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 Taylor and Shotgun Suzie we'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.