"I had an abortion, just after my fifteenth birthday. No cake and candles for me that year. They made me look at the foetus, afterwards. So I wouldn't forge the lesson. Like I could ever forget. I killed my brother. Shot him dead with a gun I stole. My first gun. Pissed on his body, and then ran away to the Nightside. Been here ever since. Swore I'd never be weak and vulnerable, not ever again. I'm Shotgun Suzie now, death on two legs. But I can't be touched. Not by anyone. Not even by a friend, or a lover. I'm safe now. Safe from everyone. Even myself."

"You mean... there's never been anyone in your life?" I said. "No-one you could ever trust enough to..."

"No. Never."

"I had no idea how alone you really were, Suze."

"Don't call me that," she said in a dead voice. "That's what he used to call me."

"Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry, Suzie. I am so sorry."

Some life came back into her eyes as she looked at me, and her mouth turned down in a bitter smile. "I would trust you with my life, John. But I can't bear to have you touch me. My brother won after all. Because even though I killed him, he's always with me."

I didn't know what to say, so I just said "I'm here, Suzie."

"I know," she said. "And sometimes, that's enough."

She got up, retrieved the Speaking Gun by wrapping the case around it, and put the case back in her jacket. She stood on the edge of the stage, looking out into the darkness. She seemed entirely composed again. I came and stood beside her.

"It's just a gun," she said, not looking at me. "I know how to handle guns. Next time, I'll use it."

I nodded. And after a while we walked out of the Styx Theatre together, side by side and miles and miles between us.

We'd only just got out into the street when my mobile rang again. This time it was Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor. Or so he claims, and since he tends to kill people who disagree, not many people contest the point any more. Certainly he's one of the strangest and most dangerous people in the Nightside, and that takes some doing. I suppose we're friends. It's hard to tell sometimes, in the Nightside. This time he had information for me.

"I hear you're looking for the Unholy Grail," he said, without preamble. "I know where it is. The Collector's got it."

"I'd pretty much worked that out for myself," I said. "What makes you think the Collector's got it?"

"Because I got it for him," said Eddie. His voice was a ghostly whisper, as always. 'To be exact, he hired me to take it away from the bastards who had it. The Collector got a bit jumpy after his people lost the Speaking Gun, so he came to me. Normally he'd know better, but this time he had something I wanted,