The Nekropolis Archives (36 page)

  Half of the large room was taken up by a monstrous canopy bed upon which lay the still, naked body of an obscenely muscled man. At first I thought he was dead, but he stirred slightly, and I realized he was only nearly dead.

  I stepped off the elevator, and Devona followed. On the far side of the room, a stunningly beautiful redhead with a body that made most centerfolds look like concentration camp survivors stood before a mirrored wall, checking her outfit – a skin-tight dress made entirely of emeralds.

  "That doesn't look very comfortable," I said.

  Varvara didn't take her eyes off her reflection. "Comfortability is not the point." She turned around and examined her rear.

  "Then what is?"

  "Maximum amount of soul-gnawing envy from all women in the vicinity and maximum number of painfully unendurable erections from all men." She nodded. "I believe this will do nicely."

  Varvara turned away from the mirror. "Hello, Matthew." She quickly looked me up and down. "You are aware, I trust, of your achingly desperate need of a makeover? So, what brings you into my bedroom this fine Descension evening? And with such a cute little friend!" Her brow crinkled as she frowned at Devona. "Though you could use a good hosing down, dearie. A bit of advice: next time you decide to snack on someone, wear a bib."

  She turned to me and smiled. "Don't tell me you want to get a foursome going, Matthew. I'm afraid I don't have the time, and Magnus–" She nodded toward the insensate slab of beefcake sprawled on her bed – "does not have the energy, and most likely won't for some days to come." She gave her boy-toy an appraising look. "I do hope I didn't break him. Victor Baron made him especially for me, and this was the first time I've had the chance to put the dear thing through his paces. He acquitted himself well enough, but there were a few moments there where I thought he might stroke out. Ah well, I suppose I can always send him back to the Foundry for a tune-up if necessary."

  Now that Varvara faced us, her single non-human feature – unless you count her exaggeratedly feminine body as nonhuman – was evident: her slightly overlarge eyes. They contained multicolored flecks which rotated slowly around the pupils. All demons, regardless of type, had those flecks, and they remained no matter what form a demon might assume. Varvara's eyes were more striking than most demons', though. They possessed an intensity that reminded me of an apex predator: cold, calculating, and always in the process of trying to decide whether or not to attack. She flashed us a dazzling smile that almost, but not quite, wiped away the eerie sensation of those savage eyes constantly sizing you up.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Varvara, but I'm not exactly up for those sort of games, if you know what I mean."

  She walked over to us, every step runway model perfect, even with the incredibly steep high heels she was wearing. She leaned forward, nearly spilling out of her emeralds in the process, and whispered in my ear, "You could always watch."

  And then she stepped back and laughed.

  "Matt told me you find him amusing," Devona said icily. "Is it because he puts up with you cruelly taunting him like that?"

  I shot Devona a warning glance. Maybe it was jealousy, or concern for my feelings, or both, that had prompted her to speak out, but talking like that to Varvara is not exactly conducive to your health.

  The Demon Queen regarded Devona impassively for some time, but Devona stood her ground and stared at Varvara with equal intensity. And even though I didn't need to breathe, I held my breath anyway.

  Then Varvara smiled. "I like you," she said simply. Underneath her words was an unspoken message:
I think I'll let you live.

  I released my breath.

  "I'd really love to stay and chat, but I must dash. Have to help Dis and the other Darklords keep Nekropolis going for another year." She sighed theatrically. "Dreadfully dull, but I suppose it has to be done."

  She started toward the elevator, but before she could reach it, I called after her.

  "I have a favor to ask of you, Varvara."

  She stopped and turned around. "A favor?" She smiled slowly. "Why of course, Matt. We demons love to do favors – for a price."

  I held up my hand and displayed Lord Edrigu's mark. "I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of trade right now."

  She frowned upon seeing the mark, and her manner became serious. "What in the Nine Hells have you been up to?"

  So I told her.

When I finished, Varvara said, "I wasn't even aware that Galm had the Dawnstone, and now he's lost it. Intriguing." "You know about the Dawnstone?" Devona asked.

  Varvara waved the question aside. "Honey, when you've lived as long as I have, there isn't a whole lot you don't know." She turned toward the mirror and looked thoughtfully at her reflection. "I wonder if there's a way I can use this to my advantage."

  "This isn't the time for scheming," I said sternly.

  Varvara turned away from the mirror. "While the Dawnstone is a potent token of power, I'm not sure it really poses much of a threat. Still, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to telepathically check with my fellow Lords, especially since the Renewal Ceremony is soon to begin." She nodded to herself as if making a decision. "You two wait here." She turned and headed for a closed door on the other side of the room.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  She stopped. "To a private chamber where I can concentrate more effectively. We Darklords have built up quite strong psychic defenses against each other over the millennia, and it's going to take some effort on my part to get even a simple message past their guard – if I can."

  "What about contacting Father Dis?" I suggested.

  She gave me a withering look. "Darling, you don't contact Dis; he contacts you." And with that she walked to the door, opened it, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

  "Private chamber?" Devona said. "That looked like her–"

  "Bathroom, yeah. But you have to admit, 'private chamber' sounds a lot classier."

  "So what do we do?"

  "You heard her: we wait."

  Devona went over to the mirror and examined her transparent reflection. "I wish now that I had gone to Father right away. What if we can't stop whoever it is from using the Dawnstone?"

  I joined her in front of the mirror, though I didn't particularly appreciate the chewed-up zombie it showed me. "There's no point in worrying about might-have-beens, Devona. All we can do now is our best. In the end, that has to be enough."

  She didn't look convinced, so I decided to try to take her mind off her recriminations while Varvara attempted to contact the other Lords. "This is more than just a mirror, you know. It's Varvara's dimensional portal."

  Devona took a half step back, as if afraid the mirror might suck her in. "You and Dale came to Nekropolis through here?"

  "This is Varvara's personal portal. She has a larger one down in the lower levels of the Roost, which is what Dale and I used." I smiled. "I don't think we would've lasted very long if we'd popped out into Varvara's bedroom – especially if she'd been busy entertaining company."

  Devona stepped back to the mirror. "I've never seen Father's portal. I wonder how it works."

  "The one downstairs is pretty simple. All you have to do–" I reached out and tapped the glass three times with my index finger. The mirror shimmered and our reflections were replaced by an image of a park just before sunset – trees, benches, neatly trimmed green grass, birds singing, people walking, holding hands, riding bikes, in-line skating… From the trees and the way people were dressed, it looked like late spring. And then I realized: sunset. Horrified, I tried to push Devona out the way. But she planted her feet solidly on the floor, and with her strength, I couldn't budge her.

  "What are you doing?"

  "The sunlight!" I said. "You have to get away from the portal before–"

  She laughed. "Matt, I'm half-human, remember? Sunlight doesn't destroy my kind, it just temporarily nullifies our vampiric abilities."

  I wasn't sure, but it looked like her skin was slowly turning pinker, more fully human. I thought it would be a different story if I tried to shove her away from the mirror now. Her strength would be no greater than an ordinary human's too.

  "So that's the sun," she said in a hushed voice. "It's redder than I imagined, but still quite beautiful." She touched her cheek. "And so warm."

  For a moment I thought she was joking, but then I remembered Galm had brought her to Nekropolis soon after she'd been born. She really never had seen the sun.

  "What are we looking at?" she asked.

  "A park. It's a place where people in the city go to get away, feel close to nature, and relax." I smiled. "Kind of like the Wyldwood, only without the murderous shapeshifters."

  "Everyone looks as if they're enjoying themselves. I wonder what it would be like to be human, fully human, and live in an ordinary house, work at an ordinary job, and go to the park at sunset."

  "As I recall, it was pretty damned good." It had been a while since I had seen Earth except in movies on Mind's Eye broadcasts. But this was a hundred times better, and more heartbreaking, than any movie could ever be. Because I knew that all I would have to do to go there was to step through the glass. I was tempted. If I were going to die for good in the next day or so, at least I could die in the world where I'd been born and lived most of my life.

  But I didn't step forward. There was still a chance that I could save myself. And besides, I don't like to leave a job unfinished.

  "Pretty isn't it? Especially for Cleveland." Varvara had come out of the bathroom – excuse me, her private chamber – and was standing behind us. "Still, we don't have time for sightseeing." She snapped her long red-nailed fingers and the park evaporated and the mirror was just a mirror again. Devona looked disappointed.

  "Any luck?" I asked.

  "No, the fools wouldn't even acknowledge my attempts. Can't say as I blame, them, though. I'd have done the same thing; centuries of distrust are hard to overcome. I'll just have to try to talk to them once I get to the Nightspire, I suppose."

  "You mean, once we get to the Nightspire," I said. "Devona and I have been through too much not to see this to the end."

  "I don't think so, Matt. While you're fun to have around, Dis doesn't appreciate tag-alongs."

  "The Darklords always bring a retinue with them," Devona said. "My father does, though I've never had the distinction of being part of it."

  "So why couldn't we tag along with your tag-alongs?" I asked.

  "Our retinues are primarily made up of Demilords, relatives, high-level city functionaries, and important Earth contacts," Varvara said. "Still… I suppose it wouldn't hurt anything."

  "And think how much it'll annoy Talaith to see me there," I pointed out.

  The Demon Queen brightened. "There is that. All right, you may accompany me. But we should go now. There isn't much time left before the ceremony starts." She looked at us and then wrinkled her nose. "But perhaps you two should freshen up a bit first."

After Devona and I spent a couple of minutes in Varvara's "private chamber," the three of us headed for the elevator.

  As we walked by the bed, I nodded to the still comatose Magnus. "What about him?"

  "Let him sleep," Varvara said with a wicked grin. "He'll need all the rest he can get for when I return."

  The elevator arrived. We got on and began our descent.

  Varvara turned to Devona. "Before, you asked – in quite a snippy tone, I might add – what I found so amusing about Matt."

  "I was just–" Devona began.

  "What I find so amusing about our friend here is that he is a champion of order in one of the most chaotic places in the Omniverse – an undead Don Quixote, tilting at Nekropolis's windmills on what may very well be an ultimately futile quest to make this a better place." She smiled. "Besides, he makes me laugh."

  "I'm just a guy who does favors for people, Varvara, you know that." I hate it when she talks about me that way. Probably because I'm afraid she's right.

  The elevator stopped, the door opened, and we were off to the biggest windmill Nekropolis has to offer – the Nightspire.

TWENTY-TWO

Of all the ways I might have imagined traveling to the Nightspire in pursuit of a thief and murderer, riding in the back of a hot pink limousine (with matching interior) wasn't one of them. Behind us was a line of far less striking vehicles bearing Varvara's retinue, primarily demons, but a few humans – mostly music industry and Hollywood types – who served her as well.

  Varvara sipped a frozen daiquiri whipped up from the tiny wet bar by her personal bartender, a creature which resembled a levitating sea urchin, and waved through the open widow at the cheering crowds lining the street. Psychographers captured mental impressions for live Mind's Eye coverage of the Renewal Ceremony as we passed, while reporters from both the
Tome
and the
Daily Atrocity
shouted out questions to Varvara, all of which she cheerfully ignored.

  "It's so nice to receive the adulation of the masses, don't you think?" Varvara said. She downed the rest of her daiquiri and told the urchin to mix her another.

  Varvara is probably the most popular Darklord, considering she lets her subjects – and anyone who visits the Sprawl, for that matter – pretty much do as they please. I can't say near-anarchy is my idea of effective social policy, but then Varvara's never asked for my opinion. And I must admit, the Sprawl is the most interesting place in Nekropolis, which is why I suppose I make my home there.

  The driver, who I would've taken for just another pretty muscle-boy if it hadn't been for the ram's horns jutting out of his head, spoke over the intercom.

  "I have to slow down, Milady. Several Sentinels are coming up behind us."

  Varvara pushed a button on her armrest. "No problem, love, but when they're past, speed up a tad. We're running a wee bit late."