The Nekropolis Archives (44 page)

  Blood had begun trickling in rivulets from Devona's pores, and while she was obviously in pain, she still possessed enough presence of mind to pick up on what I was doing.

  "It's true! I love the history associated with this place, and all I want to do is make the name Midnight Watch mean something in the city again!"

  The wind's roar subsided to a mere whisper, and I was no longer being dragged away from Devona. I started toward her just as she slumped to the floor. By the time I reached her, the wind had died away completely and the hallway was silent again, save for the sound of her pained breathing.

  I knelt beside her and took her hand. "Are you going to be all right?"

  "I… I think so. It hurt like hell, but I didn't lose too much blood." She managed a weak smile. "You're going to have to take me out for a big meal tonight, though."

  "You've got it."

  She tried to stand, but I encouraged her to sit for a few more moments to give her metabolism time to counter her blood loss.

  "So, are you going to tell me what you figured out," she asked, "or are you going to make me guess?"

  "Once the wind – or whatever it was – attacked us, it seemed obvious to me that it must've wielded the Dire Blade that killed Crosswise. And that it was the force responsible for killing anyone who tried to purchase the building in all the years following. This force was clearly here before Crosswise was killed, and since it's remained here, that means it's part of the structure. And if Crosswise was such a skilled warlock, I can't believe there was any mystical force attached to the Midnight Watch that he didn't know about. So the force was something he was aware of but thought he had no reason to fear. And evidently he didn't:
until
he decided to retire and sell the building. When you told me what his specialties were –"

  Devona's face lit up with sudden understanding. "It's a wardspell, isn't it? A supremely sophisticated one that Leander created!"

  I nodded. "But more than that. You said he also bred guard animals – highly intelligent ones. I think the force is both a wardspell
and
a guardian, and it's smarter than Crosswise gave it credit for. When he planned to retire and sell the building –"

  "The ward creature would be sold too, for its tied to the structure. In a way, it's the lifeforce of the building."

  "Crosswise was going to sell the building, and it's my guess any new owners wouldn't want such a powerful being as part of their new property."

  "So Leander planned to remove the spell, which meant the ward creature would cease to exist. So it was defending itself when it killed Leander."

  "Yes, just as it believed it was doing every time a potential new owner entered the building. That's why it only evicted others. The creature didn't perceive them as threats. I hoped that if I could make it realize
you
weren't a threat, it would break off its attack. Luckily, I was right."

  Devona smiled. While streaks of blood remained on her face, neck, and hands, her color was less pale, and she seemed stronger. I stood, reached down, and helped her to her feet.

  "My hero."

  She gave me another hard kiss on the lips, and though there was still a bit blood on her mouth, I didn't mind at all. You come to expect that sort of thing when you're in love with a vampire. She has it worse; she has to worry about whether one of my lips might fall off when we kiss.

  She took my hand and we started down the hallway back toward the front door.

  "So," I said, "does this uh, revelation alter your plans any?" I was trying to be careful with my words. I didn't want to rouse the ward creature's ire again.

  Devona thought about it for a moment. "Well, I still want to run my business out of this building, and I think that with a little work, I'll be able to make friends with the ward creature, and it'll make a wonderful guardian for the place." She paused, long enough for it to be a Meaningful Pause. "I'm not sure you're aware of it, Matt, but we've taken an important step forward in our relationship today."

  Like a lot of men, I'm not always as aware of relationship milestones as my partner, and I wracked my undead brain, trying to figure out what Devona was referring to.

  "Uh, you mean because you've officially established your independence?"

  She grinned and punched me on the arm.

  "No, silly. Because now we have a pet together."

  We continued on down the hallway, hand in hand.

BOOK II

DEAD STREETS

ONE

That night, working security at Sinsation, I learned something new. Just because you're dead doesn't mean you can't hurt.

  I'm not talking physical pain. I hadn't experienced any of that since the day I died and was resurrected – through means I still don't quite understand – as a self-willed zombie. And I'm not talking mental and emotional pain. My body may be dead, but my brain is still very much alive – or at least functional – so I still experience those kinds of pain on an all-too-frequent basis. I'm talking about an entirely different sort of pain, one that up to this point I hadn't given very much thought to: aesthetic pain.

  I was making my way through the thrashing, gyrating crowd that choked Sinsation's dance floor, doing my best to shut out the noise blasting from the stage, but it was impossible. Kakophonie was simply too damned loud. The band's lead singer went by the sobriquet of Scream Queen, and considering that she was a banshee, the name fit. She looked like an emaciated human woman in her early twenties, with long, stringy black hair, a bone white complexion, eyes set in dark hollows, lips snail belly gray, and a stylish touch of grave mold at her temples and the nape of her neck. She wore a tattered white shroud made from sheer fabric that left little about her too-skinny body to the imagination. Her nails were black, overlong, and sharp, and I wondered if they were fashion statements or weapons. Both, I decided. In Nekropolis almost everything – and every
one
– is a weapon in one way or another.

  The rest of the band's lineup was an eclectic mix of Darkfolk. A lean male vampire with cyberimplants played guitar, his technological enhancements allowing him to act as his own amplifier. A short boar-faced, beetle-bodied demon, gender unknown and perhaps inapplicable, played bass, while a huge werebear with a truly impressive set of shaggy dreads pounded away on drums that had been specially reinforced with titanium to stand up to whatever punishment the lyke could dish out. I wasn't sure how he managed to hold on to the drumsticks with those paws of his, though. It's hard to describe the sort of music Kakophonie played, mostly because it was so deafeningly loud that it sounded more like a solid wall of noise than anything else. Darkfolk's senses are different than humans', and I suppose it's possible that to the assembled vampires, werebeasts, demons, and assorted other creatures, the band's music was pleasing, even soothing, but to my zombie ears, it sounded like a dozen vehicles colliding head-on at a hundred miles an hour… over and over and over.

  But as bad as the band was, the lead singer was worse. There was a reason she called herself Scream Queen and it wasn't an ironic reference to the term for a horror movie starlet, or at least not only. The Queen's idea of singing was to open her mouth as wide as she possibly could – which, given that she wasn't human, was disturbingly wide indeed – and shriek at the top of her lungs for the entire length of a song without ever pausing for an intake of breath. To be fair, her tone did vary, rising higher, falling lower and with a vague sense that there was some sort of rhythm to the sounds she produced. But there was no way anyone even remotely in their right mind would consider what the Scream Queen did as singing.

  I was starting to consider tearing off my own ears and destroying my eardrums with a couple well-placed finger jabs – I could always get my ears repaired later – when a man on the far side of the dance floor signaled to me. He was tall and handsome, with rusty-red hair and a beard that contained enough gray to be considered distinguished. He dressed entirely in black – black jacket over a black T-shirt, black slacks, black shoes – the only variance in the color scheme being the golden medallion he wore around his neck. I'd seen the medallion close up many times, and its face was emblazoned by a circular series of runes that I couldn't translate, but which looked appropriately grim and mysterious. The hand signal meant
All clear on my end
, and I nodded to the warlock and tried to keep from scowling as I returned the message.

  I decided to check on the rest of the team, each of whom was stationed at a different position in the club. Scorch was on the opposite side of the dance floor from Bogdan, and she was dancing wildly to Kakophonie's music, though how anyone could find enough rhythm in the bizarre sounds the band produced to inspire any movement other than severe convulsions was beyond me. Scorch appeared to be a young woman just entering her teens and she wore her blonde hair in a long ponytail that fell down to the middle of her back. She usually dressed in a riot of color, in counterpoint to Bogdan's more severe style, and tonight was no exception. Her sleeveless blouse had been sewn together from patches of bright colors and though her skirt was denim, her knee-high socks were rainbow striped. Though Scorch appeared to be just another fan of Kakophonie's out to have a good time, her gaze was focused and intense, taking in everything around her. I caught her eye and she gave me the all-clear signal, accompanied by a wink and a grin to let me know that just because she was working didn't mean she couldn't have fun too.

  Tavi was hanging out by the bar, nursing a mug of aqua sanguis and grimacing whenever he took a sip. The synthetic blood substitute might taste like the real thing – or close to it – but it provides little nourishment. It's kind of like Nekropolis's version of non-alcoholic beer. It's cheaper than the real stuff and easier to come by, and any number of the city's Darkfolk drink it – vampires, demons and lykes, especially. Tavi was one of the latter, though he usually chose to go about in his human form. Many lykes never bothered to don their human shapes in Nekropolis as they saw no reason to hide their true natures here. After all, if you live in a city of monsters and you are a monster, you might as well look the part twenty-four seven. But others still availed themselves of the camouflage of appearing human whenever they wished and Tavi was one of them. Right now he appeared to be a middle-aged man of East Indian descent, lean and wiry, with short black hair, wearing a tan Nehru jacket and matching pants. I once asked him if the jacket wasn't something of an ethnic cliché. In reply, Tavi asked me if my gray suit was any less of a cliché, considering it was the same sort of outfit I'd worn when I was alive back on Earth.

  
Your suit screams "cop,"
he'd said.

  I couldn't deny it.
At least I don't wear a trench coat
, I had replied.

  Tavi gave me the all-clear sign, I returned it, and I then trained my attention on the last member of our team. Even if I hadn't known where she'd be, I wouldn't have had any trouble finding her. Devona and I shared a psychic bond that had gotten stronger over the months we'd been together and we could sense each other's presence within a thousand-foot radius or so. A slender, petite blonde who wore her hair short, Devona wore a wonderfully form-fitting black leather outfit that, given the temperature in the club, would've caused her to suffer heat prostration if she'd been human. But she was only half-human, on her mother's side. Her father was a vampire – one of the city's five Darklords, in fact – and while she physically appeared to be in her late twenties, chronologically, she was in her seventies. What can I say? I always did have a thing for older women.

  Devona stood at the edge of the stage, gazing up at Scream Queen as if she were the banshee's biggest fan, when in truth she couldn't stand the woman's so-called singing anymore than I could. In reality, Devona was telepathically scanning the area surrounding the stage for any strong negative thoughts or emotions that might indicate someone wished Scream Queen harm. Vampires have a great many abilities, but half-vampires tend to be more psychically gifted than their full-blooded brothers and sisters, which is one of the reasons why vampires mate with humans from time to time: to add those psychic abilities to the sum total of power in their clan. For the first seven decades of her life Devona had used her powers to help safeguard her father's collection of mystic artifacts, but she and Lord Galm had experienced a recent falling out, resulting in her being cast out of the Darklord's home. I was sorry for that, especially since I'd helped cause that falling out, but considering that Devona had moved in with me soon after, I wasn't too sorry.

  Devona must've sensed my watching her, for she turned to look at me and smiled, and I felt the feather-gentle touch of her thoughts brushing my mind.

  
All's well so far, love.

  I smiled back, nodded, and we both refocused our attention on our work.

  Sinsation's own security was pretty lax, consisting primarily of a single bouncer, though I had to admit he looked appropriately intimidating. A hulking man in a black pullover sweater and gray pants, he stood just inside the club's entrance, leaning against the wall, tree trunk-thick arms crossed over his massive chest, glowering at everyone from beneath a prominent Neanderthal brow. His skin was greenish-gray and his bald head had a line of scar tissue around the circumference, showing he'd had brainwork done.

  The bouncer was a Frankenstein monster, constructed to be massively strong and near impossible to kill. His kind were common in Nekropolis, created by Victor Baron – the original Frankenstein monster – to fill those jobs that required brute force and plenty of it. And there was no shortage of such positions that needed to be filled in Nekropolis. Baron creates all sorts of fleshtech for the city, but these monsters – often referred to as the "repurposed dead" – weren't objects to be owned. They were individuals in their own right, hired to perform a task and paid for it like anyone else. The difference was that they were created to perform specific functions and that bothered me. I wondered how much choice they really had about what they do. Could someone like Sinsation's bouncer wake up one morning and suddenly say to himself, "You know, I'm tired of crushing skulls for a living. I think I'll take up waterpainting landscapes instead."