Simon Green - The Bride Wore Black Leather

The Sun King cried out, in horror and disgust, as the Entities took him over and spoke through him.

“Yes. This is what we are. This is what we do. We use up worlds, consuming them entirely. And then we move on, to the next. Because we’re always hungry. This world, this reality, is all used up. We need . . . a new ball of dung. Your world. Your reality. So we made this man into a weapon, to open the door for us. To let our light shine over the Nightside and make it our feeding ground. And after we are done here . . . your world is such a fine, rich, fecund place. Who knows how long we can make it last? A population like yours will feed us for generations. We are not the Entities from Beyond. We are not Aquarians. If you must have a name for us . . . call us Shiva Rising.”

The Sun King took off his tinted glasses with a trembling hand and let them drop to the floor, so he could look at us clearly. I’d never seen such misery in a man’s eyes.

“Send them away,” I said, through numb, unfeeling lips. “You brought them in; only you can send them back.”

“But then . . . I wouldn’t be the Sun King any more,” he said, in his own voice. “Only ordinary, everyday Harry Webb.”

Dr. Benway moved forward to stand with me, holding the Sun King’s gaze with her own. “That was enough for both of us, once.”

“Harry Webb was my friend,” said Julien Advent, moving forward on my other side. “I’ve missed him. I could always depend on him, to do the right thing.”

“I was a drug addict, before I met you,” said the Sun King. “I thought . . . I’d found something better. But it was just another kind of addiction. Still, I know how to fight that.”

Shiva Rising’s voice filled the whole church, too huge a thing to be channelled through one man.

You cannot stop us! You cannot reject us, Sun King! We made you! We own you!

“Is that true, Harry?” said Dr. Benway.

The Sun King slowly turned his head to look at me. “I was wrong. I only saw what I wanted to see. But I . . . am still the good guy. So kill me, John Taylor. Do the hard but necessary thing. Break the link, and drive the Entities out of here. Save the world; because I can’t.”

“Haven’t you learned anything yet?” I said. “It’s easy to make amends by dying for a cause. Do the hard thing; live for what you believe in. Defy the Entities by deciding who you are for yourself. You invited them in; you can kick them out.”

“But I’m not strong enough!” said the Sun King.

“Good thing you’re not alone then,” said the Lord of Thorns. “And that this . . . is St. Jude’s.”

The Sun King smiled slowly. “I am the last one who remembers the Dream. The Summer of Love. The beautiful people. The love generation.” He turned and looked back into the gateway, at the Entities who had never been what he thought they were. He looked right into the terrible light, and he didn’t flinch. “I am the Sun King; and I am not what you made me, or intended me to be. In that wonderful summer of ’67, I was the most wonderful thing in it. And I still hold within me the love from that time, and the light. Take it.”

The power rose in St. Jude’s again, older than the church, older than Christianity, older than we could hope to comprehend. But still, something kind, something that cares for us. It bound us all together, and together we called up the love and the light from that distant summer, and threw it at Shiva Rising like a weapon. And the sun shone down. For the first time in centuries, sunlight came to the Nightside, and filled the Church of St. Jude’s, a pure white light, stamping out the sour and awful light that had spilled in from the Other side. It poured through the gateway, into the other place, and the Entities couldn’t stand it. They screamed. They pulled back from the Sun King, from the light and the love of the Summer of Love, and slammed the door shut forever, to protect themselves.

Sealed up in that dark and terrible place, to feed on each other, until there were none of them left.

The Light snapped off and was gone. But all the candles in St. Jude’s were lit, glowing cheerfully away. Where the Sun King had been, now stood an ordinary-looking young man in a T-shirt and jeans. Harry Webb. And walking slowly towards him, a beautiful young woman in a doctor’s white coat, who had once been called Princess Starshine. Because the power in St. Jude’s might be harsh and sometimes even brutal in its demand for the truth, but it also knew mercy and compassion. I knew that, because I felt really good. Totally relaxed, all my hurts gone, complete and ready for anything. I stretched slowly and laughed easily. And then Cathy and Suzie went to clean the blood off my face with handkerchiefs and spit; and I hugged them both to me.

Julien Advent nodded easily to Harry Webb, as though this was something that happened to him every day. “Good to have you back, my old friend. You did the right thing in the end; as I always knew you would. What will you do now?”

“I still believe in the Dream,” said Harry. “So I suppose it’s up to me to convince everyone else. One day, one step, at a time. Try to shed a little light in the Nightside. With a little help from my friends . . . Hello, Emily. It’s been a while.”

“You should never have left me behind,” said the young Dr. Benway. “See what trouble you get into, without me?”

“I think we could all use a nice little sit-down and a chat, and a beverage of something pleasant,” said Julien. “I suggest we adjourn to the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille. It’s bound to be back by now. There are all kinds of useful contacts you can make there, Harry, including some old friends you might recognise.”

“All right!” I said. “That’s it! Everybody out! I have a wedding to prepare for.”

“Damn right,” said Suzie Shooter.

The wedding turned out to be a very happy and peaceful event. Everything went exactly as it should, with the Lord of Thorns presiding over the ceremony in St. Jude’s. Not a particularly traditional service, but the Lord of Thorns made a very thorough job of it. Made you feel that no-one would ever dare put asunder what he had put together. Suzie wore her black leathers, though I did manage to talk her out of the bandoliers of bullets. Because she was Suzie Shooter, Shotgun Suzie, now and forever. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. She looked wonderful—tall and proud and finally at peace with herself.

I wore the best-tailored formal suit the Nightside could produce, instead of my usual trench coat; because if Suzie wasn’t going to wear white, neither was I.

Alex was there as best man, and Cathy as maid of honour. Alex wore a more dignified version of his usual all-black outfit, dispensing with the shades, just for me. I’m not entirely sure what Cathy was wearing, but it was very colourful, and I’m sure deeply fashionable. Suzie and I decided early on to keep the guests to a minimum. Dead Boy was there in his purple greatcoat, and Razor Eddie in a whole new raincoat and a cloud of anti-perspirant. Larry Oblivion in his smart suit, and Tommy in his finest and most flouncy New Romantic silks. Julien Advent, in his finest Victorian garb, complete with scarlet-lined opera cloak, representing the Authorities. (The other members sent their best wishes, and a very nice automatic tea-maker. Least they could do, under the circumstances.) The London Knights sent their representative, Sir Gareth. And Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat turned up, claiming to represent Shadows Fall. I think they just like weddings. Certainly the Bear beamed happily throughout the ceremony, while the Sea Goat drank vodka straight from the bottle and cried big happy tears all through the responses. And the front door from my old office building, propped up at the back and humming happily to itself. Because I’d promised.