Butcher Bird

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' 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 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 mid-summer. 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.