Butcher Bird

Shrike dropped her coat and sword onto the big bed and went to the cabinets without hesitation. Spyder sat down on the edge of the bed watching her sure movements. Even though it was occupying an alien space, he thought, this was clearly her room.

"I've been on the road for a while, so I'm not really Suzy Homemaker these days," said Shrike, opening and closing the cabinets. She came back to the bed with a couple of bundles. "All I have is some wine and focaccia."

"The breakfast of champions," Spyder said.

"My glasses are all broken, so we're going to have to share the bottle," Shrike said.

"That's okay. It'll give me a chance to look butch for once tonight."

Shrike smiled and sliced the wax and cork from the top of the bottle with the edge of her sword, then handed the wine to Spyder. It tasted like wind felt at the top of a hill on a summer night. He handed the bottle back to Shrike. "Wow," he said.

Shrike took a long drink. "Don't forget to eat, too. Give it a chance, and this wine will leave you half-naked, shoeless and wearing a dog collar, with only a vague memory of how you got that way."

"Does the wine have a sister?"

"You wish."

Between bites of spicy focaccia Spyder said, "You're not at the Coma Gardens. How is your client going to find you?"

"Magic."

"You're not much like most girls."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"That's how it's meant."

"Slow down on the wine, pony boy. You don't want your mouth getting too far ahead of your brain."

"How long have you been living like this? Out of your little magic book?"

"A long time. Since: Almost half my life."

"You and your business partner, the one I'm standing in for."

"He'd be the one."

"What happened to him?"

Shrike chewed with great deliberation for some time. "He was killed by assassins. Hellspawn."

"You don't ever do anything halfway, do you? It's not enough that your friend got iced. He was done in by hell's hit men."

"I didn't ask for an exciting life, believe me. I crave boredom."

"I know the feeling."

"I don't remember what seeing is like," Shrike said.

"You used to be able to see?"

"Yes. After I went blind, I could still remember things. Colors. Moonlight. My father's face. It's all gone now, though."

"When you cut that lock, I thought you were playing me. A pretty girl just pretending to be blind to look less dangerous."

"You're not the first person to think that," she said, and took off her shades. "But I really am blind."

Spyder looked at her for a long time. He wanted to be sure that what he was seeing wasn't a trick of the firelight. Shrike's eyes were fractured, like cracked glass. The misshapen pupils were ants trapped in amber. Shrike's eyes were bright, but dead.

"That can't be natural," he said.

"I was cursed."

"The bastard lover you talked about?"

She nodded. "It's a story I don't feel like telling right now." Shrike drank more wine and lay back on the bed. "I've answered enough questions for now. Tell me about you, Spyder Lee."

"I'm a Leo. I like wine and focaccia, Seventies Kraut-rock, and I dig chicks with their own swords." Spyder lay down next to Shrike and kissed her hand. She let him, he noted, but a moment later she put her hand on his chest to keep him from going any further.

"Slow down, pony boy."

"Sorry," he said. "To answer something you asked earlier, I'm not Spider Clan. Or, hell, maybe I am. My father loved cars and he loved James Dean. I'm named for the model of Porsche Dean raced. It's also the car that killed him."

Shrike laughed. "You're named for a dead man's car?"

"I think the saddest day of my father's life was when I saw my first James Dean movie and only thought it was okay."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. We already had some problems, then he just sort of lost interest in me. He wasn't mean or anything. We just didn't ever talk much after that. I think I broke some kind of sacred bond I didn't even know was supposed to be there. It was his own fault. He took me to see Journey into Fear. The old man had James Dean, but on my planet, Orson Welles was the man."

"I've heard of him. Tell me more."

" Citizen Kane 's still the greatest movie ever. People don't even know that it's a pure special effects flick. It all looks so real, so natural. But there's also Journey into Fear. Most people haven't even heard of that one. Welles directed it, but the studio fucked him and he didn't get credit. He plays a Turkish cop. He looked ten feet tall. I wanted him to be my father and I wanted to be him at the same time." Spyder sat up and fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette. The wine had left him lightheaded, but happily so. He found half a pack of American Spirits and lit one. Shrike held out two fingers in a V shape. Spyder placed the cigarette there. She took a drag and handed it back to him.

"He was just a little older than me and had already made the greatest movie ever, and was instantly washed up," Spyder said. "I always wanted to do something like Welles."

"Be washed up at an early age?"