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"To what?"
"To the step. It's not getting worse; it's getting better."
"You think so?"
"To where you lie. Your place, your proper place. The dream world,
featherless."
"I like it here on Earth."
"Desdemona is waiting for you."
"What?"
Oh Jesus!
"She's waiting. Take a look."
And the Gentleman led me gently to the balcony, where I gazed down upon the
crowd, and there was Desdemona, waiting there, in the middle of the crush,
perfectly still, her yellow blouse flecked with blood, and her face scarred
and cracked. Sister was beckoning to me, from the dance floor, her two arms
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outstretched, urging.
"Desdemona," I said.
"That's her," said the Gentleman. "She's waiting."
I turned back to him, but already he was shivering, dissolving. "Tell me who
you are?" I
demanded.
"Don't let the Viper get you," he replied. "Be careful. Be very, very careful.
Keep it clean.
Right under the rim. You know I never lie."
"Just wait. . ."
But his eyes were over my shoulder once again, and I turned around to see
Beetle and
Suze hugging each other, but Tristan just looking, straight on, right into the
eyes of the
Gentleman. It was the look of love, that kind of doomed love that never leaves
you alone.
"Tristan will tell you who I am," the stranger said.
"Cat? Game Cat?" I said, turning back to the voice, but the voice was gone.
Cat was gone.
That feeling again, that emptiness.
I peered over the balcony, searching for Desdemona. There she was, covered in
smoke and blood, drifting away, into the smoke and the blood. And I couldn't
help her. I couldn't fucking help her! Her scarred face misting over,
dissolving, like the dreams of love, into the crowd, into the Vurt.
Losing her.
Losing.
Things we want the most, things that slip away.
And then I was taking the stairs, three at a time, dodging the rung-dancers,
heading down to the floor and the fading sister. I was pushing into the crush,
but they were welded tight by now.
I think I threw some poor wraith aside as I squeezed through. The world was
closing up and I ran straight into the arms of Bridget.
Bridget!
That smoky shape I had seen on the outskirts, from above; now she was in my
hands and the smoke was rising from her skin, way beyond what I was used to,
and her eyes were shadow-
flecked and knowledgeable. She pushed away from me, back into the arms of her
dancing partner, a handsome boy with curly brown hair.
"Bridget!" I called out.
"No," the shadowgirl answered, and maybe it wasn't her. Maybe I was dreaming.
"You're just dreaming," the voice in my head was saying. But it was Bridget's
voice in there. She was thinking to me, through the Shadow waves, looking like
the ghost of yesterday. I
caught just a glimpse of recognition in her eyes, and then she was gone,
fading away in a wave of smoke.
And a new face of scars taking her place, amongst the crush. Face of Murdoch.
Shecop.
Dog-torn. Penetrating. Real.
Moving through the crowd, like a demon.
HEAVY LOSSES
Where do you run, when the bad girl comes? Maybe you run home to Mummy. Maybe
you run towards your lover. Or maybe, like me, you've got a Beetle in your
life; somebody powerful, even if he was just this moment thick-bodied from the
overuse of cheap Tapewormer feathers.
I took the stairs, three at a time, not caring about the cries of the crush,
running into the arms of the main Rider. The Vurtglaze slipped from the
Beetle's eyes, as I screamed the bad news at him. It was a sunblind being
opened to a bright day, wonderful to watch, and he popped a couple of Jammers,
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already on the move. He pushed me through the crush, kicking some dancers
over, just to make a way.
"Beetle! What about Mandy?" I said in the rush.
But his mind was on another trip, the jam was kicking in, and his eyes were
scanning the pack for a way out.
"We can't leave her, Beetle!"
"Kid can hack it." A quick breath, and then, "There's gotta be a back way."
We were cutting through the pack, as they made way under the threat of the
Beetle's curse and the jammed-up energy in his fists. I heard a shout from
below -- "Out of the way! Police!"
Some such. You ever seen a cop trying to cut through a dancing crush of
semi-legals? I guess that
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