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, 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 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
John B. Garvey, Mary Lou Widmer