The Bride Wore Black Leather

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.

ELEVEN
    All the Best Stories End in a Wedding
    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