Dead Streets (38 page)

  I hope Baron would let go of Devona in order to fulfill Henry's order, but instead he picked her up and hurled her toward the flesh wall. She flew across the room and slammed into the wall, but before she could bounce off, the veins in that section of the wall wrapped around her like swollen, throbbing tentacles and held her fast. I understood what had happened. The fleshtech in the room had been created from reanimated tissue, and was therefore just as susceptible to Osseal's influence as any of Baron's other creations, and it was under Henry's control.

  Baron turned and started walking toward me. There was no hesitation in his motion, but his gaze was sorrowful, and I knew that what Henry had said was true. Baron was fully aware of what he was being made to do, and though he fought against Osseal's power, he had no choice but to obey Henry's commands. I felt sorry for Baron, but not so sorry that I intended to let him reduce me to zombie nuggets. I drew my .45, took aim at his head, and started firing.

  I was hoping to do the same to him as I had to Jigsaw Jones, but Baron was far faster than the wrestler, and he brought his arms up in time to intercept the bullets and protect his head. The .45's rounds tore into the flesh of his arms, and while there was some blood, it was far less than it should've been. Over the last century and a half, Victor Baron had made himself into the pinnacle of what the reanimatory arts could accomplish, and that meant he was strong and tough as hell. He could take a handful of bullets without flinching, and they certainly didn't slow him down. He came at me so swiftly that even if I'd had the reflexes of a living man I wouldn't have been able to get out of the way. I dropped my .45, pulled the salamander out of my pocket, and gave its tiny belly a good squeeze.

  Flame shot out of the creature's mouth and it struck Baron on the side of his perfect face. The flesh sizzled and blackened, but Baron kept coming. He reached out, wrapped his hand around my wrist, and squeezed, crushing the bones along with the salamander. He then grabbed hold of my wrist and tore my arm out of the socket.

  "Dammit! I
hate
that!" I shouted. "Do you know how many times that's happened to me?"

  On the bright side, Baron had also torn the sleeve off Bogdan's coat when he pulled the arm off, so it wasn't a total loss.

  Baron came at me, still holding onto my arm, and I remembered the swill the recently deceased minotaur had forced me to drink outside Hemlocks. The Sprawlicano had been sloshing around in my stomach ever since, and since I'd have to get rid of the wretched stuff eventually, I figured now was an excellent time to heave ho.

  I tensed my stomach muscles, opened my mouth as wide as I could and let Baron have it right in the face. Whatever nasty ingredients the Sprawlicano had originally been made from, their time pickling in my zombie stomach had taken them to a whole new level of putrefaction. A nauseating liquid stew of browns, greens and grays splashed into Baron's eyes and he roared in pain and staggered backward. I imagined the toxic mess burned like hell and probably stank worse than a ghoul's breath after a two week eating binge at the Roadkill Roadhouse. Baron wiped his swollen, reddened eyes with his free hand and I was mildly surprised – and a bit disappointed – to see that Sprawlicano ala Richter hadn't eaten away the man's eyeballs. My reguritory assault hadn't done more than make Baron pause and a second later, eyesight cleared, he came at me again.

  Baron had managed to retain hold of my arm, and wielding it like a club, he slammed it into the side of my head so hard that I thought he was going to undo his own handiwork and decapitate me again. But though the blow sent me sprawling onto the floor, my head remained attached. Thank Dis for small favors.

  Still gripping my arm, Baron came toward me. The sorrow in his eyes was palpable now, and along with it was an impotent rage. Baron was fighting Osseal's power with everything he had, but no matter how strong his will was, he couldn't resist the artifact's magic on his own. I sat up, determined not to meet my fate lying down, and as I moved, the pieces of Papa Chatha's Loa necklace rustled together.

  Maybe Baron couldn't throw off the effects of Osseal by himself, but if he had a little help…

  Devona had been fighting to escape from the veintentacles that held her, and when she saw Baron tear my arm off, she decided to quit fooling around. She bared her fangs and bit down into one of the veins, tearing out a great bloody chunk which she spit out. Ichor gushed from the wound, spraying the air and soaking her in crimson. She instantly became too slick for the other veins to hold on to her, and she wriggled out of their embrace and fell to the floor. She landed on her feet and started running toward Baron, and even though I loved her, at that moment, seeing her covered with blood, fangs bared, eyes blazing with feral fury, I was scared of her.

  Just as Baron was about to hit me with my own arm again, Devona launched herself through the air and landed on his back. She bit into the side of his neck and ripped out a hunk of flesh. Blood flowed from the wound – but again, less than it should have – and though the injury should've hurt like blazes, Baron's face showed only his internal struggle against Osseal's magic. With his free hand he reached up and grabbed Devona by the top of the head and flung her forward off of him. She sailed overtop me and slammed into the opposite wall where more coils of vein ensnared her.

  But she'd given me the distraction I needed.

  I rose to my feet, staggered toward Baron, and concentrating to make my uncoordinated left hand obey me, I removed the Loa necklace from around my neck. I knew I had only one shot at this, so – remembering how my bad hand now worked – I aimed for a point several inches to the left of Baron's head and threw the necklace. It flew through the air and while its trajectory was a bit lopsided, it looped over Baron's head and settled around his bleeding neck.

  Score!

  The effect was immediate. Baron's features twisted with anger. He dropped my arm and turned to face Henry. Frankenstein had been watching the fight with glee, but now a look of alarm came onto his face.

  "How could you do this?" Baron said, anguish in his voice. "We may have had our conflicts over the years, Father, but everything I've ever done, I did to make you proud of me, to prove myself worthy of the life you gave me! I can't believe that you hate me so much that you could harm so many people just to ruin me."

  Baron continued to walk toward Henry as he spoke and now the two men stood facing one another, creation to creator, son to father. The fear in Frankenstein's face gave way to pure loathing.

  "Believe it," he snarled.

  Baron gave his father a last sorrowful look before ripping Osseal free from the scientist's chest. Henry cried out in pain as Baron tossed the now bloody flute aside and the song of Osseal which had accompanied Henry's breathing was silenced.

  Frankenstein gave his creation a final defiant glare.

  "Go ahead. Do it."

  Baron nodded sadly, took hold of his father's head in both hands with a surprisingly gentle touch, and then with a single swift motion tore Henry's head from his shoulders. Frankenstein's body fell to the ground, blood pumping from both neck and chest wounds, but Baron paid it no mind. He held Henry's head so he could look upon his father's face as the light dimmed in his eyes and finally went out, taking the hatred with it, leaving nothing but a dull emptiness. Then Baron clasped the head to his chest and began to cry.

 
 

 
A day later, Devona and I sat on the couch in the great room of the Midnight Watch, illusory fire burning in the hearth, Rover moving around us as playful gusts of air, the ward spirit occasionally tousling our hair to get our attention. My right arm was back where it should be, thanks to Victor Baron, who'd also adjusted my left hand. The rest of the damage I'd sustained over the last couple days had been repaired by Papa Chatha. I sat with my arm around Devona, her head – blonde again – resting on my shoulder. It might not have been as cozy as a family room in a little ranch house back on Earth, but it would do.

  I was dressed in my usual suit and tie. Bogdan's coat was sitting at a tailor's, waiting for the sleeve to be repaired. Though I hadn't admitted it to Devona, the coat had kind of grown on me, and I was reluctant to throw it away. Not that I'd ever wear it again, but I supposed I could find room for it in my closet somewhere.

  "It was nice of everyone to drop by and congratulate me on being a free man again," I said.

  "Even Bogdan?" Devona asked in a teasing voice.

  "Even him," I said, and I almost sounded like I meant it. Who knows? Maybe I did. After all, he had helped Devona and the others break me out of Tenebrus, and he'd accepted a Dominari tongue worm to do so, just like everyone else. And he'd loaned me his old coat. It was hard to hate the guy after all that.

  "I'm glad none of them was seriously injured in the rioting," she said.

  "Me too."

  Most of our friends – those who worked at the Midnight Watch and our other friends around town – had survived the attack of Baron's creatures relatively unscathed. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for hundreds of other citizens who'd been caught up in the violence.

  "It's good of Baron to offer to repair and reanimate anyone who was injured in the riot, free of charge," Devona said. "Especially since the violence wasn't his fault."

  "He's an honorable man," I said. "I'm sure he sees it as the least he can do. Besides, staying busy might help keep his mind off what happened." I thought about the way Baron had cried as he clutched his father's head. "At least a little," I added.

  Devona snuggled close to me. "I feel sorry for him. I know what it's like to have a father who doesn't approve of you."

  I tightened my arm around her shoulder. Devona changed the subject then and I pretended not to notice.

  "I'm glad Quillion dismissed the charges against you when Victor Baron told him about Henry being the one who engineered the theft of Osseal. But I was surprised when he took Henry's body into custody."

  Quillion had asked Baron to pack Henry's head and body in separate refrigeration units and then shipped them to Tenebrus where – so I'd heard – Keket had them placed in separate sections of maximum security far away from each other.

  "Frankenstein's a genius when it comes to reanimating the dead," I said. "I guess Quillion didn't want to take any chances on his coming back."

  "But if Henry's
that
dangerous – which I definitely believe he is – then why not destroy his body?"

  "I don't know. Maybe Quillion wants to keep Frankenstein on ice in case his knowledge is needed again someday. You know the Darklords and their servants, always scheming. But to tell you the truth, I wouldn't be surprised if Baron asked Quillion to spare his old man."

  "You're probably right," Devona said. "I just hope we all don't come to regret his mercy one day."

  I'd been to Tenebrus and I wanted to tell Devona that there was nothing to worry about. But then again, I'd escaped, hadn't I? And given how devious Frankenstein was, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he'd foreseen his incarceration and taken steps to ensure his eventual freedom and resurrection. Burke and Hare had disappeared after Henry's defeat, and while Quillion had put bounties on their heads, so far, there had been no sign of the bodysnatching duo.

  I decided that was a problem for another day. I had one of my own to resolve just then.

  "I've been thinking," I said. "About the business."

  "Yes?" Devona said, her tone carefully neutral.

  I paused to choose my words carefully. "I know you see the Midnight Watch as the first major project we took on together… as a couple, I mean. And I love you, Devona. It's just–"

  "You like your freedom too much to commit to the Watch full time," she said.

  "Yes, but that doesn't mean I don't want to commit to
you
. Do you see the difference?"

  "I do now." She smiled. "It helps that I can read your mind, you know. You really aren't very good at talking about this kind of thing."

  I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until I felt myself relax.

  "Whatever works," I said.

  "Maybe we should make that our new motto," she said.

  "I can think of worse ones."

  We sat there quietly for a time, watching the fire and feeling the breeze as Rover circled invisibly around us. After a time, Devona spoke again, her voice so soft I could barely hear her.

  "Do you still think about what we experienced inside Orlock's stasis field?"

  "Yes," I admitted. "They still feel real to me, even though I know they weren't."

  I didn't have to say who
they
were.

  A few more moments passed before Devona spoke again. She sat up and faced me and I knew whatever she wanted to tell me it was important.

  "I know it's not physically possible for us to have children of our own. I'm half undead and you're all the way dead, but I was thinking maybe we could adopt. One day."

  I was married once back on Earth, but my ex and I had never had kids. I'd grown used to the idea that fatherhood wasn't on the cards for me – especially once I became a zombie. But after what we'd experienced in Orlock's dome, I wasn't so sure what was and wasn't possible anymore.

  "It would be a lot of responsibility," I said.

  "A big commitment," she added. "Do you think you could handle it?" She looked at me hopefully.

  My first impulse was to say yes just to please her, but this was too important. She deserved a serious answer. We'd only been together a few months, and we weren't even officially married yet. On the other hand, I'd never been with anyone like Devona before. We matched in a way I'd never thought possible and our ability to communicate psychically had bonded us deeply in a short period of time. But raising a child is tough under the best conditions, and doing so in Nekropolis? We had a hard enough time keeping ourselves alive sometimes. If we had a child to protect…