The Nekropolis Archives (14 page)

  "Thanks for taking care of those three, Devona. You probably saved my unlife."
At least for another day or two
, I added mentally.

  "I didn't think about it; I just grabbed the gun off the ground and started shooting." She sounded amazed, as if surprised by her own actions. "Where in Nekropolis did you get holy water, anyway? It's extremely illegal. If Father Dis found out–" She stopped and looked at me in horror. "The Hidden Light! You're a member of the Hidden Light!"

  She started backing away and I held up a hand – my right one – to calm her. It was a little hard to control, thanks to Narda sizzling my arm, but it still worked. "Take it easy. I'm not one of the Hidden Light, but from time to time they supply me with certain items I can't get any other way."

  That didn't do much to reassure her. "They're a terrorist version of the Inquisition, Matthew: radical Christians completely dedicated to the destruction of Nekropolis and the Darkfolk by any means necessary!"

  "I don't condone their actions, but if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have been able to get me hands on the holy water that just helped save your butt."

  "I don't care what your reasons are. It's because of people like them that my kind had to leave Earth in the first place. People like them – and like you." She looked at me like I was the lowest form of life imaginable.

  I knew the intensity of Devona's reaction was an emotional aftereffect of the battle we'd just survived – most likely the first she'd ever fought – but despite that I couldn't control my rising anger.

  "If you don't want my help anymore, just say so. Maybe you'll get lucky and the Dawnstone will just show up on its own. And if it doesn't, maybe Lord Galm will have mercy and kill you quickly." It was a rotten thing to say, and I immediately wanted take it back, but I didn't know how. I've never been good at apologies.

  Devona was silent for a few moments, and I could tell that she was considering walking away and being done with me. But in the end her dedication to her job – and fear of her father – won out.

  She let out a long sigh and then in a tired voice said, "All right. Where to now?"

  I was glad she stayed. I needed her to intercede with her father on my behalf, get him to use his powers, or his influence with the other Lords or even Father Dis himself, to save my undead excuse for an existence. Not because it mattered to me what happened to her… and definitely not because I was starting to care for her.

  Honest.

  "We head back to the Sprawl," I said. "To find Varma and – with any luck – the Dawnstone."

EIGHT

I wouldn't have been all that unhappy if Lazlo had shown up then, truth to tell. I wasn't looking forward to battling the crowds in the Sprawl again. But of course he didn't, and so we had no choice but to walk. There were no coaches or cars for hire in Gothtown that night; they'd all been previously engaged by Bloodborn for transportation to the Cathedral.

  To pass the time, and more importantly because it might have something to do with why the Dawnstone was stolen, I asked Devona to tell me everything she knew about the Renewal Ceremony. I was familiar with the basics – every Nekropolitan was – but I hoped that as the daughter of a Darklord, she might be able to provide more insight into the specifics.

  "The river Phlegethon, the air we breathe, and in some ways the city itself are all maintained by the power of Umbriel. When the Darkfolk first came to this dimension, Father Dis and the five Lords created the shadowsun and set it above the Nightspire to sustain their people in their new home. But Umbriel isn't eternal; it needs to be recharged once a year."

  "And thus the Renewal Ceremony," I said.

  She nodded. "The five Darklords conserve their powers for months and then, on the anniversary of the Descension they gather in the Nightspire along with Father Dis to perform the rite which will revitalize Umbriel. Nekropolis's most illustrious citizens are invited to witness the ceremony. I never have, though. My rank among the Bloodborn isn't high enough to merit an invitation." She said this quietly, without self pity. "Do you think there's a connection between the theft of the Dawnstone and the Renewal Ceremony?"

  "Maybe," I answered. "The Darklords don't particularly like being equal; they're always trying to gain an advantage over each other."

  That's what caused the Blood Wars two hundred years ago, and though a lasting peace was finally negotiated – or, as I've heard it, violently enforced by an extremely fed-up Father Dis – to this day the Darklords continue to spy on and plot against one another. I suppose all the intrigue and power struggles prevent them from getting bored as they while away Eternity.

  I went on. "From what Waldemar told us, it sounds like the Dawnstone would be a powerful weapon – especially against a vampire. Because of the Renewal Ceremony, this day is the one time of the year when the Darklords' minds are on matters other than their endless bickering… a good time to take an opponent by surprise."

  Devona stopped walking, grabbed me by the arms, and turned me toward her. She might have only been a half vampire, but she was still strong as hell. "You think someone – perhaps Varma – is plotting to destroy my father?"

  "Possibly."

  "Then we must return to the Cathedral and warn him!"

  She let go of me and started to run in the direction of Lord Galm's stronghold, but it was my turn to grab her, and I took hold of her arm to stop her. She struggled, and she was more than strong enough to break free of my grip if she wanted to, so I knew I had to talk fast.

  "You told me you didn't want your father to know about the Dawnstone being missing before we had a chance to at least find out what happened to it."

  "That was before you said he might be in danger. Now let me go!" She tried to pull away from me, but I tightened my grip, praying her exertions wouldn't snap off my fingers.

  "Listen to me for a minute: if someone does intend to kill Lord Galm, whoever it is won't try now. Think. You told me the Darklords conserve their power for months before the Renewal Ceremony – right?"

  "Right."

  "So who would be foolish enough to attack Galm at the height of his strength? No, the best time to kill him would be during the Ceremony, when he's distracted and expending his power to help recharge Umbriel. He's safe until then."

  Devona didn't look completely convinced, but she stopped trying to tear away from me, which was good, because as strong as she was, she probably would've taken my arm with her when she left.

  I pressed on. "Even if you did try to warn him, as busy as he is right now, would he even talk to you?"

  "Perhaps not."

  "And don't forget that there's a good chance your father is angry with you right now for bringing a zombie to his pre-Ceremony celebration. Besides, what do you really have to tell him, other than vague suspicions? The more we can learn, the greater the chance we can make him listen to us. Make him believe us. Look, how long do we have before the ceremony starts?"

  She shrugged. "Hours, at least. We'll know it's near when the Deathknell of the Nightspire sounds."

  "So we have time to try to find Varma."

  She sighed. "I suppose."

  "All right, then let's quit talking and start walking."

  She nodded, but she didn't look happy about it.

  We started in the direction of the bridge again, but immediately stopped. There before us was a midnight black coach hitched to two large ebony horses. And perched in the seat on top sat a man in a top hat and cloak which looked as if they'd been fashioned out of solid darkness, a horsewhip cradled in his lap. He turned his face toward us, but I couldn't make out his shadowy, indistinct features. He inclined his head and touched the brim of his hat in greeting, but said nothing.

  The coach had made no noise whatsoever pulling up, but either Devona hadn't noticed or it didn't bother her.

  "Look, Matthew, perhaps we won't have to fight our way through the crowds after all." She stepped toward the coach, but I grabbed her elbow and pulled her back.

  "That's the Black Rig, Silent Jack's coach," I said harshly. "You
don't
want to ride with him."

  She frowned at me. "Why not?"

  "That's right; you said you didn't get out of Gothtown much. Let's just say that Jack has a thing for the ladies. And his fares are quite steep."

  Jack's shadow-shrouded face remained pointed at us a moment more, then he turned forward, raised his whip, and cracked it soundlessly over his horses, Malice and Misery. The animals whinnied silently, displaying teeth as black as their hides, and then the rig vanished, winking out of existence as if it had never been.

  "You know," Devona said in a shaky voice, "Suddenly walking doesn't seem so bad after all."

Bars, nightclubs, strip joints, and bad theatre are as common in the Sprawl as scales on a Gill-man. But the hottest, trendiest, most debauched entertainments can be found in only one place: Sybarite Street. It's jam-packed with pleasure-seekers at the best of times, but during the Descension celebration, you couldn't cut your way through the throngs with a high-precision laser. Still, if Varma were anywhere in Nekropolis, he was probably here, so Devona and I made our way the best we could.

  According to Devona, Varma frequented quite a few establishments on Sybarite Street, so we decided to start with the first one we came to: the Krimson Kiss. I'd never been inside before, but I'd heard a few things about it. I wasn't looking forward to finding out if they were true.

  Outside, the Krimson Kiss wasn't much to look at. A large blocky stone building with two large neon K's on the roof, blazing – what else? – crimson light into the darkness. Like everywhere else on the street tonight, there was a long line of less-than-patient would-be patrons standing outside. But I figured there was a good chance I would rot away to a pile of zombie dust before the line budged a foot, so I took hold of Devona's hand and pulled her along with me to the front. A tall, broad-shouldered satyr was working the Krimson Kiss's door that night, and he stood behind a velvet rope barrier, well-muscled arms crossed over his body-builder chest, grinning at the crowd through his curly reddish-brown beard. He was naked, as was customary for his kind, but since he was covered with thick fur from beneath his washboard abs down to his cloven-hoofed feet, he didn't really need any clothing.

  I started to say something to the satyr, but before I could get a word out, I felt pressure as a hand gripped my shoulder. I turned around to see a petite woman dressed in a 1920's flapper outfit glaring at me. Her skin was covered with pulsating lesions, and when she opened her mouth to yell at me, I saw that her tongue was covered with blood-fattened ticks.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she said, her words made mushy by all those ticks. "I've waited
hours
in this line, and now that I'm next, I'm not about to let some chewed-up deader and his leather-clad slut cut in front of me!" She bobbled her head as she spoke, making the locks of her pageboy haircut swish back and forth and causing the ostrich feather tucked into her headband to jerk about spasmodically. Her lesions began to throb violently, presumably as a result of her anger.

  "Surely those aren't those real ticks." I leaned close to the flapper and squinted my eyes, while at the same time reaching into one of my pockets and palming one of the objects I found there.

  "Of course they're real!" she said indignantly. "They're the very latest thing. Take a look if you don't believe me."

  The flapper stuck out her parasite-infested tongue for my inspection, and that's when I flicked my lighter and touched the flame to the insects. The blood-gorged bugs popped and sizzled and leaped off the flapper's tongue like… well, like dying ticks leaping off a burning tongue. The woman shrieked and batted her blazing tongue with both hands, while tears streamed down her face. "My babies!" she shouted. "What have you done to my babies?!"

  At least, I think that's what she said. It was kind of hard to tell with that flash-fried tongue of hers.

  I then turned to glare at the rest of the people at the head of the line, and in my best gruff cop voice said, "Anybody else got something to say?"

  A tall man dressed like a mortician with an inside-out face stepped forward, but before I could do anything, Devona bared her fangs at him and hissed like a cougar on crack. The tall man swallowed – a very disturbing sight considering the state of his face – and quickly stepped back in line.

  I looked to Devona. She kept her fangs bared, but I could see the satisfied twinkle in her eyes.

  A hearty laughed boomed out, and Devona and I turned to face the satyr.

  His teeth were perfectly white, perfectly straight. "Thanks for that – it was the most fun I've had all night! But even though I'm a great fan of street theatre, I'm afraid the two of you will just have to wait in line like everyone else."

  There was some half-hearted applause from the people behind us, but it cut off when Devona whirled around and hissed again.

  I sighed. It had been a long day, and I'd never had much tolerance for people who thought they were God's gift – on in this case, Dis's gift – to the world. "We're going into the club to look for someone, and you're going to let us in. Now."

   The satyr's left eyebrow climbed toward one of his horns. "Really?" he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "And just how is this miraculous event going to take place?"

  The asshole was really getting up my nose, but even though I was no longer a cop, I had a cop's training, and I knew that it's best to negotiate whenever possible. And I did have a few darkgems on me to offer as a poor excuse for a bribe.

  "It depends," I said. "What would it take for you to help
make
it happen?"

  The satyr ran his fingers thoughtfully through his shaggy beard. "Oh, I don't know." Then he looked at Devona. A smoldering lust came into his gaze and a sly smile spread across his face. "She's not bad-looking, and even better, she's feisty. Fifteen minutes alone with her in the back alley, and I'll let you both in. What do you say?"