortress. Over the outer

wall, Spyder could just see the top of a golden onion dome and a tall

minaret. Primo picked up his pace, breaking into a stiff-legged trot that

made him look like an oversize windup toy. Even though it hadn’t been

more than an hour or so since the fight in the tunnel, Spyder was having a hard time picturing Primo as a killer. Which might have been the

little man’s greatest strength, he thought. He looked at Shrike. She was

lean and exuded confidence, but if he hadn’t seen her in action with her

sword he wouldn’t have imagined her strength, either.

As Primo worked the stiff lock on the gates of the fortress, Spyder

shielded his eyes from the sun. Frowning to himself, he remembered his

first tattoo: barbed wire around his neck. It was a traditional prison tat.

Spyder had told people that the tat was a memorial to his friend Gus who

had died in the San Luis Obispo county jail in a fight with a member of

a rival bike gang. And that was half true. It had genuinely broken Spyder

up when Gus died during what should have been nothing more than a

weekend in the drunk tank. But Spyder knew enough about tattoos to

know how people would back off when they saw what they thought was a

symbol of his having survived serious jail time. Thinking about it now, in

the company of two genuine killers who looked anything but dangerous,

Spyder saw much of his early ink less as a tribute to the art and more to

his own neuroses. He wore his fear on his skin for everyone to see.

Spyder had avoided thoughts like these his whole life and, as Primo

wrestled the gates of the fortress open, they came down on him hard.

Fear and covering up fear had probably been his primary motivator since

childhood. Oddly, now that he had real monsters to deal with and not just

the neurotic shadows that he’d dragged with him from childhood, none

of it was as bad as he’d imagined it would be. Maybe because he wasn’t

alone. Shrike’s arm was solid against him. If he wasn’t really brave, maybe

he could watch her and learn to act bravely. A line he used more than once

to sell tattoos to uncertain customers popped into his head: “Sometimes

changing the outside is the first step to changing the inside.”

Beyond the wall, the fortress was another world. Olive and orange

trees lined the inside of the courtyard, providing shade and cooling the

air to bearable levels. A fountain filled the air with the pleasant sound of

Butcher Bird —

running water and a tile walkway pointed the way into the main domed

building. Primo ushered Shrike and Spyder inside to an opulent room

of cushions and low, inlaid tables on a polished teakwood floor. Primo

gestured for them to make themselves comfortable by a table piled high

with fresh fruit and bottled water. When they were seated, Spyder put

Shrike’s hand on the fruit and she eagerly took a fig from the pile. Spyder

peeled an orange and said, “I could get used to this.”

“It’s very nice,” replied Shrike. “It’s also for our benefit. Letting us know

that she can take care of us.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“It’s very nice when you’re on good terms. It’s also a way of letting us

know that her wealth and power can hurt us if things go badly.”

“You’re getting a lot more from that fig than I’m getting from this

orange.”

“Keep quiet. There are people listening.”

“Where?”

Shrike inclined her head to a grating set into the wall. Spyder looked

and saw numerous pairs of eyes staring at him through the wooden latticework. As soon as he focused on them, the eyes were gone. He crawled

over the cushions and looked through. Beyond the wall was a large,

formal room. Serving girls and white-clad boys were cleaning the place

and taking great pains not to look in Spyder’s direction.

“She’ll see you now.” It was Primo, down at the far end of the chamber.

Spyder gave Shrike his arm and they followed the little man down a long,

cool passageway past dozens of rooms, out the back and into a sprawling

Victorian greenhouse. The glass walls and roof were white with steam.

Inside, it was like a sauna. Spyder was immediately drenched in sweat.

Primo led them deep into a thick internal jungle filled with tropical plants

whose thorns and poison sap tugged at their clothes.

They entered a wet crystal-walled room filled with orchids of every

imaginable size and color. Servants were gently tending the flowers with

potions and fertilizers. Using a silver scoop, a young boy tossed ground

meat into the soil. The orchids bent gracefully and used their fleshy

blossoms to gather up the bloody scraps. Those that couldn’t reach the

meat ripped the petals from nearby flowers. The place smelled like a cross

between a department store perfume counter and a slaughterhouse.

Spyder felt Shrike stiffen and when he looked, Madame Cinders was

being rolled into the greenhouse in a gilded wheelchair, as elaborately

decorated as any Louis XIV throne. Attached to the wheelchair was an

intricate pump system tied to an intravenous tube that slid under the

— richard kadrey

rich folds of Madame Cinders’ sky blue hijab. The woman’s face was

entirely hidden by the headdress. There was only an oval-shaped grid

across her eyes, and through it, Spyder could see nothing but darkness.

Primo walked into the center of the room and stood straight, striking

an awkwardly formal pose. “This is the mistress of this house, the Last

Daughter of the Moon, the protector and destroyer of Ail-Brasil, Madame

Cinders. She will ask you a series of questions. You will answer these

to the best of your ability. You are not permitted to question Madame

Cinders at this time. If Madame decides to avail herself of your services,

then questions may be asked in a less formal setting. Do you understand

all these points?”

Shrike stepped toward Primo’s voice. Spyder let her and stood where

he was, nervous, but careful not to show any emotion. He simply

frowned.

“We understand,” said Shrike.

Primo rubbed his hands nervously and looked at Shrike and Spyder.

“There is, um, one more stipulation,” he said, and reached behind an

enormous elephant ear plant to pull a hidden lever set into the floor.

Gears ground beneath their feet. Pistons hissed and pulleys clanked into

action. From the ceiling, a gigantic metal flower lowered itself and opened

slowly, like a blossom in the morning sun, to reveal dozens of serrated

blades, each longer than Spyder was tall.

“Because of the delicate nature of this commission, if your services are

not needed you will not, um, be permitted to leave. Madame Cinders

regrets any inconvenience this may cause you.”

Spyder shifted his gaze to Shrike. She hadn’t moved, so he mimicked

her indifference.

“We’re ready,” Shrike said.

Primo went and stood beside Madame Cinders’ wheelchair. The old

woman hadn’t budged since her entrance. When her voice came, it filled

the room, surprisingly strong, deep and clear.

“What is your name, child?” She was addressing Shrike. Spyder looked

at her.

“I am Alizarin Katya Ryu.” She gave the old woman the slightest of

bows.

“Is that your only name?”

“I’m sometimes called Blind Shrike,” she said. “Sometimes Butcher

Bird.”

“Why do you carry the name of a harmless little hatchling?”

“The shrike is a hunter, Madame, though a diminutive one. So am I.

Butcher Bird —

The shrike skewers its prey on thorns and continues to hunt. Like the

shrike, I hunt until the hunt is over. The name was given to me by those

who’ve seen my skill.”

“You’re an assassin, child?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“But you are also a thief.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did you not eat my figs without asking? That’s thievery.”

“We were led to food and drink by your servant. We assumed the fruit

was for your guests,” said Shrike flatly.

“Is it your habit to conduct your life and work based on assumptions?”

“I use common sense. When food and drink are offered by someone

asking for my service, I feel free to eat and drink. If I was wrong in this

case, if I have offended you, I apologize. But do not forget, Madame

Cinders, that it was you who sought out my help. If it is not wanted,

then we’ll be on our way.”

“You have a temper, child.”

“Not temper. I simply dislike wasting time, yours or mine.”

The old woman paused. Her head moved, ever so slightly. Spyder

stared deeply into the blackness where he knew her eyes to be. “Your

companion, does he speak?”

“Only when he has something to say.”

“Tell me, are you a traveler?”

“If you are asking if I am willing to go where a patron needs me, the

answer is yes.”

“What if the destination is beyond this Sphere? Beyond every Sphere

you know?”

“I go where I’m paid to go.”

“Will you go to Hell for me, Blind Shrike?”

“I’m confused, Madame. I’m an assassin. What use would I be to you

in a place of the dead?”

“What indeed?” The little pump attached to Madame Cinders’ wheelchair chuffed into life. An inverted bottle of some thick purplish fluid

bubbled on her IV stand. She sighed a little as the fluid drained into her.

“As a traveler, what can you tell me of Hell?” Madame Cinders asked.

“It’s very far. It is a city underground, or so surrounded by mountains

that it appears to be underground. There are many entrances and exits,

if one knows the way. Mostly, I know that you want to avoid the place,

if possible.”

— richard kadrey

“Is that all?”

“As I said, Madame, my concern has largely been with living, breathing adversaries.”

“You are not doing well, child. Not well at all. Do you wish to be fed

to my little flowers?”

“The question is insulting,” said Shrike.

The old woman was silent for a moment. Then asked, “If you were to

go to Hell on my behalf and you met the great beast called Asmodai,

what would you say to him?”

“Who, Madame?”

“No questions, please,” said Primo.

“What would you say upon meeting the beast Asmodai?” asked Madame Cinders.

“Good day to you, sir beast?”

Madame Cinders shook her head wearily and turned to Primo. The

little man looked at the lever that controlled the metal flower hanging

over their heads.

“I would say his name,” said Spyder. He took a step forward so that he

was standing next to Shrike. Her head snapped in his direction. “If I were

wearing something on my head, I would remove it and I’d say Asmodai’s

name three times, once to each of his heads. Once I’ve done this, he’ll

kneel down and answer all my questions truthfully.”

“And if you met Paimon?”

“I would only speak to him facing the northwest and never, ever look

into his eyes.”

“Better,” said Madame Cinders. “Between the two of you, I see one

good hunter and one good hunter is all I need.”

The woman made a slight, almost invisible gesture. Primo jerked the

lever that controlled the metal flower. Gears ground again and the blades

began to retract. Spyder, his stomach knotted with tension, relaxed. Until

he heard a click. The flower stopped retracting and the blades sprang

open. The metal blossom shot down at them as if fired by a cannon.

Spyder couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go and he was mesmerized

by the gorgeous meat grinder falling toward their heads.

Something blurred past his eye.

Shrike’s blade was up and out. She hadn’t struck the flower, but had

wedged her sword into the central shaft around which the blades spun,

jamming the mechanism. When he realized it had stopped, Spyder

grabbed on to Shrike’s sword, reinforcing her hold on the flower.

Madame Cinders’ deep rasping laugh filled the room. “Better and

Butcher Bird —

better,” she said. “You’ve earned the commission.” Primo pushed the lever

again and the flower retracted completely, disappearing into the ceiling.

By then, the old woman had gone.

eighteeN

a weapoN For otherS

primo took Spyder and Shrike from the greenhouse to Madame Cinders’ private quarters, which was located at the top of the minaret

they’d seen from outside the compound.

They climbed a stone spiral staircase that had been worn smooth over

centuries of use. Spyder had no idea how Madame Cinders got up and

down the tower since it didn’t seem big enough to house anything resembling an elevator. Shrike tugged on Spyder’s arm, holding him back

and letting Primo get ahead of them on the stairs.

“Since when are you an expert on demonology?” she asked. “You didn’t

even believe in demons until two days ago.”

“My daddy used to say, ‘Just because T-bones are better eating, doesn’t

mean you shouldn’t know the zip code of the brisket.’”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, that even a useless tattooist can pick up a few facts that

aren’t about girls or ink,” he said. “Jenny was an anthropology major.

Studying medieval Christianity. I used to read her textbooks when she

was finished. You’d be surprised how hot and bothered a little demon

and saint talk gets Catholic girls. I still know Hell’s floor plan, all seven

Heavens and which angels rule each one.”

“You saved us back there.”

“That sword trick helped. Someday you’re going to have to show me

how that thing goes from a cane to a blade so fast.”

“Stay useful and I will.”

They entered Madame Cinders’ private quarters. The room was dark,

as the shutters, which were carved in traditional Muslim geometrics, were

closed to keep out the heat. Enough light came through the skylights

that the opulence of the room was unmistakable. The walls were hung

with tapestries and dark purple velvets. The furniture, a mixture of low

Middle Eastern-style pillows and benches, was mixed with elegant Eu0

Butcher Bird —

ropean pieces and upholstered in rich brocades. Delicate lamps of brass

and milky glass dotted the room. Above an Empire-style desk was an oil

portrait of a young woman. Her skin was creamy and pale, like liquid

pearls, and her hair long and dark. She wore a high-necked turquoise

gown of a simple cut, but even in the painting it was obvious that it was

of exquisite material and expertly made. In her hands, the girl held a

book whose tattered cover and cracked spine indicated its great age and

constant use. Spyder wondered if the girl in the picture was Madame

Cinders in earlier, happier times. It was hard picturing the wheezing

wreck in the wheelchair as a girl, much less a pretty one getting her

portrait painted on her birthday.

“Yes, young man,” said Madame Cinders. “A book. That is what I’ve

brought you here for.”

“You want us to steal a book, Madame?” asked Shrike.

“The one in this painting?” Spyder asked.

Madame Cinders shook her head, moving the fabric of her hijab

slightly. Spyder realized that the awful stench back at the greenhouse

wasn’t the exotic plants, but Madame Cinders herself. The heavy incense

in the tower couldn’t disguise the stink of her flesh.

“You’re right, I am rotting.”

Spyder looked at the woman. He realized that she could read his

thoughts. Or was she just picking it up from body language? He resolved

to stand completely still and look directly at her.

“Do that, if it comforts you.” Madame Cinders nodded toward Shrike.

“She has no such worries, you see. Her world is black and full of secrets

buried in darkness and deeper darkness. That’s why she’s so valuable

to me. What’s an affliction to some, is a weapon for others.” Madame

Cinders paused as her pump started up again. “I know you both have

questions, but let me tell you how the girl in that portrait became the

creature you see before you.

“Since the time of the Great Divide, when all the Spheres of the world

broke each away from the other, my family has guarded a book. The

first book. It contains the true names of all things. Someone with the

understanding to use the book could blot out the sun. Turn the oceans

to blood. Or close forever the doors of existence.

“The book was stolen from this very room and spirited to Hell by a

demon. The same Asmodai I asked you about earlier. Asmodai is known

to possess vast and arcane knowledge, so I assumed he had stolen the

book for himself. After years of trying, I managed to pursue him into

Hell to retrieve the book that was my responsibility to guard.

— richard kadrey

“In Hell, I learned that Asmodai was now in the employ of a powerful wizard who now makes his home in that dank and depraved realm.

It was he who transfigured me from the young girl in the painting to

the half-alive thing you see now. All of my strength and knowledge

goes into keeping myself alive. I haven’t the power to fight for the book

anymore.”

The pump stopped and Madame Cinders seemed to sag for a moment,

then sat up straight in her chair, renewed by whatever potion or tincture

had entered her dying blood stream.

“I was arrogant,” she said. “Full of pride in my magic and fury at losing the book. I forgot a fundamental law of the universe: that no mortal

may look upon Heaven or Hell and walk again among the living. What

power the enemy wizard didn’t bleed from me, I used up weaving a spell

to escape that horrid place.”

“That’s why you sent for me,” said Shrike. “Not because I’m the best

assassin, but because I’m blind.”

“Because you are both, Butcher Bird.”

“I’m not blind. What about me?” asked Spyder.

“You keep her on course, it’s easy to see. She’s a burning fuse. You keep

her from burning out. And you can be made blind temporarily, with a

simple spell.”

“No way.”

“Then blindfold yourself and hope for gentle winds in the underworld.”

“Excuse me, Madame Cinders,” said Shrike, “I don’t want to be crass,

but what will be our payment for performing this service for you?”

“Why, child, I’ll give you back your eyes.”

“Can you fix mine? Make me the way I was before, able to forget all

this?”

“It is an odd request and I will not be so rude as to ask why, but, yes,

with the book I could do that for you.”

“It’s not enough,” said Shrike. Spyder looked at her. “You’re asking us

to go to the most awful place imaginable and face both the legions of

Hell and the wizard who almost killed you, a sorceress with more magic

than I could ever hope to summon. And our payment is to be nothing more than becoming who we used to be? Madame, there must be

something more you can offer us or, despite whatever threats you might

care to make, we will have to refuse your offer.” Spyder was surprised

by Shrike’s tone, but could tell that she was in full-on haggling mode.

The traders in Tangiers had been the same way. It wasn’t the easy-going

Butcher Bird —

bargaining of Nepal or Mexico, but a verbal fistfight. Spyder looked at

Madame Cinders, waiting for her counter.

“What would be enough, Butcher Bird? Your kingdom back? Revenge

on your enemies? Your father?”

“I barely recall my kingdom and my enemies will be damned in time.

But to taunt me with my father’s death, I didn’t expect such low behavior

from a lady of your standing, Madame.”

Madame Cinders laughed and it sounded like bubbling sludge. “But

your father isn’t dead, Butcher Bird. He’s merely mad. Would you like

to see him? He’s here, not two rooms away from us.”

NiNeteeN

what meN Never uNderStaNd

whirring ahead in her wheelchair, Madame Cinders led Spyder and

Shrike to a padlocked room where the walls were padded with

thick, stained silk.

Primo unlocked the door. In the darkest corner of the room, away from

the light cast by the lone window, a man lay in a fetal position. His gray

hair was greasy and wild. With dirty, bandaged fingers he mindlessly

picked at the white padding that spilled out from a rip in the wall. The

man’s eyes were unfocussed, wide and wild.

From the door, Shrike said, “Father?” She stepped into the padded

room, but Madame Cinders put up an arm to bar her. Shrike grabbed

Spyder’s shoulder. “What does he look like?” she asked.

“He’s a mess,” said Spyder. “Like those homeless guys you see eating

out of dumpsters. I’m sorry.”

“He is not in his right mind, child. He is quiet now, but can be quite

dangerous.”

Shrike pushed past Madame Cinders and felt along the wall until she

found the huddled man. Spyder moved into the doorway, but hung back.

He heard Madame Cinders muttering, “Brave girl. Stupid girl. She has

to see everything for herself.”

Shrike knelt by the old man and put her hand on his bony chest. “Father? It’s Alizarin…”

The old man screamed and his hands flailed out, knocking Shrike

back. Spyder darted across the room and pulled her back to the door.

The old man kept on screaming, batting at invisible attackers, kicking

at the empty air. Deep scars lined his cheeks where he’d clawed his skin

away. He was reaching for something and if he hadn’t been chained to

the wall, he looked like he would be clawing past Spyder and Shrike and

anything else he could get hold of. What is he trying to grab? wondered

Spyder. He described all this to Shrike.

Butcher Bird —

“What’s wrong with him?” Shrike asked Madame Cinders.

“We found him in an asylum in Persia,” she said. “He’s been made

mad by a curse, just as you were blinded by one. Only what your father

is suffering is much, much worse.”

“What is he fighting? What does he see?”

“He is seeing Hell, child, dwelling in two Spheres at once. His body is

here, but his mind is chained below in some abyssal dungeon. What he

is fighting off are the demons that torment him.”

Shrike stood facing her father, though Spyder knew she couldn’t see

him. Still, he could feel her body shaking almost imperceptibly. She was

trying to see him, trying to will his face into her mind.

“There is only one way to restore your father. And that is to free him

from the diabolical shackles that keep him bound below. Otherwise, this

is his fate until his heart or his mind finally crack forever.”

“I understand,” said Shrike, cutting off the other woman. “But I have to

ask you again—and I don’t ask this arrogantly, but out of fear that I can’t

truly help my father—how do I assassinate spirits? I fight the living.”

“You kill the dead with the weapons of the dead,” said Madame Cinders.

“Give it to her,” she told Primo. The little man came forward and pulled

a long-bladed knife from an inner pocket of his jacket. He pressed the

knife into Shrike’s hand and stepped courteously back. Spyder could see

by the way Shrike held the weapon that it was heavier than it looked.

The hilt was some kind of black horn inlaid with fine silverwork and

a blood-red ruby on each side. Shrike slowly pulled the blade from its

scabbard, getting the feel of the thing.

“A hellspawn stole from me, so before I left that cursed place I returned

the favor,” Madame Cinders wheezed before lapsing into a coughing fit.

“That is the knife of Apollyon, also called Abbadon. Do you know of

him?”

“His name means ‘The Destroyer,’” said Spyder.

“The Destroyer,” repeated Madame Cinders. “The blade will kill anything in this world or the next.”

“Why would a powerful demon need such a weapon?” asked Shrike.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

“Clever girl,” said Madame Cinders. “You see far beyond your blindness.”

“Answer the question, please.”

“Apollyon is a general in Lucifer’s army. He is part of a loyal faction

that opposes Asmodai and the ambitious wizard. You see, Hell is in turmoil, Butcher Bird. The devil’s throne is no longer secure. The wizard

— richard kadrey

and his followers are sewing discontent among the other fallen angels.

This mutiny has thrown the entire underworld into confusion. While it

makes Hell a more dangerous place to dwell, it also makes it an easier

place to enter and from which to escape. I’m asking you to be my thief

in the land of the dead, but there should still be killing enough to satisfy

even a Butcher Bird.”

“Where is the book now?”

“Lucifer captured it and it now rests in his palace, Pandemonium.”

Shrike slid the demon knife back into its scabbard. “If that book can

save my father, I’ll go,” she said. “I accept your commission.”

“Bring me back the book,” said Madame Cinders. “The killing, I leave

to your discretion. Slaughter armies or creep in and out like a church

mouse. It doesn’t matter to me. But remember this, Lucifer’s ambitions

are simple: He rules in Hell and wants vengeance on Heaven. There are

revolutionaries in Hell whose ambitions are more like a man’s, rooted

in hunger and animal desire. Given the chance, they will use the book

to overthrow Hell and then bring Hell to Earth. Fail to rescue the book,

child, and we may all end up like your father.”

“I won’t fail,” said Shrike. “I’ll get your book and free my father. And

keep Hell in its place.”

“You leave tomorrow at dawn,” said Madame Cinders, reversing in

her wheelchair and leading them back to her quarters. “Primo will go

with you. He knows your route to the Kasla Mountains, through whose

highest peak Hell is accessible.”

“There are things I need from the city,” said Shrike.

“Go back, by all means. I’ve arranged a tuk-tuk for you. A more secure

one, this time.”

“Do you know who arranged the attack on our first ride?” asked

Spyder.

“Wizards in league with the madman in Hell. Rebel angels, perhaps,

knowing that I am coming for the book. I have a key forged by Lascaux

imps, the greatest thieves on the mortal plane. It will open any lock, even

in Hell. Come closer, child, so that I may give it to you.”

Shrike went to the old woman, but instead of putting the key into

her hand, Madam Cinders slid both her hand and the key into Shrike’s

chest. Shrike gasped and pulled away. Spyder held Shrike as she fell back.

Madame Cinders’ hand was empty.

“What have you done to me?” screamed Shrike, her sword up and at

the old woman’s throat.

“It’s all right, girl. I’ve put the key somewhere no one can steal it. It

Butcher Bird —

will travel through you, with your blood. When you reach the cage where

the book is housed, you will find the key again in your hand. Until then,

it is safe.”

“And unrecoverable, right?” spat Shrike. “This way, I can’t betray

you.”

“Unless you fancy evisceration. And you can’t live forever with that

thing in your body. You must complete the task you have agreed to.”

“Or she’ll die,” said Spyder.

“It’s what we mortals do best,” said Madame Cinders. “Don’t fool

yourself, boy. I haven’t betrayed the girl. I’m merely holding her to our

bargain. She’s a woman and knows the difference between bargaining

and treachery, something men never seem to understand.”

“Fuck you, you twisted old bitch,” said Spyder. Shrike laid a hand on

his arm and stood up.

“She’s right,” Shrike said. “It’s just part of bargaining and as fellow

women we can, of course, trust each other.” She gave Cinders a thin

smile.

“You see?” said Madame Cinders. Though he couldn’t see her face, Spyder knew she was smiling, showing black rotten teeth under her veil.

“And here is my last bargain,” said Shrike, holding up Apollyon’s knife.

“When we’ve returned your book, if you don’t deliver everything you’ve

promised, I’ll make sure this gets back to it’s original owner with the

name of the person who took it and where, precisely, to find her.” Shrike

bowed to Madame Cinders. “I promise this to you. As a woman.”

Shrike turned and walked out, with Spyder following her. Primo trailed

along behind, keeping his distance, clearly nervous.

Madame Cinders had been right about their transportation. A tuk-tuk,

a loud, three-wheeled motorcycle that spewed black exhaust and rattled

like a glorified lawnmower, was waiting for them in the tunnel. Spyder,

Shrike and Primo rode in silence until they came to the wet crossroads

where they’d paused earlier. Primo led them back on foot through the

passages to Alcatraz. Shrike didn’t say a word on the way back, but on

the windy deck of the tourist boat back to San Francisco, she turned to

Spyder and leaned against him. He put his arms around her and held

her there. She sighed and relaxed into him.

“This is nice,” Spyder said. He felt her nod. “You warm enough?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m not going with you,” Spyder blurted. “I thought I could, but I can’t.

I drank tequila with a demon. I talked to a sphinx. I almost got hacked

into fertilizer and fed to man-eating daisies. And now I’m supposed to

— richard kadrey

go to Hell. Only I’m not going. Somewhere between the alligator men

and the demon knives, I hopped off this train.”

“It’s all right to be afraid,” Shrike said. She pulled away from him. “I’m

afraid, too.”

“You’re a killer. You’ve trained for this. A couple days ago, my greatest fear was leaving a message for one girl on another girl’s answering

machine.”

“This is funny. I’d planned on ditching you after Madame Cinders offered us the job. I didn’t want you to get hurt. But I don’t know anything

about Hell and I need your help.”

“Why? So demons can use your skin to shine their boots? This isn’t

sneaking into the drive-in with your fuck buddies. This is putting one

over on the Prince of Darkness and an army of fallen pissed-at-Godand-the-universe angels.”

“You know I have to go.”

“You’re a cute girl, Shrike. I can say that because your intestines are

still on the inside.”

“I have to save my father.”

“I don’t save fathers. I couldn’t save mine from drinking himself to

death and yours looked pretty far fucking gone, too.”

“You don’t have to enter Hell itself. It’ll take days getting to the Kasla

Mountains. Tutor me. Bring your friend’s books and teach me so I won’t

get lost in the underworld.”

“That thing in a wheelchair said that if I see Hell, I’ll be stranded there

forever.”

“You won’t see it, I promise. I know this isn’t your problem. I know

you fell into this. But I need you now.”

Spyder leaned against the rail and closed his eyes, feeling the rocking

of the ship as they docked at Fisherman’s Wharf.

“If you’re coming, meet me at dawn. Primo will be here with our

transportation. You hear me, pony boy?”

Spyder kissed Shrike on the cheek. “Good luck, Alizarin. Come back

safe. And thanks for trying to help me out.” He turned and walked

away.

tweNty

BadLaNdS

Spyder grabbed a cab at Fisherman’s Wharf and took it back to his

warehouse.

When the driver tried to engage him in tourist chitchat, Spyder ignored

him and stared out the window. It was dusk. The sky was midnight blue

and shot through with glowing stripes of salmon. Lights were coming on

as they drove through North Beach. Strip clubs, punk clubs, sports bars

and Italian restaurants hissed by. On the corners were groups of tourists

shivering as fog came down upon them in their Alcatraz Swim Team Tshirts. Fidgety clusters of students, street kids and sailors in dress whites

ran through the traffic, eager to get on to the next good time.

And there were the mutilated, sipping cappuccinos at sidewalk cafés.

The beautiful Volt Eater from the night market was being ferried down

Broadway on a glittering sedan chair. Outside a twenty-four-hour sex

shop at Broadway and Columbus, a blue-robed angel sat atop a sacrifice

pole holding a pale, bloody angel in its arms and weeping.

Spyder dug the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit

one. He thought of something Lulu had said when he first discovered her

awful secret: “After a while, no matter how messed up it is, everything

becomes normal.” There’s a lot of truth in that, he thought, watching

the animal-shaped airships drift through the evening sky. Nothing was

bothering him at that moment. With a little practice and the right drugs,

he was certain that nothing would ever bother him again.

At his place, Spyder handed the driver a wad of bills and got out of

the cab without waiting for change. Inside, the warehouse was cold and

not all that comforting. As much as Spyder loved to travel, he was always

thrilled and relieved to be back in his own comfortable, messy rooms. As

he flicked on the light, however, the familiar piles of books and DVDs,

the scattered clothes, felt odd and alien. He grabbed a fresh pack of

cigarettes from the kitchen counter and hit the button that rolled up the

0 — richard kadrey

big garage door that took up most of the west wall of the warehouse.

Dropping onto the seat of the Dead Man’s Ducati was the first thing that

felt right to Spyder since leaving the boat at Fisherman’s Wharf. He hit

the button to lower the door and popped the clutch. Ducking at the last

possible moment, Spyder cleared the weather stripping on the bottom

of the door by an inch. He roared onto the 101 Freeway.

Shooting off at the first exit, Spyder headed up to Haight Street with

the throttle wide open, blowing red lights and double-parked trucks

the whole way. He didn’t let up on the gas until he was a block from the

tattoo parlor. Fog was drifting in when he rolled the bike between an

SUV and a battered El Camino with NUESTRA RAZA stenciled high

on the windshield.

Spyder was standing in the street before he realized that Route 666

Tattoos was gone. The area where the parlor once stood was a charred

ruin cordoned off with yellow caution tape.

Spyder’s mind was a complete blank as he ducked under the tape and

stood where his customers had scanned the walls, looking over the flash

designs. What he felt eventually was surprise. He’d only been gone a

day, yet the place had burned and all the debris had been hauled away.

Street people had already started a little colony of shopping carts where

the back of the shop had stood. A couple of them (Men? Women? He

couldn’t tell in their layers of bulky coats.) stared at him while passing

a bottle of Four Roses back and forth. Spyder kicked at the garbage that

had begun to accumulate on the site. In the trash, he found the fried

remains of one of his tattoo guns. He picked it up and weighed the thing

in his hand. Dead metal. Worthless. Spyder stood up and let the tattoo

gun fall back into the debris.

Jogging back to the Ducati, he gunned it to life and tore across Haight

Street, up onto the sidewalk and through the caution tape into the shop,

scattering trash and splinters of blackened wood. Revving the throttle,

Spyder turned donuts in the debris, smoking his rear tire and scaring

the winos enough to huddle together in the back. As a foot patrol cop

came running into the burned shop, Spyder slammed back onto the

street and away.

The light was on in Lulu’s Mission District apartment. Spyder rang her

bell and, when there was no answer, yelled up at her window. When that

didn’t work, he climbed the fence into her backyard and went across a

neighbor’s roof until, with a jump, he could reach the bottom of the fire

escape. Spyder hauled himself up to the bottom landing and climbed the

Butcher Bird —

stairs to Lulu’s apartment on the fourth floor.

Through the half-open window, he could see Lulu in her old orange

robe, passed out on the couch. Pushing open the window the rest of the

way, Spyder stepped inside. There were little packets of foil on the coffee table, along with burnt spoons, medical tubing and a syringe with a

white, crusted tip. Spyder shouted angrily at Lulu.

“Wake up, asshole. Move. Look at me.”

Lulu was limp, but she made a feeble attempt to push him away. Spyder knew that was a good sign. “Look at me, girl. It’s Spyder. Open your

eyes.” He stopped shaking her for a moment when he remembered that

she didn’t have eyes to open. It didn’t matter, she was rousing herself by

then, holding on to his sleeve and pulling herself up.

“Spyder? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What the hell’ve you been doing?”

Lulu was sitting up shakily, staring in his direction with the little pieces

of paper over her hollow eyes. She began to cry quietly and punched

him hard in the chest. “Where you been? I thought you’d gone. Run off

’cause I’m a monster.”

“You’re no monster, Lulu. And I was only gone a day.”

“A week!” yelled Lulu. “You’ve been gone a goddam week and no word

at all!”

“Oh, baby.” Lulu grabbed him and cried against him, holding onto his

jacket like a child. “I went away to get help for us,” Spyder said. “It didn’t

seem like a week, but we went some funny places where the clocks run

different.”

“They burned down the shop, Spyder.”

“Who did?”

“A bunch of people. Friends!” Lulu wiped her nose on the sleeve of

her robe. Spyder handed her a bloody Kleenex from the table where her

works were scattered. “They were crazy. Neighbors from Haight Street.

People from the Bardo Lounge. They came in saying all kinds of insane

shit. You’re a murderer or some shit. And, like, we kidnap kids and do

things to ’em in the back. They started tearing the place up and someone had a gas can. I thought they were going to burn me, too.” She was

crying again. When Lulu blew her nose, Spyder saw fresh scars on her

wrists. Deep and running along the inner length of her arm, the scars

were dry, like ruts dug into hard-packed sand. Spyder touched the scars

and Lulu laughed.

“Funny, huh? I can’t even off myself. There ain’t enough of me left to

suicide.”

— richard kadrey

While he’d been gone, Lulu had done other things to herself. She’d

inserted slivers of glass and rusty nails through her skin, like parodies

of her piercing jewelry. Spyder opened her robe and Lulu didn’t resist.

Her bare body was decorated with stingray quills and surgical needles.

She’d pulled the rubber insulation off wire and laced the bare copper

through her skin, ringing the shark’s teeth she’d set above her bare pussy.

It was mad. But Spyder had seen it before. It was anger mixed with

ritual—Lulu’s fury at her body and an attempt to reclaim her desiccated

flesh through pain and action. Spyder closed Lulu’s robe and said, “You’re

coming with me.”

“Get away from her!” Spyder hit the deck as someone slammed into

him from behind. He managed to get his boots flat on the floor and roll

on top of his attacker, pinning their arms down. It was Rubi. She was

screaming at him.

“Get out of here, you freak! Killer! You child-molesting fuck!”

“Rubi, calm down,” said Spyder, not daring to let go. When it was clear

he wasn’t going to release her, Rubi stopped struggling.

“You going to rape me, too, asshole? Everyone’s on to you. Such a big

man. What you do to children, you sick fuck…”

“Rubi, whatever you think you know about me, it’s not true.”

“Don’t you hurt my Lulu!”

From the couch Lulu said, “This is what everyone’s like when they

talk about you. What did you do? You’re like Charlie Manson all of a

sudden.”

“I killed a demon’s best friend,” Spyder said. “Lulu, put some stuff in

a bag. You’re coming with me.”

“No, she’s not!” screamed Rubi. “I won’t let him hurt you, baby.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Spyder. I’m scared.”

“And you’re stoned, too. Listen, it’s not safe for you. If this curse or

spell or whatever made people think I’m a killer, it means sooner or

later, some of that’s going to land on you. If they can’t get to me, you’re

next on the menu.”

“No! Don’t listen to him, Lulu. He’s sick. He’s a murderer!”

“I’m so sorry, Rubi. I like you. I really do.” Spyder held the bartender

down and punched her as hard as he could across the jaw. Rubi was

unconscious immediately.

“Rubi? Oh shit, Spyder.”

“Lulu, don’t fade on me now. We have to get you out of here.” He held

up the dirty syringe. “If these deluded assholes don’t kill you, you’re going to do it yourself.”

Butcher Bird —

He pulled her from the sofa and walked Lulu to the bedroom closet.

“Get dressed,” he told her, and grabbed the small leather backpack that

Rubi always carried. Spyder dumped the contents on the bed and pulled

shirts, underwear and socks from Lulu’s dresser, shoving them in the

pack until it was full.

When he was done, Lulu was sitting quietly, dressed in a scuffed pair

of Doc Martens, black jeans with ripped knees and a pink Hello Kitty

T-shirt. Spyder put Lulu’s favorite ’50s gas station attendant jacket on her

and led her back to the living room. Rubi hadn’t moved. Spyder knelt and

listened to make sure she was breathing all right. She was. He got some

ice from the freezer, wrapped it in a washcloth and laid it on Rubi’s jaw.

He dialed 911. When the operator came on, Spyder said, “There’s been

an accident. A woman’s hurt,” and gave the address.

“Bye, Rubi,” whispered Lulu as Spyder hustled her out of the building.

“Hold on to me,” he told her as they got on the bike. Lulu wrapper

her arms around his waist and leaned heavily on his back. Spyder kicked

the Dead Man’s Ducati into gear and took back streets across town to a

twenty-four-hour diner he knew down by the waterfront.

For all her scars and drugged despair, Lulu seemed better after a second

cup of coffee. She took a long breath and even smiled the now familiar

raw flesh smile.

“Aren’t we a pair? A couple of real desperadoes. Like those kids in

Badlands. Kit and…who was his girlfriend?”

“Holly.”

“Yeah, that chick from Carrie. She was really something.” After a moment, Lulu said, “I never saw you punch anybody like that before.”

“Sure you have.”

“Not a girl.”

“Yeah,” said Spyder. “That was new.”

“I love her.”

“I know you do. She going to be all right.”

“You sure?”

“I promise.”

Lulu looked out the window, apparently satisfied for the moment. They

drank coffee, ate pie and french fries, and Spyder watched the clock over

the counter creep ever so slowly toward dawn.

“So, what happens next to a couple of outlaws like us, hopped up on

caffeine and sugar, and on the lam?”

“I figure it’s a lot like Badlands,” said Spyder. “We leave here, get a ride

and go straight to Hell.”

tweNty-oNe

JuBiLee

at the far end of Fisherman’s Wharf, past the eager early morning

tourists and their blear-eyed children, a jeweled airship hung in

the air.

The balloon portion resembled an enormous, ruby-colored seahorse.

Below this was a comfortable-looking gondola of a dark, lacquered

wood with gold filigree. Spyder saw the seahorse blocks away, but wasn’t

worried. By now he knew that no one else could see the thing or would

remember it for more than a few seconds if they did.

Spyder parked the Dead Man’s Ducati by a clam-chowder stand in front

of Fisherman’s Wharf and left the keys in the ignition. Taking Lulu by the

hand, he led her down the long wooden walkway connected to the piers.

Long before Fisherman’s Wharf had been transformed into a video game

and fried fish tourist trap, the place had been a working pier for fishing

boats coming in from beyond the Golden Gate. Even weekend sailors

avoided the place now, however. It wasn’t just the tourists. The few places

left to tie up boats had been staked out by hundreds of growling and

extremely territorial sea lions. Mostly, the animals used the piers to sun

themselves, so in the cool morning air there weren’t more than a dozen

or so sacked out on the deck. Spyder walked Lulu carefully around the

sea lions to the airship.

Primo waved to them from the end of the pier. Shrike was sitting on

one of the pilings, her face to the sun. Her pale skin was outlined in the

orange and pinks of dawn light. Spyder stood behind her. She got to her

feet, put a hand on his chest and smiled at him. “I never doubted you

for a moment, even if you doubted yourself,” Shrike said, and pecked

him on the cheek. She went to the balloon and Primo helped her into

the gondola, then Lulu. Spyder followed them inside as Primo cast off

the rope that tethered them to the wharf. For a second, it seemed as if

nothing was happening. Then, they rose straight into the chill morning

Butcher Bird —

sky. Spyder’s stomach dropped with the nauseous sensation of riding in

a freight elevator.

Shrike was passing around cups and a thermos full of hot coffee.

“Hey, I’m Lulu,” Lulu said to Shrike. “A friend of Spyder’s. I was at the

bar with him the night you two met.”

Shrike nodded. “Have some coffee,” she said, then turned and went

below deck.

Spyder poured coffee for Lulu and himself and watched Primo at

the front of the gondola operating a spider web of lines and pulleys,

positioning the airship to catch the bay winds. Spyder took his cup and

approached the little man.

“Want some coffee?” Spyder asked.

“I don’t drink stimulants, sir.”

“Need any help with the ropes?”

Primo grinned. “Oh, no thank you. I’m fine.” He pulled enthusiastically on one line and let another slide through his hand as they turned

away from the coast and drifted toward the Golden Gate Bridge, steadily

gaining altitude as they went.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary, after fucking it,” said Spyder.

The little man nodded. “I’m doing what I love,” he said. “I serve

Madame Cinders because that is my duty. She gave my clan sanctuary

centuries ago and we always honor our debts. But living sedentary in

her palace isn’t the happiest life for me.”

“A ramblin’, gamblin’ man.”

Primo laughed. “We Gytrash are travelers both by profession and by

disposition. I grew up on horseback, in trading ships clad in gold and

on endless overland treks through all three Spheres.

“This airship reminds me of one I was on many years ago. My clan

landed on the island of Montes Lunae to make repairs and take on supplies. Montes Lunae is a rich, green island in the Second Sphere which,

back then, was ruled by Chashash, the Raven King. It was the hundred

and fiftieth year of Chashash’s rein and in keeping with Lunae tradition,

he’d declared Jubilee.”

“That some kind of party?” asked Spyder.

“It’s much, much more than that, sir. During Jubilee, all laws are suspended, all slaves freed, all the lands won in battle are returned to their

original owners. Jubilee is a time of renewal and madness. A time to burn

the fields—both physical and metaphysical. Prisons became art galleries.

Art galleries became bordellos. Bordellos became courthouses. Then it

— richard kadrey

all changes again over night.

“As time goes on, the laws of physics begin to fall apart. Mortals can

fly…badly, in my experience. On Montes Lunae, many aeronauts cracked

their skulls before they got the hang of it. And when they did learn the

basics of flying, they’d still get airsick. It was a bad idea to enter some

neighborhoods without an umbrella.

“There was a method to all this madness. Everyone who lived on

the island, including visitors like us, were given tattoos with colored

shapes—circles, triangles or squares, along with alchemical symbols. This

complex combination of colors and symbols told you who you were in

relation to everyone else on any given day. On my chest, I received an

inverted red triangle with the symbol for quicksilver.

“The night my clan received its tattoos (each of us received a different combination of symbols), we had no idea of our place among the

islanders or to each other anymore. We were saved when I saw a captain

from the Raven King’s army. I had met the man earlier, but that night he

prostrated himself before me. He was a slave, he told me, the lowest of

the low in relation to those who carried my symbol. I had him explain

the pecking order to my whole clan, so that we might fit in with the

celebrations. When I saw the captain again a few days later, he was the

lord and I was the slave. This is how it was during Jubilee. Anyone could

be anyone else on any given night. Even the Raven King himself was,

on occasion, both a prisoner and a slave. I know this because I, Primo

Kosinski, of the Black Iron Gytrash, for three full days became king of

the Second Sphere.

“I was in prison when it happened. Everyone ends up in prison during

Jubilee. What I didn’t know was that the Jubilee kings and queens were

chosen in prison by a lottery. My lottery card bore the outline of a wolf ’s

paw. This meant nothing to me since a number of other prisoners had

similar symbols on their lots. But through a combination of the wolf,

the configuration of the stars in the sky and my tattoos, I was declared

king and taken to the royal palace high atop the World Poplar.

“I loved being king. Pretty girls—exotic dancers who were now the

legislature—would bring me fruit and legal documents. I often signed

the documents without reading them, assuming I would learn what they

were eventually.

“We passed new Jubilee laws constantly, then would make it illegal to

enforce them. The laws were often deliberately ludicrous. It became illegal to carry a small dog while smoking a pipe. It was further illegal to

attempt sexual relations with an animal while either party was on fire. No

Butcher Bird —

one could smile while wearing white, or frown while in the presence of a

man in stripes. Those found guilty of these charges might find themselves

banished to the sewers with nothing but a candle and a baseball bat. Or

they might be made archbishop.

“The only law that remained constant and coldly rational throughout

Jubilee was simple: Everyone on Montes Lunae, resident or guest, must

participate in Jubilee wholeheartedly while he or she was there. This was

a hard thing for some people. It was a hard thing for my family.

“Eventually, my mother found herself subordinate to a man she didn’t

like, a marriage broker who was also a card cheat and a libertine—two

things my mother couldn’t abide. She refused to serve the man when

it was her time. When the broker insisted, my father and brothers beat

him. My family was arrested and brought before me. I was king. I had

no choice. They had broken the most basic law of Jubilee.

“I executed them.”

Spyder looked at Primo hard as the little man made subtle adjustments

on the lines that controlled the airship’s progress.

“But this isn’t a sad story,” Primo continued. “To honor my family’s

death, I prepared their bodies as a great feast on my last night as king.

I invited all the citizens of the island to dine with me. Everyone ate and

through the citizens’ digestive tracts, my family became a part of every

person on Montes Lunae. When those citizens had children, a tiny piece

of my family was passed on to them. To this day, I am welcome in any

home on the island, from the highest to the lowest, because, in a sense,

every person on Montes Lunae is a blood relation.”

tweNty-two

Bewitched

“it occurs to me that I have no idea where we’re headed.”

“To the desert. The Kasla Mountains,” said Shrike. “They’re our

entrance to Hell.”

Spyder and Shrike were in the galley below deck and she was mixing a

strong tea fortified with red wine and spices. Spyder liked the smell and

he enjoyed watching Shrike work, feeling with her small, sure hands for

each utensil and ingredient as she prepared the brew.

“I’ve never heard of the Kaslas.”

“They’re on the island of Kher-aba in the Sunkosh Sea.”

“This is going to be one of those places that regular people can’t see,

right? And I’m going to recognize fuck all.”

“Chances are.”

“Tell me how nice I am for coming along.”

Shrike smiled. “You’re an angel. A lifesaver. My prize pony.”

The living quarters in the airship were like a flying palace, an equal,

in miniature, of Madame Cinders’ ornate quarters. The place smelled of

cedar, mahogany and Shrike’s herbal brew. Nearby, Lulu slept on a heavy

Chinese fainting couch, delicately carved in the shape of an emperor

dragon. Though smaller than his warehouse, the airship was easily the

best place Spyder had ever lived.

“I’m the teacher here, school girl. You’re not allowed to sexually harass

me.”

“You’re missing your chance, Humbert. I was going to do my best

Lolita for you.”

“How is it that a princess who knows about Lolita has never heard of

stuff like James Dean or a Porsche?”

“Sorry if I skipped Pop Culture 101 before we met. I’ve lived in this

Sphere on and off and I’ve picked up a few things. TV I learned about

from my old partner. He would describe the shows to me.”

Butcher Bird —

“You never told me much about him.”

She shrugged. “He was a boy I met in the Third Sphere, Ozymand

Riyahd, a thief and the son of a sword maker. He helped me train and

perfect my skills. But it was dangerous for us. Soldiers from my kingdom

were still looking for me. We bribed a wizard for the magic to get to

the First Sphere. Neither swordsmanship nor magic helped, in the end.

Ozymand was murdered. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to go all Jimmy Olsen, but I needed to know

what it was between you two.”

“Why?”

Spyder shrugged. “Because you have my interest. Because you’re not

like anyone I ever met before which, I know, is an understatement. I like

you, but I don’t want to go shaking my tail feathers where they’re not

wanted.”

“Ozymand was my friend and will always own a piece of my heart.

But he’s gone now. We murderers are a practical bunch. Just like on TV.

When the first Darrin left Bewitched, they got another.”

“You know about Bewitched?”

“Uncle Arthur makes me laugh. But TV witches aren’t much like the

real ones.”

Shrike finished preparing the tea and handed a cup to Spyder. It was

warm and revived him after his sleepless night.

“Maybe you can get a job as a demon consultant in Hollywood.”

“I’ll be a stunt person for all the famous blind female action stars,” said

Shrike. She laughed. “I liked Jean Harlow. Is she still in movies?”

“Not for about sixty years.”

“Oh. The way her voice sounded made her sound so beautiful.”

“She was. Good guess.”

“I told you: there’s blind and there’s blind.”

“Which means what?”

“I’ll explain later. Tell me about your friend. Is she an expert on

Hell?”

“Lulu? Not hardly. She’s a friend. Sort of my little sister. I couldn’t

leave her behind.”

“Can she fight? Can she find water in the desert? Navigate by the

stars?”

“She can give you nipple rings and a nice labret.”

“Then why did you bring her? You know where we’re going. Every step

of this journey is going to be over razor blades and landmines.”

“Things back home are steel-wool panties—somewhat uncomfortable

0 — richard kadrey

and crawling up your ass. A demon’s pissed at me, and now everyone

thinks I’m Ted Bundy’s cabana boy. If I’d a left Lulu behind, she would

have offed herself or been offed by some solid citizen. You should understand about wanting to protect a friend.”

“She’s not one of your little harem girls?”

“Lulu’s my oldest friend in the world. And if she was going to do the

Dance of the Seven Veils it would be for you, not me.”

“Ah. A girl’s girl.”

“She’d likely prefer ‘Soft Butch,’ but yeah. You’re not jealous or anything are you?”

“You’re the one whose penis has its own answering machine. I heard

and smelled a woman coming on board…”

“And thought I was bringing a snack? Thanks for letting me know you

still think I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think that. We just don’t know each other that well, yet. In my

kind of work, trust is important. And I don’t give it easily.”

“Neither do I, and I’m not even a killer.”

“Then, you should understand that I’m enjoying your company, but

I’m not entirely at ease with it yet.”

“I’m right with you there, Calamity Jane.”

“We’ll know more by the end of the trip.”

“Not me. Aside from you, I want to forget every bit of what I’ve seen,”

said Spyder. He lit a cigarette.

“These things are never that simple,” Shrike said. “I’m from another

Sphere. When you lose the sight, I’ll be gone, too. If you saw me at all,

it would only be as a ghost.”

“Balls. Madame Cinders said her book has the power to create and

uncreate things. She should be able to bend a few rules about what can

and can’t be seen. I want to see you. I don’t want to see anything that’s

going to eat me; I don’t want to see demons or talking snakes; and I don’t

ever want to see anyone with horns or wings.”

“Some of my best friends have horns and wings.”

“I’ll be your hillbilly boyfriend. Purty, but slow.”

“No problem there.”

“See? We’re halfway home.”

“And if Madame Cinders can’t bend the rules? What if, to regain your

precious ignorance, we never see each other again?”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens. Besides, I don’t know what the

hell I’m doing out here. I’m probably going to get eaten by a demon dachshund or shanked by a fire-breathing tea cozy. That’d solve everything.”

Butcher Bird —

“Stick with me, pony boy. The talking dogs will have to get through

me to get to you.”

Shrike laid her hand on Spyder’s chest. He didn’t move, but became

aware of his heart beating and the movement of blood through his

body.

“I think you’re sexually harassing me again, but I’ll let it go for now,”

he said.

“Did you bring your books?”

“Jenny took most of ’em. But I know the important stuff, the grand

schemes. The first, most important thing you need to understand about

Hell is what Hermes Trismegistus, a famous alchemist, said: ‘Hell is like

anywhere else. Only worse.’ Course, that sounds better in Latin.”

Spyder talked into the night, telling Shrike about the pits and traps of

Hell—the cunning lies demons tell, the slowly spinning trees full of knives

in the abattoir forests. Lulu slept nearby in the hold. Spyder checked on

her from time to time and made her drink water. They sailed west all day

and all night. Like bright toys, airships drifted in the distance.

tweNty-three

death iS Not the eNd

a mong the greatest lies ever told, probably the greatest is that death only

comes in one flavor.

Depending on the time, the place, the species of the deceased and its

general standing in the universe, the nouveau-dead can find themselves

experiencing any number of different types of death.

Most often, the classes of death experienced by humans fall into three

categories:

Total Death. This is the typical human death. Sleeping the big sleep.

Taking a dirt nap. The spirit has moved on and the body is empty meat in

the cold ground. Nothing, short of some expensive special effects or an act

of God, is going make a Total Death anything but a common separation of

spirit and a feast for worms.

Hungry Death. This is a loathsome kind of half-death. Typically, the

hungry dead end up as zombies—slow-witted, gluttons for human flesh and

smelling like an abandoned pig farm. This is the category where you never

want to find yourself. Too deranged for Heaven and too unstable to accept

damnation in Hell, there’s no love lost in any Sphere for the hungry dead.

Petit Mort. The little death. This is the most elusive, but perhaps the

most sublime human death. It’s reserved for those enlightened souls to

whom death and life aren’t separate states, but the continuation of a single

thought. Once they’ve made that initial transition between life and death,

your typical Petit Mort spirit slips continually been the Land of the Dead

and the Living Earth, wherever the action happens to be at the time.

Each state of death has a very different cast. Not all bad ones are pun-

ished. Not all good souls are rewarded. Luck or the lack of it, timing and

intelligence are as important in death as they are in life.

A few of the humans who’ve experienced Total Death are musicians

Buddy Holly and Bob Wills (plus most of his Texas Playboys); comedian

Andy Kaufman; aviatrix Amelia Earhart; Picasso; cosmonaut Valentina

Butcher Bird —

Tereshkova; Marilyn Monroe; and Hitler.

The hungry dead also include a number of musicians, most notably Jim

Morrison; also actress Jayne Mansfield; serial killer (and the real Jack the

Ripper) Frederick Bailey Deeming; author Ayn Rand; big-eyed child paint-

ers Margaret and Walter Keane.

The small Petit Mort roster includes most of the major prophets, plus a few

artists, such as the painter Marcel Duchamp; singer Robert Johnson; inventor

Nikola Tesla, and Lilith, the first wild wife of Eden. Also in this category is

a peculiar class of being, not quite human and not quite divine. These are

the Tricksters. They slip between life and death for the simple reason that

they refuse to take either state seriously. The Tricksters—Loki, Legba, the

Painted Man, Coyote, Kubera and others—are pure chaos. Some cultures

are certain that the Tricksters created the universe as a colossal practical

joke, while others believe that as a joke is how they will end it.

tweNty-Four

amaziNg grace

Spyder awoke sometime around dawn. Lulu was curled up next to him

under a blanket on a big love seat. Spyder looked around for Shrike,

but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Water was boiling on the little stove.

He got up carefully, trying not to wake Lulu, and went outside. The

steady wind was wet and frigid. Spyder wrapped his arms around himself

and went to the bow where Primo and Shrike, in her heavy coat, were

talking. As he rounded the corner of the cabin, Spyder saw what the two

were talking about. Another airship was hanging twenty or so yards off

the port bow. It was shaped like an immense black scorpion. A metal

cable was slowly extending from the scorpion ship’s gondola, which hung

from the end of the stinger.

“What’s going on?” asked Spyder.

“According to Primo, they’ve been shadowing us all morning,” said

Shrike.

“What’s that line they’re sending over here?”

“A communication device,” said Primo. “I believe.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s similar to devices I’ve seen, but I can’t be sure.”

“In any case, they’ll be tethered to us. I don’t like that,” said Shrike.

“What’s up, Spyder?” came a voice. He turned to see Lulu coming

from the cabin.

“The neighbors want to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“Holy shit,” Lulu said, coming up behind him. “Are we happy about

this?”

“I don’t think we have any choice,” said Shrike. “Spyder, not that I want

you doing anything crazy, but would you go into the cabin and get that

demon blade that Madame Cinders gave us?”

“Apollyon’s knife?”

Shrike nodded. “It’s wrapped in a silk scarf. If anything comes off that

Butcher Bird —

ship, I want to know we can kill it.”

“We going Texas Chainsaw on the other blimp, too?” asked Lulu. She

pointed off to starboard.

“Spyder…?” said Shrike.

“Another ship’s coming out of the clouds,” he said. “A burning heart

wrapped in thorns. It looks like a Christian sacred heart.”

“It’s the Seraphic Brotherhood,” said Primo, “pledged to the archangel

Michael. They’re warrior priests.”

“Are they approaching us?” asked Shrike.

“No,” said Spyder. “They’re just hanging parallel a mile or two away.”

“There’s others out there, too,” said Lulu.

“She’s right. I can see a half-dozen other ships, but they’re mostly just

dots.”

“Get the blade, Spyder,” Shrike said.

He ducked below deck and Lulu followed him.

“Lulu, I want you to stay in here,” said Spyder. He stalked around the

cabin looking for the silken bundle.

“I’m no cotillion queen, Spyder. I can take care of myself.”

“Not when you’re coming off junk.”

“I wasn’t that deep in this time.”

On the kitchen counter, he spotted the bundle. “In any case, I’ll feel

better knowing you’re safe.” Spyder found a butcher knife on the stove

and tossed it to her. “But if anything with more than one head comes

through the door, feel free to stick it.”

“That’s pretty much always my policy.”

“That’s my girl.” Spyder grabbed his leather jacket and headed back

onto the deck.

“Hey, Spyder!”

“Yeah, Lulu?”

“Your kamikaze girl outside? She’s a sweet slice of honeydew.”

“That she is.”

When Spyder got back to the bow of the ship, the cable that had been

spooling from the scorpion had settled onto the port railing, clamping

itself in place with a single golden claw. A rotating disc had flipped open

at the top of the claw and there was a grainy image of a young man flickering on a small screen before the wheel. The young man’s face was cut

through with snowy scan lines. He wore a dark uniform of a severe cut

(and marked with numerous medals and campaign ribbons) and a kind

of silver ring around his head. To Spyder’s relief, he was clearly human.

The young man and Primo were speaking rapidly in a language Spyder

— richard kadrey

didn’t understand.

“Did I miss anything good?” Spyder asked Shrike.

“We’re being offered a bribe,” Shrike whispered. “The young pup doing

all the talking is Bel, the crown prince of the Erragal Clan. One of the

powerful houses of the Third Sphere.”

“What exactly are we being bribed for?”

“They know where we’re going and what we’re bringing back. They

want the book.”

“I’m guessing these aren’t the kind of people Madame Cinders would

have over to tell her troubles to.”

“It’s unlikely,” said Shrike. “Did you bring the knife?”

“I’ve got it under my coat.”

“Don’t do anything until I tell you. For now, we’re just playing a diplomacy game. Primo is politely telling the prince thanks, but no thanks.”

“What if he gets mad? Last time I looked there was fuck-all but water

under us.”

“Those other airships should keep him in line. The Erragals are powerful, but they wouldn’t want to be seen shooting an unarmed ship from

the sky.”

“Pardon me,” said Primo, “but the young prince is becoming very

agitated. I don’t think that anyone has every refused an Erragal royal

bribe before.”

“Tell him we’re on Hajj. Religious pilgrims can’t accept bribes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Off to the starboard side of the ship, the sky opened like a sunbeam

slicing through a cloudbank. A pale, sexless, beatific face appeared between the ship and the Seraphic Brotherhood’s floating heart. The face

was glowing, like a child’s dream of angels, and when it spoke, its voice

was like thunder.

“Fuck me,” whispered Spyder.

“I know that sound,” said Shrike. “God’s Army to the rescue.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen.”

All Spyder could hear was the echo and rumble of the transparent head

hanging in the cold ocean air. The voice and the size of the thing weren’t

what was most awful about it; it was the utter blissfulness of its expression. Spyder had seen faces like that before—especially the eyes—when

being analyzed by court-appointed psychiatrists and being sentenced

by compassionate judges who sent him off to juvenile work camps for

his own good. They were the understanding eyes of kindly folk who

Butcher Bird —

burned witches alive to save their souls. But when Spyder glanced back

to the prince, he saw that Primo had dropped out of the conversation

completely.

Lulu emerged from the cabin, clutching the butcher knife to her chest.

“Are we dead yet?” she asked.

“Getting there,” said Spyder. He nodded toward Bel’s image. The young

prince’s flickering face was creased with anger. He was clearly no longer

addressing Primo, but the Seraphic Brotherhood’s ghost representative.

The wraith head nodded and calmly answered the young prince’s furious

chatter. “The bribers are bitch-slapping each other,” Spyder said.

“Or arguing over who gets to suck our bones,” said Lulu.

“We’ll know soon,” said Shrike.

“Hey, Spyder?”

“What, Lulu?”

“When we were kids, did you ever picture yourself freezing to death

while God and a big scorpion tried to decide who was going to eat

you?”

“It’s not god, Lulu. It’s just some magic trick,” said Spyder.

Lulu hunched her shoulders and went over to the railing. She gave

the angels the finger and began to sing at the top of her lungs, “Onward,

Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on

before…”

“Quiet!” Shrike yelled. “Primo, before I push these fools overboard,

what’s happening?”

“I believe it’s over, ma’am.”

Spyder looked toward the beatific ghost head. It was fading from the

sky. On the bow railing, the prince’s spinning disc was folding itself up

and retracting into the cable still hooked to the port railing.

“He’s right,” said Spyder. “Everyone’s packing up and backing off.”

“We were lucky,” said Shrike. “Primo, set the course and come into the

cabin with the rest of us.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on, Lulu,” said Spyder.

“I don’t think I like that Christian soldiers song anymore,” Lulu said.

“I never thought about the words till now. Doesn’t seem very Christian

singing about how fun war is.”

“It’s someone’s idea of Christian.”

“Not mine,” said Lulu. “When I die, make ’em play ‘Amazing Grace’

at my funeral, okay?”

“I don’t know that they’re going to have ‘Amazing Grace’ on the juke- — richard kadrey

box at the strip club.”

“What strip club?”

“The one we’re going to have your funeral at.”

“Cool. Can I come?”

tweNty-Five

aNgeL Fire

it was warm below deck, but Spyder shivered. He tucked Apollyon’s

knife into his belt and pulled his jacket around himself.

Primo was pouring whiskey for everyone from a crystal decanter that

looked like it was worth more than everything Spyder had ever owned

put together.

“I thought we were on some kind of secret mission,” said Lulu. “Not

much of a secret if every balloon jockey in Never Never Land shows up

for the run.”

“Someone’s been ratting us out since day one. We got ambushed on the

way to set up this job,” Spyder said, downing his whiskey in a gulp.

“Thanks for inviting me along, bro. This is tons better than being at

home under the covers with Rubi.” Lulu, too, swallowed her whiskey and

gave an exaggerated shake of her shoulders.

“Primo, did Madame Cinders tell anyone about trying to retrieve her

book?” asked Shrike.

“Not that I know of.”

“How many people knew she had the book in the first place?”

“A great many. Every truly powerful practitioner of magic in all the

Spheres knows about the book of true names.”

“Did Bel say why he wanted the book?”

“No, ma’am. In fact, I don’t think he knows what it was. He just kept

offering more and more gold. I got the distinct impression that he was

acting on behalf of someone else. Perhaps behind his family’s back.”

“Did he say that?” asked Spyder, pouring himself and Lulu more whiskey. Shrike and Primo weren’t drinking theirs, but, Spyder noted, seemed

to take some comfort in simply holding the glasses.

“No. He was very evasive.”

“So, you’re just guessing.”

“I’m observing. I’m a traveler. We learn to read people or we don’t

survive.”

00 — richard kadrey

“No offense, man,” said Spyder.

“None taken, sir.”

“What do we do now?” Spyder asked Shrike.

She finally drank her whiskey, in two long gulps. “Sail on,” she said.

“Quickly. The sooner we reach the Kasla Mountains, the better.”

“The young prince is still attached to the bow,” said Primo.

“Get him off and get us out of here,” Shrike said.

“Right away.”

“So, the plan is we run real fast and hope they don’t pounce on us like

a cat on a baby chick?” asked Lulu.

“There’s not much else we can do, bobbing along like a damned

cork.”

“This balloon idea was bullshit.”

“A ship, a caravan or a magic pumpkin pulled by mice. It doesn’t matter. Someone was going to try and stop us from getting to the gates of

Hell. I was just hoping we’d get more of a head start.”

Spyder was no longer gulping the whiskey, but sipping it. Still, its

warmth wasn’t particularly comforting. Just when he felt like he was

getting used to the high weirdness that had swallowed his life, that lostat-sea feeling was coming on him again.

When Jenny was packing to leave and the warehouse had iced over into

glacial silence, Spyder had rewatched what, in his opinion, was Orson

Welles’s most peculiar movie, Mr. Arkadin. The flick was a puzzling mishmash of Citizen Kane crossed with a baroque postwar crime melodrama

sort of spot-welded onto the side. Mr. Arkadin was about an ambitious

young smuggler who’s researching how the mysterious financier, Gregory

Arkadin, made his first fortune. Arkadin himself ends up hiring the smuggler to finish the project. Apparently, he had amnesia and didn’t know his

own early history. The story dragged the young ne’er-do-well through

the junk and small-time gangster debris of postwar Europe, taking him

from a flea circus to fleabag motels to mansions where drunks hinted

at escapades in white slavery. As the bad guys who were murdering the

people the ne’er-do-well had interviewed got closer and closer to him,

Spyder didn’t understand why the guy didn’t just take his pocket full of

expenses money, hop a train and head for the hills.

One thing about the movie had always stuck with Spyder, however:

Arkadin’s amnesia story. Spyder wondered what that was like, waking

up in some stranger’s clothes, afraid to touch anything because it might

be a mirage, or a papier-mâché prop on a movie set or a museum artifact wired to an alarm. The cops would come running in and beat you,

Butcher Bird — 0

maybe kill you, before ever you had the chance to explain that you were

simply lost. Drinking his whiskey, Spyder felt definitely lost, trapped in

someone else’s life, imprisoned in some other loser’s skin.

The airship shook. Then shook again, knocking the whiskey decanter

and teakettle onto the floor. Outside, the booming voice of the Christians’

talking head was back.

Spyder ran out onto the deck, followed by the others. The sacred heart

airship had come much closer. At this distance, its size was shocking. The

other ships, which had been keeping a discreet distance, were also closing in. When Spyder described the scene to Shrike, she yelled, “Primo,

get us moving!”

“I can’t! The prince’s ship is still attached,” Primo yelled, struggling

with the claw that still gripped the railing.

“Get that thing off us,” Shrike told Spyder. “Primo, get back to the navigation. When Spyder shakes us loose, take us low and away from here.”

Spyder kicked at the golden claw and managed to put a few cracks in

the surface of the rail, but whatever the rail and line were made of, they

were very tough. Lulu ran over and kicked along with Spyder, but both

the claw and railing remained where they were. Then Lulu stopped what

she was doing.

“Shrike, get away from the railing,” Lulu said.

Spyder turned to see what had caught Lulu’s attention. The Seraphic

Brotherhood’s great burning heart was slowly opening, like the doors

of a hangar. A burst of light and angels (or angel-shaped things) poured

from the opening, flaming swords out before them. They scattered across

the sky, some coming toward their ship, some toward the scorpion,

while others headed for the more distant ships. The sound of cannon

fire erupted across the sky as several of the more distant airships began

to shoot at the angels and the Brotherhood’s heart.

Something scraped against Spyder’s side, and he remembered Apollyon’s knife. Pulling it from its scabbard, Spyder swung it down. The

blade split the claw and sliced through the railing so easily that, at first,

Spyder thought he’d missed. A thick black fluid pumped from the claw’s

wrist as it and its tether fell away. The scorpion ship shuddered, perhaps

in pain or perhaps in response to the angels slashing it with their burning blades.

Lulu was crouched with her back to the wall of the cabin, yelling, “Shit,

shit, shit…” over and over. Shrike was at the far railing, slashing any angel

that dared fly too low. Finally free of the claw, Primo had more control

of the ship, but the angels overhead slashed at the steering lines. The

0 — richard kadrey

deck swayed as the little man had less and less influence over the vessel.

Spyder held onto the railing to keep from being thrown overboard. In

the distance, a ship like a crystal skull was burning and a jeweled Garuda

was sliced nearly in half before exploding.

The prince’s scorpion ship wasn’t faring much better. One of its enormous claws was falling away, on fire. At least they’re shooting back, Spyder

thought, as something streaked across the sky between their ship and the

scorpion. Angels fled from the flying thing. The ones that didn’t see it

coming were sliced to pieces in its wake. Then the thing dived and was

gone, only to emerge from under the far side of the deck, near Shrike. It

flew right at and through the sacred heart, before circling back through

the angel swarms, killing and maiming dozens as it swung back toward

their ship.

Their seahorse was losing altitude fast. Spyder went forward to where

Primo was struggling with the ship. Control lines and splintered sections of rigging lay at the little man’s feet. As Spyder reached him, he

was wrestling with the few lines that still worked.

“Please take this,” Primo said. Spyder grabbed the line and was almost

lifted off his feet by the weight. Primo had been holding it with one

arm.

“Can you get us out of here?” Spyder asked.

“It’s doubtful. I’m just trying to make our crash as easy as possible.”

“What can I do?”

“Don’t let go of that line.” But it went slack in Spyder’s hand as more

angels swooped down and slashed at the ropes. Shrike jumped to the

base of the rigging and slashed the heads from two angels. Too late. The

deck trembled and the whole vessel dropped thirty feet in a second, then

seemed to catch itself. Primo strained against the remaining lines.

“It’s dead! Leave it,” someone shouted.

Hovering off the starboard bow was a small, flat black flier. Its tapered

body was curved like a wasp’s, and its veined, quadruple wings were

streaked with angel blood. The pilot had pushed back the canopy and was

gesturing to them. “Get on board! You can’t stay aloft much longer!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” said Spyder.

“I’ll keep us steady and join you in a moment,” Primo said.

Angels, debris and flames were thick overhead. Spyder kept his head

down as he ran. He grabbed Lulu by the arm and yelled, “Shrike, we’re

leaving,” then pulled her to the flier at the bow of the ship. The tall pilot

leaned from the cabin as Spyder helped Shrike over the rail. Taking her

hand, the pilot pulled her inside. Lulu followed.

Butcher Bird — 0

“Primo!” Spyder yelled. “Come on!” An angelic sword slashed at Spyder. He fell back, his arm scorched, his vision blurred by the flaming

sword. When he could see straight again, Spyder saw Primo, swollen to

his fighting size, spikes slick with blood. He was burned and bleeding;

dead angels lay all around him. An angel in Primo’s grip fought weakly

as he strangled it. Another angel dropped down from the overhead lines,

slicing off Primo’s right arm. The little man screamed. Spyder, Apollyon’s

knife out, felt the blade nick a rib as he buried it in the chest of the angel

who’d cut Primo. The little man picked up his severed arm, then with

Spyder’s help, they stumbled to the black flier, grabbing on as the seahorse

groaned and slid toward the ocean in flames.

Spyder pushed into the flier’s cramped cabin, but Primo, in his exaggerated fighting form, was too big to fit through the opening. He crouched

on the wing and held onto the canopy with his good arm as the flier

dropped below the battle. And kept dropping.

“We’re too heavy,” said the pilot.

“There’s land ahead,” Primo yelled.

Through the breaking clouds, an island was spread out in the cold sea.

The pilot struggled with the controls, circling toward a stretch of open

beach. Spyder held onto Primo as best he could, while Lulu huddled

against Shrike. The pilot yelled something, but all Spyder could hear was

the white-noise hiss of the wind as it shrieked into the cabin. The beach

came up fast. The pilot pulled back on the wheel. They bounced once

and there was a snapping sound as the wings came off, taking Primo with

them. The flier nosed down and dug into the sand and that was the last

thing Spyder remembered for what felt like a very long time.

tweNty-Six

my eNemy’S eNemy

“Shit,” said Spyder.

“Aw, baby’s first word,” Lulu said. “Guess you’re all right, cowboy.”

Spyder opened his eyes. He couldn’t sit up or quite focus on any one

object. He recognized Lulu’s blur because he’d seen that before in plenty

of bars. A blur that might have been Shrike, left what was probably a

campfire and came to where Spyder lay.

“How are you feeling?” asked Shrike.

“Alive. Gangbanged by gorillas.”

“It was a hard landing.”

“A soft crash is more like it,” said Lulu.

“But everyone made it,” Shrike said.

“It’s hard to breathe,” said Spyder.

“You may have broken some ribs,” said Shrike. “Count Non did a healing spell on you, but it’s still going to hurt for a few days.”

“Count who?”

“Count Non,” said Lulu. “The flyboy who saved us. He’s the coolest.

Steve McQueen fucked Superman and they had a baby. I already almost

cut off some fingers playing with all his weirdass weapons.”

“How about Primo? He fell off the wing.”

“See for yourself,” said Shrike. “Can you sit up?”

With Shrike and Lulu’s help, Spyder managed to sit upright in the

sand. Every breath was an adventure in pain. He gasped and took shallow

breaths. That helped. Over by the fire, Primo sat, his injured shoulder

wrapped in a clean bandage. He was drinking with a tall man dressed in

leather and chainmail. The stranger had a scarred but darkly handsome

face and eyes that glowed like a cat’s in the firelight. He nodded at Spyder.

Primo turned and smiled when he saw Spyder awake.

“Good to see you up, sir! Thank you for your help off the ship!”

0

Butcher Bird — 0

Spyder tried to shout back, but his ribs spasmed and he couldn’t get

his breath. He gave Primo a pained smile and a little wave. The stranger,

Count Non, raised his glass at Spyder.

“I’ve seen that guy before,” said Spyder.

“Yes, he said he knew you, too,” said Shrike.

“He doesn’t know me. We just saw each other at the weird market with

the Sphinx. How did he end up near our ship?”

“He was coming to knock us out of the sky.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“A good dresser and honest as a preacher,” said Lulu. “Why can’t I find

a girl like that?”

“Why is he still here if he came to bury us?” asked Spyder.

“Because I changed my mind,” said Count Non.

Spyder’s senses clearly weren’t hitting on all cylinders yet. He hadn’t

seen the Count coming over.

“You need to move around or those muscles will stiffen up. Let me help

you,” Count Non said, reaching down and effortlessly lifting Spyder to

his feet. It hurt like hell to be upright, but Spyder swallowed the pain.

He didn’t dare let go of the Count’s shoulder as the man walked him

slowly to the fire.

“How’s the arm, Primo?” asked Spyder. “Or, well, you know what I

mean.”

The little man smiled and turned to let Spyder see his empty sleeve.

“Like you, I’m a bit sore, but the Count has an extensive knowledge of

healing magic. And it’s hard to kill us Gytrash.”

“Lucky for us,” said the Count. Spyder watched the little man smile

broadly. It was weird, but the Count had that kind of air about him.

Spyder wasn’t sure what it was, but the man’s title fit him. There was a

weight to his presence that was oddly—Spyder couldn’t think of another

word for it except “regal.” He turned back to the Count.

“You look better without the makeup,” he said.

Count Non chuckled. “Do you think so? If I’d known I wasn’t flying

right back to civilization, I would have packed it. My scars bother some

people.”

“I think they’re cool,” said Lulu.

“Thank you.”

“What do you do, Count. When you aren’t trying to kill us?” asked

Spyder.

“Don’t be rude,” whispered Shrike.

0 — richard kadrey

“It’s all right,” said Count Non. “He’s right to feel uneasy, being saved by

his executioner. I was all set to kill you, especially when I saw you dealing

with that pig prince of the Erragal Clan. Then I saw the Brotherhood

attack your ship and knew that we were on the same side.”

“What side is that?” asked Spyder. “I didn’t even know there were

sides.”

“The Brotherhood is scared enough of your expedition to try and stop

you, and that’s good enough for me,” said Count Non. “‘O mine enemy:

when I fall, I shall arise.’”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Lulu, picking up a glass.

“The Count is coming with us,” said Shrike. “We can use the help, getting where we need to go.”

“He’s on our side now? Okay, asshole, who paid you to get us?”

“I was hired by the Wizard’s Guild. I wasn’t told why, but I understood

that you were about to acquire something that would upset the balance

of ethereal power in all the Spheres.”

“So, you’re some kind of magician union buster?”

“The Brotherhood doesn’t believe in magic, but is more than willing

to use it to its own ends. As we all recently witnessed. I knew then that

whatever you were up to could only weaken them. The wizards will just

have to sort out their business themselves.”

“Just like that?” asked Spyder. “You’re not afraid of a whole army of

pissed-off magicians?”

“I have my own sources of protection,” said Count Non.

“Like me, the Count is royalty without a country.”

“Not quite,” he said. “We’re far from conquered. I’m traveling all the

Spheres looking for help.”

“How? By working as a merc?” said Spyder.

“What better ways to meet other warriors and adventurers such as

yourselves?”

“Spyder, listen to me,” said Shrike. She sat beside him in the sand and

put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been unconscious for a full day.

And the Count and I have been talking. I believe him. Please trust my

judgment on this. I want him to come with us.”

Spyder reached out to where Lulu was pouring drinks from a leather

sack with a bone spout. She poured a glass of amber liquid and handed

it to him. Spyder took a pull and felt the liquor burn where sand had

scoured the back of his throat.

“Fuck every single little bit of this,” said Spyder. He rubbed his temples.

“So, where the hell are we?”

Butcher Bird — 0

“We made it to Kher-aba, the right island to get to the Kasla Mountains,”

said Shrike. “But we’re on the wrong side.”

“How big is Kher-aba?”

“Big enough,” said Lulu. “Walking is not plan one.” Sometime during

the night she’d lost the pieces of paper she’d kept taped over her eyes.

The empty sockets were black and deep. Spyder tried not to stare.

“Before we landed, we spotted a city a day or so through the desert

to the north,” said the Count. “There’s a fres-water river nearby. We’ll

follow that to the city.”

“What city is it?”

“We don’t know,” said Shrike.

“It’s not one I know,” Primo said.

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing,” said Spyder.

“It doesn’t mean anything, necessarily,” said Shrike. “How long has it

been since Madame Cinders went looking for the way into Hell? The city

could be a recent vintage.”

“In any case, we have no choice. We need transportation,” said the

Count.

The liquor was making Spyder lightheaded. He remembered that Shrike

said he’d been unconscious for a day, which meant that he hadn’t eaten

in all that time. The liquor buzz made the ache around his middle seem

far away.

“Thanks for fixing my ribs,” Spyder said.

“Glad to help a fellow fugitive.”

Spyder finished his drink and held out his glass for another. “So, Count,

Lulu tells me you have some wicked bad weapons?”

Count Non’s face widened into a smile, showing perfect white teeth.

It embarrassed Spyder that he suddenly felt like a little kid who’d just

been given a compliment from his favorite teacher.

tweNty-SeveN

the haLL oF mirrorS

the sun was up and the air was warm when Spyder awoke. It was the

kind of early morning heat that he knew meant that the afternoon

would be an inferno. Hope the river water’s cool, he thought.

Spyder rolled over and groaned. His side hurt less, but now his right

arm was sore. He’d spent a good part of the previous evening drunkenly

playing with one of Count Non’s odd weapons. What had he called it?

Spyder tried to remember through the haze. It was something unpronounceable, with a lot of back-of-the-throat “ch” sounds. Spyder had

just ended up calling it a Hornet, he recalled. His high school football

team had been the Hornets and the weapon buzzed like a stinging insect

when it was spun properly.

Spyder held his side and let out a groan when he stood up.

“The more you move around, the better you’ll feel,” said Count Non.

The big man was packing his gear into a pair of leather saddlebags, like

the ones Spyder had installed on the Dead Man’s Ducati. The Count’s

bags looked hand-tooled, with squids or some weird animals stitched

all over them. Spyder envied the bags.

“That’ll fix my side, but what’ll fix this arm?” he asked, rotating his

shoulder painfully.

“You just need more practice. At least you didn’t cut off your own head

with it. I saw someone do that once.”

“Thanks. I’ll be playing that little movie over and over in my head

tonight.”

“Here, drink some water,” said Shrike. “We’re all going to have to be

careful not to dehydrate out here.”

Spyder sat down next her and took the canteen she offered. The water

was cool and delicious.

“That’s about perfect,” he said. “Did this come from the river?”

“Yes, the Count and I brought it back this morning.”

0

Butcher Bird — 0

“You were out there all night?”

“A good part of it. We wanted to know if anyone or anything was coming down that river.”

“Was there?”

“Not a soul. Just night animals having a drink.”

“Must have been boring.”

“We talked.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Different things.”

“Different things are good. I like different things.”

Shrike took her coat from the ground and, after testing with her hand

to see if the ashes were cool, scooped the charred remains of the fire into

the lining. She then tied the whole thing in a bundle.

“What are you doing?” asked Spyder.

“I don’t want to leave a big arrow pointing to where we’ve been or where

we’re headed. We brought some reeds from the river and can drag those

over the sand to dampen out footprints. The wind will do the rest.”

“Any ETA on that city?”

“A day or two, depending on our pace,” said Primo. He was already

smoothing the sand on the far side of the fire with another bundle of

reeds.

“I don’t suppose we have any food?”

“No, but we have a fresh water source and that’s more important,”

said Shrike.

“And lord knows we’ve got weapons,” Lulu said, using the bottom of

her Hello Kitty shirt to polish the blade of a long, thin knife with a yellowed bone grip.

“When do we move out?”

“Right now,” Shrike said. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“If the wind will not serve, take to the oars,” said Count Non, hoisting

his saddlebags onto his shoulders.

“What?”

“From the Romans. Not as poetic as Marcus Aurelius, but not bad. In

this case, it means that we should start walking.” He tossed Spyder the

weapon he’d been playing with the night before. “Here. Work with that

some more. You really weren’t doing too badly. And it can’t hurt to have

as many competent fighters as possible on this journey.”

“Thanks,” Spyder said, not sure if he’d just been insulted or not.

The river was a few yards beyond the nearby dune wall. The water

0 — richard kadrey

looked clean and clear. Animal tracks by small stands of reeds and algae-covered rocks lined the banks. Spyder leaned down painfully and

scooped some of the water onto his face. It was icy, runoff from the

mountains in the distance, he figured. They headed inland, straight toward the unknown city. The Count and Lulu were talking up front, with

Primo trailing behind. Shrike dumped the remnants of their campfire

in the water and used her cane to navigate the sand and rocks. Spyder

walked with her. He had his leather jacket tied around his waist, holding

Apollyon’s knife in place.

“So, straight up, how do we stand right now?” he asked.

“We were blown out of the air. We’re moving too slowly. And we’re

too many people.”

“Why do I think that last one includes me?”

“I didn’t say that, but I still don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I appreciate that and double-down on that particular wish. But we’re

alive and moving. Besides, we’ve got the Count with us now. The way I

see it, Lulu and I are the only dead weight.”

“I don’t believe in dead weight when it comes to people. People are

too complicated. Too capable of surprises.”

“For an ex-princess stuck in the desert with a bunch of semi-cripples,

you’re awfully Up with People.”

“I like the heat. It reminds me of home.”

“What’s your reading on the Count? Sounds like you spent a nice day

and night getting to know each other.”

“That’s an odd way to put it.”

“He’s sure your type. Tall, armed to the eyeballs, a hunk of burnin’

love. He even has better saddlebags than me. I don’t have any illusions

about you and me, you know.”

“Now who’s jealous?”

“This isn’t jealousy. This is the voice of pure reason. I just know that

slumming for a few nights with a drunk ink monkey doesn’t mean anything. Hell, he’s even royalty. You can compare scepters.”

“I’m not picking out bridesmaids dresses yet.”

“Red is in this year. It goes with everything.”

“I asked you silly questions when you brought Lulu, remember? We’re

still working on this trust thing.”

“That remains the sad truth.”

“Tell me a story,” said Shrike.

“What kind of story?”

“Something about your life before. Something illuminating and revealing.

Butcher Bird —

Not tattooing or sexual conquests. An adventure.”

“You don’t think sex is an adventure? Tough room,” Spyder said.

He played idly with the Hornet. The weapon had a long cylindrical

grip wrapped in a light, tough leather. At the top hung several whiplike strands of a stiff, saw-tooth metal. From the weight and feel of the

weapon, the metal strands seemed to slide around the edge of the cylindrical grip on some kind of internal runner. With a little practice, Spyder

discovered that he could spin the metal strands until they hummed like

a swarm of locusts. When he had the rhythm right, the whirling strands

formed a kind of shield that pulverized anything they made contact

with. It was like holding off an enemy with a wood chipper. Spyder

remembered Lulu and Primo taking turns chucking rocks and burning

wood from the fire at him. The only times anyone hit him was when he

lost the rhythm that kept the strands moving at top speed. He wondered

what those saw-tooth blades would do to flesh.

“Okay, I have a story,” Spyder said. “This was on, probably, my second

trip to Paris. You been to Paris?”

“I passed through.”

“I went there with this girl, Trina, one Christmas. She came from

money and knew a lot more about the high end of the world than me.

I was used to staying in squats and youth hostels. When I was with her,

we stayed in an actual French hotel. The Hôtel Esmeralda, across from

Notre Dame. It was cold and wet that time of year. We were under-dressed

and freezing, but we did all the usual tourist stuff. The Louvre. The Eiffel

Tower. Café Deux Maggots.

“There was this older Spanish guy, worked the front desk at night.

Really nice. Later, he told us he was Peruvian. We asked him what bar

we should go to and he offered to drive us around, give us an insider’s

tour of the city.

“It’s a little after midnight when the guy, Pablo, gets off. He pulls around

the front of the hotel in the smallest car I’ve ever seen. This car’d give

a fetus claustrophobia. I’m polite, so I squeeze into the back. Pablo and

Trina are up front.

“He starts driving and we don’t know where the hell he’s taking us.

I’m suspicious, because that’s my nature. But Pablo is cool. He takes us

by some old buildings where Jean-Paul Marat and other French Revolution psychos used to live. He takes us into a dark, wet park where it’s

just starting to snow. This is the park where the best hookers hang out.

Sure enough, there’s a woman in a fur coat standing at an intersection,

looking like she’s waiting to cross. As we pull near her, she opens the fur

— richard kadrey

coat. She’s naked underneath, a Victoria’s Secret wet dream. Pablo asks

if we’ve ever seen Versailles. We hadn’t, so he drives us out.”

Spyder spun the Hornet’s metal strands, and thumbed a stud on the

grip. Spring-loaded spikes popped from both ends of the weapon. The

Count had explained that when a fighter destroyed an enemy’s sword,

the spikes could be driven into the opponent’s midsection as a finishing

blow.

“Now, this is after midnight on Christmas Eve. In Paris. Everything is

closed. Does this stop Pablo? Hell, no. He drives us all the way around

Versailles until, in the back, we spot a guard gate that’s open. This is too

good to pass up. We sneak inside.

“There’s a guard house maybe ten feet away, and we can hear the

guards inside getting juiced on Christmas cheer. They don’t care that

three idiots are sneaking into a national monument. Did I mention that

we’d been drinking?”

“I took that for granted.”

“By now, the snow’s stopped and there’s mist everywhere. We’re not

drunk enough to try and bust into the palace itself, but there’s acres of

gardens out back. We wander back there for an hour, whispering, hoping not to set off any alarms. At times, the fog is so thick, we can’t see

anything, even standing next to each other. Leafless trees appear out of

nowhere and then vanish again into the gloom. We sit on benches and

smoke and try to peek inside the palace to see the Hall of Mirrors or

where the Sun King might have shagged a mistress in secret.

“We couldn’t see anything and the cold was starting to sober us up.

Now we’re getting nervous, so we decided to get out of there. Of course,

when we went back, the guard door was locked. There’s nothing to do

but climb one of the stone walls to get out, and the only wall low enough

to climb was right by the guard shack. We started up and hoped to god

that the guards stayed put. We had to walk along the top of one wall and

drop over the side of a second to get out of the place. The whole time we

were going, I was praying, Please, Lord, don’t let them find us sneaking

out of there with a Peruvian. They’ll think we’re Shining Path guerillas

and never believe we didn’t plant a bomb or something.”

What was weird about the Count’s weapon was that, as polished and

well-balanced as it was, its surface felt uneven and rough. Like maybe it

hadn’t been built—and even here, in this insane new world he inhabited, it struck Spyder as an odd idea—but as if it had been grown, like

a flower.

“Is that it?” asked Shrike.

Butcher Bird —

“I didn’t get to the good part. The guards came outside with their

stinky cheese and we had to shoot our way out.”

“You did not.”

“No, we didn’t. We drove back to the hotel, ran upstairs and hid, waiting for the gendarmes to come and take us to jail on Christmas Day. But

they didn’t come and we got away with it. I suppose, it’s not much of

an adventure, as far as adventures go. There’s no sex or imminent death

or flying monkeys, but for some reason it sticks in my mind as a kind

of perfect night.”

“And the cynical tattooist is revealed to be a romantic.”

“All losers are romantics. It’s what keeps us from blowing our brains

out.”

tweNty-eight

SuSpiciouS miNdS

“we’ll reach the city by midday tomorrow, if we get moving by

dawn,” said Count Non.

“Good news,” said Primo. “We need to reach the Kasla Mountains

by the full moon. A shadow cast through a certain rocky promontory

is the only way to find the entrance to Hell. If we miss the moon, we’ll

have to wait a month until the next one.” He made a face and rubbed

the shoulder where his arm was missing. Spyder felt for the guy. His side

was hurting after the all-day hike.

“Fuck that,” said Lulu. “Fuck that with Michael Jackson’s pet monkey.”

“Full moon’s just a few days off. Think we can make it?” Spyder asked

Shrike.

Shrike was smoking Spyder’s last cigarette, puffing, then passing the

butt to him. Spyder took a drag, then passed the precious smoke to Lulu,

who opened her mouth to accept it like a communion Host. She smoked

and passed the butt to Shrike, who leaned on her cane, lost in thought.

“We have to make it,” Shrike said. “We can’t hide out here like bugs in

the sand for a month. We’re lucky to have made it this far.”

They sat in the entrance of a shallow cave, which served as cover for

the small fire they had going to ward off the cold desert night. Earlier

in the evening, they’d stacked brush at the cave entrance to diminish

the glow of the fire, hoping not to be spotted by any scouts from the

Seraphic Brotherhood, the Erragal prince or any of the other far too

interested parties who might be looking for them. Spyder wasn’t sure

if “lucky” was the word he’d have used to describe their situation, but

they were alive, and he had to admit that that counted big time in the

luck department. But his gratitude lessened with every stab of hunger

and throb of his injured ribs.

“I wonder what Rubi’s doing right now,” said Lulu.

Butcher Bird —

“Missing you,” Spyder said. “Cursing me.”

“Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart,

without a love of my own…” Lulu sang softly. “Elvis should have stopped

right there, you know? He never did fuck all after he left Sun Records.”

“If he’d stopped there, he wouldn’t ever have done ‘Suspicious

Minds.’”

“Was it worth dying on the shitter for?”

“For ‘Suspicious Minds’? Most definitely.”

“I’m going to have to give you the benefit of the doubt on that one.”

Spyder was sorry that Lulu had brought up Rubi. It made him think

of Jenny, whom he no longer really missed, but who remained a kind of

sick ache in his stomach. He couldn’t even describe the sensation, but

it was compounded of regret and the sense that he’d failed as a human

in some fundamental way and that her desertion was the starkest proof

of that. On the simplest level, though, it just made him gloomy to think

that someone he’d been so connected to was walking around hating

him. He gave Shrike the last of the cigarette, went to the cave entrance

and sat down, letting the night breeze blow over him. The cold made

him stop thinking.

He heard someone coming up behind him and saw Shrike settling

down.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said.

“It’s a quiet night.”

“You’re thinking about home.”

“I’m not thinking about anything right now.”

“I liked your France story.”

“Did you?”

“Would you like to hear one of mine?”

“Not right now. I mean, I want to, but I’m hurting and tired and won’t

be able to listen right.”

“All right,” she said. She held up her face to the wind as it blew into the

cave. Spyder thought she looked like a young wolf when she stretched

her head up like that. She was beautiful.

“Tell me about being blind,” Spyder said. “About how there’s ‘blind

and then there’s blind.’”

Shrike poked at the sand with her cane. “You probably sensed that I

have moments where I appear to see things.”

“From the first night we met.”

“It’s not really sight. It’s simple magic, the only kind I know. I never

had any formal magic training and just picked up things along on the

— richard kadrey

road. Traded for spells. Bought them. Stole them. There has always been

a little magic in my family, but my mother had that knowledge and she

was dead. I studied weapons because it made my father happy.

“When our kingdom was scattered and I was on the road, I only had

the possessions I could grab from my bedside. A few family heirlooms.

One of these was a kind of bracelet with a casting of a bird on top. A

shrike. That’s my family’s totem animal.

“We also had family gods which we prayed and made offerings to. All

the royal families have household gods. You need a deity or two on your

side to keep other Houses from taking what’s yours. Those who knew

how could petition the gods for favors. I didn’t have that knowledge.

But I got it.

“I’d run off some bandits from the property of an odd little man,

Cosimo Heisenberg, a kind of mechanical wizard. He made machines

that were like people. ‘Karakuri,’ he called them. Little windup men

and women who could sing an aria or write a sonnet or sew a wedding

gown.

“He wanted to pay me with a new set of eyes, but I didn’t like the

notion of depending on mechanical, windup sight. So, he helped me

use the gifts I already had better. He made this cane for me, which, as

you’ve seen, is more than a cane. He also examined my heirlooms to see

if there was anything of value. He was the first person I’d trusted since

leaving home.

“He checked out the bracelet with the bird and figured out what it was

for. You see, it made no sense as jewelry. The maker had cast the bird’s

claws from razor-sharp steel and fitted them to the underside of the

piece, so that they were in contact with the skin of the person wearing

the bracelet. There was also a spring mechanism to rake the claws down

the wearer’s arm. What use could there be for something like that?”

“Cutting. Blood,” said Spyder, who’d seen his share of bloodletting

and scarring rituals among the überhipster modern primitive crowd in

San Francisco.

“Exactly. The bracelet was an instrument of sacrifice, a device for

making a blood offering to my family gods. Say the right incantation

and release the spring on the silver shrike. The blades would take your

blood and help you get what you want. On a small scale. It’s not much of

a sacrifice. Only good for small favors. Like a second or two of sight.”

“What do you see? Is it like normal vision?”

“Nothing at all. It’s like I’m floating above the scene, looking down

on everything happening. I can see myself and my opponent, plus the

Butcher Bird —

nearby landscape. The visions never last for long. Just long enough for

me to get my bearings and a sense of an opponent. I can’t do it too often.

The gods get tired of these dime-store sacrifices. I have to be careful not

to ask for their help too often.”

Spyder frowned. “I wondered why you kept that coat on, even in the

heat. You’re hiding the bracelet.”

“And my arm,” said Shrike. “It’s not something to see.”

“How many times have you used the bracelet?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes you make a blood offering without asking

for anything in return. Sometimes, when you’re boxed in, say, you use it

more than once. More blood sometimes means more sight. Sometimes

not. I’ve been using it for ten years.”

Spyder reached over and pushed up the sleeve of Shrike’s coat. The

bracelet was on her right forearm. It was a beautiful object. Like something that belonged in a museum, he thought. He turned Shrike’s arm

over and worked the bracelet’s clasp, sliding the thing off her arm. Shrike’s

skin was streaked with years of ragged scar tissue. The back of her arm

was red with new scars, still in the healing process. She’d used it on the

airship, Spyder thought.

He set the bracelet over his own arm. It was too small to go all the way

around, so he held it in place and pushed the metal shrike back until he

felt it catch. Feeling around the bird’s wings, he found the release button

and pushed it. The bird raked down his arm, sending an electric pain

all the way up to his shoulder. When Shrike heard the bracelet snap, she

started a little and reached for him.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I wanted to know what it was like,” Spyder said. He leaned down and

kissed her scars before putting the bracelet back on Shrike’s arm. She

leaned into him and he put his bloody arm around her.

“Where I come from, this isn’t your standard dating scenario,” Spyder

said. Shrike laughed at little. “But I guess it’s one way to get to know

each other.”

“Excuse me.”

Spyder looked up. Primo was standing over them.

“I hate to intrude, but I need to speak to madame Butcher Bird.”

“Meaning you want me to take off?” asked Spyder.

Primo was silent.

“It’s all right, Primo. Spyder is part of this and can hear anything you

have to say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Primo said. He groaned as he sat down. “There’s some- — richard kadrey

thing Madame Cinders didn’t tell you, afraid that you might not agree

to perform the service she requires.”

“She wanted you to tell me when we were on the road and in too deep

to turn back.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I would have preferred not to do things this

way.”

“It’s all right. I understand that it wasn’t your choice. What is it that

was too awful for me to know?”

“The mutinous spirits in Hell, the confusion that is to be our cover?”

“Tell me.”

“Some say that it is led by the Golden Bull, Xero Abrasax.”

Shrike was silent. She stabbed the ground with her cane.

“Shrike?” said Spyder. “You know this guy?”

“Yes.”

“He’s the…”

“Yes, he’s the bastard traitor who fucked me, took my father, my sight

and my kingdom.”

“There’s more, I’m afraid,” said Primo.

“Fuck that sick bitch,” Spyder said.

“Be quiet,” said Shrike. “Tell me the rest, Primo.”

“The key that Madame put into your body. You know that it was forged

in Hell. It is not an object that is compatible with life. If you fail to reach

the cage in which the book rests, the key will move through your body,

as it is doing even now, and pierce your heart. You will die.”

“We should turn around right now,” said Spyder. “We’ve got the Count

with us. She’d never expect an ambush. We’ll kick her chair over, pull

out her tubes and stand on her fucking throat until she takes that thing

out of you.”

“I can’t do that. Loyalty is all people in my profession have.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but Mr. Spyder has a point. Whatever you decide,

this I’m telling you as a friend and a Gytrash: Madame Cinders does

not always honor her bargains gracefully. When this is over, you must

be wary.”

“Swell,” said Spyder. “If we fail we’re screwed and if we succeed we’re

fucked.”

“Thank you for telling me. You’re a true friend,” said Shrike. She reached

out and squeezed the little man’s hand.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“We have to go forward. Without the book, we have nothing to bargain

with. With it, we have a chance.”

Butcher Bird —

“We can cut and run,” said Spyder. “Disappear into that city ahead. Or

trade for a ship and go somewhere.”

“There are too many people looking for us,” said Shrike. “There’s no

ship that can sail us away from this mess. And I need to get this key out

of my body. The only way to do that is to get to Hell and succeed.”

“I’m going with you,” said Spyder.

“You can’t. One glimpse of the underworld and you’ll be trapped there

forever.”

“I’m not going to sit by the door reading the funnies, wondering what

time you’re getting home from work.”

“This is just stupid and dangerous. Why are you doing this?”

Spyder kissed Shrike’s cheek. “Didn’t you get the memo? Heroes are

coming smaller this year.”

They went and sat back down at the fire with Count Non and Lulu. The

Count had his long legs propped against the far wall of the cave. Spyder

watched as a tarantula worked its way down from the ceiling, stepped

onto Count’s boot and crept up his leg. When it reached his hip, Non

grabbed the tarantula and tossed it into the fire, where it writhed and

sizzled. Spyder looked at the man.

“When you cut out the poison sac, tarantula tastes a lot like crab,” the

Count said.

“There must be some seriously fucked up Boy Scouts where you come

from,” said Spyder.

Lulu was making shadow animals on the wall. She wiggled her fingers

to create a giant spider.

“The Count and me were having a chat, and we agree on the whole Elvis

thing. ‘Suspicious Minds’ is a fine song, but Tom-fucking-Jones could’ve

sung it as well. Probably did, too. I don’t have any Tom Jones CDs.”

“I have a bootleg of Elvis doing ‘Suspicious Minds’ live that I’ll play for

you when we get back,” said Spyder. “You’ll see it’s worth suffering any

number of white-leather Vegas jumpsuits. For a song like that, you’ve

got to take the good with the bad.”

tweNty-NiNe

BereNice

“it’s Berenice,” said Shrike. “We’re lucky we followed the river.”

“Now we know what town it is,” said Spyder. “We could have

just walked here through some sewer pipe and skipped the whole Hindenburg drama.”

“No. Berenice isn’t like other cities. It isn’t really here. Only the memory

of the city.”

“A city like the Coma Gardens?”

“Berenice is where memories live when we’re done with them. It’s

where they’re born and it’s where they eventually die.”

“What good does it do us? We can’t ride the memory of horses to the

mountains.”

“There are humans in Berenice,” said Count Non. “Someone has to

be there to bear witness. Otherwise, the memories fade away. To make

money, the human inhabitants trade with travelers.”

“Trade what?” asked Lulu.

“Lost keys, lost pets, lost dreams, lost hope,” said Shrike. “I passed

through there once before. It can be dangerous. Psychically. You don’t

want to turn a corner and run into your own lost virginity.”

“Speak for yourself. I’d do me at fourteen,” said Lulu. “Let’s follow the

goddam yellow brick road.”

“No road, Lulu. Just the river,” said Spyder.

“Shit.”

“We’ll swim,” said Shrike. “We just have to get past the city walls. Inside,

there are walkways along all the canals.”

“You cool with swimming, Lulu?” Spyder asked.

“Excuse me, son. You were the civilian. I was a lifeguard at YMCA

summer camp, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was a while back before your troubles.”

“You think my empty eyes and guts are going to fill up with water

0

Butcher Bird —

and drown me? That ain’t going to happen. But thanks a fuckload for

bringing it up.”

“I’m just worried is all.”

“Don’t be,” Lulu said, and waded into the river. When she was knee

deep, she turned back. “There aren’t any sharks or things with stingers

out here, are there?”

“Nothing that can hurt you,” said Shrike.

“Count, you get on one side and I’ll get on the other. We’ll put Shrike

and Primo between us. Make sure no one wanders off course,” said

Spyder.

The Count smiled. “A fine idea.”

“Primo, are you all right swimming with one arm?” asked Shrike.

“I’ll be a little slow, I think,” he said.

“Slow’s fine. No one’s in a rush to find their lost socks,” said Spyder.

Shrike took Spyder’s arm as they waded into the river. When she

swam, she did so with ease and confidence. Spyder realized quickly that

she didn’t need much looking after. He kept an eye on Primo, who was

doing a kind of modified dog paddle with his one good arm. The swimmer Spyder kept wondering about was the Count. How he managed to

stay afloat while still wearing his chainmail amazed Spyder. Lulu was

ahead of them, a strong, steady swimmer. She’d tied her jacket around

her waist and on certain strokes, her Hello Kitty shirt slid up her body,

letting the morning sun glint off the glass and metal she’d inserted into

her wounded flesh.

Something brushed along Spyder’s legs. Fingers touched his chest,

tugged at his arms as they entered the water on each stroke. “What the

fuck is happening?”

“They can’t hurt you,” Shrike said. “They’re just memories. Drowned

sailors, corsairs, anyone who died in water.”

Spyder suddenly wanted very much to be out of the river and done with

Berenice. The towering city walls, through which they soon passed, also

seemed to be made of water. Not ice, but liquid water, pulled upward and

carved into imposing barriers. If all that water ever came down, Spyder

thought, it would wash the city away.

Lulu was already out of the water when the rest made it to the walkway. She helped Spyder out and he grabbed Shrike. The Count leaned

down and practically lifted Primo from the water. The little man bowed

in thanks.

“Where to?” Spyder asked.

“Uptown Saturday Night,” said Shrike.

— richard kadrey

“You know some weird shit, girl.”

“That’s an old movie, right? It just popped into my head. That happens here.”

As they walked along the marble concourse beside the canal, Spyder asked, “Earlier, why did you say that we’re lucky we followed the

river?”

“There are four entrances to Berenice. Water, air, fire and earth. Fire is

the memory of violence and war. Air is the perpetual hurricane of anger

and lost souls. Earth is a freezing mountain of despair and fear.”

“The memories of the drowned are like the welcoming arms of your

family compared to what lives in those other places,” said Count Non.

“Wonder what would’ve happened if I’d tossed in a handful of AlkaSeltzer back there?” asked Lulu. “Would it piss those dead guys off or

make ’em feel better?”

thirty

a uNiverSaL Joke

their clothes dried quickly in the bright sun, and by the time they

reached one of the great boulevards that divided Berenice into its

local parishes, no one would have guessed that they’d had to swim into

the city.

From the interior, Berenice was much more impressive than it had

seemed on the approach. At each corner of the boulevard was a whitewashed ziggurat topped with a gilt sun, angled to catch the light at different times of the day. Crystal globes hung from polished streetlamps.

Spyder counted a dozen large bronze statues to different gods on the

one street. Who knew how many there were on the others? Handsome

residents came and went from temples and tailor shops, butchers and

herbalists, paying no attention to the travelers. The street on which they

stood was paved with pale pink flagstones, but green, yellow and sky-blue

streets intersected it.

“Okay, we’re here, somewhere. What do we do now?” asked Lulu.

“Let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober, putting

on the breastplate of faith and love; and for a helmet, the hope of salvation,” Count Non said.

Spyder looked hard at the Count.

“St. Paul’s First Epistle to the Thessalonians,” he said.

“Yeah, I was just about to say that.”

“We need to find stables or a market,” said Shrike. “Some place big,

with professional traders. And remember, you can’t tell the wandering

memories of people from real humans simply by looking at them.”

“Then how do we know who we’re talking to?” asked Spyder. “How do

we trade for anything?”

“It’s a question of attitude,” Shrike said. “If you’re talking to the memory

of a trader, his responses will be mechanical and rote. A memory isn’t

active. It can’t really do or say anything new or original. A human trader

— richard kadrey

will be more eager and unpredictable.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m going to go alone,” said Shrike. “A poor blind girl can sometimes

count on a pity discount.”

“You’ll be able to find your way back here?” asked Spyder. “Maybe you

should take Primo as backup.”

“I’ll be happy to accompany you, Butcher Bird. And a one-armed

man with a blind woman might evoke even more pity from an anxious

trader.”

“All right,” said Shrike. “We’ll meet back here in two hours. Can I trust

you three to find your way back?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after Lulu and the little brother,” said the

Count.

Spyder felt a pang of awkwardness as he and Shrike went off in different directions. He felt, somehow, that he should give her a goodbye

kiss or something, but simultaneously wondered if he was supposed to

acknowledge anything between them at all. In the end, they both went

their own way.

They walked three abreast through the strange town, Spyder near the

street and Lulu near the buildings. Count Non walked between them.

“The first time I ever went to Tijuana on my own, I got lost,” said Spyder. “Ended up in this shantytown somewhere up in the hills. This place

went on and on. Plus, it was one of those days where you don’t wake up

hungover, you wake up still drunk. So, I’m wandering around, trying to

figure out a way back to town, and this kid, a student, starts chatting me

up. He wants to practice his English. Only whenever I ask him how to

get back downtown, he suddenly can’t understand me. I tell him to fuck

off and keep walking. But these Tijuana shantytowns are like a goddam

anthill. Houses made of broken cinder blocks, cardboard and big cans

of vegetable oil pounded flat.

“Fast forward a few hours and I’m somewhere, but nowhere I’ve ever

seen before. And now the sun is going down. Out of nowhere comes the

kid who wanted English lessons. At first I think that I’ve just walked in a

big circle. Then, I realize that the little fucker’s probably been shadowing

me all day. My eyes are red and my head’s full of broken glass and dust

bunnies. I was wearing a brand new shiny pair of two-hundred-dollar

New Rock boots. I had to trade ’em to the kid to get out of there, and

walked back to my hotel barefoot.”

Spyder couldn’t quite figure out a pattern to the city. A street would be

laid out like an ordinary one in any town, but then a building would be

Butcher Bird —

gone and in its place would be a pile of junk. Lost things, Spyder guessed.

Not objects, but the memory of them. There were mounds of keys, piles

of every kind of money, great meals laid out on endless banquet tables,

the wan clowns and listless trapeze acts from forgotten circuses, lost limbs

(fingers still trying to grasp some long lost something, feet flexing with

somewhere to go). There were packs of dogs, flocks of birds, colonies

of house cats and stacks of dirty aquariums holding every kind of fish

imaginable, lost pets all.

They stopped to look at the trinkets laid out on tables in a small street

market on a yellow boulevard that intersected theirs. A trader with

leathery skin and blue, chapped lips clasped his hands and greeted them

eagerly. He stared at Lulu. “I see you’ve been doing some renovations,

my dear.” He took a bite of a juicy, green-skinned fruit. “What will you

take for her?”

Spyder didn’t bother looking up at the man, but kept studying the

charms on the table. “She’s not for sale.”

The merchant leaned in close, speaking in intimate tones. “You think

I won’t keep her well because she lacks eyes. Don’t worry. Those are not

the organs that interest me.”

Spyder tucked his hands in the waist of his jeans, pushing back his

jacket to make sure the man saw Apollyon’s knife. “I missed that. Say it

again,” Spyder told the man.

The merchant’s gaze flickered from the knife to Spyder’s eyes. “You

misunderstood me, friend. There is no business here,” said the merchant,

licking his thin lips. “Thank you. Have a good day.” He walked quickly

away.

Spyder turned to Count Non, who loomed close behind him. “I was

doing all right, you know. I don’t need you doing Hulk Hogan over my

shoulder.”

“Perhaps neither of us frightened him,” said the Count. “Perhaps for

once he heard his own words and was appalled.”

Lulu said nothing, but swept her arm across the merchant’s table,

knocking his wares to the pavement.

“Yeah, he seemed like the real reflective type,” said Spyder.

“‘God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the

wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the

things which are mighty.’” The Count laughed. “I like you, little brother.

You disguise your nobler qualities to play the fool.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Would you take some advice from someone with a bit more experi- — richard kadrey

ence of the world?”

“You don’t look that much older than me.”

“Trust me. I am.”

“Are we talking Paul McCartney old or Bob Hope old?”

“More like those mountains in the distance.”

“Damn. You must get all the senior discounts.”

“Be quiet,” said the Count. “It’s not necessary to fill every moment

with your own voice. Silence terrifies you. You see your own existence

as so tenuous that you’re afraid you’ll pop like a bubble if, at every opportunity, you don’t remind the world that you’re alive. But wisdom

begins in silence. In learning to listen. To words and to the world. Trust

me. You won’t disappear. And, in time, you might find that you’ve grown

into something unexpected.”

“What?”

“A man,” said the Count. He started out of the market and back to the

main boulevard. Spyder and Lulu followed.

“Don’t feel badly. This is just a chat between friends, not a reprimand.

If you feel lost and foolish sometimes, don’t worry about that, either. All

great men begin as fools. It’s one of life’s little jokes.”

“Spyder, he just called you a joke of the universe. Kick his ass,” said Lulu.

She put an arm around Spyder’s shoulders. Count Non smiled at her.

“Food for thought,” said Spyder. “We’ll cover more ground if we split

up for a while. I’ll meet you back at the corner where we started.”

“I was just fucking with you, man,” said Lulu, but Spyder was already

rounding the corner in the other direction.

thirty-oNe

the Future

in a street of nightmares, Spyder saw the Black Clerks.

The street had been roofed over, like the souks of Morocco. The

sound attracted Spyder to the spot, a strange and deliberate animal

wail—screams extracted with mechanical precision.

Inside the dark, cramped street was a gallery of horrors. Men turned

over bonfires on huge metal spits. Women crushed under rolling boulders

studded with surgical blades. Children screamed as spiders and oversized

ants tore at their young flesh. Terrified people were tormented up and

down the length of the street, shrieking and tearing at the arms of passersby as they were chased by snarling animals or angry mobs. Spyder

took a breath and reminded himself that none of this was real. It was

just the collective memories of bad dreams, the night terrors these poor

saps could never forget. It reminded him of paintings by Bruegel and

Goya, and, while he tried to work his way around the thought and not

let it invade his consciousness, the memories of the paintings made him

think of the underworld. If this is what Hell was going to be like, Spyder

wasn’t sure he could take it. Of course, he was going to be blindfolded

so, unlike here, he wouldn’t have to actually look at Hell. It was a small

comfort, but Spyder was ready for any comfort he could get.

At the far end of the street, Spyder spotted the Black Clerks. At first, he

took them to be part of another nightmare and stopped to watch them

pulling the guts out of a cop who had been crucified across a writhing

pile of drug-starved junkies, their withered limbs (oozing pus and blood

from running sores) strained against the barbed wire that held them together. The head Clerk, the one who always held the reptile-skin ledger,

looked at Spyder and beckoned him over.

“You are quite a long way from home?” said the Clerk, in his peculiar

singsong cadence.

“You see me. I thought you were someone’s bad dream.”

— richard kadrey

“We’re as real as you?”

“How about him? Is he real, too?” asked Spyder, inclining his head

toward the tormented cop.

“He thought he could escape us,” said the Clerk. “Sometimes it is not

enough to take what is ours from the body, but to insinuate ourselves

in the mind and memory. A warning and object lesson for others? This

is our burden.”

Spyder started to walk away.

“I hope you aren’t running away, trying to cheat providence?”

“No way, José. I’m true blue,” said Spyder.

“You don’t wish to stay and watch us work?”

One of the Clerks had placed an elaborate metal brace into the policeman’s open mouth and was studiously sawing off his lower jaw.

“Why would I want to see that?”

“Because you’re lying. And most people want to know their future.”

Spyder backed away and quickly left the street of nightmares.

thirty-two

domiNioNS

B efore this world, there were other worlds. Before this universe, there

were other universes. Before the gods you know now, there were plenty

of other gods.

Gods like to think of themselves as eternal. It’s what gets them through

the eons, but there are only two true eternals: birth and death. Everything

else is junk washed up on the beach. The tide goes out and the pretty pink

shells, the gum wrappers and the dead jellyfish are all washed away. Gods

and universes come and go this way, too, but a living god knows some tricks.

A god can mold energy and matter into anything it wants, or nothing at all.

Gods can appear in an instant. Gods can disappear faster than the half-life

of Thulium-145.

To save themselves, gods can scheme and they can hide. Some gods learned

to hold their breath and float like kelp in the elemental chaos that rules the

roost when one universe ends and the next hasn’t quite kicked in.

Each of these trickster gods thought she or he alone had outwitted Creation

by crouching in shadows of the universal attic. Then a young God called

Jehovah took a band of rebel angels and tossed them, like week-old fish,

from his kingdom into the dark between the worlds. As the burning angels

fell, the old gods laughed and heard each other. For the first in a long time,

they knew they weren’t alone.

Worlds collapsed as the old gods, called the Dominions, got to know each

other and learn one another’s favorite games. Galaxies flickered and went

out like cheap motel light bulbs. Whole Spheres of existence burned like

phosphorous. Though this took a few million years in human terms, it was

just something to do over lunch for the Dominions.

But the universe had its own agenda. When the Dominions tried to slip

back into our universe from their refuge in chaos, they took a header out

of the starry firmament, every bit as violent and humiliating as Lucifer’s

fall from Heaven. Not coincidentally, the Dominions fell along the same

0 — richard kadrey

path as the exiled angels, straight into Hell. But unlike Lucifer’s hordes,

they didn’t stop there. The mass of these beings was so great, that they fell

through Hell out the other side, into a dead universe, one whose last echo

hadn’t yet faded away.

There was no life in this other universe except the Dominions themselves.

Nothing to destroy but empty worlds. No one to torment, but each other.

And no new games to play. The Dominions loved games. That’s why they

devoured stars. The best games, to them, were the ones played in the dark

where only the sounds of screams and the taste and smell of evanescing lives

let you know when you were winning. Their plan was to go from world

to world, playing different games until there was no one left to play with.

Then, they’d hide in the dark between universes until a new universe came

into being, and they’d start all over again. Now, however, there was no one

to play with and no way out. They’d fallen out of the living universe and

didn’t know the way back in.

In some stories, the Dominions have grown even madder in their isolation.

They slash their empty worlds. They burn each other. But nothing makes

them happy. When the Dominions sleep, they dream about us and how sad

they are that we’re so far away and not able to play. Sometimes they gnash

their planet-size teeth in the dark. They’re always looking, scratching at the

edges of time and space for a way back into our universe. Sometimes they

find a crack and peek through at us. When your skin goes cold and you feel

like you’re being watched, but no one is there, it’s them. We’re their drive-in

double feature, with a Cherry Coke and free refills on popcorn.

thirty-three

the kiLLer iNSide me

the plaza was full of papers, kicked up by sluggish crosswinds. The

papers were pages from old books and yellowed newspapers. Spyder

stood at the bottom of a mountain of books taller than the highest ziggurat in Berenice.

He picked up a leather-bound volume embossed in gold Cyrillic on

the cover. Inside the book were equations, a swamp of calculus problems

and diagrams. He tossed the book back on the pile and picked up a paperback copy of The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson. It had the same

cover as the edition he’d read as a teenager. Spyder hadn’t seen a copy

in years. He read a page at random and felt the same tingle at the base

of his spine that he’d felt when he’d first run across Thompson’s spare,

hardened-steel prose at fifteen. Spyder wondered what would happen if

he put the book in his pocket and just walked away.

“An interesting choice,” said a man around the far side of the pile.

“Considering the choices available.”

Spyder craned his neck to see a short, round man in a kind of leather

kaftan. Over the kaftan yards of barbed wire had been looped, encasing

the man in spiny metal. On his face, the man wore a wooden mask depicting some grinning Japanese demon. Spyder remembered that Shrike

had said something about masks. Some of the humans in Berenice wore

masks, she’d said, to keep lost memories from attaching themselves to

them and becoming false memories of a life they’d never led.

“I had this book when I was younger,” said Spyder, tossing the Thompson back on the pile.

“I knew there was a reason and the reason was emotional, rather than

an intellectual attachment. You picked up the book which moved your

heart, not some great work of literature meant to impress others.”

“I was a junior varsity criminal and had a few run-ins with the cops,

so the book was a big deal to me back then.”

— richard kadrey

“Of course it was!” said the round man. “If you enjoyed that, may I

show you some other, rarer volumes at my stall nearby?”

“I’m just passing through. I’m not buying.”

“No, no. No buying. Just looking. Come. It’s a pleasure to meet a man

of similar interests. I guarantee you will enjoy my wares. Books never

written. Paintings never painted. Films never committed to celluloid.

All only ever existed in the minds and hearts of the artists who dreamed

them.” The man turned and said to Spyder, “I am Bulgarkov.”

“Spyder.”

“Are you Spider Clan?”

“Whatever.” Spyder followed Bulgarkov. “Nice zoot suit. You expecting

a stampede?”

“Are you referring to my garments? The streets are full of dreams and

men, two equally dangerous organisms. The mask keeps the hungry

memories of men at bay and the wire keeps away the men themselves.”

“I don’t think I’m going to have time to look at anything,” said Spyder,

intending to leave the man at his stall. Spyder picked up a copy of Poodle

Springs by Raymond Chandler. He vaguely remembered the book. Chandler had died before finishing it, but left notes and a partial manuscript.

His publisher had hired some other hack to finish the novel years later.

There was no second name on this Poodle Springs title page. Spyder

flipped to the ending. It wasn’t what he remembered in the patchedtogether version he’d read.

The stall was piled high with books. Paintings were stacked against the

back wall and 35mm movie film cans were piled on wooden shelves and

floor. The title on one caught Spyder’s eye.

“This movie doesn’t exist,” he said.

“Of course it doesn’t. If it did, I wouldn’t have the thing in my shop.”

“This says Heart of Darkness, directed by Orson Welles. Welles never directed Heart of Darkness. The budget was too big and the studio wouldn’t

pony up the money. That’s why he made Citizen Kane.”

“And yet you hold that very film in your hands. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because Mr. Welles made the film in his mind. He saw it in his dreams,

and the memories of those dreams have manifested themselves in the

ethereal celluloid you see before you. Would you like to buy it?”

“I told you, I’m not here to buy. And I can’t play a film like this. You

need a movie theater projector. My VCR doesn’t even work.”

“Would you like to see the film?”

“Of course.”

Butcher Bird —

“There is a small cinema nearby. It is for people such as ourselves,

the humans who inhabit our quaint little city. I allow all my films to be

shown there. It’s very good publicity.”

“I can’t,” said Spyder. “I have to meet some friends.”

“You’ll just go for a little while. Not for the whole thing. When will

you have this chance again?”

“You aren’t trying to hustle me, are you? Because I’m going through

kind of a weird period right now and it’s left me cranky. Someone trying

to hustle me would definitely go home limping.”

“Why would I need to hustle you or anyone? I have the rarest merchandise in all of Berenice—the dreams of great artists. What will you

give me to see Mr. Welles’ wonderful film?”

“I have a little cash, but that’s probably not worth anything here.”

“No, no. Money is trash to me.” He looked Spyder up and down like

Spyder had once seen his uncle size up a neighbor’s ’57 T-Bird. The uncle

came back that night to steal the car, but the neighbor was waiting and

shot him in the head with a thirty-ought six.

“That ring,” Bulgarkov said. “I’ll take that.”

“My ex gave me that.”

“Even better. The memory of the gesture will still live in the metal.”

Spyder looked at the ring on his left hand. It was a half skull that

wrapped around the back of his finger. Jenny had given him the ring

on their six-month anniversary. It was a cheap thing, but he’d always

loved it.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Mr. Welles is waiting. I am waiting. You are waiting, too. The girl,

obviously, is gone. Let the ring go and get on with your life.”

Spyder thought about it. Things hadn’t always been bad with Jenny,

and the ring was a reminder of a time when things had been close to

great. These days, every memory of her felt like five hundred pounds of

nails. That wasn’t what made the decision for him. In the end, he gave

the ring to the merchant for the same reason he’d done so many things

in his life: “Why the hell not?” he said, and slid the ring off.

Bulgarkov dropped the ring into a pocket beneath his loops of barbed

wire and said, “The cinema is this way.” He pointed back toward the plaza

and came from his stall to show Spyder, but tripped over the frame of an

unknown Francis Bacon self-portrait. The merchant started to fall and

Spyder instinctively reached out to grab him. Bulgarkov’s barbed wire

ripped through the palm of Spyder’s right hand.

“Shit!” yelled Spyder.

— richard kadrey

“Take this,” said Bulgarkov, going to the back of his stall and returning with a silk scarf. He wrapped the material tightly around Spyder’s

wounded hand and stanched the flow, but blood had already splashed

on the pavement and the floor of the stall.

“You’re a goddam menace in that suit, man,” Spyder said.

“I’m so sorry.” Bulgarkov grabbed a book from the stall and handed

it to Spyder. “Here, the book you were admiring, please take it, with my

apologies.”

“I’m okay. It just startled me, is all,” said Spyder, but his hand was throbbing. “Don’t go square dancing in that get-up. Adiós.” He took the book

and headed off, following the directions Bulgarkov had given him.

As Bulgarkov said, the cinema was indeed small, a converted café, full

of silent patrons, with a wrinkled sheet for a screen at one end and a

clattering film projector at the other. Through the front entrance, Spyder

could see a sliver of the face of a young, handsome Orson Welles. He was

sweating and his eyes were wide. Welles’ voice came through the open

door: “Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation and

surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He

cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision—he cried out twice, a

cry that was no more than a breath…

“The horror! The horror!”

A shadow moved across Spyder. “When they told me you were in Berenice, I knew you’d show up here.”

Spyder looked at the man. He dropped Bulgarkov’s book, seeing his

own face, ten years younger.

thirty-Four

the ghoSt oF chriStmaS paSt

“Boo,” said Spyder’s younger self. “I am the ghost of Christmas

past.”

“How long you been rehearsing that one, you little shit?”

“I had it for a while, but I was saving it for a special occasion, grandpa.”

“At least I know what you are.”

“What?” asked the younger Spyder.

“What’s the line? ‘An undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb

of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.’”

“‘There’s more of gravy than of grave about you!’ Of course, we never

read the book, did we?”

“It’s just a story. Not really a book. And, actually, I have read it since

then. But I still prefer the movie.”

“A Christmas Carol, nineteen thirty-eight, directed by Edwin L. Marin,”

said young Spyder.

“With Reginald Owen as Scrooge.”

“The only real movies are in black and white. We’re secret snobs.”

“I’m a snob. You’re just the memory of a lot of bad speed. Who told

you I was here?”

“Mutual friends.”

“The Black Clerks? They send you to spy or just to fuck with me?”

“I do what I want, old man. When I heard you were around, I came

by. I wanted to see how I turn out.”

“What’s the verdict, son?”

“Nice ink. But the rest of you is old and soft.”

“That’s what you always said to everyone over twenty-five,” said Spyder,

flashing back on using variations of the line on uncles, cousins, cops

and counselors throughout his teens. “It’s true, then. You little Casper

the Ghosts really can’t say anything original. You just remix what I said

— richard kadrey

an ice age ago.”

“I hear tell you’re a tamed little bitch these days. You really getting led

around by an eyeless flatback?”

“She’s an assassin, not a prostitute.”

“Maybe now but I heard that in her lean and hungry youth she had

another line of work.”

“Didn’t we all?”

“Yeah, and it was fun!” said the younger Spyder. “You gave it up, didn’t

you? You have that housebroken look. Way too upstanding to steal for

your supper these days.”

“What can I say? Unlike you, Peter Pan, I grew up.”

“That’s your excuse for what you’ve become? That’s stone pitiful.”

“I’m not going to justify myself to someone who doesn’t even exist.

However, on the off chance that it means something, I’ll tell you this.

Remember Santos Raye?”

“Fat, white-haired fucker at the chop shop. Everyone called him Santos

Claus.”

“That’s him. You’re too young to know this, but Santos got murdered.

Iggy Atkinson did it.”

“So what? Santos was a snake-mean, drunk fuck who got what he

deserved.”

“Yeah, but I talked to him that morning. And Santos was Iggy’s partner. Then Santos disappeared. No body, no nothing. But everyone knew

what happened. I was a happy car thief, but I never pictured myself as a

murderer. And I knew if I stuck around, sooner or later that’s what I’d

be. That or dead.”

“You pussyed out. On both of us.”

“We were always playing walking a fine line, painting and drawing in

the day, stealing cars for Iggy and Santos at night. It was cool and fun. We

were artists and above it all. Then Santos was dead and I knew who did

it and I wasn’t above shit. I made a choice. Art or crime. I chose art.”

“You made the pussy choice.”

“It’s my life, and you’re just the ghost of something I don’t want to be,

I don’t even want to know about.”

“Hey, remember this?” Young Spyder pulled a punch knife from behind his back.

“I’m you. You can’t hurt me.”

“I saw that Star Trek, too. But it’s not how things work here. That bloody

hand hurt?” His youthful reflexes were still streetfight quick. He slashed

Spyder’s already bloody fist.

Butcher Bird —

“Fuck!” Spyder yelled, grabbing his cut hand.

Spyder went down on one knee. He’d liked kicking people in the head

in his youth. When his younger self approached, Spyder doubled over

as if in pain, reached into his own waist band and slashed the kid’s right

knee with Apollyon’s knife. Young Spyder went down hard, clutching

his leg.

“Fuck you, fucker! You’re gonna die, you sell-out motherfucker. When

the Clerks gut that dyke cunt and your girlfriend, I’m gonna hold you

down and make you watch!”

Spyder felt an overpowering desire to run away. Seeing his young reckless self lying bloody on the ground and cursing him, another powerful

desire took over, however. Spyder kicked the kid in the temple. Then in

the ribs. Then the groin. Then he just kicked to feel the thrill of his boot

making contact with a body. When he stopped, the boy wasn’t moving.

Spyder wrapped the silk scarf tighter around his wounded hand and ran

into the side streets of Berenice, hoping he could find his way back to

the rendezvous point. He didn’t want to get lost and have to trade away

another pair of good boots.

thirty-Five

uNStruNg

when Spyder finally found his way back to the corner on the pink

flagstone street, the others were already there.

Lulu waved to him and Shrike cocked her head in his direction as he

approached. Spyder wondered if she recognized his footsteps. He’d heard

that blind people could sometimes do that sort of thing. His hand felt

as if it were on fire.

“Hey, we got us horses. We’re real cowboys now!” said Lulu happily.

“Damn, what’s up with your hand?”

“Are you all right, Spyder?” asked Shrike.

“Let me see the wound,” said Count Non.

“Later. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“You know how to ride?” Shrike asked.

“The end with the face goes forward, right?”

They walked to the stables where Shrike and Primo had traded the

last of her jewelry for horses, saddles and feed. Riding down the long

boulevard, they left the city using a smuggler’s route they’d bribed the

stable owner to reveal: a refuse tunnel that swept away the waste and trash

produced by the city’s human population. The place was dark, stinking

and, at times, the ancient masonry ceiling was so low that even lying flat

on their mounts, the riders’ backs slid along the slimy tunnel roof. But, it

was better than trying to swim with the horses, or braving the sandstorm,

fire or freezing waste at Berenice’s other gates, Shrike reminded them,

before vomiting into the filth. That set Spyder and Lulu off. Eventually,

the tunnel ended at a sluggish stream in the open desert, just beyond

the city walls. The fresh air and light was as thrilling as anything Spyder

remembered in his life. They turned north, with Primo, the traveler and

natural geomancer, in the lead. Lulu and the Count followed, and Spyder

and Shrike rode at the rear.

“What went on back there?” asked Shrike. “Did you have words with

Butcher Bird —

Count Non?”

“Nah. He had words with me. Listen, can you hurt those things back

there? Those memory ghosts?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I had a run-in. With myself. It got out of hand. I might have killed

him.”

“I don’t think you can kill those spirits. Do you still have the memory

of the part of yourself that you fought with?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Then it’s still alive back there. The only one you hurt is yourself.

There’s so much pain in your voice.”

“He was just a kid. I was just a kid. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to

wipe him out.”

“That’s not how you’re going to get rid of him, you know.”

“What is?”

“Learn to forgive him.”

“Did you forgive the guy who betrayed you?”

Neither of them said anything for a while. His hand had stopped bleeding, so he wiggled his fingers to see if they worked properly. They did,

but moving them was agony. “Don’t tell the others about this, okay?”

Shrike leaned to him in the saddle. “Kiss me,” she said. Spyder was

happy to oblige.

“Are you cured?” Shrike asked. “Back home, at the Autumn Encomium—it’s a lot like Christmas—members of the royal family must

kiss any ill or injured person who asks. The kiss was supposed to cure

all maladies.”

“Did it work?”

“Tradition says yes. As far as I’m aware, no, not even once.”

They stopped to water the horses at a spring a few hours later. Berenice

was long out of sight and before them was nothing but open desert and

the Kasla Mountains in the distance. As the horses drank, the group ate

some bread and meat Count Non had traded for in one of the street markets. The meat was stringy, but spicy and rich tasting. Spyder started to

ask what kind of meat it was, but decided to leave well enough alone.

“How’s your hand?” asked Lulu, between mouthfuls of bread.

“It’s all right. The Count put on some ranch-dressing-smelling goo.

It doesn’t even hardly hurt,” said Spyder, flexing his fingers.

“You see the fight barkers back in Berenice?”

“Think I must’ve missed them.”

“Damn. You’d’ve loved it. After you took off, the Count and me were

0 — richard kadrey

kind of looking for you. We went down this one street and there’s all

these sideshow freaks and retards in a big metal pen with all these locals

staring ’em down. Pinheads. Guys with arms where their legs should be.

Or their bodies stop just south of their nipples. Monster-headed hydrocephalic she-males. It’s totally Tod Browning. And the real twisted part?

These freaks fight each other while the barkers take bets!”

“And I thought I was having a twisted time.”

“It gets worse,” said Lulu. “I asked some old guy what the deal was. He

said they were the broken memories. Like the memories of schizos or dying people. They’re like the deranged homeless of Berenice, roaming the

streets, attacking each other and normal memories. I guess some humans

figured how to make some money off ’em. You’d never guess those shiny,

happy people would be into that, would you? I mean, all those clean,

straight streets, and here’s the guy who made your shoes betting that the

blind geek in the corner can bite the fingers off the legless tranny.”

“They made money tossing Christians to the lions, why not memories?”

“Everything’s show biz, in the end.”

“Truer words were never.”

“Couple of those clowns thought I was with the geeks on account of

my unique look. The Count straightened ’em out.”

Spyder wondered if he should tell Lulu about running into the Black

Clerks, but he decided that the news wouldn’t do her any good. He handed

her the canteen of water Shrike had given him. Lulu took a long drink.

A red and black snake burrowed up out of the sand, tasted the air with

its tongue and dove back underground.

“And you say I never take you anywhere nice,” Spyder said to Lulu.

That evening, they camped in a small dune valley, out of the night

wind. They hadn’t seen any airships all day, so the others started a fire

while Primo showed Spyder how to hobble the horses. He didn’t feel it

while riding, but once on his feet, Spyder’s ass and back were sore. It

took him a while to pour grain into the horses’ feed bags, as he couldn’t

grip either bag properly with his injured hand. The Count found him

and helped him slip the bags onto the horses’ heads.

“Back in Berenice, I upset you. That wasn’t my intention,” said Count

Non.

“No harm, no foul, man,” said Spyder, slipping the feed bag on the last

horse. “I’m just a little on edge. You and Shrike, you’re used to this Conan

the Barbarian stuff. I’m just passing through and it’s getting to me.”

“It is a situation. I can see how ending up here unwillingly could leave

Butcher Bird —

one unstrung.”

“That’s it. I am un-fucking-strung,” Spyder said. “What’s your story?

You don’t sweat anything. That some stiff upper lip blue blood thing?”

“My father certainly wouldn’t say so. Unlike Shrike, I can’t claim a

tragic seduction or a kingdom stolen. I’m nothing more than a bad son

who can’t go home.”

“What did you do?”

“What does any son do? I didn’t love my father enough. And he didn’t

have the patience to let me find that love on my own terms.”

“We’ve got something in common, then. The last thing my father ever

said to me, before he disappeared into a sea of Jack Daniel’s, was, ‘You

are my greatest mistake.’ I was twelve.”

The Count nodded and stroked the neck of one of the horses. “Making our own way toughens us. Look at you. Not everyone could take the

shock of being snatched unwillingly from one world and dropped into

a new one.”

“Halfway to Hell, man. I thought I’d cleaned up a little, and was going

the other way. Or, at least, holding steady.”

“It’s not a kind universe. I’ve lived many places since leaving home,

many much worse than this. Compared to where we could be, this isn’t

so bad at all.”

“The idea that we could die out here doesn’t bother you?”

“There are worse things than death. Would you rather change places

with Shrike’s father?”

“No thanks.”

“For now, we have this sky and the moon, warm air in our lungs and

good companions. I can tell you one thing for certain, little brother: In

this life, no matter what anyone promises you, what allegiances of love

or fealty they swear or what gods they pray to, you will never have more

than what you have at this moment.”

“Goddam, Count, you cheered me all the hell up. I might just dance.”

Count Non looked up at the sky. “‘Every night and every morn, some

to misery are born; every morn and every night, some are born to sweet

delight; some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.’”

He motioned for Spyder to follow him away from the horses. “Show me

how well you can use—what are you calling it?—the Hornet.”

Spyder held up his injured hand. “The wing’s clipped.”

“As it may well be in battle. Come on, I’ll show you some tricks that

will impress the girls.”

“You make a convincing argument.”

thirty-Six

highway to heLL

“my left ring finger,” said Spyder.

“My little toe. Either one,” replied Lulu.

“I suppose I could lose an ear.”

“A nostril.”

“Nope. It’s the whole nose or nothing.”

“Picky fucker. I’ll keep my nose. How about my pancreas? I could lose

that. What the hell does a pancreas do anyway?” Lulu asked.

“That’s where your Islets of Langerhans are.”

“What the hell are they?”

“I have no idea. I just remember the name from high school biology.”

“I wonder if I even have a pancreas anymore.”

The group was riding north, into a waste of dust and heat. It was early

in the day and the air was still crisp. The lemon sun had bleached the

sky to a pearly blue.

“If they took it, they must know what it’s for, so someone’s getting

some use out of it.”

“As long as someone’s happy.”

“Smell,” said Spyder.

“Smell? That’s a sense. Smell’s not a part of your body you can lose.”

“Excuse me, Nurse Ratched, but smell is a neurological response in the

olfactory cortex in the temporal lobe of your brain. Ipso goddam facto,

‘smell’ is a part of your body.”

“Fuck you and the Discovery Channel,” said Lulu. “It’s still a stupid

answer. Without smell, you’d never get laid again. Sex is all about smell.

Pheromones and all that invisible shit that let’s you know who wants to

ride you like a rocking horse and who just wants to steal your smokes.”

Lulu turned around in her saddle. “Am I right, Shrike? Guys are such

idiots.”

Butcher Bird —

“She’s right, Spyder. Sex is smell. Smell is sex.”

“You’re all against me,” Spyder said. “Primo, you lost something the

other day. You should be playing, too. What part of your body would

you lose first if you had to lose something?”

“I don’t think I’d like to lose anything more, thank you,” said Primo.

Shrike said, “You don’t want to play game this with Primo. He’ll

win.”

“Why’s that?” Spyder asked.

“Primo, what did you do with your severed arm?” Shrike asked.

“I ate it, ma’am.”

From the desert floor rose the detritus of long-dead cities. Spyder

slowed as they rode among the ruins. He ran his fingers over broken

pillars that curved up from the sand like the ribs of a fossilized giant.

Spiral stairways curled into the empty sky. Faceless, wind-scarred statues stood watch over the wreckage of enigmatic machines of corroded

brass gears and cracked mirrors, stained ivory, springs, sprockets and

shattered quartz lenses.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold,

all is vanity and vexation of spirit,” Count Non said.

“It’s shit like that that most weeks made me cut Sunday school,” said

Spyder. “I got a beating for it, but I’ll take that over brainwashing. Everything we do or try is corrupt? What are we supposed to do with our

lives?”

“According to a number of prophets,” said Non, “our true calling is a

lifetime of worship and nothing more.”

“Praise the lord and pass the ammunition,” said Spyder. “Thanks, but

no thanks.”

“I agree.”

“You’ve got quite a stack of biblical pickup lines, Count. You in the

seminary or something?”

“I am the victim of a classical education. I learned at a young age that

a good quote allows you to appear smarter than you really are.”

“‘In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror,

murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da

Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had five hundred years

of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock,’”

recited Spyder. “Welles says that in The Third Man. I remember it whenever life goes all abstract expressionist.”

— richard kadrey

“That’s every other weekend for you, right?” said Lulu.

“Fuck you, Martha Stewart.”

Along a high ridge to the east, desert nomads were salvaging junk from

the sand. They had sheets of sand-scoured metal, ornate urns and statues

piled on long sleds that they hauled, by hand, across the dunes.

“Should we stop and say hi?” asked Lulu.

“Why?” asked Shrike.

“I don’t know. So we don’t seem like assholes.”

“This is their desert,” said Count Non. “They’re more likely to think

we’re thieves after their salvage than their new best friends.”

“What about food and water? Maybe we could trade with them,”

Spyder said.

“We have enough food. And there’s plenty of water in the desert,” said

Shrike. “Primo’s taking us along a route with springs and wells, aren’t

you?”

“Give me a single leaf and I will tell you the shadows of the birds that

have crossed it. Give me a stone and I will tell you what army has marched

past and where the freshest water can be found,” Primo said. “That’s the

earliest bit of wisdom the Gytrash learn in childhood.”

The day was heating up quickly. The tracks of the nomads’ sleds paralleled their trail for several miles, then cut to the east and disappeared.

Spyder pulled off his leather jacket (causing shooting pains throughout

his injured hand) and draped it over the saddle horn.

Shrike rode up beside him and offered him some of her water. Spyder

drank and kissed her hand as he gave her back the canteen.

“Tell me more about Lucifer’s kingdom,” she said.

A few yards ahead of them, Spyder could hear Lulu singing quietly,

“I’m on the Highway to Hell…”

“Some cultures see Hell as a pit of torment. Others as a workhouse as

big as the universe,” Spyder said.

thirty-SeveN

a Bad good Night

“you sure you never see anything when you’re not doing your blood

magic? I swear, sometimes your eyes lock on me and they’re wild

and wide. There’s fireworks going off inside and bolts of lightning, like

from a tesla coil.”

Spyder and Shrike had just finished making love on a Persian carpet

Shrike had manifested with her magic book behind a dune near their

camp.

Shrike smiled. “It’s funny to hear you say that. No one ever talks to

me about my eyes. Even Ozymand didn’t. Everyone thinks I’m sensitive

about it or something.”

“Maybe they’re afraid to piss off a hard girl with a really big sword.”

“You’re not. That’s why I like you, pony boy.”

Spyder took a handful of sand and slowly dribbled it between Shrike’s

breasts.

“You shit,” she said, brushing herself off.

“If you ever get bored and decide to off me, my preference is being

fucked to death.”

“Duly noted. And I won’t let Primo eat you. Not all of you.” Shrike’s

hand slid down Spyder’s body and wrapped around his cock. “I wish I

could see your face. I wish I could see you hard. You feel good inside me.”

Spyder kissed her and started to become hard again.

“What was that?” he asked, pulling away from her.

“What?”

“Listen.”

They both lay quiet for a moment.

“It’s the ruins,” said Shrike. “Underground machines. Some of them

have been humming on their own timetable for a thousand of years.”

“Shit. I was afraid it was one of those balloons.”

“Relax. Non’s watching for them. Do you have any cigarettes left?”

— richard kadrey

“No. I wanted to trade for some in Berenice, but I decided to get mugged

instead. We going to live through this, you think?”

“That’s the plan. At least if we die in Hell, we’ll be close to where we’re

going to end up.”

“You can always find a little rainbow for me,” said Spyder. “Does killing mean anything to you? I know its your job, but does it ever get to

you?”

“It’s not my dream job, but it’s better than the alternatives. I’m not

ready to be a beggar or a prostitute. When I was thrown out into the

world all I had was a little magic and my skill with a sword. One day,

I’ll use it to win back my kingdom,” said Shrike. She turned on her side

facing Spyder. “I’m glad I don’t see the faces of the people I’ve killed. But

I’d rather die a fighter than a victim.”

Spyder smoothed her dreads back from her face. “You are a fighter.

A life-taker and a heartbreaker, and you don’t need anyone. Certainly

not someone like me. I can barely get my pants on to go to work in the

morning. But when I look at you, I have this ridiculous desire to watch

out for you.”

Shrike nuzzled into Spyder’s chest. “Sweet boy,” she said.

From the other side of the dune someone cleared their throat.

“Who’s that?” called Shrike, sitting up and grabbing her cane.

“Quiet,” came Primo’s low voice. It was the first time Spyder had heard

him give anything like an order. “Something is about. Count Non would

like you both to come back to camp.”

“Tell him we’ll be right there.”

Spyder pulled on his pants and helped Shrike find her clothes. They

left the carpet and ran back to camp.

“What’s up?” Spyder asked. The others sat around a small fire, drinking

the mint tea Lulu had bought in Berenice.

“Sit down and have some tea,” said Count Non. “Don’t look around.

There’s something out in the dunes.”

“We heard machines earlier. From the ruins,” said Spyder.

“This isn’t machines or horses or even wolves looking for a quick

meal.”

“Men,” said Shrike. “How many?”

“Eight, at least.”

“Shit,” said Spyder.

“Can you reach the Hornet?” asked the Count.

“It’s right by my saddle, on the other side of the fire.”

“Don’t reach for it now. You’ll fight with that and not the knife. The

Butcher Bird —

Hornet will give you some distance from your opponent. Smile. You and

the Butcher Bird are relaxed and happy and in love.”

“How can you be sure they’re going to attack?” Spyder asked.

Lulu handed them cups of hot tea. Shrike blew on hers to cool it. “You

send one or two men to spy,” she said. “When you send eight or more,

it’s a raiding party.”

“Is it those desert rats we saw earlier today? They didn’t look like

much,” said Spyder.

“Anyone who can live in this open desert is going to be hard as stone

and fierce as a demon,” said Non.

“I’m boosting morale with cheap bravado,” said Spyder. “On my planet,

we refrain from telling people how fucked they are.”

“My mistake.”

“How are you doing, Lulu?” asked Spyder.

“I could use a fix. Or a drink.”

“We need you bright-eyed and quick like a bunny right now.”

“No problem,” Lulu said. She moved her leg to reveal the smooth butt

of a sawed-off shotgun. “A four-ten. Small enough to love. Big enough

to kill.”

“You have any more guns in that bag?” Spyder asked Count Non.

“Sorry, no.”

“Damn. I’d feel a lot better with a gun.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“Shh,” said Shrike. “They’re close.”

“How can you be sure?” Spyder asked.

Out in the dark, one of the horses whinnied and a small throwing knife

thunked into the sand by Shrike’s leg. She was up instantly, her cane

blurring to a sword as the first attacker came charging out of the night.

Spyder didn’t even look. He knew she could handle what was coming,

and dove for the Hornet.

Spyder came up off-balance and couldn’t get the metal flails at the

Hornet’s head to spin properly. He heard Lulu blasting away with the

four-ten and turned in her direction, just in time to see the tribesman

that was rushing him. The attacker had a length of sharpened pipe raised

above his head and was too close and coming too fast for Spyder to get

out of the way. Already off-balance, Spyder let himself fall backwards,

pushing the stud on the side of the Hornet to release the spikes from the

ends. The tribesman impaled himself on the shaft of the weapon and

landed on top of Spyder.

He struggled from under the man’s body and finally got the Hornet

— richard kadrey

spinning properly. It hummed like an angry swarm of insects. As throwing knives shot toward him from the dark, they were shredded in midair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spyder saw Shrike hold off three attackers

simultaneously, spinning to slice the legs off one, before gutting and

decapitating the others. Lulu picked off attackers and whooped out rebel

yells while Primo crushed tribesmen with his fist, the Hulk in a cheap

suit. Count Non fought almost as impressively as Shrike. He charged with

his broad Kan Dao sword in one hand and a Morningstar in the other,

alternately slashing and crushing the skulls of his opponents.

Another attacker was on Spyder, one who understood what the Hornet was. He didn’t rush into the saw-tooth flails, but feinted and moved

around, trying to find a way past the spinning shield. Spyder’s injured

hand was a white-hot ball of pain. He could feel blood running down

his arm. That was the side on which the tribesman made his attack. He

drove his sword to the opposite side and when Spyder turned to parry

him, the attacker spun smoothly, slipping around the flails. In his haste

to avoid being sliced to giblets, the man came around a touch wide and

barely managed to drag the tip of his sword through the top Spyder’s

right arm. Before the man could come back with a killing blow, his midsection exploded. He fell and Spyder saw Lulu standing there with her

shotgun smoking. Spyder returned the favor by slicing off the arm of

another attacker who lunged at Lulu’s back.

And then it was over. No more men came over the dunes. Spyder and

Lulu turned in slow circles, waiting for someone else to rush them from

the dark, but no one came.

“Spyder, stop spinning that thing,” said Shrike. He dropped the flails

into the sand to stop them. Shrike turned once, her head up, listening.

“If there are any left, they’ve run off to lick their wounds.”

Spyder put his arms around Shrike and she held on to him. “A fighter,

not a victim. Understand now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. But he thought, I killed a man tonight. More than one.

Spyder pushed Shrike away and puked into the sand.

“Pussy,” said Lulu.

thirty-eight

dead eyeS taLk

“the horses are gone,” said Lulu.

“All of them?” asked Shrike.

“The ones that aren’t dead.”

“Goddam,” said Spyder as Count Non wrapped his injured shoulder in

gauze he pulled from the saddlebags. He pressed a poultice to Spyder’s

wound and wrapped that, too.

“What’s that?”

“Herbs with Saint Cosmas’ dust,” said the Count. “The shoulder and

your hand should be healed by morning.”

“You didn’t even get scratched.”

“Unlike some people, I try to avoid being stabbed.”

“You got something against bleeding?”

“Blood belongs on the inside, little brother.”

“Duck and cover. Got it.”

“This one’s eyes are gone,” said Primo. “And this one.”

“This one, too,” said Lulu. “Shit they’re all cut up. Oh god…”

Spyder looked at Lulu. She was kneeling by the body of a dead tribesman, her hands over her mouth. The dead man’s robe lay open, revealing

his chest and belly. They were scarred and stitched in the same haphazard

manner that was becoming very familiar.

“Are they cut, Spyder?” asked Shrike.

“Sliced and diced, just the way the Black Clerks do it.”

Lulu touched the face of the dead man in the sand. “Is that how I look?”

She spoke in a child’s voice, like she was in shock. She pulled her jacket

closed and crossed her arms, tucking her hands underneath. “They all

that way?”

“Yes,” said Primo. He was walking from body to body, moving their

clothing with his foot, checking them for scars. Spyder could tell that

he didn’t want to touch them. Going to where Lulu knelt, Spyder got

0 — richard kadrey

her to her feet.

“Come away from there,” Spyder said, and sat her by the fire.

“Why would they come after us like that?” Lulu asked.

“In our clans, there’s a saying about the Black Clerks,” said Primo.

“‘They watch the world through silent eyes.’”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that taking a part of someone’s body gives the Clerks some

power over the remaining body,” said Shrike.

“It’s still just static to me.”

“I believe it means that the Black Clerks might not take eyes simply

because they are foul and need to replenish their organs,” said Count

Non. “Perhaps they are able to see where those eyes should be, watching

through the empty sockets they once inhabited.”

“The Clerks are in my head? They’re looking through my fucking eyes?”

Lulu shouted. There was hysteria in her voice.

“Is that right, Shrike?” asked Spyder.

“It’s possible,” she said.

“I saw the Clerks in Berenice. I thought it was just a coincidence,”

Spyder said. “They must want the book, too. Or to spook us from it.”

“I led those slugs right to us,” Lulu said. “The Black Clerks have seen

everything we’re doing and know right where we are.” She stood and

snatched up the shotgun. “Fuck that.”

“What are you doing, Lulu?” Spyder said. He started over, but Lulu

pointed the four-ten at him.

“Stay put, Spyder. I’m ending this right now.” Lulu was walking

backwards into the dark, keeping the gun pointed at the group. “Those

bloodless motherfuckers think they can watch TV out of my head? I’m

going off the air, like I should have done a long time ago.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” said Spyder.

“Look at me!” Lulu yelled. “Look at what’s left of me! I’ve pretty

much used up all my stupid for this lifetime. I’m done.” She ran into

the dark.

Spyder ran after her, pausing at the dune line in case she was waiting.

He didn’t think that Lulu would want to shoot him, but she still might

out of fear or surprise. He moved slowly down the base of the dunes,

letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Finally, he saw a woman running.

Spyder lit out after her.

“Lulu!” Spyder yelled. “Lulu!”

When he reached her, Lulu was on her knees in the sand, the four-ten

wedged under her chin.

Butcher Bird —

“Stay the hell back, Spyder.”

“Give me the gun.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t mean for you to get involved

in my shit. The Clerks are coming for you now, too. For all of us.”

“They’re not coming for anyone. We’re going to get that magic book

and get clean.”

“Look at us, Spyder. Those people back there have a clue. We get loaded

and hunt for girls. We can’t help them.”

“Not dead, we can’t.”

“We’ll mess everything up.”

“That’s a possibility.”

Lulu looked at Spyder. “I really love you, you know. You’re the best

person I know. But I can’t have those things crawling around inside my

skull.” Spyder heard Lulu pull back the hammer on the four-ten.

“Before you do anything, I want you to listen to me, Lulu,” Spyder said

in a calm and even voice. “You listening?”

“I’m not putting the gun down.”

“Fair enough. You hold on to it, if it makes you feel better.”

“Okay.”

“The Clerks took your eyes. We know that and are agreed on it,

right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they take your ears?”

“No. I’ve still got them.”

“Right. So all they can do is watch TV with the sound off. You following me?”

“Not really.”

“If the Clerks are spying on us through your eyes it’s because that’s

all they can do. They can’t listen to us. They don’t have your ears. That

means, all we have to do is keep you from seeing where we are and they’re

blind as a bat.”

“You think that’d work?” Lulu asked. She moved the gun from under

her chin and scratched the side of her head with the barrel.

“We just cover up your little eyeholes and the Clerks get to play Three

Blind Mice till we’re home, drinking tequila and winking at college

girls.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“If you’re nice, I’ll get Shrike to slip the blindfold on for you. You like

a little bondage with your morning coffee, right?”

Lulu seemed to think about it for a moment. “I’m not giving back the

— richard kadrey

gun,” she said. “I’ve been useless and naked up till now. But I know how

to use this.”

“I’m sure the Count won’t mind. Come on over here.”

Lulu got up and went to Spyder. He kissed her cheek and hugged her

tight. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” she said, and hugged Spyder back. “So, can Shrike really put

my blindfold on? That sounds kind of hot.”

Spyder slid his arm around her shoulders and led Lulu back to

camp.

“Christ, you got a cigarette?” Lulu asked.

“Nope. Don’t worry. We’re almost to Hell. Bet they have plenty of

smokes down there.”

thirty-NiNe

aNthropoLogy

“we’re moving too slowly without the horses,” said Primo. “I’m

afraid we won’t make it to the mountains in time.”

“When will the moon reveal the entrance to Hell?” asked Shrike.

“Tonight, I think. Perhaps tomorrow, too. After that, it will be invisible for a month.”

“Where are we exactly?”

Primo looked up at the stars, then at the mountains ahead and behind

them. “Perhaps halfway between Mount Cholula and Mount Culhuacan,

near the Tajin burial mounds.”

Shrike nodded. “If we push through, we can make the base of the

mountains late tonight,” she said. “But we’ll have to rest at midday.”

“I’d rather not, ma’am.”

“I know, but we all have injuries and no one’s had any sleep. I don’t

want us limping and yawning into the underworld.”

“You’re right, of course.”

They’d been walking most of the night, since an hour or so after the

attack. Food and water was weighing heavier on their backs with each

step. Spyder had a length of the Count’s rope tied around his waist and

this was tied to Lulu’s left wrist. She was blindfolded with a yellow scarf,

like a Tibetan prayer flag, Shrike had taken from a boudoir conjured by

her magic book. Lulu didn’t have much to say as they trudged through

the sand. She never let the four-ten drop from resting on her shoulder,

Spyder noted.

“How you doing, Lulu?” Spyder asked.

“Feel like I’m your Rottweiler bitch you’re taking out for a whiz. Find

me a fire hydrant so I can mark my territory.”

“You’re lots sweeter than a Rottweiler. Hell, you might be a Shih Tzu.

Maybe one of those little teacup poodles old ladies like.”

“It’s not wise to taunt a woman with that much firepower,” said Count

— richard kadrey

Non. “That gun is enchanted and will never run out of shells.”

“I have this demon-made knife Madame Cinders gave us. Is that some

kind of demon blunderbuss?” asked Spyder.

The Count sighed. “The way you people use words, it’s a wonder you

understand each other at all. Every vaguely inhuman creature you find

unpleasant or frightening or just strange is a ‘demon’ to you. And everything conjured or made by these creatures is ‘demonic.’”

“Back in San Francisco, there was a fat fucker with a monster mouth

right in the middle of his chest. He wanted to eat me. You telling me

that wasn’t a demon?”

“He was no more a demon than Primo. Primo is Gytrash. Simply

another humanoid race. A different kind of human animal. A more interesting and durable species than you ordinary humans, and probably

a bit scary to you First Sphere bumpkins.”

“So, what was Mister Mouth?”

“He sounds like a Bendith,” said Primo. “They’re a particularly ugly

sort of troll and aren’t averse to human flesh.”

“A Bendith or possibly a Nagumwasuck,” said Count Non. “You boring

one-headed, two-eyed humans are scattered through all the Spheres. Take

our Butcher Bird. Like you, she’s an ordinary human, but clearly she didn’t

grow up in some First Sphere backwater. She’s lived with other intelligent

races and understands the infinite varieties of life, the magical possibilities, that spring from the conjunction of different living species.”

“I was right there with you, Count. Up until the bestiality stuff right

at the end,” said Lulu.

“Humans and animal entities have been mating and producing offspring since the world began, little sister. It’s still quite common in regions

of the Second and Third Sphere.”

“Okay, Shrike, Lulu and me are white trash, Primo is a Second Sphere

Übermensch and you’re some incredibly old rich kid slumming from

Upper Coolsville,” Spyder said. “What the hell is a demon?”

“A fallen angel,” said Count Non. “Demons are from Hell. They serve

Lucifer, command his armies, run his cities and, when called upon,

torment the souls that have been consigned to the underworld. True

demons travel throughout all the Spheres and while they can seduce and

despoil almost any creature that catches their fancy, they can’t produce

offspring. The demons that exist now are the same ones expelled from

Heaven long, long ago. Give or take a few.”

“What happened to the demons that aren’t around anymore?”

“The prophets tell us that a few managed to beg and cajole their way

Butcher Bird —

back into Heaven. Others are dead. Demons can be moody company and

while a human exorcist can, for instance, expel them from a possessed

body, they can’t kill them. Only God or another angel can kill an angel,

fallen or otherwise.”

“Or an angel’s weapon,” said Spyder, pulling Apollyon’s knife from his

belt. “This was made by a demon to kill demons.”

“The weapon is ready, but are you? You will have to get very close to

use that. You’ve never even seen a true demon. Will you be able to walk

up to your worst nightmare and stick that toothpick in its gut, little

brother?”

“The babe to my left is the killer. I’m just here to hump gear and look

pretty.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” said Shrike.

“Thank you. Where’d you get all this Trivial Pursuit data, Count?”

“I study life. It’s what my people do. We are infinitely curious about

the forms that life takes, from insects to angels. We know them and

treasure them all.”

“You’re like an anthropologist or something?”

“Both really. That’s the best way of putting it.”

“An anthropologist with a big goddammed sword,” said Lulu.

“‘God will put his angels in charge of you to protect you wherever you

go. You will trample down lions and snakes, fierce lions and poisonous

snakes,’” recited the Count. “Self-preservation is no vice. If a black widow

spider tried to bite Charles Darwin, I doubt he would have had much guilt

about crushing it under his boot. Loving life doesn’t mean being soft.”

“Amen to that,” said Shrike.

When the sun was almost directly overhead and the sky was unbearably bright, they rested in the belly of a ruined metal storage tank in a

scattering of industrial ruins. The night and first part of the day had been

rough. Now, they drank water and ate dried meat and what little bread

hadn’t been lost in the fight the night before. Things buzzed gently in

the ground beneath them. If he weren’t so tired, Spyder imagined that

he might have found this alarming.

Later, Shrike lay down beside Spyder. “Thousand fingers massage,”

he said.

“What?”

“The buzzing downstairs. It doesn’t feel so bad.”

“Mmm,” Shrike said, and was asleep against him. Spyder closed his

eyes and in a few moments, he, too, was asleep.

Spyder was in a scrap yard like the lot behind Santos Raye and Iggy

— richard kadrey

Atkinson’s chop shop, only this scrap yard stretched to the horizon in all

directions. Piles of dead cars burned in the distance, sending up gushers

of flame and black smoke that boiled together like entwined snakes in the

sky. Spyder looked down at the ground. It was wet and bones protruded

from the red soil. The burning cars threw his shadow, long and distorted,

behind him. When he looked again, Spyder saw his younger self there.

He wasn’t surprised. The kid had always been just a step or two behind

him. He looked worse than ever. His clothes hung from him in rags as if

he’d been in a terrible accident. His eyes were gone and his body looked

like something dragged off an autopsy table. Spyder’s shadow-self smiled.

He was still holding the punch dagger he’d had in Berenice. The blade

was still slick with Spyder’s blood.

Spyder knew what was coming. He dragged a heavy femur out of the

wet ground so that he could hit the kid when he made his move.

Something came clattering toward Spyder across the scrap yard. A

filthy old man with a bit in his teeth was pulling a flaming chariot. The

chariot’s rider wore a golden war helmet with a mesh face-shield. He

pulled that off and Spyder saw that the chariot driver had the same face

as the old man with the bit in his mouth. The rider then pulled that

face off to reveal a lean, foxlike face that Spyder didn’t recognize. “How

many masks are we wearing today?” shouted the rider, and he pulled at

the face of the old man dragging the chariot. The old man’s skin came

off his skull, a limp rag, exposing muscle, bone and mucous. Spyder was

still considering this vision when a white-hot blow to the back staggered

him. The punch dagger, ruby-red with blood and glittering like Christmas

lights, was sticking out of his chest. It had been pushed clean through

him, back to front. He felt weak, but the shock to his body was so great

that the wound didn’t even hurt.

Shrike screamed and startled Spyder awake. Before he could move,

Shrike was up and out of the tank, charging across the desert with her

sword drawn. Spyder ran after her, and finally caught her by a collapsed

brass tower thirty yards away. Shrike shook and cried, but her body was

tense, ready to spring, ready to kill something.

“Were you dreaming?” Spyder asked

“Yes. My father was in Hell being tortured by the bastard, Xero

Abrasax.”

“Was he pulling a chariot?”

“Yes,” said Shrike. “How did you know?”

“I think I might have had part of your dream.”

Shrike breathed deeply. “We’re close to Hell. It can creep into your

Butcher Bird —

dreams. That’s good. It means it was just a nightmare and not an

omen.”

“Yeah. We just dreamed what scares us the most.”

“But why did you dream about my father?”

“I don’t know. I know I’m not going to sleep again, that’s for sure.”

“Me neither.”

“Listen, let’s just go till we reach the mountains. No more bullshit. No

more pit stops. We wait for it to cool off and we walk till we drop.”

“You’re right.”

Shrike nodded and they walked back to the tank. The others were

all up, looking pale and agitated, as if they, too, had been awakened by

disturbing dreams. There wouldn’t be any arguments about pushing

straight on through to the Kaslas.

Forty

the poSSiBiLity oF FLoatiNg

“have you thought about what you’re going to do, little brother?”

“When?”

“When we reach the gates of Hell.”

“Not much, no.”

“Maybe you should. I’ve listened to you talk about the place and, while

I admire your scholarship, I wonder if it’s enough.”

It was just after sundown and the sky along the horizon was the color

of rust and bruises. Spyder was spinning the flails of the Hornet over

his head, speeding and slowing the serrated metal as they walked. Count

Non was beside him. Lulu and Shrike walked ahead, led by Primo. Lulu

said something that made Shrike laugh.

“What’s ever enough? In for a dime, in for a dollar,” said Spyder.

“Does that attitude make you a hero or a fool, I wonder.”

“They’re the same thing. Fools get themselves cornered. Heroes are

just the fools who get out of it.”

Count Non nodded. “Being a fool might just be your greatest strength.

A fool can do what a wise man won’t,” he said, and shifted his pack from

one shoulder to the other. “In the Tarot deck, the Fool is depicted as a

young man about to step off a cliff into empty air. Most people assume

that the Fool will fall. But we don’t see it happen, and a Fool doesn’t

know that he’s subject to the laws of gravity. Against all odds, he just

might float.”

“If fucking up is power, I should be the Hulk by now,” said Spyder. He

took a breath. “Goddam. I’m going in. I told myself I wasn’t. I’ve been

sort of turning it over in my mind this whole time.”

“Thinking goes against the Fool’s strengths. Just do what you have to

do.”

“Truth is, I kind of always knew I was going, from the first time Cinders

Butcher Bird —

brought it up. But I couldn’t admit it,” Spyder said, spinning the Hornet

from side to side. “There’s an old Buddhist saying that whenever you ask

a question, you already know the answer.”

“I’m glad to hear you bring up the Buddha,” Count Non said. “All that

medieval Christianity that informs your descriptions of Hell had me

worried. We can learn a lot from the Buddha. In Hell, you’ll be all right

if you remember his most basic advice: follow the Middle Way.”

“All the books say that Hell’s a naked roller derby on broken glass. It’s

nothing but extremes. Think there’s a Middle Way down there?”

“If you’re on fire, do you jump into the pool of water or the pool of

gasoline? Even in the most extreme circumstances there’s a choice.”

“I wish I could see the place. Being blindfolded the whole time sounds

like balls.”

“That’s the first choice you have to make. Is seeing Hell’s décor worth

being trapped for eternity?”

“I’d have to give that a big No,” said Spyder. “How about you? How do

you feel about playing blind man’s bluff?”

“It’s all the same to me. This won’t be the first prison I’ve visited. I’ve

been locked away in dark places. After a while, the darkness becomes a

comfort and light is the stranger.”

“You’ve been there, haven’t you? Hell, I mean. You’re dancing around

the subject, but I have this feeling.”

“My people have done business there.”

“What kind of business?”

“It varied. I’m not proud of much of it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when I was wanking on about it? If you

know the place better than me, why didn’t you speak up?”

“You were doing a fine job. I didn’t see any reason to interrupt.”

“Is there something you can tell me that I should know? Anything

that can help us?”

“That’s not permitted,” Count Non said.

“What does that mean?”

“Hell is a place of extremes, yes, but extremes are relative. What’s extreme for Spyder isn’t extreme for me. Shrike’s extreme isn’t Primo’s or

Lulu’s. The details of Hell are different for everyone. Telling you about

my dealings wouldn’t do you any good and might just confuse you. I

wouldn’t want to be the cause of you getting hurt. Or worse.”

“You’re killing me with tender mercies. There’s nothing you have that

can help us?”

The Count sighed. “I’ve been talking about it this whole trip, trying

0 — richard kadrey

to prepare you. You’re as ready as you’re going to be. Remember the

Buddha’s advice. And don’t ever lose heart. Hell is designed to drain lost

souls of hope. Don’t let that happen. We’ve already agreed that you’re a

fool and so far, despite a few bruises, you’ve been lucky. That’s halfway

to a hero. No matter what happens, what you see or hear or experience,

be the fool that lives. That’s my best advice.”

“I was hoping for a magic helmet or something.”

“Don’t be afraid, little brother. The stars are on our side. When the

moon points to the hellmouth, the underworld’s defenses are down and

all the gates are open. ‘In that day the Lord with his sore and great and

strong sword shall punish Leviathan; and he shall slay the dragon that

is in the sea.’”

“You can talk some shit, Count.”

Count Non tossed a stone straight into the air. As it arced down, Spyder

tilted up the Hornet and ripped the stone to powder.

“There’s airships over us,” said Spyder.

“Angels, too,” the Count said. “To the west.”

“If your people did business with Hell, did they work for Heaven,

too?”

“Of course.”

“You aren’t on the flying monkeys’ side, are you?”

“You mean the Brotherhood and their angelic lapdogs? They can all

kiss my ruby-red arse,” said Count Non. “Would you prefer it if I was

on the other side?”

“Both sides can blow me right about now,” said Spyder. “I’m just jumpy

is all. That Bible talk of yours had me wondering.”

“It’s a family habit and hard to break.”

“You aren’t a preacher or something?”

“My father is.”

“I knew it.”

“When the urge hits, perhaps I should switch to Greek.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

Forty-oNe

vaNiLLa roSeS

“is this the place?” asked Shrike.

“I believe so,” Primo replied.

“Believe?” Spyder asked.

“A figure of speech. This is the place.”

“What happens now?” asked Lulu.

“We wait,” said Primo, “for the moon to move across the sky and reveal

the location of the entrance to Hell.”

Shrike crouched on the ground leaning on her cane. Spyder knelt

down beside her. The desert night wind came in dry, frigid gusts. He

shivered.

“Does this feel right to you?” Spyder asked.

“As far as I can tell, we’re where we should be,” she said. “We’re in

Primo’s hands now. Is the moon up?”

“Been up for a while. That’s what worries me. We might have missed

it.”

“We still have tomorrow night.”

“We lost all our food and most of our water back at the OK Corral.”

“Then, let’s hope we still have a chance tonight.”

“Can we start a fire or something?” Lulu asked. “The wind comin’ off

these hills is giving me some serious raisins.”

Count Non shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. Not with enemies

overhead. They would spot even a small fire.”

Lulu shivered in her light cotton jacket. “I’m seriously dying over here.”

Spyder took off his leather jacket and draped it across her shoulders.

“What about one of those caves?” asked Spyder. “We can do like the

other night, start a small fire and stack some of this scrub over the entrance. Maybe cover it with our coats.”

“It’s still dangerous,” said the Count. “What do you say, Shrike?”

“If nothing else, moving around and gathering brush will warm us.

— richard kadrey

Do you see anything yet, Primo?”

“No, ma’am. Whatever your decision about a fire, I’m going to stay

here and watch the moon.”

While Primo and the Count kept track of the sky, the others began

pulling the dry, shallow-rooted brush from the loose desert soil and

piling it in a nearby cave. While Lulu and Shrike broke up some of the

brush into kindling, Spyder spread their coats over a pile of brush at the

cave opening. Count Non volunteered a heavy wool cloak that he pulled

from his weapons bag.

When he’d covered the entrance, Spyder slipped inside, trying not to

disturb any of the brush that kept in the light. Kneeling next to Shrike

and Lulu, he struck a match and lit the kindling they’d laid out. The

sticks caught quickly and the little cave filled with light. The heat came

up more slowly, but in the frigid night, they felt their skin begin to warm

and it felt good. Spyder leaned into Shrike as Lulu huddled up on the

other side.

Lulu pulled off her blindfold. “All they can see is the fire, right?”

“Yeah. They won’t know where the fire is,” said Spyder. “We having a

good time yet?” Spyder asked.

“Shit, this is better than dinner and a spanking,” said Lulu.

From outside the cave came Count Non’s voice. “Sorry to disturb you,

but you should come and look at this.”

“Who should?” called Lulu.

“All of you.”

“Dammit.”

They crawled out of the cave slowly, gloomily, leaving the warmth

behind. It felt even colder and more miserable now that they’d had a

few minutes of comfort. The three of them remained huddled together

as they went to where Primo and the Count were waiting.

Spyder followed the men’s gaze upward to the night sky. “It’s the moon,”

he said. “Been there. Done that.”

“Look beyond that peak,” said Primo.

“Oh man,” Spyder said.

“What is it?” asked Shrike.

Spyder felt Lulu shiver.

“Two moons,” Spyder said. “There are two moons in the sky.”

Shrike lowered her head, but didn’t say anything.

“Who has the juice for this?” Spyder asked.

“The Brotherhood, perhaps,” said Count Non. “Perhaps the Black

Clerks, though I’ve never heard of them doing anything remotely this

Butcher Bird —

mad before.”

“It could be a confederacy. Two or three of the groups wanting to stop

us could have combined their powers,” Shrike said. “This is bad.”

“There’s something worse,” said Lulu, looking back at the cave.

Spyder turned and saw that the fire had ignited some of the brush by

the entrance. The whole cave was burning like a merry beach bonfire

on the Fourth of July.

“If someone’s looking for us, I think we just sent ’em a flare,” said

Lulu.

“There’s something in the flames,” Primo said.

Black, moiling smoke slid from the cave, up the mountainside. But

a slower, heavier smoke hung white in the air, turning in slow motion

tornadoes. Things coalesced inside the spinning whirlpools, shapeangled, skeletal. A glimpse of bared teeth. A sharp arc of metal. Heavy,

restless boots.

“Soldiers,” said Spyder. “Primo, that cave we want is above us, right?”

“Yes, sir. Up the mountain.”

“Maybe we should go now.”

Spyder took Shrike’s hand and they ran up a narrow switchback that

cut back and forth across the face of the Kasla Mountains. Coming from

far behind them, Spyder heard the clattering of metal and leather. He

hoped the smoke soldiers were slow, or still smoky, so the mountain

wind might blow them away. As the group ran, however, the sound of

the soldiers’ weapons came closer. Shrike pulled away from Spyder and

ran back down the mountain, her sword up and ready to strike. Spyder

was frozen in place, his mind a blank. What was she going to do against

a soldier made of smoke? But when Shrike made her first slash, Spyder

saw the blood and heard a scream. He realized that while the soldiers

might have come from smoke, they were now just flesh and blood. He,

Primo and Count Non charged down the hill while Lulu opened up

behind them with the four-ten.

Spyder sent a couple of the soldiers off the edge of the trail as they tried

to avoid the spinning Hornet, while the Count gutted one, then another

of the smoke soldiers. Spyder saw other soldiers forming at the foot of

the mountain. While the others attacked the remaining few pursuers,

Spyder grabbed Shrike.

“Do you know any magic to make the wind blow harder?” he asked.

“One spell.”

“Use it.”

Shrike got down on one knee and rolled up her sleeve. Whispering a

— richard kadrey

low incantation, she pulled back the metal bird on the lancet, locking

it into place. A moment later, the bird snapped down and Spyder saw

blood run down Shrike’s hand. The wind kicked up at their backs, pushing them toward the edge of the cliff. Spyder grabbed Shrike and pulled

her back against the mountain.

Below them, the hurricane that now blasted down from the mountain

scattered the burning scrub from which the soldiers were coalescing.

Half-formed soldiers splattered onto the sand, a wet corruption of skin,

bone and exposed organs.

Overhead, immense, dark things blacked out parts of the sky. Search

lights played across the desert floor, illuminating the underbellies of

the airships. The lights pooled around the bodies of the dead soldiers

near the cave.

Count Non and the others trudged up the hill into the wind, finally

reaching Spyder and Shrike.

“We should keep moving.” The Count had to shout to be heard above

the wind.

“Can you turn the wind off now, pretty please?” Spyder asked.

Shrike raised her hands and uttered a few words. Nothing happened.

She indicated that they should start up the hill. “Sometimes it takes a

few minutes,” She said. “This isn’t like turning off the TV.”

They started up and within a few minutes, the wind began to slack

off. The airships kept up their search, lighting up the bodies of the

slaughtered soldiers on the trail below. Looking for us among the dead,

thought Spyder. He felt a surge of excitement, having come through

another fight. Primo came up from the rear, still scanning the sky, trying to find some clue in the mad light and crisscrossing shadows cast

by the twin moons.

“That archway in the rock above us,” he said. “I think it’s pointing to

an opening in the rock face.”

“Lead the way, man,” said Spyder, and slapped him on the back.

Primo flinched from the blow. Spyder saw that he was holding his side.

Blood stained the front of his white shirt, and oozed from between his

fingers.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Primo said. “We’ll be away from them soon.”

Primo went quickly up the trail, but Spyder could tell that he was

more badly hurt than he was letting on. The little man constantly looked

northward at a stone archway in the rocks above. In the crazy mix of

shadows, Spyder couldn’t really see what had Primo so excited.

Butcher Bird —

Thunder rumbled behind them, then lightning. The ground shook.

Heat and a wave of static bristled over their skin. Spyder could tell that it

wasn’t thunder in the sky, but more of the light weapons he’d seen back

in the airship battle. Rocks tumbled down at them as searing white bolts

blasted into the mountain. They pressed themselves as close as possible

to the rock face and kept moving. Looking up, Spyder thought he saw

angels circling the mountaintop, high above.

“There!” yelled Primo, between thunderclaps. The mountain rumbled

up through their legs. “I need to climb. Please give me a leg up.”

Spyder still couldn’t see where Primo wanted to go, but he crouched

by the little man’s leg to give him a boost. Primo took a breath. His

remaining hand was bloody and his balance was a little shaky. Holding

on to Primo’s shoulder, Count Non steadied him enough to step onto

Spyder’s hands and begin the climb.

He must have cat eyes, thought Spyder. Using his one arm, the little

man climbed steadily up the rocks, reaching a deep, recessed shadow

just a few yards above their heads. “We would have walked right past it,”

Spyder said to himself. The ground shook and rocks came down, almost

knocking Primo off his perch at the lip of the cave.

“This is it!” Primo called. “Climb!” The mountain trembled and Primo

used his one arm to brace himself in the cave entrance. Where his bloody

hand touched the mountain, the rock turned black. The blackness spread

outward and around the cave like paper crisping in an invisible fire.

“Hurry!” Primo shouted to them.

“Look out!” Spyder screamed.

Primo frowned, cocking his ear, trying to hear Spyder above the

thunder. The little man was now standing in a circle of curdling black

set against the mountain. Spyder tried to wave him away from the entrance.

“Do you smell something?” asked Shrike.

Above them, Primo screamed as crooked black spikes spun out of the

rock, drilling through Primo’s body, pinning him to the rock. As Primo

struggled, Count Non started climbing toward him. Too late. Doubleedge blades, as long as Primo’s arm, sprang from the sides of the mountain

and closed on Primo like the jaws of a colossal mechanical beast. The

blades sliced cleanly through the little man and he was silent. Then the

spikes rotated out of Primo’s mangled body, allowing the pieces to fall

quietly over the rock face. If there was any sound, Spyder couldn’t hear

it above the thunder and his own screaming. As the spikes disappeared

into black rock, the side of the mountain turned back to a dull gray.

— richard kadrey

Count Non dropped down beside Spyder.

“They’re gone. Primo and the cave,” said Spyder. “I can’t see anything.”

Rocks tumbled down the mountain at them.

“We can’t stay here!” shouted Lulu.

“Help me up,” said Shrike. “I’m climbing.”

“It’s gone!” shouted Spyder. “We can’t see anything.”

“I don’t need to see it,” she said. “Can’t you smell it?”

“What?”

“Flowers.”

“The smell of the Inferno is like vanilla roses,” said Count Non. “If you

can follow that scent, we’ll follow right behind you.” Shrike nodded and

the Count lifted her onto the rock face. Shrike climbed slowly, carefully,

feeling her way up the wall, groping with her hands and feet for each

purchase on the cliff.

Below, the desert floor was turning red and liquid as the sand superheated to glass where the airships’ light weapons hit. Spyder pressed his

forehead into the mountain. For the first time in what seemed like a

long time, he stepped outside himself and looked at where his sorry ass

had landed him: clinging to a murderous mountain on some imaginary

island, with warrior angels above and demons below. “If you could see

me now, Jenny,” he whispered. “If you could see me now.”

Count Non put his hand on Spyder’s shoulder. Spyder looked up and

saw Shrike kneeling on a ledge, gesturing for them to come up.

“You’re next, little brother. Don’t leave the lady waiting,” Non said, giving Spyder a leg up the rock. As he climbed, Spyder heard Lulu huffing

and cursing behind him. When he reached the ledge where Shrike waited,

she grabbed him and pulled him inside. Spyder turned and pulled in

Lulu, as Count Non came up behind her. Outside, the killing light from

the airships was hitting all around the cave entrance. Dust and stones

rained down on them from the ceiling. The smell of roses was sickening,

cloying and overripe. Spyder was suddenly afraid. A light bolt hit just

below the lip of the entrance and threw them deep inside the cave.

“We’re not safe here,” said Count Non. “We have to get down below.”

“Back here.” Shrike’s voice came from deeper in the cave. “Stone doors.

They’re warm. And they smell like an abandoned florist.”

Spyder and the others scrambled to her through the dark. At the rear

of the cave, stood two massive doors, forty feet high, carved from the

mountain itself.

“How do we open them?” Spyder asked.

“They feel light,” said Shrike. “I think I can just pull them.”

Butcher Bird —

“Wait,” said Count Non. “Shrike and Lulu are safe, but Spyder mustn’t

forget his blindfold.” Non slid Lulu’s blindfold from where it hung around

her neck, unknotted it and stepped behind Spyder to tie it on.

“Shouldn’t we put that back on Lulu?”

“Don’t worry. Even the Clerks can’t see through dead eyes into Hell.”

“You sure?”

“My father knew the place well.”

“I hope you’re right. I didn’t like the idea of stumbling around down

there with all of us blind.”

Quietly, Non said to Spyder, “We made it, little brother. The entrance to

the Inferno. ‘I will give thee the treasures of darkness, and hidden riches

of secret places.’” As the cool cloth of the blindfold slid over Spyder’s

eyes, something nicked his left ear. Then his arm. He heard something

shoot by and strike the wall.

“Get down!” screamed Lulu.

Spyder didn’t have a choice. Count Non had collapsed against his back,

knocking them both to the ground. The Count was dead weight on top of

Spyder. He slowly crawled out from under the Count’s body. Things flew

by over his head, but he made it behind a bend in the rocks. From there

Spyder looked back and saw Count Non’s body bristling with at least a

dozen golden arrows. Bright angels were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder

at the cave entrance, arrows and quivers raised.

“Get ready to open the gates,” Spyder shouted to Shrike. “Now!”

He brought the Hornet up and spun the business end as fast and hard

as he could. The angels’ arrows flew at them, but were vaporized by the

Hornet’s flails. Spyder kept the weapon between the angels and them.

The angels advanced steadily into the cave. Some stood over Count Non’s

body, and that made Spyder angry. He spun the Hornet faster as a blast

of heat and the stink of rotting flowers washed over his back.

A strange light filled the cave when Shrike pulled open the gates of

Hell. The walls turned a deep russet, and the light seemed to bubble, as

if it were boiling to the surface of the world in sluggish waves, weighed

down by the malevolent gravity of Hell below and the miles of earth it

had to pass through.

The forward-most angels’ skin and wings turned dark and shriveled in

the Hell light. The ones that didn’t cook and collapse immediately, backed

quickly out of the cave. When they were gone, Spyder went to Count Non

and checked his pulse. He was dead. Spyder pulled the blindfold from

the Count’s hand and set the Hornet gently down beside him.

“I can’t use this blind. Maybe it’ll do you some good wherever you

— richard kadrey

are,” Spyder said.

There was a spiral wrought-iron stairway beyond the open gates, and

sounds came from deep below. Some were rhythmic, others random. The

rhythmic sounds were like the banging of vast and relentless machines.

The arrhythmic sounds were screams. The walls of the cave flickered as

if someone were quickly clicking a light switch on and off.

Before they entered the gates, Shrike knelt on the floor, took a handful

of dust and sprinkled it over her head. “Count Non and Primo Kosinski.

Strength to your spirits, my comrades, my friends.”

“Vaya con Dios,” said Spyder quietly.

“Sweet dreams, guys,” Lulu said.

She slipped the blindfold over Spyder’s eyes and made sure it was

tight. Shrike took Spyder’s left hand and he took Lulu’s left. They walked

through the gates of Hell and started down the long spiral staircase into

the abyss.

Forty-two

izaNami aNd red dragoN

t he first great war on Earth took place millions of years ago when the

warrior princess, Izanami, fought Red Dragon, the rapacious prince

of the west.

With her army following behind, Izanami ran all the way across the

land of Jodo to fight Red Dragon. Izanami finally cornered and defeated

Red Dragon in a battle that lasted for years and destroyed a third of their

kingdom.

Izanami had a secret known only to a few of her most trusted officers.

Izanami didn’t defeat Red Dragon because she was a cleverer tactician or

a stronger warrior. Izanami won because she was insane.

She came to the battlefield in a heavy cloak, under which she was wrapped

in chains. As she entered the battlefield, she looked small and lost. It was only

when she was released from all her heavy restraints that the full power of her

madness was brought down up on Red Dragon. Izanami won the battle by

exploding a volcano in the Khumbu Mountains. The lava and ash almost

destroyed the world, but killed Red Dragon and his army first.

Izanami was the first hero on Earth, though few have ever heard of her

historic combat. Her story remains popular with her people, but even among

scholars across the three Spheres, Izanami’s story is obscure.

The Nio, Izanami’s people, were smoke wraiths. The entire epic war be-

tween Izanami and Red Dragon lasted no longer than the span of a human

breath—but for the Nio, that breath was a lifetime. And that was Izanami’s

other secret. She knew how insignificant her people and their victory were

in the universe. Its insignificance made the victory seem all the sweeter to

Izanami, proving once again that the logic of Tricksters and the enlightened

are hard to tell apart.

Forty-three

eateN aLive

they seemed to walk forever, but they never grew tired or hungry or

thirsty.

“What a lousy day to stop smoking crack,” said Spyder, stumbling

on the staircase for maybe the fiftieth time. He had a deathgrip on the

metal railing. It had never occurred to him that something as simple

as walking down a flight of stairs could be such a pain in the ass when

blind. His balance was off, his whole sense of where he ended and other

objects began was gone and every new scream and sound from below

startled him.

“I knew this reporter down in LA. He was doing a series of stories on

local subcultures for one of the alternative weeklies. You know, the kind

of scene-hopping bullshit that desk monkeys and teenyboppers read to

feel edgy. Eventually, his editor wants him to write about the Hell’s Angels.

He gets a hookup to their clubhouse and he’s surprised by how smart

and cool most of the Angels seem. At the end of his formal interview,

they tell him they’re having a party and he should come, so he can get

a better idea of what’s what. Sure, he says, expecting a phone call or a

flyer or something.” Spyder stumbled again. Shrike caught him by the

shoulder. “Thanks. About three in the morning, he’s in bed. When he

opens his eyes, he finds about a half-dozen Angels in his bedroom. ‘Get

dressed,’ they tell him. He’s no dummy. He does what he’s told. Outside

are about a dozen more Angels. They rev their bikes loud enough to

peel paint off the neighbors’ houses and roar out into the canyons over

the Hollywood Hills, with my reporter friend riding bitch on the back

of some guy’s bike.

“The thing about those canyons is, there’s a lot of bodies buried out

there. A million years from now, archeologists are going to understand

us from all the bones of the dead TV producers, junkie musicians, porn

stars and coke dealers scattered through those canyons. And my friend

0

Butcher Bird —

doesn’t know if he’s going to get laid or stomped or shot in the head

and buried in a shallow grave. Then they round a corner and he sees the

lights and hears the music. The Angels promised him a party and, sure

enough, there’s a party going on.

“But an Angel party isn’t a regular kind of party. There’s a lot of guys

on massive doses of acid, playing William Tell with fifty caliber handguns. There’s knives flying by and gangbangs and more beer than in all

of Milwaukee. And here’s my little artsy-fartsy weekly newsrag lit major

buddy trying to be Cool Hand Luke with it all. The thing he said, though,

and I believe this, was that after a while he really was cool with the savage

craziness. The party went on all night and into the next day, and the way

he put it, ‘You can only be terrified for so long.’”

“I guess you’re still looking for your happy place on this trip,” said

Lulu.

“Working on it. I figure Hell can’t be any worse than Houston.”

“Are we close to the bottom, Lulu?” asked Shrike.

“Damned if I know. It just keeps going down.”

“It’s getting hot,” said Shrike.

“Yeah, but it’s a dry heat,” said Spyder. No one laughed.

“Why can’t the Prince of Darkness have an elevator? Ozzy would,”

Lulu said.

“Don’t disrespect the demons in their own house, dear.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Maybe this should be a quiet time, while we try to get our bearings,”

said Shrike.

Spyder stumbled again, cursed. He leaned over the railing and felt

a warm wind rising from somewhere below. It still smelled of roses,

but there was an undercurrent of something musky and subterranean,

darkly fungal. Spyder had to admit that he was a little surprised and

kind of annoyed with himself. After all the reading and study he’d done

concerning the underworld, now that he was actually here, he kind of

wanted the place to be a furnace full of guys in red suits, pointy beards

and pitchforks. Those childhood images and fears never go away and

never really get updated, he thought. You can add on new ones, but you

never completely bury the old nightmares.

“How many angels are there?” asked Lulu.

“Depends on who you ask. Some claim a hundred and forty-four

thousand. Other guys a million, a hundred million, or even a billion,

but those are probably just bad translations. Anyway, a third of Heaven

went down with Lucifer when he got the door.”

— richard kadrey

“You’re saying, there’s between a hundred forty thousand and a few

million crackhead angels down there?”

“Give or take.”

“How fucked are we?”

“It could be worse,” said Shrike. “We’re sneaking into to a mad place

at a chaotic time. War is a perfect cover for crime.”

“What’s going to be down at the bottom of this staircase?” asked

Lulu.

“I wish I knew,” Spyder said. “Hell’s pretty flexible. Different to different people at different times. It’s got a geography, all these little fiefdoms

controlled by Lucifer’s lodge buddies. There’s the big boy’s palace in the

biggest city, Pandemonium. Some prophets say Hell’s just a big, pointless machine, that all the damned souls are cogs and gears and that the

machine’s only purpose is to grow with no purpose at all. Others say

that life in Hell’s just like life on earth, only more hopeless and boring.

Some traditional types still go with the fire and brimstone story, and why

not? Someone’s got to have that old school stick up their ass.” Spyder

shrugged. “I’ve talked to Shrike about the demons and laws and traps

I’ve read about, but, we’re not going to know what’s down there until

we’re on the ground.”

Lulu laughed.

“What?” asked Spyder.

“I’m just rememberin’ something. After I came out to my folks, all the

times they told me this is where I’d end up. And here I am.”

The air grew hotter and more fragile, brittle almost. Not like the desert.

It felt artificial, as if someone had left on a giant dehumidifier and it was

sucking the moisture from everything. The rising air from below was full

of an itchy grit that settled on everyone’s skin and instantly itched. Hell

already sucked and we’re barely through the door, Spyder thought.

Spyder felt Shrike’s hand close around his. “When we get down there

you stick close to me, pony boy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that being blind was such a drag?”

“You get used to it.

“This probably wasn’t the time to start.”

“Damn. We’re here. The bottom,” said Lulu. “Be careful stepping

down.”

“Where do we go now?” Spyder asked.

“I was going to ask you, Mr. Wizard. What is this?”

“Describe it. I’m Stevie Wonder over here.”

“Right. Sorry,” she said. “Okay. We’re in a big cavern at the bottom of

Butcher Bird —

the stairs. There’s light, but hell if I can tell where it’s coming from. In

front, there’s three really big doors. There’s no signs or nothing, but all

of the doors have the pug ugliest demon faces carved on them. Looks

like we’re marching down some monster’s gullet, whatever we do. But

which one do we open?”

“This wasn’t in any of the books,” Spyder said. “What do the demons

look like?”

“Like demons. Big scary teeth and huge goddam claws.”

“Do the demons have snouts? Like dogs or wolves?”

“Yeah. Kind of. What are they?”

“I think I got it,” said Spyder. “It’s not ‘they.’ It’s ‘it.’ This is Cerberus. The

three-headed hellhound. Some stories say Cerberus guards the entrance

to Hell. Some say he is the entrance. To get inside, Cerberus swallows

you. Only you have to pick the right mouth, otherwise, he shits you out

into chaos. Not Heaven or Hell, just stone-cold nothing.”

“So, which head gets the bone?”

Spyder hesitated. He heard someone moving around by the doors.

Shrike. She was muttering a spell that wasn’t working. The situation was

so frustrating. Spyder wanted to rip the idiot blindfold off his eyes and

not have to stand around like a crippled child.

“The one on the right feels light on its hinges. It’s been used the most.

Maybe it’s the way,” said Shrike.

“Or it’s a trick to get us down the beast’s belly,” said Lulu.

“We go in through the center,” Spyder said.

“How do you know?” asked Shrike.

“Count Non knew things about Hell. He told me to be like the Buddha.

Buddha always took the Middle Way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Open it.”

He listened to Lulu going to the door. Hesitation. A footfall. Silence. The

sound of dry hinges grinding and a door scraping over a dirty floor.

“Lulu?” asked Shrike.

“There’s a tunnel. Something’s moving at the end. People. And like a

river, I think.” She pushed the door open wider. “Hey man, thanks for

not dooming us right off.”

Spyder smiled. “All part of the service. I guess we’re supposed to go

in there now.”

Someone fell. The sound was dry and hollow in the warm, thick air of

Hell. Spyder moved toward the sound.

“Shrike, are you all right?”

— richard kadrey

“I’m fine. Let me catch my breath.”

“Lulu?”

“I’ve got her. Follow my voice over here.”

Spyder found them sitting on the floor. Shrike was leaning on the

cavern wall. Her hands were wet and cold.

“Something in my chest,” she said. “I think it’s the key Madame Cinders put inside me. I can feel it moving. It must know we’re getting near

the book.”

“When you’re ready, we’ll go,” said Spyder.

“I’m ready,” she said, and got up slowly.

The middle tunnel through Cerberus’ gullet was warm and wet. When

Spyder touched the wall, the stone was fleshy and yielding. They all hurried through as quickly as they could.

Forty-Four

daddy LoNgLegS

“hello?” Lulu called. “Anyone back there?”

“What’s wrong?” asked Spyder.

“I thought I heard something behind us in the tunnel. Who’d a thought

there’d be weird sounds in Hell?”

“Is there a river ahead?” asked Shrike. “We have to cross it to get to

Pandemonium.”

“Yeah, there’s a river, and no problem crossing it.”

“Lay it out for us, Lulu,” said Spyder. He had his back to a stone outcropping just beyond the tunnel. Around them were dozens of voices,

people screaming and talking, people on crying jags. From above came a

metallic humming punctuated by momentary squeals, the wail of rusted

wheels and rotten gears. Spyder didn’t like the idea of machines that he

couldn’t see hanging over his head.

“I don’t know where to start. We’re in a what’s his name? Bosch. We’re

in a Bosch painting,” Lulu said. “Hear all those people? They’re standing around waiting to get across the river. I bet you don’t smell roses

anymore, do you? There’s pipes all around dumping what looks a lot

like shit, blood, carcasses and lord knows what other puke into the river.

Jesus fuck!”

“What is it?” Shrike asked, her sword half-raised.

“Something, like a big, white worm just popped out of the water, latched

on to one of those people and dragged ’em under.”

“They aren’t people, Lulu. They’re souls. Don’t worry, they can’t drown,”

said Spyder

“No, but I bet that thing can chew on ’em for a good long time.”

“What else do you see? Can you tell how we get to the other side?”

asked Shrike.

“Yeah. There’s these metal cars, like the sky cars at an old amusement

park, slung on wires over the water. Shit. I don’t know if I want to ride

— richard kadrey

on one of those with those hungry worms waiting for us to drop.”

“We have to,” said Spyder. “Listen, the thing that grabbed that guy, it

wasn’t random. Souls are sorted all over Hell, starting right here. This

is the Bone Sea. The ones who end up in it are so foul that even Hell

doesn’t want them. The ones wandering around this shore and on the

other side, they’re maybe worse off. Completely lost. They can’t get into

Heaven and they won’t go into Hell. They’ll spend eternity right here by

this river of shit. We don’t have that option. If we don’t move, Shrike’s

going to die.”

The voices of the wandering souls grew quiet, then came back louder

than ever. Lulu said, “Remember how I used say it was all ironic with

you named Spyder, that you’re so afraid of spiders?”

“We worked that over once or twice.”

“Be glad you’re blind right now. I shit you not, there’s a twelve-foot-tall

spider strolling down the shoreline kicking people out of his way like

he’s Donald fucking Trump.”

Spyder reflexively pressed his back into the outcropping and went very

cold inside. He wanted desperately to find the tunnel and go back up the

way they had come, but Shrike grabbed him and held on.

“We have to go on,” said Shrike. “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

“Weird,” said Lulu. “That spider looks sort of mechanical. Like someone

took about ten junked cars, some old TVs and prosthetic limbs, wired

them together and taught them to walk. And it gets better. The thing’s

got a human head.”

Feedback knifed through Spyder’s head, bringing back memories of a

hundred sweaty clubs on a thousand drunken nights. A voice crackled

and boomed, broken, imperious and mad.

“Move along, you desperate scum, you noxious void of the earth’s

bowels, move along! Your fate lies across the Bone Sea, not on my

shore! Across the river is the eternity you courted your whole corrupt

and sorrowful lives. No one remains on my shore. Move along, you lost

lambs, you food for the wolf. Lollygag and your suffering will begin all

the sooner!”

“Shrike, get your sword up,” said Lulu. “Daddy longlegs is headed this

way, twelve o’clock high.”

A rhythmic clanking filled the air, along with the smell of burning

oil, decaying flesh and overheated circuit boards. Spyder sensed some

enormous presence looming over them.

“My god. You’re alive,” came the voice. It was low and human. The

madness was gone. “Forgive me for that scene a moment ago. They make

Butcher Bird —

me say and do those terrible things. The beasts that run the machines.

I’m attached, you see.”

“Who are you?” asked Shrike.

“Cornelius…something, I think,” said the spider machine. “I was once

one of these poor souls. Lost and terrified. I don’t belong here. I don’t

deserve Hell. I refused to cross the Bone Sea. Demons came with nets

and rounded us up like wild animals. When I awoke I was the foul thing

you see before you.”

“You must’ve gotten on someone’s bad side, then super-sized it,” said

Lulu.

“I can’t remember,” Cornelius said. “Kind souls, will you kill me and

free me from this endless torment?”

“I don’t think we can kill you, Cornelius,” said Shrike. “You’re already

dead.”

“Am I? It’s been such a long time. I don’t remember.”

“Cornelius, we need to get to Pandemonium. Can you help us?”

“I would if I could, dear lady. I’ve never been there or even seen the

place, but I hear it’s glorious. I’ve never been anywhere but this shore.”

Madness was edging back into his voice.

“That’s not true. You were a man,” said Spyder. “Don’t ever forget

that.”

“A man. Was I? How nice. Yes, I remember. I was a boy and we lived by

the sea. In Brighton. There were trains and gulls. It was lovely…” Circuits

fried. The spider machine lurched and Spyder felt the ground shake.

The demented, amplified voice was back. “Move along, you wandering

excrement, God’s pitiful blunders. Move along and despair!” Cornelius

moved back in the direction of the shore, hunting wandering souls.

His voice faded as he went, but its echo filled whatever space enclosed

them.

“I think it’s time to go,” said Lulu. She led Spyder and Shrike to the

edge of the stinking, clotted water and helped them into one of the elevated cars. Souls fell back as they went. Spyder felt their hands caress

him, as if looking for warmth. The car lurched into the air and carried

them over the Bone Sea.

“I seriously wonder if we’re gonna make it out of here,” said Lulu. No

one replied.

Forty-Five

piNk Boy

it seemed to Spyder that it was taking a long damned time for the little

cart to clatter and squeal its way over the Bone Sea.

“Talk to me, Lulu,” said Spyder. “Where are we?”

“’Bout halfway across,” she said.

“How’s that possible? We’ve been crossing for hours.”

“Daddy, are we there yet? Daddy, are we there yet?”

“We’re not in the world anymore,” said Shrike. “We can’t expect time

to run here the way it does at home.”

“This is an E-ticket freak show, I wanna tell you,” said Lulu. “You sightimpaired types are missing some severe shit, which you don’t need to

know about. Not if you ever want to eat again.”

“Tell us,” said Spyder.

“I’m just babbling ’cause I’m a little scared. You don’t need this stuff

in your heads. My guess is there’ll be plenty of monsters before this is

over.”

Spyder shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The

sheath for Apollyon’s knife kept jabbing him in the leg. When he tried

to stand, Lulu pulled him back down.

“There’s things on the wires. Like baboons with porcupine quills all

down their backs. The quills are matted together, like knives. They’re eating this green fungus growing on the wires. The bored ones are grabbing

souls from the other carts and dropping ’em into the sea. Oh Christ!”

Spyder nudged Lulu with his boot. “Hey, forget the stuff. Sing something.”

“Like what?”

Very quietly and not entirely in key, Spyder started to sing, “We’re

caught in a trap, I can’t walk out, because I love you too much, baby.” In

a moment, Lulu picked it up, “We can’t go on together with suspicious

minds…”

Butcher Bird —

Lulu said, “Praise Elvis. We made it.” A moment later, the bottom of

the cart dragged across a beach that crunched underfoot, like crushed

shells. They jumped out and landed safely on the ground, as the cart

continued its endless roundabout journey.

Lulu grabbed Spyder and pulled him and Shrike to their feet. “Let’s

move. We’re attracting a crowd. More of those hangin’ around dead

folks.”

Spyder didn’t need her to tell him. He could hear them coming, crunching lightly across the beach toward them. Their voices were like whispers

drifting through a long ventilation duct—flat, distant and insistent.

Spyder stumbled and went down on one knee, cutting his hands on the

sharp shells. Lulu and Shrike started to help him up, but other hands

were there, pulling him away, purring and cooing and desperate.

“Blood. He’s alive!”

“Please wizard, do me a service in Hell and I’ll tell you where to find

a great treasure back on earth…”

“Take my place in the Inferno and your heirs will rule a vast and

wealthy kingdom!”

“So pretty. The red. Life.”

“Save me, my lord. I am a virtuous woman…”

There were so many lost souls on this side of the Bone Sea, and they

were much more aggressive than the souls who’d refused to make the

crossing. None had much individual strength, but their combined desperation had Spyder pinned within their massed presence. It was like

being slowly crushed under a ton of feathers. Spyder felt his leather jacket

rip and his shirt come apart. The souls gasped and fell back.

“His skin marks…”

“L’homme peint…”

“A warrior…”

Their hands were on Spyder’s back, and running over his arms and face.

So many of them, he couldn’t breathe. They pulled his hair and clawed

at his cheeks. He tried to push them away, but it was like pushing at air.

Fingers slipped under his blindfold and into his eyes. The souls’ fingertips

glowed inside his eyeballs like eerie deep-sea creatures.

“Get back!” Spyder yelled.

The weight of the souls instantly left his body—but a second later a

hand swept across his face. Among the faint gasps and wails, Spyder heard

the distinct sound of laughter. He turned toward it and was shoved down

hard onto his back. The fall knocked the wind out of him and Spyder

0 — richard kadrey

slowly opened his eyes. It took his mind a few seconds to register that

the streaks of gray and white he saw weren’t ghostly fingers in his eyes

but the bone beach. When his eyes focused, the first thing he saw was

the dim, colorless souls crowded around him, then Hell’s rough, black

cavern walls. They seemed to go up forever.

“Back off!” Spyder screamed as he scrambled to his feet. He heard the

sound of laughter again and spun toward the sound, pulling Apollyon’s

blade from his belt. When the sound came again, Spyder swung the

blade at the nearest specter, a big man dressed in the leather and iron

of an ancient Roman soldier. The knife passed through the soul as if

through smoke, but the knife tore him as it went. The soul clutched at

the bloodless wound, trying to hold himself together. Too late. He split

apart completely, like fraying cloth, and vanished with a breathy sigh.

The remaining souls scattered down the beach.

Off to his left, Spyder saw Lulu, laid out on her back, her mouth open

in a kind of silent scream. A crowd of souls had her pinned to the ground

and seemed to be examining her wounded body. Dead fingers probed

her eye sockets and surgical scars. Spyder slashed through the crowd,

scattering terrified souls, and pulled Lulu up. She buried her face in his

chest, but didn’t make a sound. She just clung to him and shook.

Further down the beach, Shrike was holding another group of souls

at bay with her sword. She’d used her magic to cover the blade in fire,

but the gesture wasn’t really stopping the souls, just distracting them.

Spyder got Lulu to her feet and pulled her over to Shrike. Some of the

group must have seen him dispatch the other souls, because they ran

away as he got close.

“Shrike, it’s me,” Spyder called, and she lowered her blade.

“Lulu?” she asked.

“She’s here with me. She’s pretty shaken up.”

“How did you find me?” Shrike’s hands were up searching for him.

“You can see me?”

“Yeah.”

Shrike found Spyder’s face with her hands and felt for where the blindfold should be. When she didn’t find it, Shrike sagged against Spyder and

kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Damn,” she said.

“That pretty much covers it.”

“Ooo, a little group action. I like that,” came a hissing voice. “Or is this

some platonic expression of relief? What a bore. Lust is all that’s amusing

about talking meat. The faces you make and the all squishing sounds.”

Butcher Bird —

Spyder lunged with the Hell blade, jamming it under the chin of the

demon staring at them from atop a black obsidian boulder.

“Don’t hurt me with that thing!” it cried.

The creature was small, pink, bloated and naked. It had an oversized

semi-human head with tiny eyes and a slit that seemed to serve for both

a nose and mouth. Its hands and feet were so tiny that they appeared

useless, yet its nails were black, twisted and razor-sharp. The thing’s

cock was thicker than its arm and dragged along the ground like a third

leg. Into holes in its skull were set thirteen white candles, which never

seemed to blow out. Wax flowed down the thing’s head and face like

slow-motion tears.

“You know what this is?” asked Spyder.

“I’m not blind,” said the creature. “It’s the black blade, hungry for

death, even among the dead.”

Spyder pressed the knife harder into the thing’s throat. “Are you the

little prick who snatched my blindfold?”

“Why would I do that? You talking meat are vile enough as spirits.

Who wants you alive down here, eating and defecating and breathing

your foul stenches into the air?”

Spyder withdrew the knife, but kept it by his side. The creature clumsily

crawled onto its tiny feet.

“Who are you?” asked Shrike.

The creature proudly drew itself up to its full height of about four feet.

“I am Ashbliss, servant and valet to his Divine Abhorrence, the Lord of

Flies, Beelzebub.”

“Why were you spying on us?”

“This is my day off. I often come here to play about with lost souls.

They make funny noises.”

“Fuck off, pink boy,” said Spyder, “before I carve my initials in your

ass just to see what kind of funny noises you make.”

“You don’t want to do that. I’m here to help you,” said Ashbliss. “You’re

the Painted Man.”

“Who?”

“Modesty is such a bore. But I know about you, and you need my help.

You’re here for the book, aren’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“The same way I know who you are. You’re here because you have to

be. It’s all been foretold. You’re not the first champion to come this way.

You’re not the first talking meat to come for the book. This beach and

the roads of Hell are paved with the bones of the champions who came

— richard kadrey

before you.”

“How can you help us?” asked Shrike.

“I can take you to where you want to go. To the book.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I want a small favor in return,” Ashbliss said. “You’re brave

and you have the black knife, the blade that empties all vessels of life.

I want to be free of my master. True, his cruelty is boundless and his

depravity is deeper and darker than the chaotic void that lies between

Heaven and Hell.” Ashbliss looked at his feet over his round belly and

shrugged his tiny shoulders. “My problem is that I know all his terrors

and his tirades. He’s a bore.”

“So, you’re a demon, huh? How’s that working out for you?” asked

Lulu.

“I enjoy my work. I don’t enjoy my master. He’s—”

“A bore. We picked up on that,” said Spyder. “Everything bores you,

doesn’t it?”

“I’m hopelessly corrupt,” Ashbliss said, smiling. “It’s my nature.”

“Thanks for the offer, but we know the way,” said Shrike.

“So did they.” Ashbliss spread his little hands indicating the expanse

of bones at their feet. “And anyway, you’re lying. I, on the other hand,

know shortcuts. Secret paths. Passages that only a being such as myself

can navigate.”

“Truth is, I’d rather wander aimlessly than take the word of you and

your horse dick,” said Spyder.

“I understand. You’re proud and strong. You’re the Painted Man.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

The demon giggled. “I know your voices now,” Ashbliss said. “When

you need me—and you will need me—just call my name. I’ll hear you

anywhere in the underworld.”

“Don’t wait by the phone.”

“To show good faith, I’ll give you something for free.” He pointed at

two low hills in the distance. That path between the hills, were you going

to take it to enter the Plains of Dis beyond?”

“That was the plan,” Shrike lied.

“Yes, lots of lazybones try that route,” said Ashbliss gravely. “Do not,

under any circumstances, follow that impulse. Sulfur fumes rise from old

mine shafts and mix with the damp fog that drifts down from the cliffs

above. The air itself turns to acid. Even my kind shun the place. Go to

the southwest, near the old library in the Forest of Lies.”

“The Forest of Lies?” said Spyder.

Butcher Bird —

Ashbliss sighed, mumbling, “Fools,” under his breath. With a small

gesture, he pulled a pen and sheet of vellum out of the air. The demon

scratched away at the vellum for a few minutes and tossed it to Spyder.

“A map,” said the demon. “That information is free. The next will cost

you.” He bowed, dribbling wax onto the bone shards at his feet. “Feel free

to go back to your lust. I promise not to look. And enjoy your journey.”

With a jaunty wave, Ashbliss waddled away down the beach.

Forty-Six

the damNed aNd the geNtriFied

Spyder slipped on the remains of his jacket and followed the others.

They went along the route indicated on Ashbliss’ map. Every step

of the way, they crunched over the bones of other adventurers who had

come for the book, but none of them talked about this. Spyder and Lulu

led Shrike through tricky fields of loose rock. Looking after each other

gave them all something to do, and the contact was reassuring.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” said Shrike. “It wasn’t supposed

to go this way. You’re trapped down here, Spyder, and I don’t know how

to help you.”

“Then it’s best not to dwell on it,” he said. Shrike reached out for him,

but he walked on ahead, describing the scene to her.

“We’re going through a slit canyon. The light is grasshopper green.

There are strata of some pale orange and turquoise rock that glows like

glass lit from the inside. Along the top of the canyon are the ruins of

buildings. They’re pretty crude rock and clay shells. They may be some

of the first things the angels built when they landed here. No one’s used

them in a long, long time. The canyon walls are covered in sigils, the

magical symbol for each angel’s name. I recognize a few. Baal. Pillardoc.

Azazel. Salmiel. Beelzebub. Lucifer’s sigil is just ahead. It’s huge. The

size of a whole cliffside. That hellhound took a great big whizz to mark

his territory.”

When they reached the spot on the map indicating that they should

circumvent the Plains of Dis, Shrike stopped. It was on the wind: the

faint, but unmistakable rotten egg stench of sulfur. Spyder checked the

map and turned them to the southwest, as Ashbliss had advised. “This

way,” he said. They turned off the road and headed overland, through

thick, thorny bushes, following the demon’s map.

Soon, they came to the Forest of Lies, where things were seldom as

they first appeared. Paths turned to dust underfoot. A bare tree sprouted

Butcher Bird —

vicious thorns when Lulu leaned on it to remove a stone from her shoe.

The sickly, brooding birds that nested in the twisted branches murmured

to them trying to break their spirits.

“She cares nothing for you. She wants the book. The power. When she

has that, she’ll leave you like all the others.”

“You killed your father. With your treachery and lust, you took the

snake into your bed and set him loose in your home.”

“They still suspect you. They will abandon you here and return to the

world and laugh about your torment while they fuck.”

The deserted library in the Forest of Lies was an ancient wreck. Its doors

and windows were long gone and the pages of its books blew through

the woods like the ghosts of dead leaves. Spyder picked up the some of

the papers that wrapped around his legs and snagged overhead in the

trees. There were love notes, suicide notes, tax returns, forged money,

old treaties embossed with government seals, lottery tickets, doctored

photos, newspaper articles and religious texts.

They passed from the Forest of Lies into the Valley of Lost Desire. The

place was eternally shrouded in a thick fog and lovers wandered through

the gray desolation hearing each other’s calls, but never finding one another. Ash from a nearby volcano drifted down into the valley, making the

fog worse. It looked as if the volcano had erupted sometime in the recent

past. Hard-baked bodies lay strewn across the valley floor, like a museum

exhibit about the destruction of Pompeii. It wasn’t until Spyder tripped

over one of the heavily ashed corpses and heard a steady scraping from

inside that he realized that the crusted forms each contained a trapped

soul. Spyder tried cracking open a few, but the rocks he used always shattered without making so much as a crack in the stony prisons.

They passed from the Valley of Lost Desire into an overheated swamp

that on the map was marked only as Rage. Faceless souls chased and

savagely beat other souls in waist-high bogs of boiling blood. Once

each attack had been accomplished and the victim beaten senseless or

drowned, the victim and attacker would exchange roles and the whole

process would begin again. The souls didn’t seem to notice Spyder and

the others as they inched by on a narrow ledge. They were grateful to

make it out of Rage without incident.

They passed from Rage into the frozen Plains of Misery. The sullen,

suicidal and malicious, who took nothing from existence but pain and

who made others’ lives as empty and excruciating as their own, lay half

in ice, cursing and trying not to look at each other. As they went, Spyder

looked down and saw other souls completely submerged in ice, swal- — richard kadrey

lowed up by the diamond-blue glacier that inched back and forth across

the scarred open land.

They passed from the frozen Plains of Misery into the overgrown Fields

of Greed. Souls dug enormous golden thorn bushes from the rocky soil

with their bare, bleeding hands and tried to carry them away, only to

have the bushes stolen by other souls, driven mad by avarice.

When they tried to carry too many at once, souls ended up buried beneath piles of golden thorns. Others ripped their ghostly bodies to shreds

as they fought frantically for the bushes with other souls. A bleeding

woman fell at Lulu’s feet and when she tried to help the wounded soul,

the woman tried to bite Lulu. She clutched a small collection of golden

thorns to her breasts, cutting herself to the bone. “You keep away,” the

woman told Lulu. “These are mine.”

When they were finally through the Fields of Greed, the skyline of an

enormous city glistened in the distance. “Pandemonium,” said Spyder

who, despite himself, felt a little shuddering thrill inside as he spotted

the place. The city possessed a brutal but elegant beauty, as if the Manhattan skyline had been dropped into the city of the biggest oil refinery

in the world.

What puzzled Spyder, however, was the city that lay just beyond Pandemonium. Though the other city was farther away, it towered over Hell’s

greatest metropolis, dwarfing its tallest towers. The graceful mother-ofpearl domes and minarets of this other city shimmered in the light from

an artificial sun that was suspended by some magical force high over the

place. In the false but dazzling light, the buildings appeared to be trimmed

in gold and silver and inlaid with precious stones. Construction cranes

huddled silently at the edges of the bright city.

“That looks brand new,” said Spyder.

“Shit,” said Lulu. “Demon condos. Yuppies’ll even gentrify Hell.”

Forty-SeveN

miSS FuckiN’ maNNerS

according to the map, they were at a place called the Razor Pits of

Merry Vengeance.

Only there were no pits and no razors. Just a cracked alkali plain

whose surface had been scraped flat sometime in the not too distant

past. Mounds of crystallized mineral salts and dry soil dotted the plain

where they’d been left and never removed.

“Are you sure?” asked Spyder. “We’ve been off the path for a long time.

Maybe we’re lost.”

“I know exactly where we are,” said Shrike. “Things are just different.”

“So what?” said Lulu. “Shit changes. Those carts over the Bone Sea

weren’t always there, right? The devil’s building Barbie’s Dream Hell

House. Big deal. Pandemonium’s right over there and so’s the book. What

are we going to do about that?”

“Go and get it, I suppose,” said Spyder.

“Just walk in?” Lulu asked.

“We hadn’t really worked out a plan yet.” He sat down by one of the

alkali piles.

“No shit, Dr. No. And under a cloak of darkness isn’t going to cover

our asses ’cause this place is nothin’ but a cloak of darkness.”

“Shrike, what do you think?”

“We need to know what’s ahead of us. And I only trust that demon so

much. He could be leading us into a trap or a dead end just for his own

amusement.”

“Well, I don’t see a Chamber of Commerce to get a new map.”

“One of us is going to have to go into Pandemonium, take a look at

Lucifer’s palace and see if the book is really there.”

“I hate this plan.”

“If he has the book, it should be easy to find. Lucifer will probably have

— richard kadrey

it on display, a war trophy. Do you think there will be many guards?”

“How should I know?”

“You’re our Hell expert.”

“Let me tell you, this place isn’t exactly like the books said. But, I guess,

the psychology’s the same.”

“How does that help us?” asked Lulu.

“There’s this old story about Vlad the Impaler, this kill-crazy Romanian

prince. He’s the guy Dracula is based on,” Spyder said. “More than anything, this guy loved killing Turks, and he loved killing them by impaling

them on long wooden poles. He’d stake whole fields with thousands of

dead and dying Turkish POWs. Everyone was afraid of ole Vlad. A story

goes, that he left a golden goblet by a waterfall on the road to his city, a

place where travelers could get a cool drink on the long road. This goblet

was worth a lifetime’s wages for anyone in his kingdom. But people were

so afraid of this psycho that no one ever stole the goblet. They didn’t

want to end up like one of those Turks.”

“Thanks for taking us there, bro. But what the fuck does that mean?”

“Vlad left the goblet so people could get a drink. He also wanted to

prove what a badass he was.”

“There won’t be any guards at all,” said Shrike.

“That’s my guess,” said Spyder. “Lucifer knows no one has the balls to

steal from him. I bet the place is going to be wide open.”

“Who’s going to find out?” Lulu asked.

Before any of them could respond, there was a sound. Deep, ponderous

and rhythmic, like diesel engines the size of mountains driving wheels

the size of skyscrapers. Spyder climbed to the top of the alkali mound

and peered carefully over the top.

“What is it?” asked Shrike.

It was an army. At least, that was Spyder’s best guess. There were demons and damned souls marching onto the plain to Spyder’s right. They

were clad in armor. Or maybe not armor, he decided. Machinery? Parts

of the souls were definitely machine-like. In fact, some were variations

on the spider machine they’d seen back at the Bone Sea. Others were

Frankenstein patch jobs, trailing long umbilicals attached to still larger

machines driven by demons.

“Lulu, tell me you’ve still got your shotgun,” said Spyder.

“An armed society is a polite society and I’m Miss-fuckin’-Manners.”

“I take it we’ve been found out,” Shrike said.

“Found out, sold down the river and the river frozen over.”

“You’ve got the magic knife. Think what Shrike and I have’ll stop these

Butcher Bird —

demons?” asked Lulu.

“I doubt it. But if they’re going to snuff us, I want to send a few home

with bad dreams.”

“Wait a minute,” said Spyder. He shifted position on the mound.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” asked Lulu.

“Déjà-fucking-vu.”

“What?” asked Shrike.

“Remember that nightmare you had in the desert? The one we both

had? With the chariot?”

“Of course.”

“We’ve got the director’s cut about to go down right in front of us,”

Spyder said. He slid down the mound. “That Hell army isn’t for us. It’s

for your friend, Xero.”

“Did you see him?”

“I saw a gold chariot, leading a shitload of souls and demons from the

opposite side of the field. They were too far away to see any details.”

“My father,” said Shrike. “What was pulling the chariot?”

“Same as his army. Souls and demons.”

“One of those souls is my father.”

From across the plain, came a thundering war cry. Spyder and Lulu

crawled around the side of the mound.

“What’s happening?” asked Shrike.

Another mad shout.

“They’re just yelling and tossing shit at each other. Getting the troops

worked up.”

“The man in the chariot, what does he look like?”

“He’s wearing a helmet. I can’t see his face. But he’s tall and ballsy.

He’s shouting something at the Hell army and his boys look ready to

chew bullets.”

“Xero was a fine general. He fought beside his men. Even when he sent

them off to slaughter, they loved him.”

“I knew a pimp like that back in Houston,” said Lulu.

“Something’s happening,” Spyder said.

At some unseen signal, both armies surged forward. They slammed

together with the sound of a crashing jumbo jet. Xero drove his chariot

into the middle of the massacre, spearing demons and souls with an

enormous longbow that never seemed to lack for arrows. When shafts

hit his enemies, they didn’t just skewer them, but went clear through,

gutting one opponent, then taking out the one behind, as well.

0 — richard kadrey

Shrike charged around the mound, past Spyder. “Father!” she screamed.

“I’m here! It’s Alizarin!”

Spyder grabbed Shrike’s shoulder and pulled her back, as much to shut

her up as to comfort her.

“I can’t stay here. I have to fight,” said Shrike.

“No problem,” Spyder said. “As of now, we got both sides coming at

us.”

“Good,” said Shrike. She stood, brought up her sword and climbed to

the top of the mound.

“Xero Abrasax, the men you betrayed took your head,” she shouted,

“And I, Alizarin Katya Ryu, the woman you betrayed, is here to take it

again!”

“Tell ’im, girl,” shouted Lulu. She and Spyder both ran from the mound

as the few first few soldiers from Xero’s army reached them. Shrike was

already in the air, doing a perfect somersault and slashing the throats

of three demons as she landed. As Spyder slashed away with the black

knife, he saw that Shrike’s left arm was streaked with blood. She’d called

up some kind of magic before leaping into the fray. It must have been

heavy because her own blood splattered on the ground with the demons’

as she split them open with her sword.

Spyder slashed his way through the battle, picking up a fallen demon’s

shield to defend himself as he went. Souls came apart when cut by Apollyon’s blade, but demons seemed to be burned by it, their eyes popping

and their skin crisping as if heated from the inside. Lulu was pumping

her shotgun to Spyder’s right. It didn’t seem to kill the demons, but it

exploded heads, arms and torsos, leaving them nicely crippled.

Things suddenly went very quiet. Spyder lunged at a hyena-headed

demon, but slashed empty air when the thing backed away and knelt

down. Shrike and Lulu’s opponents mimicked the move. Spyder looked

around and saw a slave-drawn chariot rolling slowly toward them. Behind it, Xero’s men were mopping up the remnants of the Hell army,

most of whom were sprawled on the ground, slaughtered or twitching

like broken toys.

The chariot stopped a few yards from Shrike. “My eyes and ears did

not deceive me. It is you, Alizarin,” said the man in the golden helmet.

“What a charming surprise. Say hello to your father. He makes a fine

mule.” He reached down to a blank-eyed old man and petted his head

the way you might pet a dog.

“I’ll kill you, Xero,” Shrike said.

“You can’t, child. I’m already dead.” Xero pulled his helmet off. Spyder

Butcher Bird —

was surprised by what he saw. After all of Shrike’s vitriol and the terrible

dream they’d shared in the desert, he was expecting a brute. What he

saw was a refined and strangely handsome face. It was long, with a wide

forehead, bright eyes and the kind of nose his grandma would have called

“noble.” Xero’s smile was wide and toothy, giving him an elegantly feral

look. It was no mystery why a younger, more naïve Shrike would have

fallen hard for the man.

“I’ll burn your soul from existence,” she said.

“Lucifer said the same thing and he hasn’t managed it. What makes

you think you can?”

“I hate you more than the devil does.”

Xero laughed. “That, I believe,” he said. “I’ll make you a proposal. Stay

here with me in Hell and I’ll release your father from his curse. I’m going to win this war soon. I already control the outlands and am slowly

strangling Lucifer. When I take his throne, I’ll have more use for a bride

than a broken-back nag,” he said, pulling Shrike’s father’s matted hair.

“I trusted you once and it destroyed my world. I won’t trust you

again.”

“Please reconsider. For both your sakes. It’s a reasonable offer. When I

have to make the offer again, the terms will diminish and they’ll diminish

each time I ask you, until you agree.”

“I’ll cut my own throat first,” said Shrike.

“Perfect. Then you’ll end up right back here with me.”

Spyder saw it just before it happened. In Xero’s presence, Shrike was

still that furious, irrational, deeply wronged teenage girl. And she was

losing her shit completely, he thought. She shrieked and went right for

Xero, her sword up in killing position. Xero brought his bow up and fired

off a volley of arrows at her, but he didn’t really seem to be trying to kill

her. He was laughing the whole time. Shrike spun and parried, splitting

the arrows in the air. Spyder was already hacking his way through Xero’s

army when one of the arrows slashed Shrike’s right arm. But she kept

coming, even while Xero took aim right at her heart.

Spyder reached the chariot and lunged blindly, not knowing or caring

where he hit. He jammed the black blade into Xero’s right thigh. The

general groaned and backhanded Spyder off the chariot, harder than

any human had ever hit him before. Spyder blacked out for a moment,

but shook himself awake enough to see Xero pull out the knife as his

leg was cooked black. Apollyon’s blade even burned his hand. He tossed

it away, and his demon troops scattered from the knife as it fell. Spyder

scrambled to retrieve it and was almost run down by Xero as he shifted

— richard kadrey

his chariot to slip Shrike’s sword blow. Kicking his chariot forward, he

took off fast across the blood-and machine-oil-splattered plain. His

surviving troops followed behind on foot.

Spyder, still winded from Xero’s blow, staggered to where Shrike was

on her knees. When he touched her, she was softly crying, and pushed

Spyder away.

“I lost him,” she said between sobs. “My father was right here. I lost

him and it’s my fault.”

“Xero played you,” said Spyder. “You weren’t ready for him. You will

be next time.”

“I will,” she said. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to push you.”

“It’s all right.”

Lulu dropped down on the ground nearby, breathing hard. Seeing her,

Spyder had to laugh.

“I guess we can forget the element of surprise,” he said.

They were filthy, covered in sweat, demon blood and fluids Spyder

didn’t want to think about.

“It takes a big man to get down on his knees and beg,” said Lulu.

“It’s why us sissies carry knee pads. Ashbliss, can you hear me?”

The little demon was suddenly standing on a nearby alkali mound,

wringing his pudgy hands.

“You’re all so damp and exhausted. Am I too late for the rutting?”

Forty-eight

treacherouS aNd BoriNg

“okay, little man, let’s make a deal,” said Spyder.

“Lovely,” said Ashbliss. “You know my terms.”

“We’ll cut you loose from Beelzebub, but first we need the book,” said

Shrike.

“Nonsense. You have the knife. First my master, then your book.”

“We have the knife, but that might not be enough. To use the knife,

we have to get close to your master and that might not be possible. If we

have the book, we can use its magic to safely free you.”

“Or destroy me. I’m not sure I want to help you after all.”

“Ashbliss, don’t be that way,” said Spyder. “We’re not demons. We’re

human. If we make a bargain, we keep it.”

“Humans are the most treacherous animals in existence! Everyone

knows that!” Ashbliss shouted. “It’s not even fun going to Earth and

corrupting you because you’re all halfway there.”

“How can we prove to you that we intend to honor our bargain?”

asked Shrike.

“There is nothing you can say or do. I don’t trust you. Accept my

bargain as stated or I’ll be on my way. I’m sure other talking meat will

be along shortly, after your bones are used to fill potholes in the road

to Gehenna.”

“All right, you got me, you clever boots,” said Spyder. “We were messing with you, but you foxed us. We’ll do it your way. First the boss, then

the book.”

“Spyder, it’s too dangerous,” said Shrike.

“I’m open to suggestions. Xero knows we’re here. This runt knows

we’re here. Some of Lucifer’s demons high-tailed it out of here during

that fight, and they knew we’re here. We’ve got to do something and

we’ve got to do it now.”

“He’s right, Shrike,” said Lulu. “I know you’re the smart one and the

— richard kadrey

warrior and all, but we’re not gonna tunnel out of here with a spoon and

positive thinking. We need the book, however we can get it.”

Shrike was silent a moment. “I know,” she said. “Give me the knife. I

complicated things by losing my temper. I’ll kill Beelzebub.”

“You sure you’re up for this?” Spyder asked

Shrike nodded. “I told you I’d take care of you down here. I haven’t

done a very good job so far. Let me do this.”

Spyder pulled Apollyon’s knife from his waist and gave it to Shrike,

taking her hand for a moment after he handed her the blade. He looked

at Ashbliss. “We’re not going to hump. Don’t even ask.”

“Treacherous and boring,” muttered the demon.

A fireball streaked at them from across the plains, turning away from

them at the last possible moment. At the edge of the field, it turned and

circled back, scorching a circle once around the group, enclosing them in

a ring of fire. When the circle was complete, Spyder could see something

in the flames. A man stepping down from a chariot.

“I couldn’t leave you all without saying goodbye,” said Xero. Great

waves of heat cascaded off his body. He didn’t seem to be covered with

fire so much as made of it.

“Do you remember that I was the one who taught you your first magic,

Alizarin? But I gave you so little considering how much I got in return.

Your bed. Your kingdom. Your father’s soul. I even had that boy gutted.

Your old partner, Ozymand,” said Xero. Shrike held the black blade before her. Xero approached, but carefully stayed beyond her reach. “Your

friend there, the pretty fool, injured me when my back was turned. I

should be resting, but I needed you to know that even wounded, I’m

stronger than you.”

“I’m not afraid of you. And I’m no longer shocked,” said Shrike calmly.

“You don’t have any power over me.”

“You misunderstand. I’m not here to hurt you, girl. I’m here to give

you a gift. Once upon a time, I took your sight. Now I’m giving it back.”

Xero puckered his lips and blew across his hand, as one might blow a

kiss. A roiling fireball enveloped Shrike for a second. When it faded,

Xero was gone and Shrike was on the ground. Spyder ran to her and

saw, thankfully, that she was unburned by the magic flame. He and Lulu

propped Shrike up between them as Ashbliss peered from behind a pile

of demon corpses.

“Are you alive?” Ashbliss asked. “The bargain is off if you’re dead.”

“Shut up!” shouted Lulu.

Spyder was murmuring into Shrike’s ear and patting her cheek. “You’re

Butcher Bird —

all right. You’re all right. Wake up, Alizarin. Come back.”

She awoke with a start. Spyder felt her go rigid in his hands. She

screamed once and went very quiet.

“Can you hear me?” Spyder asked. “Are you all right?”

Shrike’s hands went to her face. She pulled off her shades and looked at

Spyder. The ruin of her eyes, the cracked-glass irises and spidery pupils

were gone. Her eyes were greenish gray, perfect and open wide.

“I can see,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” said Spyder.

“You’re sorry your woman can see?” said Ashbliss. “You mortals really

are bastards.”

“I’m sorry because now she’s stuck here in Hell forever, like me,” said

Spyder.

“I’ve already been stuck here for millions of years. Pardon me if I’m

not more sympathetic.”

“Can you shut it for a minute?” Lulu said.

“Fine,” said Ashbliss. “In fact, you seem less and less like the champions

I thought you were. I think I’m going to have to nullify our deal.”

Spyder snatched the black blade from Shrike’s hand and tackled Ashbliss, pinning the demon down with his legs.

“Are you mad?” Ashbliss cried. “My master will destroy you! Gigantic

scorpions will suck the marrow from your bones! Beelzebub will fill your

still-living carcass with molten lead!”

“No, he won’t,” said Spyder. “Because I’m going to kill him for you.

And then you’re going to take me to the book, just like we agreed.” With

the black blade, Spyder cut off one of the candles on Ashbliss’ scalp. The

little demon screamed piteously as black blood flowed from the waxy

stump. “If you don’t stick to our deal, I’m going to use this magic Ginsu

to cut off your arms and legs and make you my doormat. And that’s just

the warmup. I’ll devote the next million years to inventing brand new

ways of making your existence pure misery.”

“No!” cried Ashbliss.

“With the most treacherous animal in existence, you do not fuck. Got

me?”

“Yes! Yes!” screamed the demon.

“We’ve got a deal, right?”

Ashbliss nodded.

Spyder rolled off the demon and helped him to his feet. He held up

the candle he’d sliced from Ashbliss’ head and when the demon reached

for it, Spyder snatched it away.

— richard kadrey

“You can have this back in a minute,” he said.

Shrike was on her feet, but unsteady. She looked around Hell in childlike wonder.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything, I don’t even know how to

make sense of it all,” she told him. She took a step toward Spyder and

wobbled. “My balance feels funny. All the cues are wrong.”

“Sit down,” Spyder said. He and Lulu helped her to the ground, so she

wouldn’t fall. “Listen to me. I’m going to Pandemonium with Ashbliss.

I’m going to put his boss to sleep and then I’m going to go and find the

book.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Shrike said.

“You can’t do it. You can’t even walk,” he said. “Lulu can’t go. Cut up

like she is, she’ll attract too much attention. That leaves me.”

“I hate this plan,” Shrike said, and laid her head against Spyder’s chest.

He hugged Shrike, then Lulu.

“You come back safe or I’ll find your ghost down here and kick your

dumb, dead ass,” Lulu said.

“Take care of Shrike while I’m gone,” Spyder said.

“You got it.”

Spyder went back to Ashbliss and held out the demon’s candle to him.

Sullenly, Ashbliss took it, and with a great deal of groaning and swearing,

poured wax on the stump and stuck the candle back in place. The little

flame popped back to life.

“I really am going to keep our bargain,” Spyder said.

“You had better. Now, get down and roll in the dirt like the pig you

are.”

“What?”

“You’ll need a disguise to get into Pandemonium. You’re going as my

slave. Get down and dirty yourself, meat.”

Reluctantly, Spyder did as he was told. When he’d rolled in as much

filth as he thought necessary, Ashbliss took pains to inspect him, slapping more dirt onto Spyder’s face and especially his ass, “To give you an

authentic sex slave patina,” he said.

“We done?” Spyder asked.

“Nearly. Get on your knees.”

“Don’t get carried away with the sex slave fantasies.”

“I need to chain your neck.”

“Where’re you going to get a chain out here?”

“Right here,” said Ashbliss. He squatted down and his face turned a

deeper shade of red as he strained. A second later, a shockingly long

Butcher Bird —

length of silver chain slid from out of his round, pink ass.

“No goddam way.”

Ashbliss smiled. “If you want to call off our deal…”

“Put it on,” Spyder said, lowering his head.

As he and the demon started toward the city, Spyder heard Lulu singing

Aretha Franklin’s “Chain of Fools.”

Forty-NiNe

the gardeN oF earthLy deLightS

“So, are you any particular kind of demon?” asked Spyder.

“Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation. You’re a horny little bastard. I thought

maybe you were some kind of incubus or succubus or something.”

“Lust is just my hobby. I’m simply a demon.”

“Before you fell, were you any special kind of angel? Seraphim, cherubim, throne, archangel?”

Spyder and Ashbliss were stepping over the remains of demons and

damned souls as they crossed the carnage-strewn alkali plain. The place

stank, a combination of rotting flowers and scorched engine oil. Ashbliss

was leading Spyder by the chain wrapped around his neck.

“I was simply an angel,” said Ashbliss.

Spyder made a wounded sound. “Huh. That’s sort of bottom of the

barrel, isn’t it? What are there, like nine ranks of angels? And you’re all

the way down in the basement. Janitor of the universe.”

“We had to keep watch over the Earth. That’s how I learned what beasts

you talking meat really are.”

“Is that how you ended up like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your demon form. Looks like you were dragged behind the ugly truck

over rocky roads all the way down from Heaven. They wouldn’t have

pulled that on one of the heavy angel ranks, a seraphim or a throne,

would they?”

“I like my form.”

“Course. I mean, you’d have to. Not having any choice and all.”

“Hush,” said Ashbliss, and yanked the chain hard.

They came to a rough highway that curved gently into the distance

toward the city. Along both sides of the road were hundreds of crucifixes,

stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions. Men and women,

Butcher Bird —

their skins stripped off, were secured to the crosses with nails through

their wrists and wire around their chests. Their legs, which were free,

high-kicked in unison, like some zombie movie chorus line. As he got

closer, Spyder could see umbilicals running into their empty skulls. All

their mouths were propped open with pockmarked mesh screens and

tinny music flowed out. Polkas. African tribal dances. New Orleans jazz.

Techno, and a dozen other styles Spyder couldn’t identify.

“You opening a theme park or something?”

“You looking for a job for eternity?”

“Seriously, what’s with all the urban renewal? Why’d you fill in the razor

pits back there? And what the hell are you building over there?”

Spyder pointed into the distance at what looked like the boarded-up

mine shaft in the distance, but it was not like any earthly mine. The entrance went up for miles, and each wooden plank across its face could

have represented a whole forest. The metal beams that buttressed the

planks could each have been melted down and have provided enough

steel for a battleship.

“That was like that when we got here. They didn’t even bother finishing

Hell before they cast us down here. It’s very rude, I think,” said Ashbliss.

“As for the razor pits, they were fun, but never necessary. We had to clear

the land for the project.”

“Which project would that be?”

“The only project. The only one Lucifer and the other master demons

care about, at least.”

“And that is…?”

“Heaven,” said Ashbliss. “We’re building Heaven.”

“Interesting. I kind of thought there already was a Heaven. And they

kicked your sorry asses out.”

“That’s God’s Heaven. This one is for us.”

“I get it. God looks down and sees your new and improved Heaven

and slaps his forehead, realizing you fallen angels were right all along.

Then— bang! —you win the argument.”

“You’re not as stupid as most of your kind. But you make up for it by

talking to much.”

“Is that what that city is, beyond Pandemonium? Part of the new

Heaven? Is that what Hell really is, one big hardhat zone?”

“You tell me,” Ashbliss said. “Behold.”

When he was still a child, Spyder had found a book of his mother’s. It

was an art history text, left over from her brief attempt at community

college. She’d lasted less than a semester and bad-mouthed the curricu-00 — richard kadrey

lum, the teachers and the other students nonstop whenever the subject

came up. But even as a child it puzzled Spyder why she’d kept her school

books if they brought back such painful memories. It wasn’t until years

later that he realized that it was probably his father’s nagging that had

propelled his mother out of school. Spyder’s father considered all forms of

self-improvement, short of studying innovations in Detroit horsepower

and chasing strip-club tail, useless and, in all likelihood, un-Christian.

Spyder never understood why his mother had said that he was so much

like his father. He knew that they were nothing alike, and he’d hated her

for saying that. He hated his father just because.

The picture in his mother’s art history text that had captivated him as

a child was the Hell panel from Hieronymus Bosch’s triptych, The Gar-

den of Earthly Delights. It wasn’t the clever and artful ways the demons

tortured the damned souls that had fascinated Spyder. He’d studied the

top, the far background of the painting, where none of the sexy tortures

were happening. That section of the painting depicted a ruined, burnedout city, or a city that had been built along very different aesthetic lines

from a human city. The buildings and the sky above were black, as if

grimed under a permanent layer of soot. Shafts of lemon-colored light

shone from the windows of each building and sliced through the smoky

darkness, which only added to the feeling that this was ground zero for

some unknown holocaust.

All those memories and images came back to Spyder as Ashbliss led

him down the chorus-line road and into the enormous construction

site for Heaven 2.0.

The scale of the project was so vast, Spyder’s mind couldn’t take it all

in. Looking at the place was like being in a car accident—it came to him

as a series of still images flashing into his brain, but the whole of it was

beyond his comprehension. In the far distance entire mountain ranges

were being blasted away or gobbled up by machines whose steel jaws were

almost as large as the tops of the mountains themselves. A white sea of

activity surged around the giant machines and Spyder realized that this

ebbing and flowing tide was made up of millions of souls moving the

ore mined by the machines to the horrible open-pit foundry nearby.

Flames, miles high, rose from the foundry and molten steel flowed into

molds down dozens of chutes, each as wide and as deep as the biggest

river Spyder had ever seen.

There were workshops nearby where demons supervised souls in some

of the more delicate work needed for the structures: the polishing and

cutting of precious stones, the stripping of huge sheets of mother-of-Butcher Bird — 0

pearl from enormous shells, the goldleafing of delicate statuary. Outside

the workshops fortunes in diamonds, rubies and sapphires were piled,

along with amber boulders the size of a man.

Millions of tons of concrete sluiced into giant foundation holes from

thousands of storage tanks. At the bottom of the holes, souls were directing the lines that spewed the wet concrete evenly across the floor.

Souls too slow to move or too clumsy to escape slipped under the gray,

oozing mess like they were drowning in quicksand, and disappeared.

The skeletons of a thousand new buildings were being lifted into place

by massive claws and welded together by souls linked to other machines

through yet more umbilicals. The one constant Spyder could make out in

all the chaos was that the demons were the supervisors, while the damned

souls were the work-gang slaves. This knowledge was nailed down when

Spyder looked to the far side of the site and watched demons feed the

bodies of injured and unruly souls into huge presses that squeezed all

the fluids from them. The liquid was drained into tanks to be used as

lubricant for the construction machines.

Spyder’s heart was beating fast. His brain was on overload. This was

not the Hell in the books. A demon grabbed a soul sporting a mohawk,

kneeless black jeans and a safety-pinned T-shirt, some squirming, hardluck punk, and tossed him into the fluid press. A stray thought popped

into Spyder’s mind: Jenny, you would love this.

FiFty

hoLy Shit

Spyder and Ashbliss skirted the edge of the construction site and

entered Pandemonium by a side street in what appeared to be the

butchers’ quarter.

Heavy-muscled demons in stiff rubber aprons hacked, gutted and sliced

mystery meats in stinking shops on a dim boulevard whose gutters ran

black with blood as thick and dark as chocolate syrup. Wriggling tentacles

and the snouts and bellies of giant coal-colored hogs hung on rusty meat

hooks next to the egg-white entrails of horse-size beetles.

They rounded a corner and entered a wide public plaza. The place was

spotlessly clean and a pleasant scent of roses filled the air. Across the

boulevard was a great, domed crimson building. Below the large central

dome were a cluster of smaller domed outer buildings, with spiraling

white minarets at the cardinal points. The place reminded Spyder of

Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, though this structure was a dark and dismal

parody of the ancient church-turned-mosque.

“Is that the palace?” Spyder asked.

Ashbliss pulled him quickly through the plaza. “Of course. Keep your

head down. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, slave.”

“Let’s walk by the entrance and see if there are guards.”

“There aren’t. We’re going to my master’s home.”

“I don’t trust you. Five minutes isn’t going to kill you.”

“It will if one of Beelzebub’s other attendants sees us and asks questions.”

Spyder stopped in his tracks, but Ashbliss didn’t notice. When he

reached the end of the chain, he was jerked back and almost fell over.

The demon yanked Spyder with all his weight.

“Move, slave.”

“No.”

“We had a deal.”

0

Butcher Bird — 0

“Let’s walk by the palace.”

“Someone will see us!”

“They will if you keep arguing with a slave.”

“You selfish beast. You want to trick me!”

“No, this one usually keeps his word. Though, some women might

argue the point,” spoke another more familiar voice.

Spyder looked at a nearby bench, the apparent source of the voice, but

no one was there. Then, by his ear he heard, “Bring hither the fatted calf,

and let us eat, and be merry. The prodigal son is returned.”

“My lord!” cried Ashbliss, dropping onto his belly.

“Count? How did you get down here?”

Count Non smiled and clapped Spyder on the back. “Guess,” he said.

“You’re on the guest list?”

“I make the guest list, little brother.”

Spyder looked at Count Non and in his eyes he saw unfathomable

expanses of time. A heart wounded more desperately than Spyder had

ever imagined was possible. A pit of reckless and brilliant fury. Desolation and pride—these most of all. They seemed to unfold from Count

Non like a pair of dark wings.

“Holy shit,” Spyder said.

“That was once my name in a dead Sumerian dialect.”

“You’re Lucifer.”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

Lucifer went to Ashbliss and prodded him with his boot. “Up, you rosy

turd. I know what you wanted from this mortal, and you can’t have it.

Normally, I wouldn’t care about your second-rate treacheries, but we’re

at war and I need my loyal generals on their feet, not buried under

quicklime in the garden. Understand?”

Ashbliss got to his feet, but stared down at the black and white pavement

slabs that formed a checkerboard pattern in the square. “I understand,

my lord. Have mercy on me.”

“Mercy? You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Cut the little creep some slack,” said Spyder. “He’s supposed to be

sneaky. He’s a demon for Christ sake. Oh. Is it okay to say that down

here?”

“Do you hear that?” Lucifer asked Ashbliss. “This mortal, whom you

were about to betray and murder, is pleading for your life. It will be a

long time before you see such grace down here again.”

“Kill me? We had a deal.”

“No, you had a lie,” said Lucifer. “This little wretch doesn’t work for

0 — richard kadrey

Beelzebub. Do you, turd?”

“No, my lord.”

“Ashbliss here is a freelance thug. Someone has paid him to dispose

of one of my better commanders. Possibly our friend, Xero. Little Ashbliss was going to trick you into doing the dirty work for him and then

eliminate you.”

“Is that true?” Spyder asked.

Ashbliss wrung his hands.

“Fuck him,” said Spyder. “Drag him back to the butchers’ quarter and

let them hang him up on a hook.”

“I can’t refuse a guest,” Lucifer told the demon.

Ashbliss burst into tears. His candles flickered out, one by one.

“Hell, I’m just blowing off steam. Can’t you just lock him up or something?” asked Spyder. Then to Ashbliss. “You’ll tell this man everything

he wants to know, won’t you, asshole?”

Ashbliss looked up with red-rimmed eyes, not sure what to do. He

lunged and grabbed Spyder’s hand, planting kisses on it with his thin

membranous lips. “I will! I will! Thank you!” His candles flickered back

to life.

Spyder looked at Lucifer. “Can you make the doggie stop humping

me?”

“Come here, wretch.”

Ashbliss went and stood before Lucifer.

“You’ll begin your rehabilitation by going back to where you left my

friend’s companions and bringing them to my palace. Go quickly, before

you ruin my good mood.”

Bowing once, then twice, Ashbliss took off across the plaza as fast as

his stumpy legs would carry him.

“Run, Forrest, run!” shouted Spyder.

Lucifer grabbed Spyder in a quick embrace. He was dressed in a striped

black-and-gold hakama, the familiar chainmail over this bare chest,

and a short jacket of some shiny material—vinyl or rubber. His head

was shaved, and from his mid-scalp down the back of his neck, his pale

skin was covered with black tattoos, intricate lettering in what Spyder

remembered from Jenny’s books was a kind of Angelic Script related

to the Coptic alphabet. Even in Hell, Lucifer carried deep scars in his

handsome face.

“It’s good to see you, little brother.”

“You know, my father was Baptist and my mother was Lutheran and

sometimes I ended up going to both churches on the same Sunday, so I

Butcher Bird — 0

shouldn’t be happy to see you,” said Spyder. “But I am.”

“Being able to embrace contradictions is a sign of intelligence.”

“Or insanity.”

“That’s what the archangel Gabriel once said to me. Just before I cut

off his head.”

“Damn.”

“I didn’t have a choice. He would have cut off mine, if I’d given him

the chance. I haven’t thought about that in a long time. You know, that

was the incident that triggered the war.”

“In Heaven?”

“None other. You don’t really think we’re here because of the nice

views?” Lucifer put out his right arm and wrapped Spyder’s left arm

around it. “We can catch up while I show you around my little kingdom.”

FiFty-oNe

oFF the radar

“you son-of-a-bitch. We thought you were dead,” said Spyder.

“I was,” Lucifer said. “That body was as dead as dead could be.

I just ended up back here.”

“You wanted us here all along, didn’t you? You manipulated this whole

thing just to get us here. Why?”

“Xero Abrasax. He came here with some very impressive magic. Enough

to rally an army and challenge me. I needed a champion. A mortal to kill

a mortal soul. Shrike can kill him. He doesn’t show it, but he’s afraid of

her. There’s something in the book she can use against him.”

They passed a golden temple, like an Aztec step-pyramid. In front

was a kind of sculpture on a tall bronze base. A heavy cloth twisted languorously on top, looping and folding over itself, as if it was spinning

slowly in water. The material changed colors as it moved, revealing eye

and mouth holes. Spyder realized that it wasn’t cloth, but human skins

sewn together.

“Even if I believed that, all the shit you put us through, dragging our

asses through the desert and across Hell, why do that if you wanted us

here all along?”

“The universe has rules for these things. I needed Shrike here. I knew

she needed a partner that could help her get here, but would have no

personal desire for the book. Besides, do you think you would have come

if I’d just popped into your tattoo shop one night around closing and

said, ‘Hello, I’m the Prince of Darkness. Think you could help me out

with a little war next Tuesday, say, sixish?’”

“You had that demon attack me in the alley!”

“I just pointed out to the Bitru that you were carrying its mark.”

“I’m suddenly remembering Sunday school. You’re the Prince of

Lies.”

“First, don’t try to quote chapter and verse to me, little brother. I know

0

Butcher Bird — 0

every holy book ever written. I even penned a few of them. Second, the

‘Prince of Lies’ is Ahriman, the Zoroastrian lord of darkness and brother

to Ahura Mazda, the lord of light. Not that I ever met either one, but

I’m sure they were lovely chaps. No, before you try telling me how the

world is and who I am, remember what Samuel Butler, a mortal, once

said: ‘It must be remembered that we’ve only heard one side of the case.

God has written all the books.’”

“You’re just a victim of bad publicity?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lucifer asked. “I was the loyal opposition in Heaven.

I tested Job and plenty of others, all with Yahweh’s blessing. In the early

days, mortal faith and free will were new concepts. That’s where the

conflict began. God gave you free will, but we angels were expected to

bow and scrape. I couldn’t accept that.”

“You were going to steal God’s throne.”

“I bet you believe everything Republicans say about Democrats. The

archangel Michael accused me of wanting to sit in the throne of Heaven,

but I didn’t want to be God. I didn’t want to be God’s lap dog, either.”

“You’ve got some serious daddy issues, mister.”

The devil smiled. “Pride, too. The books got that right, at least.”

“So, you’re building Heaven to prove God wrong.”

“Something like that. Heaven with free will.”

“And not to set yourself up as a new God?”

Lucifer stopped walking and pointed with his free hand. “That’s my palace over there. I don’t need to remind anyone down here who’s in charge.

I’m not deluded enough to see myself as God. Over all, the first one did

an impressive job creating the universe. It’s the details I dispute.”

“What’s that quote? I’ve heard it a couple of ways, ‘God is in the details…’”

“Also, ‘the devil is in the details.’ Yes, I’m aware of it. I don’t know which

version is more insulting.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re just down here having this family

squabble with God for the last few million or few thousand years… I

don’t get how time works here.”

“Don’t try. You’ll just hurt your brain.”

“Cool. And you just want to show God that free will for your kind is

hot biscuits and gravy. Then why fuck with us mortals? What’s with all

the temptation and corruption?”

“Who said that was me? Oh yes, everyone.” Lucifer released Spyder’s

arm and they sat on a stone bench on the edge of the square. “I have

to take some responsibility for that. Millions of angels came with me

0 — richard kadrey

when Father threw me out and changed the locks. I had to give them

something to do.”

“All those monks and nuns, Jesus in the desert, all the visions of all

those righteous types, none of that was you?”

“I’ll admit that I’ve had my hand in a tempting manifestation or two.

I was an angry young man, lashing out at all God had created. But like

you, little brother, I couldn’t help growing up a little.”

Demons walked by them through the plaza, glancing furtively at the

talking meat chatting with the ruler of Hell. Tall, bile-colored women

with snakes for hair and dressed in high-collared latex robes whispered

to each other as they passed. Graceful, loping things, like mechanical

praying mantises, craned a stalk eye or two at the conversation. A flock

of living skeletons, human from the waist up, but birdlike from the waist

down, stopped and stared at the men on the bench. The skeletons moved

as a group, like pigeons, chittering down one of the side streets.

“What about all those souls remodeling your den? What about the

ones being tortured down here?”

“Do you think I invited them here? We’ve been Heaven’s cesspit since

time began. I’m just making use of the freeloaders. The tortures are just

day-work for my less intelligent brethren. And truthfully, some souls are

useless, not even fit for manual labor.”

“I’m having a hard time with this poor, poor, pitiful me line, Count.

Lucifer. What should I call you?”

“Anything you want, just don’t call me late for dinner,” Lucifer said.

He looked Spyder in the eye. “The truth will set you free. But it might

also hurt your feelings: You see, humanity isn’t even on my radar. My

quarrel is with Heaven, not you.”

Spyder looked at Lucifer’s palace, thinking over everything he’d seen

and heard. “You’re my friend. At least Count Non was. I don’t really know

what to believe right now.”

“Admit it. You want me to be a monster. Humanity has to find someone

to blame for its crimes. The problem is that you never really believed

Copernicus. You still think you’re the center of the universe and that all

creation revolves around you.”

“You’ve been practicing this speech for a while, haven’t you?”

“I’ll give you an another example. The snake in the Garden of

Eden?”

“Yeah?”

“It was just a snake. Humanity’s first real decision was to defy God. So

was mine. That’s the reason I make you uncomfortable. We’re so much

Butcher Bird — 0

alike.” Lucifer leaned closer, speaking quietly. “In Heaven, my title was

‘The Tester’. I tempted and tormented mortals to test their faith, all with

God’s blessing. Job, for instance. It’s a hard habit to break. But I always

worked on the little things. Lust. Jealousy. Greed. Humanity didn’t need

any help with the big sins. It was you who ate the apple and fell from

grace. It was you when Carthage was raped and burned and the earth

salted. It was you at Hiroshima and Wounded Knee and Auschwitz and

at every lynching of every hapless sharecropper who dared to meet the

eyes of a white woman.”

“You must really hate us. If we didn’t exist, you’d still be in Heaven.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re children, and children don’t know any better.

If it hadn’t been you, something else would have set off my troubles with

God.” Lucifer shrugged. “Fathers and sons.”

“Did you have anything to do with taking my blindfold off?”

“Why would I do that? I don’t like many mortals and the few I do care

for should be off living their lives, not going mad down here. You were

trapped by something else. There’s a black cloud around you that I can’t

see through, which means I can’t help you. But you’re going to have to

deal with it sooner or later.”

“Who’s the Painted Man?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “The boogey man for demons. The Painted Man

is the monster in the closet. Dr. Moriarty. Kayser Soze. He’s supposedly

a creature of pure chaos, neither God nor angel nor demon, who one

day will come to destroy us. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I heard a demon mention him.”

“That’s all? And you called me the Prince of Lies.” Lucifer stretched

and stuck out his long legs. “Don’t trouble your handsome young head,

Spyder Lee, you’re not the Painted Man.”

“Is Xero?”

“No, but he thinks he is and that makes him dangerous.”

“How do you know he’s not?”

“If he were I would have smelled him coming. I’d have tasted him. I’d

have heard every beat of his heart. If the Painted Man ever sets foot in

Hell, I’ll know it.”

Spyder looked down and saw a half-smoked cigarette lying at his feet.

He picked up the butt and smoothed it straight. “Got a light?” he asked.

Lucifer handed him a pink fur lighter.

“This is Lulu’s,” said Spyder.

“She dropped it by the Bone Sea. I was going to return it the next time

I saw her.”

0 — richard kadrey

Spyder lit the butt and dropped the lighter into his jacket pocket. It

felt good to pull the smoke into his lungs.

“What’s the deal with all the Satanic losers back home? Do you like

them? Do they drive you crazy? What about Anton LaVey?”

“I love Anton LaVey. I love all carnies. God can have the meek. I’ll take

the grifters.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything. I’ll give you that, Count.”

“We all have to live with ourselves, especially here. I’ll tell you something, because I think you’ll understand: I know that our Heaven is quite

probably a pointless and futile thing, but we’ll build it anyway, because

it’s all the Heaven we’re ever likely to have.”

Across the plaza, Ashbliss came with Lulu and Shrike. The men rose as

they got closer. Both Lulu and Shrike went right to the man they knew

as Count Non and hugged him.

Spyder said, “Ladies, let me introduce you to the man in black, his

infernal badness, Lucifer.”

Shrike and Lulu looked at the fallen angel. Shrike took Spyder’s hand.

Lulu smiled. “Count Non, you tricky fuck. I knew there was something

about you. Not many men can make me question my preferences.”

Lucifer looked at Ashbliss. “I’ll talk to you later, dung beetle. Vanish.”

He snapped his fingers and the little demon was gone.

“Here,” said Spyder, and handed Lulu back her lighter.

“Where’d you find it?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“What happens now?” asked Shrike.

“Under other circumstances I’d probably throw a party. Given the

current unpleasantness, I’ll just take you to the book.”

“Just like that?”

“Unless you’d like to wait around for Xero to attack again.” Lucifer

nodded to the hills beyond the golden step-pyramid. Men and demons

were massing along the ridge.

Lucifer turned to Shrike. “By the way, it’s nice to finally see your eyes.

They’re lovely.”

“Thank you. It’s good to see you, but a little strange, too.”

“I get that a lot.”

Lucifer started across the square to his palace as the others followed.

Spyder looked over his shoulder and saw Xero’s troops starting down

the hill for Pandemonium.

FiFty-two

waitiNg For the eNd oF the worLd

the entrance to Lucifer’s palace was covered in flowers.

Bloody roses snaked on unnaturally long stalks around the main

entrance, a wide portico that let onto an immense reception hall. Inside,

clusters of white lilies and fleshy pink and tiger-striped orchids joined

the roses. The white marble floor was covered with a rich, purple carpet,

trimmed in gold. On one wall were exquisitely detailed anatomy charts

of humans, demons and every kind of animals Spyder had ever seen. On

the opposite wall hung a huge tapestry, a rendering of William Blake’s

Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. Along the back

wall was what Spyder took to be Lucifer’s trophy gallery.

Victorian-style curiosity cabinets were laid out neatly around the gently

curved walls. The first cabinet held a kind of black knotted lump floating

in air behind leaded glass. The little plaque at the bottom of the case read:

John the Baptist’s Heart. Next to it was a set of battle armor, blackened,

the metal ripped and melted by some monstrous blast. “That’s mine.

From the old days,” Lucifer told Spyder. Nearby was a silver trumpet.

“Gabriel’s. I nicked it on the way out the door.” The next cabinet held a

crown of thorns. “No explanation needed there, I suppose.” Rare plants

and animals were lying in bell jars and pinned in display cases. They

were all alive, but trapped. Two cases side-by-side held an assortment

of Fabergé eggs and different kinds of puzzle boxes. Lucifer shrugged

and said, “I just like them.” Another glass case contained a kind of black,

swirling nothingness that seemed to suck light into itself. It was labeled,

Chaos. At the end of the row was a cage and in it lay the book. It was

as tall as Spyder and the covers were riveted plates of solid steel, with

runes etched into the surface. When Spyder saw it, he thought, This is

not a human’s book.

“I feel sick,” said Shrike. She clutched her chest.

“Is it the key?” Spyder asked. “We’re near the book. It’s probably try

— richard kadrey

ing to get out.”

“I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right.” She took deep, painful

breaths.

Behind the cage that housed the book, the flowers began to die. The

wave of death spread around the room. The flowers all turned black,

shedding their petals before falling to the floor in dry heaps. Spyder’s

gaze followed the trail of rot around the room. The trail of dying flowers ended at a long staircase where Xero stood, with Shrike’s father at

his feet. Xero kicked the old man and he rolled down the stone steps,

landing in a heap at the bottom.

“Father!” screamed Shrike, and she stumbled to him. Spyder and the

others followed, Spyder with the black blade out and Lulu with her

shotgun pointed at Xero. As Shrike reached her father, demons dropped

down from the ceiling and dragged her up the stairs. Spyder started after

them, but Lucifer grabbed his shoulder and held him.

“Don’t move,” Lucifer said. Spyder turned and watched as Xero’s

troops quietly streamed in through the front entrance, filling the front

of the hall.

“‘And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a

bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering,

and to conquer,’” Lucifer said to Xero. “You have more gall than brains

coming into my capital, and especially my home.”

“You have a million idle threats, angel. What you don’t seem to have

is an army.”

“You aren’t looking hard enough.”

Lucifer closed his eyes. The Blake tapestry on the wall exploded into

light and demons poured from it, armed with barbed spears and vicious

swords. The opposing troops snarled and growled, showing each other

their teeth, beating their weapons against their shields. Neither side attacked, but waited for a signal from their masters.

“Get the key!” shouted Xero. One of the demons holding Shrike pulled

a knife from his belt and cut into Shrike’s chest. She screamed. Lucifer

pulled Spyder back from the stairs before he could do anything.

“Lulu!” Spyder screamed. She opened up at the demons with the

four-ten. They fell back as the shots tore up the stairs around them. One

demon collapsed with a shot in the chest, and another went down with

a head wound. The other demons scrambled up the stairs to cower at

Xero’s feet.

Lucifer pulled both Spyder and Lulu back across the room to the curiosity cabinets. Spyder shook himself free.

Butcher Bird —

“I thought you were a warrior. What’s wrong with you?” he yelled.

Lucifer spoke evenly. “Timing is everything. Never let your temper lead

you. Both of you, stay here.”

Lucifer went to the center of the room, between the two snarling

armies, and looked up at Xero. He looked relaxed. Even happy, thought

Spyder.

“You’ve done very well for yourself,” Lucifer said. “You’re not the first

to ever challenge my position, but you’re the first to get this far.”

“Save your congratulations. I’m not done yet.”

“Why should you be? You’ve come so far with so little. We’re alike in

that. When we angels first came to this place, there was nothing. Now

look at all we’ve built. You were just another lost soul when you arrived

and look at what you’ve accomplished. I admire that. I don’t like to annihilate talent. How would you like your own principality? You’ve killed

off a few of my less competent generals. Would you like their lands for

yourself and your men?”

Xero grinned a wolf ’s grin. “No thank you. I think I’ll take everything.”

“You won’t,” said Lucifer.

Xero kicked the demons cowering at his feet. “Go back and get the

key!” Reluctantly, the demons crawled down the stairs to Shrike. She lay

quietly, her hand over her bloody wound, watching Lucifer. Spyder tried

to catch her eye, but she looked as if she were in shock.

“You won’t take my kingdom because you aren’t equipped to. Winning

a few battles is nothing. Even taking this palace is a pointless gesture.”

“Then why don’t you just surrender it and leave?” said Xero, and his

troops laughed.

“You’re a good tactician—for a mortal. And that will be your downfall.

Your wars last weeks, months, perhaps a few years. It’s easy to plan, to

keep your armies together, to believe in yourself. But how long can you

do it, mortal? The last war I fought lasted ten thousand years.”

“And you lost.”

“That was to God. Do you think you’re God, little man?” said Lucifer. “I

can wait, you see. You can win a thousand victories and I can wait. Time

itself can burn out and the universe can collapse in on itself, and I can

still wait. And in the last second at the last moment of existence, when

even gods and angels must perish, I will find you and slit your throat.

And the last thing you’ll see before the nothingness takes you will be my

face smiling in victory.”

Shrike saw the demons coming down the stairs for her. She screamed.

— richard kadrey

When they tried to grab her, she hacked them with her sword, but she

was too badly injured to crawl away.

“What a silver tongue you have. But none of it will happen if I kill

you first,” said Xero. He raised his arms and waves of black lightning

blasted down at Lucifer, along the way vaporizing the demons he’d sent

for Shrike, just as one triumphantly held up the key he’d pried from her

side. The key went skittering across the floor, leaving a tracery of blood,

and came to rest at Lucifer’s feet. Lucifer placed his right foot on top of

the key. Xero bellowed in anger.

Shrike ducked and pressed herself beneath the bolts. Lucifer didn’t

move. He appeared to know when something was coming and simply

raised his right hand, letting the lightning flow into him and out his

left hand, right back at Xero. The stairs exploded around the general,

but he kept throwing the bolts, pushing Lucifer back, only to be pushed

back himself.

It was too much, Spyder thought. Xero couldn’t be bribed. Maybe

Lucifer could wait for the end of time, but Shrike couldn’t.

Spyder grabbed Lulu and pulled her over to the book. “Help me,” he

said.

“How?”

“We’re going to push the book into that case of chaos. Let it swallow

the damned thing. Maybe we’ll die, too, but we’ll take these demonic

fucks with us.”

In the center of the room, Lucifer and Xero’s battle continued. Shrike

slowly, painfully, crawled down the stairs toward her father. The two

armies shrieked, growing more agitated by the second. When their taunts

and roars reached a mad pitch, someone threw an axe. That’s all it took,

both armies rushed each other with weapons, claws and teeth.

Lulu came around to Spyder’s side of the book cage and pressed her

back against it. Spyder grabbed the bars and put his shoulder into them.

He felt a funny click and stepped back. The front of the cage fell open.

The battle quieted, then stopped all together. The demons stared at

Spyder, as did Xero and Lucifer. Shrike lay by her father and looked at

him, dazed.

“He has the key!” screamed Xero.

“No, he doesn’t, you idiot,” snapped Lucifer. He looked at Spyder. “You

haven’t been holding out on me, have you, little brother? No secret sainthood or magic in your past?”

Spyder shrugged, shook his head.

“That cage doesn’t pop open for just anyone.”

Butcher Bird —

“Get the book!” screamed Xero to his troops.

“It’s not yours?” came a quiet voice by the portico. “The book belongs

to us.”

Spyder turned too look, but he already knew what was there. The Black

Clerks, ledger in hand, were walking into the palace straight through the

demon armies. The demons fell back, afraid to touch them. Only Lucifer

stood in the Clerks’ way. For the first time, he seemed truly enraged.

“Out of my kingdom, crawling filth!” he screamed.

The head Clerk stepped forward. He cocked his head to one side. Then

he raised a finger. Lucifer was thrown, loose-limbed and helpless, across

the room. He landed hard on the stairs above Shrike, stone splintering

as he crashed on the marble.

The Clerks turned to Spyder. “Come to us?” the head Clerk told him.

“Fuck you,” Spyder said.

The Clerk flicked a finger. The scar Spyder had received earlier from

the Clerks began to burn. His vision clouded. He saw things. He saw

himself through their eyes. He saw himself looking at himself looking

back at himself in infinite regression.

“Not dead yet?” the Clerk said.

“Shit,” said Spyder, sorting through the pictures in his head. Dizzy, he

grabbed Lulu. “It wasn’t you they were looking through,” he said. “In the

desert. It was me. I helped them follow us the whole way.”

“Strong,” said one of the other Clerks.

“What do you want with the book?” asked Spyder.

“It’s ours,” said the head Clerk.

“I don’t believe you.” Spyder leaned on the book for support.

“No matter,” said the head Clerk, and in a fraction of a second, he’d

pulled the little knife from his belt and flung it into Spyder’s chest.

“Spyder!” screamed Shrike.

He fell back against the cage. The Clerks walked silently toward him.

Trying to stand, Spyder grabbed the book with his bloody hands.

“That’s not permitted,” said the Clerk.

An icy white shock ripped through Spyder’s body and he fell to the

floor.

FiFty-three

threNody

t he long-extinct scorpion people of Anu sang songs for their dead. Each

song was designed to teach a new spirit some skill or valuable lesson

for the Afterlife.

Of all the Anu songs set down on tablets and scrolls, only a handful were

for those on their way to Heaven. The vast majority of the songs were for

those on their way to Hell.

A translated excerpt:

To whom shall I cry to as I go into the depths?

My God who, if she should appear, would destroy me

With her terrible beauty?

God’s Enemy, who would consume me in his resplendent terror?

At the bare edge of the abyss, beauty and terror are less than

A burning step apart, each worthy of worship, graced, pure, demanding.

God burns us. The Enemy burns us.

They will light my way through the long dark

And fire me in a sublime pyre, until I am only ash.

Only ash, I enter the abyss to behold

My shadow

My sins

My world laid bare

Surrounded by souls, dust and ash, I go alone.

Dust and ash, I know that we all venture alone, but that we all venture.

And it is only dust and ash that passes through the abyss,

Only dust and ash.

The sublimely consumed. The radiantly destroyed.

Only dust and ash passes through.

FiFty-Four

more thaN heaveN

he was falling for a very long time. Hours. Years. Eons. He was in the

book. He was the book.

Stars twinkled in and out of existence. Dust became planets and cooled

into mountains, then became dust again. Life appeared, flourished and

died. He felt the immense emptiness of an entire universe devoid of any

living, thinking thing. The universe died soon after. He absorbed its

passing into every atom of his body.

He saw, felt and tasted nothingness, or as much of nothingness as his

mortal mind could fathom. But even in nothingness was life. It passed

through him and moved on, immense beyond belief. So large, it didn’t

notice his microscopic presence. He was at the end of time and the beginning. Some immense wheel was turning somewhere. Existence was

done, but not over. Life was too powerful for that. It was beyond time or

space or god or death. He couldn’t quite get hold of it. The image of life,

the idea was too big for his flea-size brain, but he caught a glimpse, as he

floated high, so high above the universe (Is this Heaven? Or something

more?) that he could look down and see it all laid out below him—clusters

of galaxies like strands of pearls. But stars were things. And what he’d

glimpsed wasn’t a thing, but a force. Something he couldn’t quite grasp,

like light shining through a prism. He could put his hand into it, touch

it, but never really hold it.

It was beautiful and sad where he was. So lonely. He was the oldest living thing in the universe. Or was with it. Or it passed through him, like

air moving in and out of his lungs, leaving a little of itself behind—just

a few molecules. Each molecule grew into pictures and words. The pictures and words flowed together to form a structure. It had doors and

windows and a seemingly endless number of rooms. It was a cathedral. A

memory cathedral, the kind monks used to memorize whole sections of

the Bible. Spyder had read about them in Jenny’s books. But the rooms

— richard kadrey

in this cathedral were filled with something else. Some immensely older

knowledge. Each image he touched, each word he mouthed filled him

with power and dread. For a long time, he thought he was dead. Then

he tripped over an uneven door frame. He caught himself before he fell,

but tore the palm of his hand on the frame. His blood dripped onto the

floor of the cathedral. This body is alive, he thought. I’m alive.

I’m alive.

And then he was falling again.

FiFty-Five

taBLe ScrapS

He awoke on the floor of Lucifer’s palace. Someone was standing over

him. His eyes fluttered fully open and he recognized a woman’s face.

Tears were flowing from her empty sockets.

A name floated by and he said, “Lulu.” She reached down and pulled

the knife from his chest. He groaned.

“Alive?” said one of the Clerks.

“He is surprising,” said the head Clerk.

Spyder leaned shakily against the cage that housed the book. Lulu

spun on her heels and blasted the Black Clerks with round after round

from the four-ten.

“Don’t,” said Spyder, reaching for her.

Each of Lulu’s shots hit, but it was like shooting at scarecrows. The

rounds went through the Clerks, as if there was nothing but straw to

absorb the blasts.

The head Clerk snatched the shotgun from Lulu’s hands and tossed it

across the hall. “Your debt is past due. We will collect now. Your heart,

I think?” he said.

“No,” said Spyder. He got to his feet and stretched. “Damn. Sometimes

dying is like a week in Vegas.”

“Perhaps your head was hurt in your fall?” said the head Clerk. “We

move from Earth to Heaven to Hell. Nowhere is closed to us. We swallow life and spit out creation. And you say we will not take this child’s

tiny life?”

Spyder went and stood close to the head Clerk, close enough to smell

the rot in his borrowed flesh. “I know what you are. You aren’t gods. You

aren’t even demons. Come on out of the closet, boys.”

“We don’t believe you.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean dingo’s balls. You’re hollow. Puppets.

I don’t even think you’re really alive.”

0 — richard kadrey

“Are you mad? I think so.”

“Don’t pay attention to the man behind the curtain, that’s the best you

can come up with? It didn’t work on the girl in the ruby slippers and it

doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“Enough,” said the Clerk with the ledger. He opened the book and

withdrew something that looked like a thick, ragged tree limb. Dropping

the ledger, he twisted the limb until a dozen ragged blades sprang from

the shaft: killing thorns. The Clerk lunged, but Spyder side-stepped the

blow, slipping behind his attacker. Slamming his arm around the Clerk’s

throat, Spyder held him so that the others could watch, as he whispered

a single word into the Clerk’s ear. When Spyder released him, the Clerk

remained frozen in place, his deformed weapon still in the air.

“A trick? Yes,” said the head Clerk.

The frozen Clerk began to shake. His mouth came open and he made

a sound that was part wonder and part howl of pain. He shook until

he was a blur, and the stitches holding his pale body together began to

split. The wan internal light the Clerks always gave off burst through

his seams as he flew to pieces. As each broken part of him hit the floor,

it vanished.

The two remaining Clerks looked at Spyder.

“I said the true name of time and decay,” he told them. “Do you even

know what you are? You’re the boy-toys of the Old Gods, the Dominions.

You need used-up organs because you’re trash on two legs. Golems.

Animated table scraps. A word made you walk and a word can make you

stop. I saw into the book. I learned the words.”

“We are the engines of creation and destruction,” said the head Clerk.

“We balance the Spheres. We prune dead branches, taking life where it is

not appreciated, such as in this sorry child?” The Clerk nodded at Lulu.

“We pass her breath back into the universe for new souls.”

“That was your burden. That’s what you used to be. You balanced order

and chaos, but something happened. The Dominions got inside of you.

Instead of serving the universe, you started serving the Old Gods. You’re

their delivery boys. You grant wishes to the weak, the wounded and lost,

getting your hooks in their souls so the Dominions can feed on them.

There’s nothing left of your old selves, when you balanced the universe.

You’re empty shells. This book was made to bring the Dominions back,

but I’m not going to let you do that.”

“Is someone going to kill someone soon?” Xero called from the stairs.

“I was about to win a war.”

“You were about to be eviscerated in front of your troops,” said Lucifer.

Butcher Bird —

“We know you. You are not a man, but a broken child?” said the head

Clerk to Spyder. “You’ve seen and learned much lately, but you remain a

drunken libertine who despises his own foolish weakness above all else.

And your mortal body is trapped forever in Hell. But we will take pity

and give you the gift of annihilation.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“But it is yourself you hate and yourself you must fight?” The head Clerk

raised his hand to the palace entrance, where a figure was waiting.

Spyder saw his reflection. Sort of. A version of himself, but scarred like

Lulu, crudely stitched together, like the Clerks themselves.

“He is your Shadow Brother, built from a broken memory you left in

Berenice. All the blood you left in the street? A very powerful elixir. We

sacrificed a few of the organs we’d collected,” said the head Clerk. He

turned to Lulu. “Child, do you recognize your eyes in another?”

“You got the jump on me in Berenice, bro,” said the lacerated Spyder.

“But I’m back and bad and ready for love.”

“More golem trash,” Spyder said to the Clerks. “You think I won’t kill

it this time?”

“We’re counting on it. He’s special. Not you in name and form, but

you, literally. A strike against him is against yourself? Show him,” the

head Clerk told the golem.

Spyder watched his Shadow Brother pull the punch dagger from behind his back and slide it hard across his chest, carving a deep, crimson

wound. Spyder felt something like a live wire being dragged over his

skin. He looked down and saw that he had a chest wound identical to

the golem’s.

“You know the true names. Use them. Turn him to dust!” called

Shrike.

“I can’t. I might dust out, too,” Spyder said.

Feinting and teasing, the golem came at him with the knife. Spyder

backed up and started to draw Apollyon’s blade from his belt, but stopped

himself. It would be suicide.

The golem kept making little charges, then stabbed and sliced himself.

Spyder twitched in pain and bled, feeling each twist of the blade. The

golem circled him, splashing blood onto the marble floor and laughing.

“Why are you running? This is what you always wanted. Life’s too hard

for people like us. Let me fix it for you,” said the golem.

Spyder backed up. Sweat flowed into his wounds, stinging him.

“Remember the Middle Way, little brother!” yelled Lucifer. “Would the

— richard kadrey

Buddha fight himself?”

Spyder stopped in his tracks, his gaze flicking to Lucifer, then Shrike.

He stretched his arms out wide and closed his eyes. The golem rushed

him, jamming its knife deep into Spyder’s chest. Gritting his teeth at the

pain, Spyder wrapped his arms around the golem and held on. They were

both bleeding and the floor was slippery with their blood. Spyder lifted

the younger, smaller version of himself and spun on his heels, dropping

his Shadow Brother onto the book. Gasping, Spyder twisted and threw

all of his weight on his doppelgänger, pinning him long enough to pull

the black blade from his own belt and swing it once.

Both Spyder’s and the golem’s heads slid off their shoulders and rolled

onto the floor.

FiFty-Six

StarS

Spyder rose on wobbly legs and set his head back on his shoulders.

“You know those days when you just can’t do anything right? You’re

having one of them,” he said to the head Clerk.

“This is some trick of yours, Lucifer?”

“It’s all me,” said Spyder. His throat felt full of pins and needles as he

spoke.

“No matter? Alive or dead, you are lost, locked in Hell forever. So is

the woman.”

“Not necessarily. You did us a favor, Brainiac. Shrike makes these little

blood sacrifices when she does small magic. All this golem’s blood and

mine should be good for one big favor, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing?” asked Lucifer.

“I’m sorry, man. You’re my friend, but Shrike and I can’t spend forever

down here.”

Lucifer looked stricken. “You don’t want to do that, little brother.”

“No, but I’ve got to.”

The book was already ingesting the blood Spyder and the golem had

spilled on the floor. Spyder laid his hands on the metal cover and whispered strange words that seemed to flow into his mind. He was speaking

a language he didn’t understand, a tongue so guttural and inhuman that

it would have been agony even if his throat hadn’t been freshly slit.

The runes etched into the book cover glowed and the remaining blood

began to boil. Spyder pulled his hands back as the golem’s lifeless body,

along with the last dregs of blood, were absorbed into the book.

Far across Hell there was a sound like thunder, only it came from beneath

the ground, as if the foundation of the underworld itself had cracked.

“Do you know how insane this is?” asked Lucifer.

“I’m the fool, remember? I do shit you sensible guys wouldn’t dream

of.”

— richard kadrey

Quivering green light, like a fluorescent bulb shining from the bottom

of the ocean, blasted through cracks in the ancient, unfinished wall Spyder had seen while walking to Pandemonium with Ashbliss. The colossal

iron reinforcing beams began to bend and buckle as some fantastic new

weight pressed against the bricks from the other side.

“Glorious! Glorious! They are here!” cried the head Clerk.

“Not for you.”

“It is accomplished! We believed the Butcher Bird would free the Dominions, as revenge when you and the slut died. But you have done her

job for her. The universe is ours.”

“You’re talking to a guy who just cut off his own head. You don’t get to

tell me what’s yours and mine,” said Spyder. He grabbed the head Clerk

and ripped away the stolen skin that covered his face. In shock, both

Clerks retreated a pace or two. The head Clerk touched his face, feeling

for the stolen flesh that was no longer there.

“Feeling cold? Something missing?” Spyder asked. He then spoke a

single word and the Clerks tumbled to their knees. They grew smaller

and softer, as if their bones were turning to warm butter, until they were

nothing but pale puddles on the stone floor.

Spyder looked back across Hell as the ancient wall began to crumble.

Hands clawed at the gigantic bricks from the other side. Strange howls

filled the air. Spyder became aware that both Xero and Lucifer’s armies

had grown considerably smaller since the Dominions had made their

presence known. Deserters continued to sprint out the front of the

palace.

Lucifer limped to Spyder and stood next to him, watching the ancient

wall crumble. “You may have beaten the Clerks so cleverly that you’ve

killed us all,” he said.

Xero came slowly down the stairs. “What did he do?”

“He’s released the Dominions,” said Lucifer.

“Why?” asked Lulu.

Before Spyder could say anything, Xero charged down the stairs to

where Shrike was cradling her father in her arms. He grabbed her by the

hair and held a knife to her throat. “Come to me, Old Ones! Give me the

power to defeat my enemies! I make this blood sacrifice to you.”

Lucifer let loose an animal howl and charged, his body morphing as

he went. His body went transparent, like living glass, then burst into a

blinding silver light. His eyes, however, dimmed to shimmering, pitiless

black pits, and he became what Spyder knew had to be a wrathful version

of this original angelic form.

Butcher Bird —

Shrike fought Xero’s hand from her throat. The man was concentrating

on Lucifer. Spyder realized that Xero was reciting a spell.

“Look out!” Spyder screamed.

A blur shot from the great book as Apollyon’s knife flew across the

room and embedded itself into Lucifer’s spine. The Prince of Hell collapsed at Shrike’s feet. She swung her sword backwards over her head

and buried it in Xero’s skull. The general just laughed.

“When I’ve bled you dry, I’ll bring you back here and make you my

concubine. I’ll rape you in Hell forever.”

Lucifer, back in his more familiar Count Non form, staggered to his

feet. “Alizarin,” he said, and reached out his hand. Shrike grabbed Lucifer

and pulled him toward her, hard, throwing herself onto the floor.

Spyder ran to them, covering Shrike’s body with his own. Xero

screamed. Spyder turned and saw the general pushing madly at Lucifer’s

body. The tip of Apollyon’s blade, which was protruding from Lucifer’s

belly, had buried itself in Xero’s midsection when Shrike had pulled

Lucifer down. The general shrieked as the blade burned him. Lucifer

grabbed the man and rolled off Shrike, bearhugging him, driving the

knife in deeper. Their bodies glowed red. Xero’s blackened lips curled

back like burning paper.

The general was suddenly very still. Lucifer pushed free and backhanded Xero across the face. The fried mortal soul crumbled, a burnedout husk.

Spyder went to Lucifer and pulled the blade from his back.

“I thought that knife killed demons,” he said.

“You’re not just any fool and I’m not just any demon,” said Lucifer,

leaning heavily against the railing.

Spyder snatched the tunic from Xero’s corpse and went to Shrike.

Holding her upright, Spyder pressed the cloth over the wound in her

chest. Lulu, exhausted, collapsed next to Lucifer. Across Hell, the wall

finally came down and the Dominions poured through. They were so

alien and so massed together, shouldering their way from their exile in

chaos, that, later, no one there, mortal or angel, could describe what

exactly came into this universe through that ancient breech in time and

space. There were shaggy heads and arms that were lined with eyes,

reptile wings, tentacles, cocks with teeth, legs like a bird’s and legs like

machines. Emerald flesh, exposed bones, metal talons, fire, wind and

ice.

The Dominions circled the roof of Hell once, twice and on the third

pass, shot up together, blasting through and out into the night sky. Gaz- — richard kadrey

ing up through the glass dome atop Lucifer’s palace, Spyder saw familiar

constellations. Orion. The Big Dipper. It was Earth. It was home.

FiFty-SeveN

JeSuS chriSt aNd Bruce Lee

“So, Spyder, what was the deal with your head back there? Why aren’t

you completely damn dead?” said Lulu.

“Ask your boyfriend. He’s the one who gave me the idea,” said Spyder.

He turned to Lucifer. The Prince of Hell sat with his elbows on his knees,

his fingers steepled, staring out at his ruined kingdom. “How’d you know

that my dying would kill the golem, but not me?”

“I guessed,” Lucifer said. “You had a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Something happened when I went into the book. I was with the Dominions for a second, I think. Some of their life or whatever keeps them

going rubbed off on me.”

“I think you’re right,” said Shrike. “Look.” She moved the cloth from

where Spyder had been holding it on her chest. The wound was closed.

“Come here,” Spyder told Lulu.

“Why? You haven’t gone all Dawn of the Dead, have you?”

“Quiet. Come on down here.”

Lulu came down the stairs and sat next to Spyder.

He took both her hands, saying, “I’m not sure what I’m doing, so just

close your eyes and relax.”

“It’s prom night all over again.”

The palace was a disaster. The walls were webbed with cracks big

enough to put a fist in. Part of the dome had collapsed. Hell proper

was in sad shape, too. Millions of tons of rock had come crashing down

when the Dominions blasted their way out of the place. Most of Lucifer’s

new Heaven and much of Pandemonium lay in ruins. The group had all

remained on the stairs throughout this harrowing of Hell. Exhausted,

bleeding, they were way down the road past both fear and surprise, stalled

between numbness and wonder. None of them even blinked when Shrike’s

father disappeared. They chose to see it as a sign of release, that with

Xero’s passing the curse that held the old man’s spirit in the underworld

— richard kadrey

had been broken.

“That fool’s curses were as thin and hollow as his head when I cracked

it,” Lucifer had said.

“When you’re through with my hands let me know, okay?” Lulu asked.

“I’ve got a hellacious nose itch.”

“Then it’s working,” Spyder said. “I think we’re about done here.”

“Dude, what did you do to me? I feel all hot and strange.”

“Go look.”

She stepped over the fallen columns and broken glass, navigating her

way across the buckled floor to Lucifer’s curiosity cabinets. None of them

had broken, but they lay at crazy angles against the walls and floor. The

Chaos cabinet was still standing in its original spot. Lulu went to it and

checked herself in the glass. Her reflection stared back with the swirling

nothingness behind it.

“It’s me,” she said. “I look like me again.”

“Eyes and skin and everything. Did I get it all right?”

“You tricked me out like an old Chevy. For what? The Clerks still own

me. They’ll just come and take these eyes, too.”

“Lulu, the Clerks are gone. At least the ones who snagged you. If any

others ever show up, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow ’em all down.”

Lulu leaned her head on the cabinet, holding her belly. “Why do I feel

like this?”

“You were empty. They were making you into them. That’s what they

do. You’re alive again. Being alive hurts,” said Spyder. “And you haven’t

had a stomach in how long? That one’s probably hungry.”

“I remember hungry.”

“You okay?”

Lulu nodded. “Yeah.”

“I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

Spyder couldn’t see Lulu’s face. Turning, she walked back to the stairs,

staring at her hands.

“Yeah, you did good. It’s just a lot to get hold of. I didn’t realize how

much of me was gone.”

“For what it’s worth, I know how you feel,” said Shrike. “I haven’t seen

colors in so long. I remember them all, but I can’t quite recall which is

red and which is blue. It’s a little overwhelming.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Sit with me,” Shrike said. Lulu came over the wreckage and curled up

with her head in Shrike’s lap.

“I’d fuck a duck for a cigarette right now,” Lulu said.

Butcher Bird —

Lucifer was inspecting his palace. He picked up a couple of fragments

of cherry-colored glass that had fallen from the dome. Holding them

over his eyes, he peered up through the hole in the roof of Hell.

“Maybe we should put a skylight up there,” he said. “I miss the stars

sometimes.”

“Sorry for busting up the place,” said Spyder.

Lucifer dropped the glass. “Sorry for tricking you into the bowels of

Hell.”

“I was thinking about taking some time off anyway.”

Lucifer smiled at some private joke. “This was all one big con job,

you know. I manipulated you, but the universe slipped a good one past

me.”

“By saying ‘universe’ you’re trying not to say ‘God’?”

“Perhaps,” said Lucifer. “I had to go to talking meat— sorry, mortals—

to save my kingdom. Not only did you have the power to save it, but to

destroy it, too. Maybe pride really is my sin. The Painted Man was right

in front of me this whole time, and I never even saw you coming.”

“Hell, you brought him here,” said Lulu.

“Thank you for reminding me,” he said with mock gratitude. Lucifer

picked up a gilded candle sconce, looked around and threw it back into

the rubble. Going to his curiosities, he began picking up the cabinets

that had fallen over. Spyder went to help him.

“I don’t know about the Painted Man thing,” Spyder said as they

turned the wooden Fabergé egg case upright. The gleaming eggs lay in

a thousand pieces on the bottom of the velvet-lined cabinet, bejeweled

junk. “I don’t exactly feel like Jesus Christ or Bruce Lee.”

“Good. That’s my job,” Lucifer said.

“What happens now?” asked Shrike.

Lucifer pulled the cabinet with John the Baptist’s heart from where it

was leaning precariously against the wall, setting it flat on the floor. Shifting it inch by inch, he got it aligned exactly where he wanted it. Spyder

helped him slide the crown of thorns cabinet until it was just so.

“Deo gratias,” Lucifer said. He looked at Shrike. “The Dominions have

broken the boundaries of Hell. All bets are off. You can go home any time

you like. Me, I begin rebuilding. None of this affects our work here, you

know. Yahweh had his little laugh, but we’re still building our Heaven.”

He pulled a scarlet silk kerchief from his pocket and wiped some of the

dust off the glass of the cabinet that housed the crown of thorns. “And

if he destroys that one, we’ll build it again. We have all eternity to get

it right.”

0 — richard kadrey

“We’re going to have to take the book with us,” said Shrike. “Madame

Cinders will want it in return for my father.” She brushed some of Lulu’s

hair out of the girl’s eyes.

“Take it. I don’t want the damned thing around here.”

“Can we really give it to her?” asked Spyder. “I got a glimpse of what it

is. I don’t know anything about magic and look what it did to me. What

could someone with her knowledge do with it?”

“She’ll do exactly what Xero was going to do. Make a deal with the

Dominions and grab as much power she can,” Lucifer said. He opened

the case with his puzzle boxes and set them back on their proper display

stands.

“We can’t let her do that,” Spyder said. He went to where Shrike was

sitting and knelt down next to her. “We can’t give her the key to all that

power.”

“She’ll kill my father. Or worse. Curse him again. He’ll be right back

in Hell and all of this will have been for nothing.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Idiot, you’re a hero now. You’re going to have to learn to think on a

larger scale,” said Lucifer. He used his kerchief to slap at the dust that

had settled on his clothes. “You just cracked open a hole in the universe,

deceived the devil, wrecked Hell and sent the Black Clerks packing. Even

I couldn’t do all that and I can do a lot. Yet with all that to your credit,

you’re telling me you can’t defeat one dying hag?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You have a warrior by your side and the Prince of Darkness for a

friend. What you don’t know is how to ask for help, but that is how we

gain knowledge and improve ourselves.”

“Okay,” said Spyder. He leaned back his head, threw out his arms and

shouted as loudly as he could, “Help!”

Lucifer shook his head. Shrike covered her ears.

“Damn, I’ve wanted to do that for days,” Spyder said.

Lucifer kicked his way through the rubble until he found what he was

looking for. When he picked it up, Spyder recognized the knife the head

Clerk had used to stab him.

“You asked for help and here it is,” Lucifer said. “When troubled by

a diseased sorceress like Madame Cinders, you need a miracle. Look to

the saints for a cure.”

Lucifer took the knife and went to his curiosity cabinets.

“Come here, so I can give you something,” he said. Spyder went to

him. Lucifer made one quick slice and wrapped the prize in the scarlet

Butcher Bird —

kerchief before handing it to over. “Don’t lose that.”

“I won’t,” said Spyder, finding himself suddenly able to be a little

shocked again.

Shrike went to where the cage with the book had fallen over. The impact had turned the marble beneath it to powder and driven the book

several feet into the floor.

“Any suggestions on how we can move this thing? It’s a thousand

pounds if it’s an ounce,” she said.

“Travel for all of you, including the book, is being arranged right now,”

Lucifer said.

“So, we’re probably at the goodbye portion of the evening,” said Spyder.

“I really suck at this.”

Lucifer smiled. “I know. I looked into the minds of some of your

exes.”

“Find anything good in there?”

“You’re not universally despised.” Lucifer leaned in to whisper, “That

includes Jenny. But you need to learn to let go of things that only exist

in the past tense.”

Lucifer went to Shrike. She put her arms around him. “You helped me

free my father. I’ll always be grateful for that,” she said.

“You’ve lived half your life in light and half in darkness. Which do you

prefer?” Lucifer asked.

“When I’ve seen enough of either I’ll tell you.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Then reached

out for Lulu’s perfect, restored hands and gave each a kiss.

“You’re a prince, Prince,” she said. “You could turn a dyke’s head.”

“A higher compliment, I’ll never receive.”

Lucifer went to Spyder and the two of them looked at each other.

“Think we’re ever going to meet up again?” Spyder asked.

“Abyssus abyssum invocat,” Lucifer said. “‘Hell calls Hell.’ For better

or worse, we are brothers. We’ll meet again.”

“When you get Heaven finished, invite me to the opening.”

Lucifer nodded toward the palace portico. “Your ride is here.”

Spyder turned. He knew what was coming from the sound and the

word-picture Lulu had painted back at the Bone Sea. Finally seeing the

enormous mechanical spider, however, was a much stranger sight than

he’d imagined. Still, the contraption wasn’t as frightening as what had

been in his head back when he’d been blindfolded. The creature moved

so delicately on its long legs, Spyder thought that it looked like it was

walking on tiptoe.

— richard kadrey

Lulu walked up to the machine.

“Cornelius, remember me?” she asked.

The head on the enormous mechanism looked puzzled. “I apologize,

madam. My memory isn’t what it used to be. However, meeting you now

is certainly a pleasure,” he said. Cornelius turned his attention to Lucifer

and bowed deeply.

“You were a gleeful and criminally stupid thug during your life. Do

you recall any of that?” Lucifer asked. He approached Cornelius, who

continued to hold his deep bow.

“No, my lord.”

“We harnessed your brutish tendencies to make use of you while you

were in my domain. But I’m prepared to relieve you of this job. Would

you like that?” Lucifer made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t

bother answering, of course you would. You will take these good people

and this book out that hole you might have noticed in the roof. You will

take them wherever they want to go and do whatever they ask of you.

When they dismiss you, and only then, you will return here to me and

we’ll discuss finding you some other task that won’t wrack your pea-size

brain. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, my lord.”

“Pick up the book and wait outside.”

Cornelius stood up and moved with delicate, almost mincing steps

until he’d positioned his enormous body properly on the uneven floor.

Four of his metal legs scrabbled in the wreckage and pulled the book

free. When it was secure against his belly, metal jaws clamped down on it,

allowing him to lower his legs. He turned and went outside, a bit slower

than when he’d entered, weighed down by the book’s bulk.

They followed Cornelius out to the plaza and one by one climbed onto

his back. Lucifer stood below in the palace portico looking up at them

through the cherry-colored dome glass he held before his right eye.

“The good thing about glass is that we can melt it down and use it

again. This marble is a total loss, though. Maybe I’ll have some bankers

dig it out with their teeth.” Lucifer bowed deeply to them, waved once,

turned on his heels and strode back inside his palace.

Spyder and the others held on tight as Cornelius loped through the

wreckage of Pandemonium, out across the plains of Hell to one of the

impossibly high walls that were the boundaries of the underworld. Then,

they began to climb.

FiFty-eight

roLL me a Smoke, JohN wayNe

“eight legs good! Two legs bad!” Lulu shouted as they strode across

the desert.

They were making good time. Cornelius never needed to rest or slow

down, even when walking straight into a sandstorm. Spyder told him

to head for Berenice and he started straight across the desert without

hesitation. A trip that had taken days on the way out, they now covered

in a few hours. Around midmorning, when they caught sight of the city

of memories, it was strangely reassuring.

“One step closer to home,” said Shrike.

Something was happening around Berenice. Even at a distance, they

could see it. A dozen airships were in port on the south side of the city.

Spyder wondered if they should turn and head back into the open desert,

then flag down a boat when they hit the coast. He didn’t like the idea

of going up in one of the airships again, and he was reasonably sure no

one else did. But there was no telling when anything larger than a local

fishing boat would come along. They had to go to Berenice.

“Damn,” said Spyder. “I should have asked Lucifer for some of those

jewels back on the ground in Hell. We don’t have a penny to buy a

ride.”

“We’ll be fine,” Shrike said.

“You think?”

Shrike leaned against Spyder, running a hand through the hair on the

back of his head. “The Count was right, you need to think bigger.”

They caught sight of the first lookout a couple of miles from the city.

The boy had been asleep, and his loose dun-colored robes blended into

the sand. He awoke suddenly and screamed as Cornelius nearly stepped

on him.

The boy ran ahead for a few paces, shouting excitedly to them before

stopping, raising a pistol over his head and firing off a flare. Cornelius

— richard kadrey

never broke stride and the boy ran after them.

“You don’t think they’re a lynch mob, do you?” asked Spyder. “For me

doing over that memory?”

“I don’t think so,” said Shrike. “But if anyone does anything stupid,

Cornelius can run us to the coast.”

Other lookouts popped out of the sand as they approached the city,

gawkers, too. It all made Spyder nervous, and he kept his hand on his

knife, but each group smiled and waved at them as they passed. No one

seemed upset to see them and better yet, thought Spyder, none of them

looked like cops.

A group of twenty or more robed men and women met them at a wadi

just outside the city walls. Dignitaries. Local bigwigs, thought Spyder.

They had that self-important air about them, like the kind of crowd back

home that gave a million dollars to the symphony just so they can get a

plaque and their name in a newsletter. What the hell did they want? He

slipped Apollyon’s blade behind his back and kept his hand on the hilt.

Shrike touched his arm.

“Relax,” she said. “They’re friends. They’ll probably give you the key

to the city.”

“We’ll see,” he said.

However time and space moved in the underworld, on Earth there

had obviously been enough time for word to spread about what had

happened below.

“I don’t guess it would take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out,” Lulu said.

“There’s a hole the size of Dallas in the middle of the desert.”

Just to make sure no one got frisky, Spyder had Cornelius stroll right

up to the Berenice officials. The dignitaries looked a bit nervous by the

proximity of the giant spider, but they all smiled and applauded as Spyder

and the others climbed off. A gray-haired man with fierce Maori-style

facial tattoos, clearly the head of the delegation, embraced each of them

as they came down. With his hand on Spyder’s shoulder, the tattooed

man turned to the other dignitaries and began a quick speech in a flowing, melodious language.

Spyder looked at Shrike. “You got a clue what this guy’s saying?”

“He’s speaking Ubari. It’s an old city-state built in the First Sphere.

I haven’t heard it spoken in a long time,” she said. “He’s calling us the

‘Saviors of Light.’ ‘Defenders of Light.’ Something like that.”

“If at any point he says ‘prison bitches,’ let us know,” said Lulu.

The Ubarian ambassador said something while standing next to each of

them, gesturing extravagantly, clearly enjoying his moment in the spot-Butcher Bird —

light. The assembled delegates nodded and laughed politely. It looked to

Spyder that a lot of the crowd were like him, not understanding the man,

but going along with the group out of politeness or ritual. He spotted

one man off to the side in the ordinary working robes of a merchant,

rolling a cigarette. Spyder held up two fingers in the universal gesture

of smoking. The man smiled and handed Spyder the cigarette he’d just

finished, and lit it with a small gray stone that emitted a jet of flame when

he breathed across it. Spyder took a long puff and bowed a little thanks,

and then passed the smoke to Lulu, who took it eagerly.

“It’s their great honor to greet us after our battle with the Princes of

Despair,” said Shrike.

“Who’s that? The Clerks, you think?”

“Maybe. All I know is, they’re happy to see us and no one is going to

be arrested or lynched.”

“Good news. He going to shut up soon, you think?”

Lulu came over and handed the cigarette back to Spyder. She dug in

the sand with her boot, then half-turned away from the dignitaries.

“That tall blonde guy in the back look familiar?” she asked.

Spyder scanned the crowd discreetly, not letting his gaze linger anywhere too long.

“Should he?”

“Isn’t he that prince from the airship? The one Primo was talking to

on TV?”

“Bel. His ship got stuck to ours. I guess the prick didn’t die in the

dogfight, after all.”

“Maybe we can get a ride with him. He owes us,” Lulu said.

“How d’you figure?”

“We saw him fuck up big time. And we’re the Power Rangers of Light

or whatever. He’ll fart and tap dance for us if we ask.”

“I’ll settle for a drink and a shower.”

“We’re invited to a banquet in our honor,” Shrike said. “All of Berenice,

Ubari and the families of the Second Sphere want to honor us.”

Spyder smiled at the man and nodded. “Can we say no?”

“They won’t be happy.”

“Tell him we need to get your father,” Spyder said. “Tell him Dad’s sick

and in danger. We have to get to him fast.”

Shrike stepped forward and smiled at the crowd, with all the dignity

she could muster. She spoke slowly, hesitantly, taking long pauses, groping for words. Spyder and Lulu finished the cigarette and Spyder tucked

the stub into his pocket. The man in the merchant robes came forward

— richard kadrey

and gave them his bag of tobacco, along with his rolling papers. Spyder

accepted, nodding sincere thanks.

“This hero thing doesn’t half suck,” he said.

“Roll me a smoke, John Wayne,” Lulu replied.

When Shrike finished, the Ubari dignitary began chattering and gesturing again. His guests nodded solemnly and looked at Spyder.

“We off the hook?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Shrike. “He’s saying that we’re true champions appointed by god, I think, or some kind of giant bird. That we care so

much for humanity that we can’t even stop to celebrate a victory…you

get the idea.”

The Ubarian grew quiet. He turned and embraced Spyder and the others in turn. The dignitaries all rushed forward to shake their hands and

kiss their cheeks, as the group made their way back to Cornelius.

When Bel came forward to shake, Spyder held on to his hand. “Tell

this asshole we need a lift out of here,” he said to Shrike.

She spoke quietly to the prince as the other dignitaries clustered around,

praising them in a dozen languages. They’re worse than demons, Spyder

thought. Demons can’t help being creepy.

A moment later Shrike returned. “It’s set. We can head out in an hour,

when the ship is ready to launch.”

“Cool.”

When they’d all climbed onto Cornelius’ back, Spyder ordered him to

rise as quickly as possible. The dignitaries gave a collective “Ooo,” as the

man-machine whirred and clanked to life and set out around the city

walls to where the airships were berthed.

They waited with the prince beneath his new scorpion airship that

seemed half again as big as the old one. The prince barked orders to a

small group of deck hands waiting on the ground and these were relayed

up to the ship in an elaborate series of whistles and arms gestures. A few

minutes later, a huge cargo net was lowered down from the ship. Cornelius stepped into the net and curled his legs under his body, settling

down like a giant cat. With a jerk, Spyder, Shrike, Lulu and Cornelius

were hoisted up and onto the prince’s airship.

Half an hour later, the big scorpion banked gently starboard and headed

out to sea with a dozen other airships trailing behind. The morning sun

turned the edges of the ships to fire, so that Bel’s was trailed by a burning

swan, a school of fiery fish, a glowing snake skeleton and a perfect silver

sphere that reflected the sky, sea and all the other ships nearby.

“You sure this guy knows the way to Alexandria?” Spyder asked Shrike.

Butcher Bird —

“He doesn’t, but his navigators know their way through all the Spheres.

Relax.”

Prince Bel gave them his best rooms. They happily cleaned up and

settled in. When they weren’t busy sleeping, crew members brought in

a constant stream of food and wine. Shrike didn’t let on that she could

speak the prince’s language, and enjoyed reporting what she heard while

eavesdropping.

“It’s like a game of Telephone,” she said. “The rumors circulate, getting bigger and bigger. Spyder is an archangel or maybe the new Lucifer.

I get the feeling that a lot of asylums emptied across the Spheres when

Hell came down.”

Spyder relaxed on a silk-covered fainting couch, with Shrike curled

up next to him.

“It’s nice to be well thought of for a change,” he said.

“Can’t argue with that,” Lulu said, blowing smoke rings and watching

them float away through an open window.

The trip was calm and slow. Exactly what they needed, Spyder thought.

He and Shrike disappeared into the unoccupied rooms in their wing of

the ship and made love as often as they could. At other times, Shrike

went up on deck and practiced with her sword, getting used to having

her sight back. However, in the back of his mind, regardless of whatever

they were doing, was always the image of Madame Cinders. What the hell

was he supposed to do when they confronted her? He shook his head,

pushing the thought back into the dark. What had the Count said? “You

will never have more than what you have at this moment.” If that’s true,

thought Spyder, it’s all right with me.

By the time Bel delivered them to Alexandria, they were getting twitchy

and restless. Shrike had spotted angels flying near the ship one night.

They couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or bad, but decided it was

time to get off.

The prince, who’d kept his distance during the flight, appeared in

full royal drag when it was time for them to disembark. He and Shrike

exchanged a few polite words on deck, but it was obvious that he was as

anxious to have them gone, as they were to get away from him. With a

wave of his hand, the cargo net lowered Cornelius to the ground in an

open area near Alexandria’s main port. Spyder, Shrike and Lulu were

already on the spider’s back.

“It looks like Brighton,” Cornelius said. “I think. Maybe not. But it’s

very beautiful.”

What first struck Spyder about being back in an earthly city with cars

— richard kadrey

and humans, pollution and fast-food joints, was how completely unremarkable it felt to be riding on the back of a giant mechanical spider

borrowed from a friend in Hell, moving unseen through streets alongside

the spirits, angels and fantastic beasts that inhabited the other Spheres.

Shrike directed Cornelius to the tangled streets of the Medina, and they

retraced the route Primo had taken them just days before. Seems like a

century, Spyder thought, as they turned a corner and seemed to leave

ordinary Alexandria and entered the ruins of the necropolis complex.

As before, thin children stood on enormous stones watching them. This

time, though, a few of the older children waved to them and turned to

whisper to each other before their parents came and nervously hustled

them away.

“That’s a bit more honest,” said Spyder. “Seems like everyone knows

who we are, but someone finally admitted they’re not happy to see us.”

“Not everyone loves a god-killer,” said Shrike quietly.

“You said the Clerks weren’t gods.”

“They’re weren’t. But I’m not sure that detail means much to these

people.”

“Probably know there’s a shit storm coming,” said Lulu, “If this Cinders

bitch is what you say she is.”

“She is,” replied Shrike. “And more.”

At the next bend in the road, the great onion dome and minarets of

Madame Cinders’ compound swung into view.

FiFty-NiNe

at the eNd oF the day, Luck aLwayS FaiLS

“you lose my Gytrash and bring me back this useless deviant?”

rasped Madame Cinders.

They stood before Madame Cinders in her tower room. The over-sweet

scent of mutant orchids and the old woman’s rotting flesh almost made

Spyder gag.

“One, we didn’t lose him. He was our friend and he died trying to get

that damned book for you,” Spyder said. “Two, we didn’t bring Lulu back

for you, lady. You don’t deserve her used panty shields. And three, if you

think deviants are useless, we must not know the same deviants.”

“Give me my book.”

“What’s the magic word all good children say when they want something?”

They’d entered Madame Cinders’ fortress without bothering to wait

for her servants to open the front gates. Spyder had Cornelius kick his

way through. The splintering wood and twisting iron hinges flew to

pieces with a very satisfying amount of noise. Ten of Cinders’ guards

had run into the courtyard, but they scattered when they got a good

look at Cornelius. Spyder and the others had strolled straight through

Cinders’ palace and up her tower with Cornelius guarding their rear. No

one challenged them as they went.

“Give me my book,” repeated Madame Cinders.

“Pretty please, with sugar on top,” said Spyder. “That’s what good

children say.”

It had been a tight squeeze, getting Cornelius up the narrow staircase

to the top of Cinders’ tower. He had to turn his great mechanical body

sideways and crab slowly upward, his head cutting a deep scar into the

top of the passage.

Spyder gestured for Cornelius to come forward and drop the book. As

it hit the floor, the tower shook as if an earthquake had hit it. Cinders’

0 — richard kadrey

guards looked around anxiously, as bones, dried herbs and potions

tumbled from the shelves, but Madame Cinders showed no outward

reaction. Spyder wasn’t surprised. She looked even worse, more inhuman

than when they’d left her.

“I’ve heard about your doings in the underworld. You think you have

power now that you’ve defeated a few miscreant angels,” she said. “But

you know nothing about power.”

Madame Cinders was no longer in her wheelchair. She was laid out

flat on a kind of mechanical gurney, atop a pile of stained silk pillows.

She looked at them reflected in a gold-framed mirror perched at an

angle above her head. Spyder was sure she’d shrunk in size. Were her legs

missing? The pump system, that injected and drained whatever horrible

fluids kept her feeble flesh moving, had doubled in size and complexity,

and was nearly as large as the gurney. Still, even trapped in that ruined

body, she managed to project both menace and intelligence. Spyder

didn’t like looking at her. She stank like an old abattoir. Spyder patted

his pockets, found the last of the tobacco he’d acquired at Berenice and

began rolling a cigarette.

“There’s no smoking in the presence of the Madame,” said one of her

guards. Spyder ignored him. He licked the paper lengthwise and rolled

the cigarette closed.

Madame Cinders continued, “Any fool can stumble into luck once,

twice, even a hundred times, but at the end of the day, luck always fails.

Then, skill and knowledge are required. You have neither. The Butcher

Bird has some, but not enough to save you both.”

“I have plenty of skill. I’m a pretty good tattoo artist. And I can always

pour beer without it getting all foamy,” said Spyder.

“The last time you were here, the Butcher Bird was the one who spoke.

Now, puffed up and preening, you do all the talking. Or are you the

distraction while she carries out some action against me?”

“I’m not speaking, witch, because I have nothing to say to you,” said

Shrike.

Cinders laughed her awful, gurgling laugh. “But you have your sight,

child. And soon you will have your father. I should think you’d be grateful for these things.”

“If we’re not gushing and grateful it’s ’cause you lied to us. The book

was never yours. You conned and you lied and you blackmailed us into

stealing it for you,” said Spyder.

“Did I? How wrong of me.” Cinders’ pumps kicked into action, hissing

and cranking, filling the tower room with noise. A thick green discharge

Butcher Bird —

was extracted from Cinders’ midsection while separate pink and clear

fluids dripped through tubes embedded in her skull.

“Neither your feigned outrage nor your glibness can hide your fear,

boy. You forget, your mind is as clear and open to me as the sky in midsummer. I know you want to keep me from taking the book, but you

cannot. You know my vengeance would be fearsome. There’s the girl’s

father. And the other thing.”

“What other thing?” Spyder asked.

“How is my father?” demanded Shrike.

“Well. And quite himself. No longer mad,” said Madame Cinders.

“You’ve gotten what you wanted, yet you’ve come here full of malice and

with the intention of denying me the book.”

“What’s the other thing?” asked Spyder.

The old woman laughed. “You have no idea, do you? You really know

nothing about power.” In the mirror, Madame Cinders’ eyes flickered

toward her guards. “Kill them.”

Shrike was moving before the old woman had finished speaking, slashing one guard across the midsection before his sword was drawn, and

then slicing through another’s throat. Crouching, she spun and ripped

her blade through the knees of two guards who rushed her from behind.

As the men fell, she lunged and disemboweled a third. Launching herself

into the air, she caught the last guard with a kick to the temple that sent

him rolling over a table.

Lulu had the four-ten up at her shoulder and was blowing holes in

guards and the walls of Madame Cinders’ tower. Spyder ducked as a

guard swung his sword at his head. Springing from his knees, he thrust

Apollyon’s blade up and into the man’s heart.

An arrow shot past Shrike’s right ear. She whirled around and saw one

of the now legless guards reloading a crossbow. Shrike brought her sword

down in a sharp arc, slicing off the guard’s arm below the elbow. When

she advanced on the second legless guard, he held his empty, trembling

hands out before him in a gesture of terrified submission. Shrike turned

and swung her blade towards Madame Cinders, but the old woman was

ready. Later, Spyder realized that Madame Cinders had thrown her guards

at Shrike as a sacrifice, knowing that she’d tear them to pieces, but would

be distracted enough not to see what was coming.

In the fraction of a second it took for Shrike to turn her blade toward

Cinders, the old woman pressed together the withered claws that were

her hands. A screeching filled the air, like the metal wheels of a dozen

subway trains slamming on their brakes at the same time and Shrike was

— richard kadrey

lifted from the floor in the jaws of one of Madame Cinders’ enormous

mechanical orchids. The serrated blades of the machine’s jaws tightened

on Shrike’s ribs until she screamed.

“Cornelius!” Spyder shouted.

The spider clattered forward, its metal legs gouging holes in the stone

floor as it shot at Madame Cinders. Spyder climbed onto a table and

tried to reach Shrike’s outstretched hand. Lulu shot at the base of the

metal bloom, but her shots bounced off, filing the air with hot shrapnel.

Cinders didn’t notice them or didn’t care. She threw a small glass vial

at Cornelius. It broke on the ground before him and where the fluid

splashed on him, his metallic body glowed and began to melt. Cornelius screamed in fear and pain as the internal fire spread throughout his

body. He turned and ran for the stairs. Blinded by the heat, he missed

and smashed into the far wall, exploding into a thousand twitching fragments of bone and metal.

“This, you must have guessed, is the other thing. Taking the thing you

love,” said Madame Cinders. “You won’t attack as long as I can kill the

girl. It’s in your eyes. See how easy it is to stop you? You know nothing

about power.” She turned her gaze to the iron orchid and it lifted its head,

carrying Shrike almost to the ceiling. She hung limply in its jaws, not

fighting anymore. Spyder swore he could hear her ribs crack.

“No one in this world or any other will hold me in this dying body

any longer,” Madame Cinders said. “The Dominions and I will rule

completely. I’m not greedy. Let them have the universe. I’m happy with

this one small world.”

Cinders reached under the folds of her hijab and pulled, breaking a

thin gold chain that held a small vial around her neck. Pushing a button on her gurney, she rolled forward, positioning herself next to the

great book.

“I’ve guarded this vial for a hundred years,” she said. “It’s the last of my

blood. I had it extracted when my body succumbed to the curse, after

returning from Hell. I’ve been a slave to these machines ever since. No

more. With this blood sacrifice, I’ll be reborn into a new body.” Madame

Cinders inclined her head toward Shrike. “Perhaps I’ll take hers. If I

haven’t already broken it too badly.”

She raised her shriveled hand and upended the vial over the Dominions’

book. The thick red fluid spread over the book’s face like a living thing.

It smoked where it touched the runes. The blood bubbled, and the book

began to drink it down. Then it rose slowly and silently until it hovered

just above Madame Cinders’ head. She pushed open the cover and ran

Butcher Bird —

her hand ecstatically over the thick pages. With another small gesture she

brought the book closer to her face until it was almost touching her. Then,

she bent her head forward and bit into it, chewed and swallowed.

As the old woman ate, Lulu came to where Spyder stood. When he saw

her twitch the barrel of the four-ten up a few inches, he reached over

and pushed the gun back down. “No,” he whispered.

The old woman ripped at the book with her teeth.

“I consume myself. I consume the wisdom of the true gods,” she said.

It sounded like some spell or prayer. She seemed to have forgotten about

Spyder and Lulu, her dying guards, everyone else in the room. “Let their

power fill me.” Each time she swallowed a piece of the book, her voice

grew stronger. When Spyder could see her arms, the flesh was transforming, returning to a more natural color.

When Madame Cinders had eaten all of the book’s pages, she sat up

on her gurney, looked at Spyder and Lulu and smiled. “You have no idea

what this is like. I can see everything. Every Sphere, every creature and

blade of grass within. This is what the Dominions see. These are the eyes

of god.” Her flesh returned quickly, and as she spoke, her face transformed

to that of the young woman in the painting above the Empire desk. She

was human, almost beautiful. Spyder hated her even more now.

All that was left of the book was the spine, and Madame Cinders

devoured it quickly, impatient to finish her meal. With her new, strong

hands, Madame Cinders pulled the tubes from her arms and body. She

turned and slid slowly from the gurney to the floor, wobbling on her legs

like a newborn calf. Spyder looked up at Shrike. She wasn’t moving at

all. Madame Cinders walked toward Lulu and him. He took a step back,

but a fallen table blocked him from moving any further.

She stood in front of Spyder and stretched like a cat, feeling her body

coming back to life. Then she leaned toward him and whispered, “Am

I not beautiful?” She giggled like a young woman just finding her body

for the first time and realizing the power in her flesh. “Do you want me?”

she asked him in a purring, seductive voice.

Spyder stared at her. “Fuck you.”

“Yes,” she said. “Fuck me. No one’s done that in a long time. And when

I’m satisfied, I’ll teach you to use that power you have but are going to

squander.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Don’t you?” she asked. The metal flower moved and Shrike screamed.

Spyder froze where he was.

“All right,” he said. “Anything you want. I’ll do it.” Out of the corner

— richard kadrey

of his eye he could see Lulu, also frozen in place, her face drained of all

color.

Madame Cinders put her cheek next to Spyder’s. “Will you kill your

deviant friend for me? Just for my amusement?” Spyder didn’t answer.

“No? You care about her that much? Good. I’ll keep her with the other

to keep you from developing foolish ideas.”

“What do you want with me?” asked Spyder. “You’re becoming one of

the gods now. You can have anyone you want.”

She smiled at him brightly. “I want you because you have the power.

I can’t have that just wandering around in the world,” she said. “And

because I don’t like you, and it will kill you to stay with me, but you will

anyway because of these two.” She moved her hand toward Shrike and

Lulu. “You know nothing about power. But I’ll teach you,” she said, and

leaned in to kiss Spyder on the lips. As their lips came together something

sizzled in the air and they were both thrown apart by an electric shock

that seemed to burn through every muscle in Spyder’s body.

Madame Cinders grabbed onto the gurney and quickly pulled herself

from the floor. “Why did you do that?” she screamed, her face a deep

and furious crimson.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Spyder. “It just happened.”

“It was very rude. I’ll teach you never to be rude to me again.” She

turned toward Lulu and raised her hand. Spyder jumped in front of

her and pulled Lulu behind him. But instead of hurling a spell at them,

Madame Cinders doubled over in pain and hit the floor screaming.

“What is this? What have you done?” she yelled.

“It’s not my fault,” said Spyder. “I didn’t expect you to eat it, you silly

bitch.”

“What?”

“John the Baptist’s heart. I hid it in the spine of the book. I thought

it would maybe make the magic not work. I sure as hell didn’t see this

coming…”

Madame Cinders fell on her stomach, her body convulsing, her shoulders twitching. Her head snapped up and lolled to the side. Her eyes were

pearl white and flames seemed to dance inside. She drew in a long, harsh

breath that began as a hissing in her lungs, rising in intensity until it

was the growl of a rabid wolf. Boils, red and livid, grew and burst along

her right arm and spread across her body. Her white hijab, now stained

with her blood, began to smoke as her skin gave off a black incandescent

glow. Her bones were visible beneath the skin, and soon the skin itself

was peeling and dropping off in long, dry strips. She seemed to shrink,

Butcher Bird —

as if something were draining her from the inside. Runes rose like welts

on her blackened skin.

Whatever force she used to control her mechanical flower suddenly

broke and Shrike fell to the floor. Spyder ran over and took Shrike’s face

in his hands. “You all right? Talk to me.” He held her until she opened

her eyes. “You can’t get away from me that easy,” he said.

“Look,” said Lulu, pointing to Madame Cinders.

The witch was on her feet, her arms out, using every bit of her strength

to keep her balance. She seemed paralyzed in place, unable to move.

Suddenly, her head snapped toward Spyder. She took one step and the

thin blackened skin that still covered her bones, sloughed off and fell to

the floor like boiling tar. Her bones sank into the thick mess and disappeared.

Spyder and Lulu tried to pull Shrike to her feet, but she screamed in

pain. Spyder lifted her shirt and found the deep bruising and cracked

ribs. Her skin was lacerated with the serrated tooth marks of the orchid’s

blades. Without thinking about it, he lay his hands on her and closed her

eyes. Soon, he could hear Shrike’s breathing become slow and steady. A

few minutes later, she could stand on her own.

They searched every room in the tower until they found Shrike’s father—alive, though frail and confused. Wrapping him in a blanket they

found in the guards’ barracks room, they bundled the old man down

from the tower.

Madame Cinders’ servants waited anxiously in the courtyard as the

four came out.

“We need a coach and horse,” Shrike told them. The servants didn’t

need to be told twice.

They rode back through the Medina and just managed to squeeze the

cart into the tunnels that ran to Alcatraz. Shrike held her sleeping father

in her arms the whole way, speaking to him quietly as they went. Spyder

put his arm around her. She reached up and squeezed his hand. He could

see her fighting back tears.

When they reached the old cavalry stables, Lulu asked, “What’s it going

to be like back home, you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Spyder. “You’re covered, I guess, but I might have

to leave town. We’ll see.”

“Going to be weird to be back. You know with a full set of eyes and

insides and skin.”

“Weird’s not so bad when you get used to it.”

— richard kadrey

“No shit.”

They stepped down from the coach, but when Spyder turned to help

Shrike and her father, they were gone.

Sixty

worShippiNg crocodiLeS

“oh, you poor things,” said Mrs. Porter.

When they got back to San Francisco, Spyder and Lulu, broke

and shaky, managed to hitch a ride with the Porters, a family on vacation from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, who’d had their bags stolen off the

luggage carousel at SFO.

The Porters were very sympathetic to the nice Texas couple they found

stranded at Fisherman’s Wharf, after Spyder fed them a story about

their brand new Toyota hatchback being stolen. After they’d all piled

into the Porters’ SUV, with both parents and three kids, Lyle Porter, the

husband, launched into a nonstop monologue all the way to Spyder’s

warehouse.

“These people they got workin’ at the airport, they’re not stealing to

be evil. Where they’re from, stealing’s a way of life. Everybody does it,

from the president to the police chief, from the school teachers to the

local witch doctor. Every one of ’em’s a goddam thief. Hell, if I was in

their shoes, I’d probably steal, too. But this is America. We don’t need to

do that kind of shit, pardon my French, here. You work hard and you get

your reward. But, I suppose, when you’re raised worshipping crocodiles

or some such nonsense, anything goes. Am I right?”

“Right as rain, Lyle,” said Spyder, hoping they got home soon or got

hit by a semi.

Lulu crashed with Spyder that first disembodied night back. Realizing

he had no idea where his keys were, Spyder had to wheel over a dumpster

from the car repair place next door, then climb onto the roof and drop

down into the upper loft through a skylight. In the morning, Spyder

found his battered old hardback of Naked Lunch on the bookshelf and

pulled out the hundred dollars in emergency money he kept hidden in

the spine. He and Lulu got on his old bike, an oil-leaking Kawasaki Police

1000, and Spyder took her back to her place in the Mission.

— richard kadrey

For the duration of the ride, Spyder obsessively checked his mirrors

and scanned the street, waiting for a siren or a vigilante to point him

out as a killer or a child molester. But it didn’t happen. As he pulled up

in front of Lulu’s building, Rubi was coming out. She smiled brightly

and kissed both Lulu and Spyder, giving no indication that she recalled

Spyder punching her. Lulu gave a shrug and followed Rubi back inside,

after blowing Spyder a kiss from the steps.

Spinning a quick one-eighty across the median, Spyder cruised over

to the Haight. The tattoo studio was still gone, and the vacant lot still

looked like whatever had occupied it had burned. Spyder couldn’t decide

if that bit of historical consistency was comforting or not.

He left the Kawasaki parked between an art car covered in plush toys

having sex with naked Barbies and a Jews for Jesus panel truck. He went

into the Long Life Cupboard health food store. Immediately, his stomach

was burning and his shoulders were one big knot of tension. Spyder’s

fight-or-flight instincts were locked on high alert for any funny look,

wayward gesture or wandering beat cops. No one even acknowledged

him except the cute blonde hippie chick at the register who smiled and

asked, “How’s it hanging?” as Spyder paid for his orange juice. “Sucks

about your shop,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“You opening another one?”

“We haven’t decided yet.”

“Let me know if you do. I was thinking about getting a mudra tattooed

on my shoulder,” she said. “Tell Lulu hi, and don’t be a stranger.”

“You got it,” said Spyder. He smiled awkwardly and fled the place. It

was all too much. The city. Too many people. Too much noise. Copper

jitters. The angels, demons and strange beasts that had wandered in

from other Spheres were there, too, but their presence seemed kind of

normal. It was the athletic shoe ads on the buses, the wandering tourists

and ultra-hipsters, the panhandling poser kids that were making it hard

for him to breathe. Spyder downed his OJ, gunned the bike into traffic

and drove home. He’d been social enough for one day. No need to push

my luck and find that one guy who still thinks I’m Charlie Manson, he

thought.

Back at the warehouse, Spyder sorted through a pile of mail on the floor

by the front door. There was an official-looking letter from an insurance

company. Inside was a settlement check for the burned studio. The check

displayed a prominent one followed by many more zeroes than Spyder

had ever seen on a document relating to him.

Butcher Bird —

Later that night, he met Lulu for a drink at the Bardo Lounge and

showed her the check.

“Rubi, give my future ex-husband a drink on me.”

“Just make it a Coke, thanks.”

“You feelin’ sick?”

“Like I’m wearing borrowed skin.”

“Me, too,” Lulu said. “Still haven’t heard anything from Shrike?”

Spyder shook his head. He pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes, cracked

the pack and removed one. Lulu stole one and lit Spyder’s smoke with

the pink Zippo she’d almost lost by the Bone Sea.

“Not a word,” said Spyder.

“We been sitting around too long. We need to work.”

“I’m not ready to even think about opening another shop. Maybe we

could get a couple of chairs in a shop on the street. Big Bill’s or Colored

People.”

“There you go.”

Rubi came back with their drinks. “Cheers,” she said, giving them a big

smile. Spyder was almost used to Rubi not hating him.

Lulu raised her glass in a toast.

“The Kaiser’s moustache.”

“To Lucifer’s tail.” Then, “To Primo.”

“To Primo.”

A demon sat on the stool to Spyder’s right, nursing a glass of Jägermeister. Bilal, the demon, fat and shirtless, poured the Jäger into a mouth

that opened in his chest. He looked straight ahead, trying not to catch

Spyder’s eye.

Spyder leaned over to him. “What’s the difference between a demon

and a glass of beer?” Spyder asked.

Bilal shifted his eyes toward Spyder, but refused to turn his head.

“What?”

“Beer’s still good without a head.” Spyder put his hand on the demon’s

shoulder. “Remember me?”

The demon turned away.

“Talking meat all looks pretty much the same to me.”

“You’re Bilal?”

“Maybe.”

“Then you should remember me. Or do you curse so many people

that we all blur together?”

“You need to go away now,” Bilal said. His chest-mouth opened slowly,

emitting a growl and hot breath that reeked of wet decay.

0 — richard kadrey

“Stop that,” said Spyder. He touched the middle finger of his right hand

to Bilal’s chest. The skin shifted like sand, sealing the extra mouth shut.

“What were you saying?”

The demon heaved its enormous bulk from the barstool, feeling for

its lost mouth.

“I’ll destroy you,” it said.

“Yeah, your first one worked out so well. What do you do for an encore?

Not swallow my soul?” Spyder took a sip of his Coke and a long drag off

his cigarette. It was good to have real smokes again. “I was in the book.

I am the book. And your demon noise sounds like cricket farts to me

now. I have Apollyon’s blade. I’m the devil’s brother. I killed the Black

Clerks. What are you but some back alley rat-eater who likes to take out

his bad moods on people who can’t fight back?”

Bilal was breathing hard. He was angry, but Spyder could tell that he

was even more scared.

“Leave me alone,” said Bilal.

“All I wanted was to be left alone, but you tried to eat me. When

that didn’t work, you cursed me. Made people think I was Hannibal

Lecter.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I knew who you were.”

“And who’s that?”

“The Painted Man.”

“Don’t you forget it. Now, what’s the magic word?”

“What word?”

“What do we say when we’ve fucked up and we want forgiveness?”

asked Spyder.

Bilal hesitated, shook his head. He stared at the floor. John Cale’s version of “Heartbreak Hotel” came on the jukebox.

“I’m sorry,” said Bilal.

Spyder nodded, patted the demon’s barstool.

“Climb back up in the saddle, big man. Let me buy you another

Jäger.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Hell no,” said Spyder. “I understand about bad moods and being stuck

someplace maybe you don’t want to be. So, you get to keep your head

and I get to not spill demon guts all over this nice, clean shirt.”

Bilal gestured to his chest.

“Could you?”

Butcher Bird —

“Sorry.” Spyder touched the demon. The skin of Bilal’s chest shifted,

unsealing his second mouth.

Rubi brought him a shot of Jäger and Spyder passed it to the demon.

He clinked his Coke against Bilal’s glass in a toast.

“Tell me the truth,” said Spyder, leaning in close. “Do we taste more

like pork or chicken?”

Sixty-oNe

the other Side oF the wiNd

a month later, the initial rush of being back home had worn off.

Spyder waited for his mind to settle down, his moods to slide into

their regular patterns; he waited for the world to become solid under his

feet, but it didn’t happen.

He ate. He slept. He ordered a new tattoo gun and an autoclave from

an online wholesaler. When they arrived, he got as far as opening the box

before losing interest. Every day he went out to buy food, but just came

home with more cigarettes. When the insurance check covering the fire

in the tattoo shop arrived, he finally admitted that he wasn’t going to

go back to work anytime soon. After a few calls, he got Lulu a table at

Luscious Abrasion, just down the street from where their shop had been.

He’d visit her there every couple of days.

It had been more than a month, but he was startled every time he

saw her. She looked so good, so happy to be back. Soon, it was hard to

remember all that the Clerks had done to her.

“You look lost at sea, sailor.” Lulu and Spyder were having burgers at

an outdoor café near Golden Gate Park. Lulu stole another of Spyder’s

American Spirits and lit it with the pink lighter he’d taken back from

Lucifer while they were still in Hell.

“I’m feeling a little adrift, yeah. No big deal. It’ll pass.”

“You need to work, dude. Get back to what you know and what you’re

good at. I bet you could really make the colors dance now that you’ve

got all those Dr. Strange super powers.”

He shook his head and took a bite of his burger. The meat was chewy

and tasteless in his mouth.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “But I can’t control it. I’m a

little scared of my hands. What if my mind wanders—and it’s wandering

a lot these days—and I turn some baby goth girl into a Black Clerk?”

“If you make any Angelina Jolies, save one for me.” She smiled at him

Butcher Bird —

and when he didn’t smile back, Lulu shook her head. “I don’t understand

why you can’t just do stuff now. You healed me back at Cinders’ place.

And you fixed Shrike.”

“That was all one big rush. Like I was running, and as long as I kept

running, I could do anything. But now I stopped and I can’t find my feet.

The more I think about the magic, the worse I get at it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t know. The insurance money came through, so I don’t really

have to work right now. Besides, I dream about money and there’s gold

in my sock drawer when I wake up.”

“Must be nice,” said Lulu, irritation edging into her voice. “What’d be

even nicer was if you got over this whiny little bitch thing you’re in and

you went out and found Shrike.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve been back to the night market. Down

to the Coma Gardens. I even busted into the tunnel under Alcatraz.

Nothing. No one’s seen her. She’s gone.”

“Sorry, bro.”

“I should go.”

He didn’t tell Lulu the whole truth about his home life. The magic

or power or whatever it was he’d acquired inside the book was getting

more out of control every day. The deeper he sank into his dark mood,

the more dangerous the magic became. Each night, he woke up from

restless dreams to find his apartment choked with hellfire or locked in

glacial ice. His bedroom was invaded by souls wandering in from the

edge of the Bone Sea. Galaxies swirled where the ceiling should be, and

he could see the Dominions floating between the stars, eating worlds

and swimming in swirling clouds of cosmic dust.

Spyder couldn’t stand being in the warehouse anymore, so he rented an

ancient, rundown metal workshop in the industrial zone on a winding

road out by the old Navy yards. The place was just four metal walls and

an aluminum roof with a razorwire fence outside. There was nothing

inside the shop for him to break or freeze or burn up when he dreamed.

All Spyder took with him was his motorcycle, an air mattress, cartons of

cigarettes and beer. Everything else he dealt with as he needed. During

the day, he kept Apollyon’s blade under the mattress. It mostly came in

handy on those sleepless nights when he thought he was going crazy. He

would take out the knife and feel its weight in his hand, smell a faint echo

of Hell when he held the grip close to his face. When sleep refused to

come, he thought about hiring an airship and flying deep into the desert

— richard kadrey

to find the hole he’d blown in Hell’s roof. Lucifer would be happy to see

him and might let him stick around to help rebuild Heaven. Or would

he? The fallen angel had told him to go home and live his life, but what

did that even mean anymore?

What an amazing place to have gotten yourself to, he thought, when

even Hell isn’t an option.

In May, on Orson Welles’ birthday, an old art house theater in the

Mission District had a marathon screening of his films. Spyder had seen

the early stuff dozens of times, so he only came for the late-night flicks,

It’s All True, Welles’ doomed Brazilian epic, and The Other Side of the

Wind, a dark, micro-budget film about a bitter director, played by John

Huston. He knew there weren’t enough guns or tits in either movie to

get Lulu to sit through them, so he went alone.

It was almost two in the morning when the movies let out. Spyder went

to the corner where he’d parked the Kawasaki and lit a cigarette. It was

cold and wet. Heavy fog was blowing through the streets like sparkling

ghosts.

“Hey, pony boy.”

She was leaning against the front door of a check-cashing shop.

Through the open door was a miserable line of restless illegals pretending

not to see the down-on-their luck Caucasians who were busy pretending

to be somewhere else entirely.

Spyder sat on the bike, took a drag off the American Spirit.

He said, “I have this scar on my arm. Sometimes at night I touch it

just to make sure I didn’t imagine it. It’s where the Clerks marked me.

On the floor by my bed, I have this great big knife. I close my eyes and

my head is full of the craziest things. Like some kind of acid flashback,

only it’s not mine. It’s someone else’s. But when I fall asleep it’s all okay

because at the end of the craziness, I get the girl. Only I wake up and

remember I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry I ran off. I’m worse at goodbyes than you are,” said

Shrike.

“How’s your father?”

“He died.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I took him home, to the Second Sphere. He was happy

when he went.”

“So, there’s a happy ending after all. I’m glad you both got that.”

“You don’t have to be so magnanimous.”

Butcher Bird —

Spyder nodded, took a pull on the cigarette.

“Yeah, I do. Otherwise the walls start doing that closing in thing and

I want a drink and I’m trying real hard not to want that.”

“You’re not drinking? I’m impressed.”

“I still drink. Just less.” He shrugged. “Leaves more money for cigarettes.”

“I’m really sorry I left you like that.”

“You said that already.”

Shrike walked over to him. Her eyes were clear and bright, though a

little dark, as if she hadn’t slept in a while.

“My father was dying. I knew it the moment I saw him back in Madame

Cinders’ tower. I had to take him home,” Shrike said. “And I had to get

away from you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just the opposite. You saved me.”

“Bullshit. You’re the one with the sword, the one who knows magic and

how to move between worlds. I was just doing card tricks.”

“You don’t understand. I’m a killer. I’d dedicated myself to destroying

life because mine had been stolen from me. And I enjoyed taking life.

Doing it for something as cheap as money made it all the better. I wanted

to burn down the world for what it did to me and my family.”

“I know the feeling.”

“If things had gone a little differently years ago, I might have become

someone like Madame Cinders. If you hadn’t come along on this journey, I would have given her the book. I would have made a deal with

the Dominions to bloody the whole world. I still thought about doing

it, right up until the end.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“What do you think? I used you that first night because I wanted sex,

so I gave you drugged wine. I needed someone to stand next to me at

Madame Cinders’, so I lied and told you she’d fix you. I needed someone

who knew Hell, so I dragged you into something that could have killed

you a thousand times. And I wouldn’t have blinked if it had. Every time

you gave me something I needed, I wanted to get rid of you. I strung you

along because I knew how.”

“If you came back to call me a sucker to my face, why don’t you put it

in a postcard and stick it up your ass?”

Shrike came closer, resting a hand on the bike’s throttle, not touching

him.

“I kept waiting for you to bolt. I kept waiting for you to catch on and

— richard kadrey

betray me. But you wouldn’t. At first I thought you were playing a game,

waiting to get the book for yourself. Then, I decided it was simple selfpreservation. You wanted to get out alive and get the magic to restore

your precious ignorance. But you kept not betraying me. You kept…”

She hesitated.

“Caring about you?”

“I told myself you were trying to manipulate me, but when you destroyed the book, I knew you’d never deceived me. I would have killed

anyone to have the power in that book. You had it in your hands and

you threw it away to save me.”

“You know I did.”

She looked away and frowned. “I couldn’t bear that. Being with you

brought back all these feelings I’d thought I’d burned up years ago. Then,

I had my father and I knew he was dying and it was all too much. I had

to run away. Can you forgive me?”

“Consider yourself forgiven,” he said, putting the key in the bike’s

ignition.

“No,” she said, holding onto his coat sleeve. “Not like that. Don’t forgive

me like you forgive some street urchin who picks your pocket. Save me

one more time, that’s all I want. Forgive me from that other part of you

that refused to betray me or leave me.”

Spyder tossed his cigarette, looked at the crowd milling in front of the

theater. “I can. I do. For a long time I wanted to strangle you for that

Houdini in the tunnel, but I knew you must have had a good reason.

And I always knew I’d see you again.”

“Really?”

“No. That was me being gallant. I didn’t know what the hell to think

when you took off. I was going out of my mind and I fucking hated you.”

He turned and looked at her. She was beautiful in the drifting fog. “But

you didn’t lift my wallet, which is more than I can say for most girls you

meet in alleys.”

Shrike smiled and leaned against him.

“Maybe we can go to your place and try that first meeting again.”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“Teach me magic. I’m going out of my mind. I can’t control it. I

dreamed about my younger self the other night and in the morning the

street outside was full of all the cars I’d ever stolen.”

Shrike stroked his hair and nodded.

“I can only teach you the little I know. But there are others who can

Butcher Bird —

teach you more.” She shrugged. “I’m going to take back my kingdom

from the brigands who now hold it. If you come along, learn to control

your power, we can figure out a way to drive the Dominions back into

the oblivion where they belong.”

Spyder ran his hands down Shrike’s back, thrilling to her warmth and

smell, the reality of her presence.

“It’s sweet, how you have no ambition,” he said.

“I’ll have to leave this Sphere to get ready. You’ll come with me?”

“There’s not much holding me here,” he said. “I can’t go without telling Lulu.”

“In the morning,” said Shrike. “In the morning.”

Shrike climbed onto the back of Spyder’s bike and wrapped her arms

around him. Spyder kicked over the motor and gunned the engine. They

shot off and the fog closed in behind them, swallowing the tail lights

and even the engine noise.

They were gone.

rICHARD KADREY IS A FREELANCE WRITER LIVING IN

San Francisco. He has written about art, culture and technology

for Wired, The San Francisco Chronicle, Discovery Online, The Site and

Wired For Sex on the G4 cable network.

He is also the author of three other novels: Metrophage, Kamikaze

L’Amour, and Angel Scene.

Along with the Pander Brothers, he developed the original comic,

Accelerate, for DC/Vertigo, which will be reprinted as a graphic novel

in Fall 2007 by Image Comics. His short fiction has appeared in Isaac

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Interzone, Rudy Rucker’s Flurb,

InfiniteMatrix.net, as well as a number of anthologies. His story, “Goodbye Houston Street, Goodbye,” was nominated for the British Science

Fiction Association Best Short Story award.

In 2001, Haft Entertainment turned his story “Carbon Copy’ into the

truly awful film, No Ordinary Baby, starring Bridget Fonda.

Kadrey is currently working on a new novel and continuing his photographic side project, KaosBeautyKlinik.