But a few actually pressed forward a little, murmuring with excitement, their eyes hot and hungry for a little real blood and death to start the evening off with a bang. The Demon Lord with the gun up his nose tried to stand even stiller than usual, while the other doorman spoke urgently into a concealed speaker grille beside the door. There was a pause, just long enough for all parties concerned to get uneasy, then the heavy steel door swung backwards, and bright light and hot and heavy music spilled out into the night air. I sauntered into The Pit, doing my best to look like I was slumming, while Suzie gave the doormen a really nasty grin before following me in, still covering both Demonz with her shotgun, until the door had close completely between them. She started to holster her gun, then took a good look around her, and decided to hold on to it.
      It was hellishly noisy inside The Pit, with death metal guitars blasting from concealed speakers. The lighting was stark and harsh and almost painfully bright. No comforting gloom here, no shadows to hide in; everything was right out in the open, so every act and reaction could be enjoyed and savored by the milling crowd. Most of the club's patrons eddied back and forth across the open floor of the great ballroom, looking tastefully chic in gothic leathers, cutaway rubber, and spray-on latex. But the real action was taking place in spotlight nooks and crannies around the perimeter.
      The bare stone walls had been decorated to look as much like a medieval dungeon as possible, and everywhere you looked there were happy victims being stretched on racks, or suspended in hanging cages, or enjoying the embrace of an iron maiden, filled with hypodermic needles instead of metal spikes. There were always new shrieks of pain and joy, and howls of approval from the rapt onlookers. The victims writhed languorously as they suffered, playing to the crowd. Here and there a tall dominatrix, beautiful as a sharpened knife, all dark leathers and straps and buckles, would stride proudly through the throng, in search of prey, her painted face haughty with indifference. Men and women bowed low to these mistresses of pain and tried to lick their polished boots as they passed. There were whippings and scourgings and brandings, to the delight of all concerned. Blood flowed and fell, and trickled away down hidden runnels in the floor. The close air stank of fresh sweat, cheap perfume, and industrial-strength disinfectant.
      Not unlike a dentist's, really.
      Suzie looked about her, entirely unimpressed, her face heavy with disinterest. "I thought the Demon Lordz were supposed to be a street gang? What are they doing running a joint like this for high-class pervs with more money than sense?"
      "They're only playing at being gangstas," I said. "This ... is their true nature coming out."
      One of the dominatrixes stalked towards us, a heavy bullwhip coiled in her hands. Her black lips widened in a cruel smile. Suzie looked round and caught the dominatrix's eye. Without missing a beat, the mistress of pain changed direction and kept going, losing herself in the crowd. She knew the real thing when she saw it. I looked around me, taking my time. None of it moved me. Here, they only played at sin and damnation. I had far too much experience of the real thing to be impressed.
      Over in a corner, a man was having his nipple pierced and being a real wimp about it .
      I finally caught the eye of one of the female Demon Lordz, and she came through the crowd towards me. People hurried to get out of her way. She was tall and blonde, all legs and high tits, every inch the Aryan ideal. She wore the same scruffy outfit and bright tribal colors as the two at the door, right down to the fake horns on her head. She came to a halt before me, smiling coldly with blue lips to show off her pointed teeth. Her eyes were black on black. She had to know Suzie was covering her with the shotgun, but she showed no signs of caring.
      "What are you doing back here, Taylor? I thought we made it very clear after your last visit that you were never to darken our doors again."
      "Just visiting," I said calmly. "Seeing how the other five per cent lives. I love what you've done with this place. Very atmospheric. Just the ticket, if you want to play at being damned for a while. But then, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
      "You don't belong here," said the female Demon. "Either of you. Not your kind of scene, is it?"
      Suzie sniffed loudly, entirely unmoved by the sweaty suffering going on around her. She didn't care much about other people's lives at the best of times. And I knew better than to show any signs of condemnation or compassion. The Demon would only have seen it as a sign of weakness. I've never had any time for emotional excesses. I can't afford to be vulnerable, or give up any part of my self-control. Only rigid self-discipline has kept me alive in the Nightside. It keeps me one step ahead of the forces that have been trying to kill me ever since I was a small child.
      I felt almost wistful, watching the happy S&M freaks at their play. Must be nice to be able to pretendthat you're in danger, while still being absolutely safe. Their various practices didn't upset or disturb me. You learn tolerance early in the Nightside. You can't keep on being outraged all the time. It wears you out.
      "What do you want, Taylor?"
      I smiled pleasantly at the female Demon. "I want to see Mr. Bones and Mr. Blood. I'm here on business. And the sooner they agree to see me, the sooner I can get my business over with, and Suzie and I can be on our way. Keep us waiting around, and we're bound to find some trouble to get into. We're already freaking out some of your customers. They came here for the illusion of danger, not the real thing."
      The female Demon looked around quickly. A few of the bright young things were already drifting towards the door, shooting uneasy glances at Suzie. The blonde Demon snarled and headed for the winding metal steps that led up to the next floor. Suzie and I followed after her, sticking close as we passed through the merry throng. Someone pinched my ass. They wouldn't have dared pinch Suzie's. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could see other Demon Lordz working their way through the crowd to join us. There seemed to be quite a few of them.
      The steps led up to a private office that took up the whole of the next floor. Another steel door sealed the office off from the partying below. The female Demon hammered on the door with her fist, while glaring into the lens of an overhead security camera. More Demon Lordz were climbing the steps, cutting off our retreat. Not that I had any intention of retreating until I'd got what I wanted. Suzie was looking out over the company below. Her upper lip curled briefly.
      "You don't approve?" I said quietly.
      "Amateur night," Suzie said dismissively. "I take pain seriously."
      There were any number of ways I could have pursued that remark, but I chose not to follow any of them. Sometimes, that's what friends are for. I looked down the steps, and a dozen Demonz glared back at me. I gave them my best I know something you don'tsmile. They didn't seem particularly impressed. The door finally opened, and the female Demon led us into the private office.
      The noise shut off abruptly as the door closed behind the last of the Demon Lordz. We could have been on another planet. Excellent soundproofing, though whether magical or high-tech wasn't immediately apparent. The whole floor had been converted into one very comfortable meeting place, stuffed with every kind of luxury and indulgence imaginable. Chairs so comfortable that Rip Van Winkle would never have woken up if he'd dozed off in one of them. A massive drinks cabinet, with every potable in the world, plus a few from stranger places. Winter wine, wormwood brandy, creme de Tartarus. Bowls on low tables, full of multi-colored pills and assorted powders. A dozen large television screens covered one wall, all showing different video games. A fifteenth-century hanging tapestry, depicting the fall of Lucifer, not quite long enough to conceal the old and recent blood-stains on the carpet below it, shut off one corner. Most of the floor was glass, presumably reinforced, so that we could all look down on the mortals below, going about their various painful pleasures in eerie silence. All they saw was a mirror, showing what they loved most: themselves. Somebody cleared his throat pointedly, and I looked down the length of the office at Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones, standing on either side of their heavy mahogany desk. They ran the Demon Lordz, as well as The Pit. Neither of them looked at all happy to see me.
      Unlike their fellow gang members, Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones had no time for the traditional street creed look. They both wore power suits, expertly cut and tailored. Their thick black hair was slicked back from their foreheads, and there were bright flashes of gold when they smiled to show off their pointed teeth. They looked sharp and keen and very businesslike. Yuppies from Hell. Mr. Bones was tall and slender, with wasted aesthetic features. His eyes were a pale, pale blue, and the only thing colder was his smile. Mr. Blood was large and ponderous, with red beefy features. His eyes were bright pink, like an albino's.
      Both Lordz held themselves with the easy arrogance of accustomed power. Behind us, the rest of the gang had filed into the office. I counted thirty-two, half and half men and women. They lounged around in various cocky postures, trying to look hard. I ignored them, knowing that would upset them the most. Suzie still had her pump-action shotgun in her hands, pointed exactly half-way between Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones. It didn't seem to worry them too much.
      "Good of you to join us," said Mr. Bones. His voice was soft and effortlessly vicious, a mere breath of air. "You were beginning to disturb the dear patrons, and we can't have that, can we?"
      "Indeed not," said Mr. Blood. His voice was hearty with false cheer. "Can I interest either of you in a chilled glass of Moet & Chandon? We've just opened a bottle. A little caviar, perhaps? Or maybe something a little tastier to chew on?"
      He gestured amiably with a fat hand, and the hanging tapestry drew back of its own accord, to reveal a young woman hanging in chains, slumped in the corner. She was barely out of her teens, entirely naked, and quite dead. There was a big hole in her side, from where something had been feeding on her. Stubs of broken-off ribs showed in the pale red meat, and from the dark depths of the hole, it was clear that some of her internal organs had been removed. There were tooth marks on the broken ribs. Her hair was black as night, her skin was white as snow, with not even the faintest tinge of color in her lips or nipples. And then my heart missed a beat as the dead woman slowly raised her head and looked at me. Her body was dead, but her soul remained, trapped inside. Her eyes were focused on me, and full of suffering. She knew what was happening to her. Her mouth moved silently.
       Help me... help me...
      "The suffering on offer below wasn't enough for this one," said Mr. Blood. "She insisted on the real thing. And we were only too happy to oblige her. A tasty young morsel, eh, Mr. Bones?"
      "What fools these mortals be," breathed Mr. Bones. "But they do make such wonderful snacks."
      Suzie stepped forward and shot the dead woman in the head. At point-blank range, both barrels together blew her whole head apart, leaving nothing behind but a great crimson-and-grey splatter of blood and brains and bone fragments on the wall behind her. The headless body kicked a few times, then was still. Suzie pumped fresh bullets into position and looked calmly at Mr. Bones and Mr. Blood.
      "Some things I don't put up with."
      "Quite right," I said, while the two gang leaders were still numb with shock and outrage. "You forget your place, Demon Lordz. You're not at home now. Time for us to talk seriously, I think. So drop the illusions. We're not tourists. Show us your real faces."
      And in the blink of an eye, the gangsta street gang and their two yuppie leaders were gone, replaced by  whole crowd of crimson-skinned medieval demons. Eight feet tall and overpoweringly brutal, they crowded together before and around us, scarlet as sin, stinking of brimstone, with goats' horns curling up from their foreheads and cloven hooves for feet. Their male and female attributes were sarcastically exaggerated. So were their fangs and claws. Long, twitching tails hung down between their bent legs. Suzie sniffed loudly, unimpressed, and glared at me.
      "You know I hate surprises. So this is why you had me carve a cross in each of my bullets and dip them in holy water."
      "I believe in being prepared," I said calmly. "Allow me to introduce the real Demon Lordz. A batch of very minor demons, on the run from Hell, living among us as humans for the pleasures it affords them."
      "Coffee!" said the Demonz, their snarling voices overlapping. "Ice cream! Cold showers!"
      "And all the mortals we can torture," said Mr. Bones. "We can't keep them away. And they pay us to do it to them!"
      "Not that we do much of the tormenting ourselves, these days," said Mr. Blood. "We find it better to delegate. All our dominatrixes are fully human. No-one understands how to inflict pain better than a trained professional human. You mortals are subtler than we could ever be..."
      "And besides, some of us had trouble with the concept of safe words," said Mr. Bones, glaring about him.
      "If you're all real demons," said Suzie, "how did you escape from Hell?"
      The Demonz sniggered and elbowed each other in the ribs. Mr. Blood giggled. "Why, this is Hell, Faustus, nor are we out of it. Ah, the old jokes are still the best."
      "Answer the lady," I said.
      Mr. Bones shrugged. "Let's just say we're political refugees, and leave it at that. We're hiding out from those who would seek to drag us back."
      "If you're trying to hide," said Suzie, "why call your place The Pit? Isn't that kinda drawing attention to yourselves?"
      "No-one ever said demons were smart," I observed. "And they really are only very minor demons."
      The Demon Lordz moved in a little closer, flexing their claws. The stench of brimstone was almost overpowering. I could feel my eyes smarting. I smiled kindly upon them, utterly casual.
      "What do you want here, Taylor?" said Mr. Bones.
      "The Unholy Grail has come to the Nightside," I said.
      "We know. We don't have it," Mr. Blood said immediately.
      "Never thought for a moment that you did," I said easily. "It's way out of your league. But you know people. You have contacts. You hear things, from others of your kind. So if anyone knows who's got the Unholy Grail, or is closest to getting it, it's you."
      Mr. Blood shook his horned head firmly. He sat on one corner of his desk, and it groaned loudly under his weight. "We don't know, and we don't want to know. We've put a lot of effort into finding our niche and not being returned. If the dark chalice, Iscariot's Bane, really has come here, then you can bet good money that all the real movers and shakers will be out after it, like sharks tasting blood in the water."
      "There are angels in the Nightside," said Mr. Bones, grimacing as though he'd tasted something bitter. "Ranks and degrees far greater than us. They are death and destruction; the will of the Highest and the Lowest made manifest in the mortal world. Nothing material can hope to stand against them."
      "So we are keeping our heads down and staying very quiet on the sidelines," said Mr. Blood. "Until the Elect and the Damned have finished their business here and departed. We have no intention of being found out, and dragged back Below. Not when there are still so many subtle pleasures to be enjoyed here."
      "Life is sweet," said Mr. Bones. "In this tastiest of worlds."
      "The Unholy Grail is a major prize," I suggested. "You could use it to bargain for power and wealth and protection."
      "You don't use the Judas Cup," said Mr. Blood. "I uses you. It is temptation and corruption, and the seduction of fools. It gives nothing that it does not take away, and damnation follows in its wake. Even such as we are frightened of the Unholy Grail."
      The Demonz stirred uneasily, as though even the mention of the dark chalice was enough to call it.
      "However," said Mr. Bones, "there is a prize that we could present to the movers and shakers of the Nightside that might well win us power and wealth and protection."
      "Oh yes?" I said politely. "And what might that be?"
      "The heads of John Taylor and Suzie Shooter," said Mr. Bones, smiling unpleasantly. "Separated from your annoying and intrusive bodies, of course. And thus we avenge ourselves on your many slights, while winning respect from all. A plan with no drawbacks."
      "Hold everything," said Mr. Blood urgently. "Can I have a word with you? Have you lost your mind? This is John Taylorand Shotgun Suziewe're talking about!"
      "So?"
      "So I like having my internal organs where they are, and not splattered all over the surroundings! It's rather difficult to enjoy the subtler pleasures when your passionate parts have been ripped off and stuffed where the sun don't shine! These are dangerous people!"
       "We outnumber them!"
       "So?"
      "Sweet Lucifer, you're a wimp!" said Mr. Bones. "Don't know how you got to be a demon in the first place. Kill the mortals! Rend their bodies and eat their flesh, but make sure the heads are intact!"
      "Oh shut the hell up," said Suzie Shooter.
      She lifted her shotgun and shot Mr. Bones point-blank. The blessed and sanctified bullets tore his crimson face right off, revealing a dirty yellow skull. He fell backwards, screaming piteously. Mr. Blood got up off his desk in a hurry and glared at his partner, writhing in agony on the floor.
       "See!"
      "He'll repair himself in a minute or two," I said quietly to Suzie, as she pumped fresh ammunition into place. The Demonz were circling us slowly now, nerving themselves up to attack. "No earthly weapon can defeat a demon."
      "In which case," said Suzie, tracking the nearest Demonz with her gun, "this would be a really good time for the cavalry to make an appearance. Or failing that, for you to produce one of your last-minute miracle saves."
      I considered the matter thoughtfully. The Demonz were closing in. Mr. Bones sat up, holding his tattered face together with his hands, as the crimson features slowly knit themselves back together. Even Mr. Blood came out from behind his desk.
      "Taylor!" said Suzie. "Anytime now would be good!"
      I held up a hand and smiled. Everyone stopped moving.
      "In the Beginning," I said, "God said Let there be light,and there was. If a man could summon up that light, from the very first moments of creation, and look into it without burning out his eyes or his reason, then that man would have at his command a light that could burn away all the darkness in the world."
      For a long moment, nobody said anything. Mr. Bones stood up, glaring out of his ravaged face.
      "You don't have that kind of power!"
      "Don't I?" I said.
      The Demonz looked at each other, remembering things I'd done and other things I was supposed to have done. I smiled at them easily.
      "Just. . . get out of here," said Mr. Bones. "Get out, and leave us alone. We don't have your bloody Grail."
      "Then point me at someone who might."
      "Try the Fourth Reich," Mr. Blood said quietly. "They've been throwing around some serious money for information on the dark chalice. If nothing else, they'll have better information than we do."
      "See how easy it can be, when everyone acts reasonable?" I said. "There's a lesson for us all in that, I feel. Time we were leaving. Don't bother to show us out."
      We left The Pit behind us and strolled off into the night. If anything, the streets were even emptier. I knew where the Fourth Reich had their quarters. Everyone did. They publicized it hard enough, with everything from leaflets handed out in the street to prime-time advertising. The New Nazi Crusade, or the panzerpoofters, as everyone else called them, weren't short of money. Just followers. They met regularly in an old assembly room right on the edge of uptown. Monied or not, no-one wanted them any closer than that. Last I heard, they were down to a hundred members or so, and they'd given up holding uniformed parades after a dozen golems turned up at the last one to kick their nasty asss up one side of the street and down the other. But they did still have serious financial backers. They might not have the Unholy Grail themselves, but they might well have been able to buy information on who did.
      Suzie looked at me suddenly. "Could you really have summoned up the light of Creation?"
      I smiled. "What do you think?"
      "I never know when you're bluffing."
      "Neither does anyone else. That's the point."
      "I notice you're not answering the question."
      "Ah, Suzie, don't you want a little mystery in your life?"
      She sniffed. "The only mystery in my life is why I continue to put up with you."
      And that was when a figure stepped imperiously out of the shadows ahead, blocking our way. A city gent in a smart suit, complete with bowler hat and rolled umbrella, stood smiling before us. Late forties, cold eyes and colder smile, charming and sophisticated and every bit as dangerous as a coiled cobra. Suzie drew her shotgun and aimed it at him in one smooth motion.
      "Relax, Suzie," said Walker. "It's only me."
      "I know it's you," said Suzie.
      She kept her shotgun trained on him as he approached unhurriedly. Walker, to do him credit, didn't seem in the least perturbed. It was part of his style that nothing ever touched him, despite the many fateful decisions he had to make every day. Walker represented the Authorities, the people in the background who really run things in the Nightside. Inasmuch as anybody does. Don't ask me who these shadowy people might be. I've no idea. No-one has. Sometimes I wonder if even Walker knows for sure. Still, he spoke on their behalf, and his word was law, with any amount of force available to back him up. People lived and died at Walker's word, and he'd never been known to give a damn. He came to a halt before us, leaned casually upon his umbrella and raised his bowler politely to Suzie.
      "I hear you're looking for the Unholy Grail," he said. "Along with practically everyone else in the Nightside who considers himself or herself a power or a player. I, on the other hand, have been instructed by my superiors to withdraw all my people from the Nightside. The word is that I am to let the angels from Above and Below fight it out among themselves. And if anyone here gets hurt, well, if they're in the Nightside, they deserve everything that comes to them. I have the feeling the Authorities see the coming of the angels as an opportunity for a little spring cleaning. Take out the trash, so to speak. The Authorities don't care about individuals, you see. They only care about the long view, and the big picture."
      "And preserving the status quo," I said.
      "Exactly. Their feeling seems to be that the sooner one side or the other acquires the appalling object, the sooner they'll all leave and things around here can get back to what passes for normal. They don't like upsets like this; it's bad for business. It doesn't really matter which side ends up with the Unholy Grail; the Authorities will work out some way to turn a profit. They always do."
      "This is insane," I said, keeping my voice level as my temper rose. "Don't they realize how powerful the Unholy Grail is?"
      "Possibly not. Perhaps they are being overconfident. But I have my orders. Officially, none of my people can get involved. But of course, you're not one of my people, Taylor. Officially. So such restrictions don't apply to you, do they?"
      I nodded slowly. "So, once again I'm doing your dirty work, am I? Cleaning up the messes you're not allowed to touch."
      "It is what you do best," said Walker. "I have every confidence in you. Of course, if you screw up, you're nothing to do with me." He looked at Suzie's shotgun, still trained rock steady on him, and raised an elegant eyebrow. "My dear Suzie, as bloodthirsty as ever. You don't really think guns are going to help you against angels, do you?"
      "There's always the Speaking Gun," I said, and Walker looked at me sharply.
      "The depths and range of your knowledge never cease to amaze me, Taylor. But a word of warning: some cures are worse than the disease."
      Suzie gave him a hard look. "You know about the Speaking Gun?"
      Walker smiled coldly. "Of course, my dear. It's my job to know about things like that. I know all the weapons powerful enough to bring down or destroy the Nightside. As for the Speaking Gun, only the truly irresponsible or the seriously deluded would even consider using such a weapon."
      "Any idea where such a thing might be found?" I said. "The Collector's supposed to have had it for a while."
      "And couldn't hold on to it," said Walker. "Which should tell you something. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. For your and everyone else's good.
      Trust me on this, Taylor. You're in deep enough waters as it is."
      "What is the Authorities' position on the angels themselves?" I asked, acting like I'd given up on the Speaking Gun. It didn't fool Walker in the least, but he went along with it.
      "Their position is that they don't have a position. We are on the sidelines in this, and intend to stay there until all the violence and mass destruction are safely over, one way or another. Then we will return, to supervise the picking up of pieces."
      "People are going to get hurt," I said. "Good people."
      "This is the Nightside," said Walker. "Good people don't come here." He smiled at Suzie. "Good to see you out and working again, my dear. You know I worry about you so."
      "I like to think of you being worried," said Suzie. The gun she had on him hadn't wavered once.
      "Don't you care at all about the carnage that's coming?" I said, and the anger rising in my voice brought his gaze snapping back to me. "If angels go to war in the Nightside, the whole place could end up as rubble, or one big cemetery. What happens to your precious status quo then?"
      Walker looked at me almost sadly. "The Nightside will survive, no matter how many people die. The major players will survive, and all the more important businesses. They're protected. No-one else matters, in the great scheme of things. And no, Taylor, I don't care how many die. Because the Nightside has never been more than a job to me. If I had my way, I'd wipe out the whole sick freak show and start over. But I have my orders."
      "And the Unholy Grail?"
      Walker pursed his lips, and shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. The odds are it's just another religious con job, another fake relic for fools to fight over. There have been more versions of the true Grail passing through here than there were copies of the Maltese Falcon. And even if this Unholy Grail does turn out to be the real thing, from what I've seen of its history, it's never brought anyone any real happiness or lasting power. Let the angels take it away, to Above or Below. We're better off without it. The Unholy Grail is nothing more than tinsel and glamour and shoddy dreams, just like everything else in the Nightside."
      "And if it is... what everyone's afraid it is?" said Suzie.
      "Then it's just as well you and Taylor are on the job, isn't it? So, off you go. Have fun. Try not to break anything too important. But if you do get your hands on the Unholy Grail, don't be foolish enough to hang on to the dreadful thing yourselves. I have to go to enough funerals in the line of duty as it is. The best you'll be able to achieve in this appalling business is to decide which side to hand it over to. Which ma not be as straight forward as you think. You see, I know who your client really is. And you only think you do."
      I started to say something, but Walker had already turned his back on us and was walking unhurriedly away. Head held high and back ramrod straight, as always. He'd said everything he'd come to say, sowed all the right doubts, and now wild horses couldn't drag another word out of him. I shook my head slowly. No-one can mess with your mind like Walker.
      Suzie continued to cover him with her shotgun until he rounded a corner and was safely out of sight, then she holstered the gun with one swift motion, and turned to me. "What was that all about, Taylor? Who is our client?"
      "The Vatican, supposedly." I scowled thoughtfully. "Represented by an undercover priest called Jude."
      "Like in St. Jude's?"
      "Presumably. It occurs to me now that I never did check out his credentials properly. I don't usually slip up like that. There's just something about the man... that makes you want to trust him. Which in the Night-side should be automatic grounds for suspicion. If we do get our hands on the Unholy Grail, I think I'll make a point of asking some really awkward and pointed questions before I hand it over to anyone. Come on, Suzie. Let's get over to the Fourth Reich's headquarters. Before someone else does."
      The old assembly room currently hosting the last great hope of the Fourth Reich was situated at the end of a quiet side street, in a largely residential area. The kind of place where people kept to themselves, minded their own business, and watched the world from behind drawn curtains. The street was empty, the night unusually quiet. Suzie and I strolled down the deserted street, our footsteps sounding unusually loud and carrying. No-one appeared to challenge us as we approached the assembly room. Which was also not usual. Suzie and I stopped outside the front door. It was standing slightly ajar. Suzie unholstered her shotgun, and scowled at the door. I looked at her enquiringly.