The Bride Wore Black Leather

they had no choice. Because the alternatives were worse. People cursed and swore under their breath after he’d moved on, and some even wept bitter tears of rage or affront. Because King of Skin knew things . . . and the best you could hope for was that he wouldn’t tell anyone else.
    No-one ever disputed his right to do these things because he was King of Skin.
    To my surprise, he actually sought out Razor Eddie in his corner. A lot of people started backing away. I mean, you don’t upset the Punk God of the Straight Razor. Not if you like having your organs on the inside. I’ve seen gods and powers come running out of the Street of the Gods, crying their eyes out, because Razor Eddie was on the rampage. But no; King of Skin walked right up to the thin grey presence and sniggered in his face.
    “So, Eddie,” said King of Skin, “when are you going to tell everyone where you really got your pearl-handled straight razor?”
    Razor Eddie looked at him, and the silence lengthened uncomfortably. King of Skin snarled and growled under his breath, and turned abruptly away. And I stopped holding a breath I hadn’t even realised was caught in my throat. It was as though two great racing cars had played chicken, and one had turned aside at the last moment. King of Skin strode up to Dead Boy, who was still making serious inroads on the buffet and sucking his dead fingers noisily. He straightened up as he sensed King of Skin approaching and turned unhurriedly round to face him.
    “So, Dead Boy; how’s your girl-friend these days? Still changeable?”
    “Fuck off, Skinny,” Dead Boy said flatly. “You can’t frighten me. I’m dead.”
    “Even the dead have nightmares,” said King of Skin, the air rippling and puckering around his hands as he played with probabilities.
    Dead Boy smiled suddenly, and it was a most unpleasant smile. “I made a deal with my worst nightmare. You invoke that, and it’ll rip the soul right out of you.”
    And again, King of Skin turned suddenly away, faced with something even worse than he was. He snarled with frustration and turned on Mistress Mayhem, who started to back away, then made herself hold her ground. It was always worse if you made him chase after you.
    “Love the blue skin,” said King of Skin. “Hope you don’t run out of dye. And you didn’t want the baby anyway. Don’t worry; I won’t tell the Thunder god what you did.”
    A single tear ran down Mayhem’s blue cheek, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything. King of Skin sniggered loudly and turned his hot gaze on Lord Orlando before dismissing him as easy prey. The Lord Orlando almost fainted with relief. King of Skin looked around him, laughing breathily every time someone flinched, and finally advanced on the Bride. She glared down her nose at him and didn’t budge an inch. Springheel Jack stepped forward and stood between King of Skin and his prey.
    “Wait your turn, boy,” said King of Skin. “I’ll get to you.”
    “Leave the lady alone,” said Springheel Jack. “Or else.”
    “Or else? You think you can threaten me, boy? I know all about you. Who you were before, what you really are now. Does the Bride know . . .”
    “One more word, and I’ll open you up and let your lights see the light,” said Springheel Jack.
    “You think you can hurt me, boy? I have made myself into a thing that cannot be harmed by mortal weapons!”
    “My razors are no mortal weapons,” said Springheel Jack. “And there’s nothing left you can scare me with. Because I’ve already been through it.”
    King of Skin looked at him, his hot gaze meeting cold, cold eyes; and again, he looked away. No-one could believe it.
    “Come away, Jack,” said the Bride. “He’s not worth it.”
    She led her beau away, one huge hand on his arm, and King of Skin whirled around, watching everyone watching him, and rage and frustrated malice filled his face. And while he stood there, undecided, Hadleigh Oblivion strolled out of the crowd to stand before him. He smiled easily at King of Skin, whose eyes narrowed as he drew himself up to his full height. The whole ballroom was utterly still, utterly silent, as everyone watched, fascinated, to see what would happen.
    “When are people going to realise that your power is nothing more than skin-deep?” said Hadleigh.
    King of Skin flinched as though he’d been hit. I didn’t know what Hadleigh meant, but his opponent clearly did.
    “When are you going