The Nekropolis Archives (92 page)

  Devona scowled at me, and I could feel a flash of anger through our link. "Are you going to tell me you've changed your mind and think we should move into the Cathedral?"

  "Nope. As far as I'm concerned, your father can take his offer and shove it where Umbriel doesn't shine. I'm just saying that maybe it's possible that even a being who's millennia old can change, if only a little."

  Devona scrunched her face at me, but she didn't reply. A nurse summoned the patient sitting next to me – a squat little bald man in a shapeless black coat who seemed to have a glowing light bulb stuck in his mouth – and he got up and followed her to an examining room. The seat next to me didn't remain vacant for long. A tall male vampire with a pair of huge ebon wings sprouting from his shoulder blades took it. His wing feathers were made of lightweight metal, with razor-sharp edges, and I had no idea if they were technological, magical, or some combination. He wore no shirt so as not to constrain his wings, only a pair of black pants. His chest was covered with scars, but they were old and long healed – or at least as healed as they were ever going to get – and I knew they hadn't brought him to the Fever House. What had was obvious: one of his wings hung significantly lower than the other, and a good half of its feathers looked loose, as if they might fall out any moment, and they were blackened, as if they'd suffered fire damage.

  "Hey, Matt. Hey, Devona. What are you guys doing here?"

  "Hey, Ichorus," Devona said. "We just came for a routine checkup." She patted her slightly swollen belly and smiled at him. Ichorus was an acquaintance more than a friend, and I guess that Devona didn't feel comfortable telling him about what had really brought us here. Or maybe she just figured it was too complicated to bother going into. Either way suited me. I tend to be a private person, and I'd rather ask people questions than answer them.

  "Let me guess: you had a flying accident," I said.

  He grinned. "What else?"

  Ichorus lived to violate the "no-flying" law in Nekropolis, which was why he carried so many scars. The Darklords defended their Dominions' airspace quite aggressively, and the fact that Ichorus' vampiric healing abilities hadn't been able to completely deal with all the injuries he'd received during his illegal flights was testament to how serious the Darklords were about the sanctity of their airspace.

  "Still trying to see how close you can come to the Darklords' strongholds without getting killed?" I asked. "Or were you flying low over Phlegethon and dodging the Lesk again?"

  "Neither," Ichorus said. "I have a new passion these days. I've been searching for Ulterion."

  "Seriously? Don't tell me you fell for that fairy tale!"

  Devona frowned. "What's Ulterion?"

  Devona had lived most of her life sheltered in the Cathedral, rarely venturing outside its walls. Because of this, there were lots of things she didn't know about Nekropolis, things that I – a relative newcomer – often had to fill her in about.

  "The moon," I said. "Umbriel is the Shadowsun, and Ulterion is the Hidden Moon." I glanced sideways at Ichorus. "Or so the stories go. I don't know anyone who takes them seriously."

  Ichorus grinned again. "You do now! I've been looking for Ulterion for the last couple weeks, flying as high as I can, testing the upper limits of the city's atmosphere. I figure Ulterion has to be within Nekropolis' atmospheric bubble. After all, Umbriel is."

  "Why would we need a moon?" Devona asked. "Umbriel provides the power that keeps the city stabilized in this dimension, as well as providing the energy for Phlegethon. What would Ulterion
do
?"

  "That's the mystery," Ichorus said. "When I find it, I'll figure out what its purpose is."

  "You can't find it because it doesn't exist," I said. "Dis and the Darklords created Nekropolis and Umbriel. Why would they create a moon only to hide it and conceal its existence?"

  "I don't know," Ichorus said. "That's–"

  "– the mystery," I finished for him. "I get that."

  "Besides, I have proof that Ulterion exists." He paused. "Well,
maybe
it's proof. On this last flight, I went higher than I ever had before, and I thought I saw something in the sky. No, saw is the wrong word. Even vampire eyesight can't make out anything in the starless void over the city. But I sensed something… something
big
, and I headed toward it. I kept on flying, getting closer and closer, and then… Well, I don't know what happened next, but
something
happened, because I woke up on the ground – specifically, in the middle of a fair-sized crater I made in one of the Wyldwood forests. My left wing had been damaged by some kind of blast attack, and the rest of me was extra crispy, as if I'd been severely burned. I lay there awhile, letting myself heal, until I heard a group of lykes approaching, no doubt coming to investigate what had crashed in their forest. I hadn't healed enough to fly, but I could move, so I climbed out of the crater and started running. I managed to heal the worst of the burns as I ran, but my wing didn't heal all the way. But it got good enough to allow me to leap into the air and glide for decent distances, which is how I avoided becoming lyke chow. Once I got out of the Wyldwood, I came straight here. The doctors should be able to help my wing heal the rest of the way. At least, I hope they can. The idea of being grounded…" He shuddered as he trailed off.

  "So you have no memory of being attacked?" Devona asked.

  "None whatsoever. I don't know if I blocked it out or if it just happened too fast. But I figure I got too close to Ulterion and triggered some sort of defense mechanism. A spell or some kind of tech. There's got to be a reason it's called the
Hidden
Moon, right? Maybe somebody wants to make sure it stays hidden."

  "Or maybe you just ran into another of the Darklords' air defenses," I said. "A kind you've never encountered before."

  Ichorus tried to shrug, but the shoulder with the damaged wing refused to move. "Maybe." He grinned once more. "When my wing is healed, I'll go back and find out for sure."

  "You'll go back and get yourself incinerated if you're not careful," I muttered.

  "Maybe," he said. "But you know my motto: 'Fly free or die.'"

  Varney came over to us then. "I finished the forms and returned them to the registration desk. Can we go do something interesting now? Please? My producer will kill me if I don't keep delivering good footage." He paused as if reconsidering. "Actually, since my producer is a demon, killing me is probably the least of what he'll do to me."

  "I suppose we can't have you suffering the tortures of the damned just because we're boring," I said. "Let's go." I stood and began pushing Devona's wheelchair toward the exit. "Good luck with the wing," I said to Ichorus as we left.

  Ichorus grinned one last time and gave me a thumbs-up.

  As we walked, I turned to Varney. "You know, if it's exciting footage you want, maybe you should forget about filming us and do a documentary on Ichorus. Think about it: an intrepid explorer, a rebel who defies authority, on a perilous quest to discover the truth about one of Nekropolis' oldest legends…"

  Varney gave me a look.

  I shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

FIVE

"Make sure to get my good side, OK?"

  I wanted to point out to Lazlo that he didn't
have
a good side, but Varney was the cameraman, not me, and I decided to let him break the news. He decided, however, to duck the issue. "I'll, uh, do my best."

  Lazlo's a demon, and to put it mildly, not a particularly attractive one. He's a mix of mammal and insect and looks as if a good portion of his insides are on the outside. Clothing might help – especially if he wore a full-body hazmat suit with a darkened visor – but Lazlo prefers to go au naturel, which is most unfortunate for everyone in Nekropolis with functioning eyesight. He exudes a horrendous stench that I thankfully can't smell, but I didn't like to think about how bad it was for Devona and Varney, considering their enhanced vampire senses. Devona at least had the advantage of having been around Lazlo enough times over the last few months to get somewhat used to his stink. Varney, who had been relegated to sitting up front with Lazlo, hadn't had that dubious pleasure, and his face was paler than usual and he kept swallowing, as if he were fighting to keep from throwing up.

  We'd left the Fever House and were driving through Gothtown's major cultural district. We'd just passed the theaters and concert halls on Mummer's Row and were now heading down the Avenue of Dread Wonders. Given their long lives, vampires have a strong appreciation of history and the arts, and the Avenue of Dread Wonders was where the greatest museums in the city were located. We passed the Pavilion of Nightmares Incarnate, the Great Library, and the Hemesphere, among others. I was tempted to ask Lazlo to stop at the Great Library, as it had been a while since I'd talked with Waldemar, and I thought the ancient vampire might be able to shed some light on Devona's condition. There was no limit to Waldemar's knowledge, and he could answer any question – for a price. It was a price I was willing to pay and had before, but I knew Devona wouldn't approve, and so I let Lazlo drive on by without saying a word. I told myself that maybe I could come back later, when Devona was otherwise occupied. I didn't like the idea of sneaking around behind her back, but I liked the idea of gambling with her health and the health of our baby even less. As far as I was concerned, the more knowledge we could get, the better. And if the price I had to pay for that knowledge was a bit steep, so what? It would be worth it to me.

  Devona had been mostly quiet since we'd left the Fever House, gazing out the back passenger window as we traveled, and I knew that she was brooding over her less-than-warm reunion with her father. I wanted to talk to her about it, but it wasn't the sort of subject I felt comfortable bringing up in front of either Lazlo or Varney, and so I left Devona to her silence and contented myself with holding her hand. Eventually she spoke.

  "Do you really think Papa Chatha will be able to give us any advice?" she asked. "He's not a doctor, and he's not even exactly a magician. He's a voodoo priest."

  "True, but he has one thing that no other doctor or magic-user in the city has," I said. "My trust. Not only does he know enough about magic to keep me from rotting away to nothing, he's provided magical assistance to me on numerous cases over the years." I paused. "Besides that, he's my friend."

  "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion," Devona said, managing to give me a smile. It wasn't very big and it didn't last very long, but I appreciated the effort.

  And while we were there, I'd see if Papa could take a look at my right hand. It remained attached to my wrist and continued to work just fine, but that condition was merely temporary. I needed Papa's magic to effect a more permanent repair job. But what was foremost on my mind was the revelation Galm had given us about our child. Could it really be possible that our baby would be as powerful as Galm claimed? That he or she would possess a kind of magic unlike any that the Darkfolk had ever known before? The thought scared the hell out of me. I was already afraid of being a father – afraid that I wouldn't be smart enough, patient enough, loving enough – but to be a father to a being of immense power? There was no way I was up to that kind of challenge.

  Varney turned around in his seat to look at me. "Sounds like Papa Chatha's been a real help to you over the years. Can you tell me how the two of you met?" His camera eye whirred softly as it focused on me, and I felt a now-familiar urge to draw my 9mm and smash the gun butt into the lens. Instead I sighed.

  "I'm not sure it's that interesting a story, but all right. I'd only been in Nekropolis for a couple weeks when Baron Samedi got wind that there was a new kind of zombie in town – one who was not only intelligent but wasn't under the control of a sorcerer. Samedi decided he wanted to examine this undead novelty, and he sent one of his servants to collect me."

  I continued relating the tale, only half paying attention to myself as I talked. I saw a greenish flickering light ahead, and I knew we were approaching the edge of Gothtown. Nekropolis is shaped like a gigantic pentagram and split into five separate Dominions, each ruled by a separate Darklord. At the center of the city is the Nightspire, home to Father Dis, the ultimate ruler of Nekropolis, and floating in the starless sky directly above the Nightspire is Umbriel the Shadowsun, the dark celestial orb which provides the city with the shadowy gloom that serves in place of light. A river of mystical green fire called Phlegethon forms the city's outer border and also the divisions between Dominions. Phlegethon's flames are deadly to all creatures living, dead, or undead, with the exception of the monstrous serpents called Lesk which swim its waters. While it's possible to fly over the flames – assuming one possesses the capability – it's illegal to do so. Not to mention dangerous as hell since the Lesk will try to leap out of the water and snatch you out of the air. The only legal and safe way to travel between the Dominions is across one of the five bridges that connect the Dominions, and we were nearing the Bridge of Nine Sorrows, the passage between Gothtown and the Sprawl.

  Papa Chatha's place was located in the Sprawl not far from the bridge, and I knew we'd be there soon, which suited me just fine. I was more nervous about the complications with Devona's pregnancy than I wanted to admit, even to myself, and even though I knew Papa wasn't a physician, he had a calming way about him, and I figured I could use all the reassurance I could get.

  The greenish glow increased in intensity as we drew closer to the bridge, its light standing out dramatically against the black void that serves in place of a sky in Nekropolis. When the Darkfolk decided to emigrate from Earth long ago, they chose to relocate to a distant uninhabited dimension called the Null Plains, a place of utter darkness and desolation. But the Null Plains aren't, as it turned out, entirely uninhabited, as I'd learned during the last Descension Day, and as I looked at the empty dark sky, I wondered if it too was truly empty or merely
seemed
that way.