"Watch this," he said. And with a broad and sexy sweep, he set those tiny machines working on his and Suze's hair. You could almost hear them feeding on the dirt and grease. Nanosham was a jelly base containing hundreds of baby computers. They turned dirt into data, processing hair clean, giving the people droidlocks; the ultimate crusty accessory.

"My darling," whispered Tristan to his love. "This is the sweetest pleasure."

Suze turned to me, holding out a clutch of the nanoes. "You want to try some?" she asked. Her eyes knew all my secrets. I felt her there, inside my body, and it was like she was caressing me. Maybe Suze was a shadowgirl. But no, it wasn't that, it felt different. Felt like she was becoming me.

"Young man's got no hair anyway," Tristan said. I couldn't answer. Couldn't even shake my head. All of the air had turned into smoke. Maybe the herb brew was giving me visions. I saw a thick snake of hair writhing between the heads of a man and a woman. And voices drifting through like mist patches, like waves of knowledge. I didn't know where I was...

The people were talking all around me, about me, but none of them made sense; all I could feel was Suze's body inside mine, touching all parts of me. I was getting a hard-on! What was this? The voices. .

"You should."

"Little boy."

"Saves on shampoo."

"He's got no hair."

"Call that a haircut?"

"It's a crew job."

Who was saying what? And when? And to whom?

I felt a sudden, clammy hand stroking my short blond hair. Okay, it's short. Well who gives a fuck! Some of us look like shit with long hair. This the beautiful people will never understand. I'm just trying to look good, you know, my best. Some kind of best. And I shivered as I felt those fingers stroking my head. Get the fuck off me! Until I realised it was my own hand. It was my own hand stroking me; through the fog it had come, in order to stroke.

"Aw! Look at the baby."

"He's shaking."

"He's stroking his hair."

"He's nervous." "He just doesn't know any more."

All those voices calling to me, through the mist...

The world was a haze. "What's she doing to me!" I shouted. "Stop her!"

And the voices falling to silence and all those eyes on me now, as Tristan told Suze to stop playing with me. Suze said that I had the dream within me, but I was well gone, and the feeling of bliss fading as Suze removed herself from my body.

What was that woman?

"Tell the story, Scribb." Beetle's voice.

The last drop fell away and I was myself again, with only a lonely space left in my soul, and a story to tell...

Last time I saw my sister, for real, she was sitting opposite me, across an apple jam-smeared table, with a feather in her mouth, expecting to fly. It was me, the brother, holding the feather there, turning it all around inside of her mouth. And then moving it to my own mouth, and Desdemona's eyes were glazed already by the Vurt, as I twisted the feather deep, to follow her down. Wherever she was going, I was going too. I really believed that.

We went down together, sister and brother, falling into Vurt, watching the credits roll; WELCOME TO ENGLISH VOODOO. EXPECT TO FEEL PLEASURE. KNOWLEDGE IS SEXY. EXPECT TO FEEL PAIN. KNOWLEDGE IS TORTURE.

Last time I saw my sister, close up, intimate, in the Vurt world, she was falling through a hole in a garden, clutched at by yellow weeds, cut by thorns, screaming my name out loud. A small yellow feather was fluttering at her lips.

I told her not to go through that door. It was a NO GO door. She went anyway.

I told her not to. She went anyway.

"I want to go there, Scribble. I want you to come with me. Will you come?" My sister's last real words to me, before the yellow feather kicked in, and she was falling, screaming my name.

Some of us die, not in the living world, but in the dream world. Amounts to the same thing. Death is always the same. There are some dreams you never wake up from.

Desdemona...

The room, in silence.

Later that day. Hours of smoke uncounted, but now the mist was drifting apart, revealing tiny fragments of the real world. These little glimpses stung the eyes like needles. I could no longer tell the tale; its telling was too much for me. I was shaking from the memories; Desdemona was aching in my heart.

Tristan broke the mood. "You found another feather in there?" he asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

I just nodded.

Through the tears I saw that Suze was sitting at a small table, consulting the oracle. She was shaking a can of bones around, and then dropping them onto the table. On the baize lay a spread of picture cards. She took note of which cards were touched by which shape of bone, and then threw the bones once more. Karli the robodog was licking my face, like she loved me, or something. Her tongue was long and wet, slick with nanoes. I swear I could feel them cleaning my face for me, cleaning all the salt tears away. "It was a yellow feather?" Tristan asked.

"Yes. Small and yellow. Totally yellow," I managed. "It was beautiful."

"You want to tell how you found it? Or what happened?"

I didn't. Tristan just nodded. "I understand," he said.

Did he?

"I've been there," he added.

"What?"

"I've been inside English Voodoo."

"Tell me." I was desperate for knowledge.

Tristan looked over to where Suze was working the cards and the bones. Then he looked back at me. "You lost your sister there?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And got what in return?"

"I don't know what it is. Some kind of Vurt alien. We call him the Thing."

My mind dragged me back. Me waking up from the English Voodoo feather, covered by the weight of slime. The Thing writhing about on top of me. Me screaming at it, pushing with all my strength to get out from under, tears falling from my eyes, a cry rising in my throat. The sister gone forever, replaced by this lump of stuff.

Tristan nodded. The rates of exchange are complex. Nobody really knows how they work. Only that a constant balance has to be kept, between this world and the Vurt world. Both worlds must always contain the same worth.

"The Thing can't be as worthy as Des. Just can't be..."

"In his own world, that Thing is loved just as much. Everything adds up. The Game Cat tells you this. Believe me, the Game Cat knows."

"What do you know?" I asked.

Tristan looked over at Suze once more before answering. "Your sister took Curious Yellow."

Oh Christ!

Even the Beetle was aroused, out of Haze slumber. "Curious Yellow!" he shouted. "Holy shit! We're fucked, Scribble, baby!"

"Most probably," Tristan said. "Curious Yellow lives inside English Voodoo. It's a metafeather."

Curious Yellow was often talked about, never seen, never felt. It was up there in the higher echelons, where the demons and the gods lived. Nobody pure could ever touch it, but Desdemona had touched it, tasted it, and now she was no more of this world, and the chances of getting her back were falling rapidly to zero. "What is Curious Yellow?" I asked. "How can I find it?"

"It can't be found, Scribble," Tristan replied. "It can only be earned. Or stolen."

"Desdemona's in there. I know she is!"

"Most probably she's dead."

His words cut me, but I wasn't giving up; "No. She talks to me. She's alive! She's in there, somewhere. She's calling to me. What can I do, Tristan?"

"Give up."

"Is that what you did?" I asked, and I could tell that I'd got to him. He'd lost somebody! He'd been there, in the Voodoo, lost somebody to the Curious. I could see the pain in his eyes, like a mirror.

"There's no hope," he answered. "Believe me. I've tried." "So you won't help us?" the Beetle asked.