Butcher Bird

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.

"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 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, 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?"