wheelchair, Madame Cinders led Spyder and Shrike to a padlocked room where the walls were padded with thick, stained silk.
Primo unlocked the door. In the darkest corner of the room, away from the light cast by the lone window, a man lay in a fetal position. His gray hair was greasy and wild. With dirty, bandaged fingers he mindlessly picked at the white padding that spilled out from a rip in the wall. The man's eyes were unfocussed, wide and wild.
From the door, Shrike said, "Father?" She stepped into the padded room, but Madame Cinders put up an arm to bar her. Shrike grabbed Spyder's shoulder. "What does he look like?" she asked.
"He's a mess," said Spyder. "Like those homeless guys you see eating out of dumpsters. I'm sorry."
"He is not in his right mind, child. He is quiet now, but can be quite dangerous."
Shrike pushed past Madame Cinders and felt along the wall until she found the huddled man. Spyder moved into the doorway, but hung back. He heard Madame Cinders muttering, "Brave girl. Stupid girl. She has to see everything for herself."
Shrike knelt by the old man and put her hand on his bony chest. "Father? It's Alizarin . . . "
The old man screamed and his hands flailed out, knocking Shrike back. Spyder darted across the room and pulled her back to the door. The old man kept on screaming, batting at invisible attackers, kicking at the empty air. Deep scars lined his cheeks where he'd clawed his skin away. He was reaching for something and if he hadn't been chained to the wall, he looked like he would be clawing past Spyder and Shrike and anything else he could get hold of. What is he trying to grab? wondered Spyder. He described all this to Shrike.
"What's wrong with him?" Shrike asked Madame Cinders.
"We found him in an asylum in Persia," she said. "He's been made mad by a curse, just as you were blinded by one. Only what your father is suffering is much, much worse."
"What is he fighting? What does he see?"
"He is seeing Hell, child, dwelling in two Spheres at once. His body is here, but his mind is chained below in some abyssal dungeon. What he is fighting off are the demons that torment him."
Shrike stood facing her father, though Spyder knew she couldn't see him. Still, he could feel her body shaking almost imperceptibly. She was trying to see him, trying to will his face into her mind.
"There is only one way to restore your father. And that is to free him from the diabolical shackles that keep him bound below. Otherwise, this is his fate until his heart or his mind finally crack forever."
"I understand," said Shrike, cutting off the other woman. "But I have to ask you again—and I don't ask this arrogantly, but out of fear that I can't truly help my father—how do I assassinate spirits? I fight the living."
"You kill the dead with the weapons of the dead," said Madame Cinders. "Give it to her," she told Primo. The little man came forward and pulled a long-bladed knife from an inner pocket of his jacket. He pressed the knife into Shrike's hand and stepped courteously back. Spyder could see by the way Shrike held the weapon that it was heavier than it looked. The hilt was some kind of black horn inlaid with fine silverwork and a blood-red ruby on each side. Shrike slowly pulled the blade from its scabbard, getting the feel of the thing.
"A hellspawn stole from me, so before I left that cursed place I returned the favor," Madame Cinders wheezed before lapsing into a coughing fit. "That is the knife of Apollyon, also called Abbadon. Do you know of him?"
"His name means 'The Destroyer,'" said Spyder.
"The Destroyer," repeated Madame Cinders. "The blade will kill anything in this world or the next."
"Why would a powerful demon need such a weapon?" asked Shrike. "What aren't you telling us?"
"Clever girl," said Madame Cinders. "You see far beyond your blindness."
"Answer the question, please."
"Apollyon is a general in Lucifer's army. He is part of a loyal faction that opposes Asmodai and
Primo unlocked the door. In the darkest corner of the room, away from the light cast by the lone window, a man lay in a fetal position. His gray hair was greasy and wild. With dirty, bandaged fingers he mindlessly picked at the white padding that spilled out from a rip in the wall. The man's eyes were unfocussed, wide and wild.
From the door, Shrike said, "Father?" She stepped into the padded room, but Madame Cinders put up an arm to bar her. Shrike grabbed Spyder's shoulder. "What does he look like?" she asked.
"He's a mess," said Spyder. "Like those homeless guys you see eating out of dumpsters. I'm sorry."
"He is not in his right mind, child. He is quiet now, but can be quite dangerous."
Shrike pushed past Madame Cinders and felt along the wall until she found the huddled man. Spyder moved into the doorway, but hung back. He heard Madame Cinders muttering, "Brave girl. Stupid girl. She has to see everything for herself."
Shrike knelt by the old man and put her hand on his bony chest. "Father? It's Alizarin . . . "
The old man screamed and his hands flailed out, knocking Shrike back. Spyder darted across the room and pulled her back to the door. The old man kept on screaming, batting at invisible attackers, kicking at the empty air. Deep scars lined his cheeks where he'd clawed his skin away. He was reaching for something and if he hadn't been chained to the wall, he looked like he would be clawing past Spyder and Shrike and anything else he could get hold of. What is he trying to grab? wondered Spyder. He described all this to Shrike.
"What's wrong with him?" Shrike asked Madame Cinders.
"We found him in an asylum in Persia," she said. "He's been made mad by a curse, just as you were blinded by one. Only what your father is suffering is much, much worse."
"What is he fighting? What does he see?"
"He is seeing Hell, child, dwelling in two Spheres at once. His body is here, but his mind is chained below in some abyssal dungeon. What he is fighting off are the demons that torment him."
Shrike stood facing her father, though Spyder knew she couldn't see him. Still, he could feel her body shaking almost imperceptibly. She was trying to see him, trying to will his face into her mind.
"There is only one way to restore your father. And that is to free him from the diabolical shackles that keep him bound below. Otherwise, this is his fate until his heart or his mind finally crack forever."
"I understand," said Shrike, cutting off the other woman. "But I have to ask you again—and I don't ask this arrogantly, but out of fear that I can't truly help my father—how do I assassinate spirits? I fight the living."
"You kill the dead with the weapons of the dead," said Madame Cinders. "Give it to her," she told Primo. The little man came forward and pulled a long-bladed knife from an inner pocket of his jacket. He pressed the knife into Shrike's hand and stepped courteously back. Spyder could see by the way Shrike held the weapon that it was heavier than it looked. The hilt was some kind of black horn inlaid with fine silverwork and a blood-red ruby on each side. Shrike slowly pulled the blade from its scabbard, getting the feel of the thing.
"A hellspawn stole from me, so before I left that cursed place I returned the favor," Madame Cinders wheezed before lapsing into a coughing fit. "That is the knife of Apollyon, also called Abbadon. Do you know of him?"
"His name means 'The Destroyer,'" said Spyder.
"The Destroyer," repeated Madame Cinders. "The blade will kill anything in this world or the next."
"Why would a powerful demon need such a weapon?" asked Shrike. "What aren't you telling us?"
"Clever girl," said Madame Cinders. "You see far beyond your blindness."
"Answer the question, please."
"Apollyon is a general in Lucifer's army. He is part of a loyal faction that opposes Asmodai and
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