The Nekropolis Archives (13 page)

  "Is that all?" Devona asked, sounding like a kid who's opened all her Christmas presents and discovered that Santa not only brought her underwear this year, it's full of holes.

  "I'm afraid so, my dear," Waldemar said. "But I have quite a selection of other myths dealing with similar themes. For instance, there's a story among the Native American Indians regarding–"

  "Thanks, anyway, Waldemar," I said hurriedly before he could get too far into this latest digression. "But we really must be going."

  "So soon? Ah well, if you must, you must, I suppose. You'll have to promise to stop back and see me again, though, Matthew."

  "I will," I said, knowing it was a promise I might not be able to keep. "Same price as usual today?"

  "Of course." And then Waldemar reached into my chest – or seemed to; I was never clear on that – and pulled forth a scrap of paper, leaving my flesh and the shirt that covered it unmarked.

  I felt a wrench deep in my soul, and then a sense of loss which quickly began to fade.

  "Father Dis!" Devona swore in surprise. "What…?"

  "Waldemar's standard price for information," I explained. "A page out of your life."

  Waldemar held the page up to his face, adjusted his glasses, and quickly perused its contents. "Most interesting, most interesting indeed." He sniffed the paper like a bloodhound trying to catch a scent, and then in a single, swift motion crumpled the page and stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed greedily, noisily, a thin line of saliva rolling down his chin. Then he swallowed and grinned.

  "Most delicious, Matthew. Thank you."

  Devona had gone as pale as a full vampire. I took her by the arm, said goodbye to Waldemar, and led her out of the room with the domed ceiling, the master of the Great Library licking his fingers behind us as we left.

I knew it didn't matter which route we took as we departed. However we went, we'd eventually discover the way out or it would discover us. And sure enough, before long we found ourselves back at the entrance, and then outside on the Avenue of Dread Wonders once more. The sidewalk was still deserted, and everything was still quiet. For some reason, the stillness made me uncomfortable, and I wondered if I'd gotten too used to living in the chaos of the Sprawl.

  I started walking, but Devona took hold of my arm to stop me. I turned to look at her, glad to see that the vicious paper-cuts she'd received thanks to the silverfish were almost fully healed. Before long, not even scars would remain to mar her flesh. I wished I could've said the same.

  "What happened in there?" Devona asked. "Waldemar didn't actually–"

  "Devour a snatch of my life? He sure did. Most vampires live on blood. He subsists on memories."

  "You mean you gave up one of your memories just for some information… to help me?"

  I didn't want to tell her that it hardly mattered, seeing as how I'd be zombie guacamole in a couple days. So I just nodded.

  "Which… which memory did you lose?"

  "I don't know. I never do. Once they're gone, they're gone completely. It could have been something as boring as failing an algebra test in high school."

  "Or something as important as the first time you fell in love."

  "I suppose. But it doesn't matter now."

  She thought for a moment. "How many times have you done this, Matthew? Given Waldemar one of your memories?"

  Too damned many, I almost said, but then I realized it would cheapen what I had done in her eyes – cheapen me, too, for what kind of a man, living or dead, thinks so little of his own memories that he's willing to spend them like money?

  "Only a couple," I lied.

  "You shouldn't have," Devona said. "It's my case you're working on; I should've been the one to pay."

  But you're not the one who may die soon, I thought. "The important thing is we've gained some vital information about the Dawnstone."

  "Assuming what he told us was more than just an old, forgotten myth. And even if it was, I'm not sure we learned anything useful, certainly not anything worth the price you paid."

  "We learned that the Dawnstone is probably the most potent weapon Nekropolis has ever seen. For what could be more devastating in a world of shadows and darkness than a piece of the sun itself?"

SEVEN

We started walking through Gothtown, away from the Great Library, heading toward the Bridge of Nine Sorrows. Devona kept looking around nervously, as if she were expecting trouble.

  "Worried that Lazlo's going to show up and run us over?" I asked, only half-jokingly. "Don't be. His frequency of appearances, like everything else about him, tends to be erratic. A month might go by before I see him again." Not that I might be here – or anywhere for that matter – in a month, but I decided not to mention that particular tidbit of information.

  "It's not that," she said, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder. "I think we're being followed."

  On TV and in the movies, cops always sense when they're being tailed, as if they have a sixth sense or something. It's true that you do develop certain instincts after a while, but when you live in Nekropolis, where quite a few of the residents possess the physical capabilities to sneak up on a fly, instincts don't do you a lot of good. Besides, Devona's half-vampire senses were much sharper than my dulled zombie ones; I decided to trust her.

  I reached into one of the homemade inner pockets of my jacket and removed another of the little surprises I'd picked up before we left my apartment. I held it down at my side, and gestured with my other hand for Devona to stop. I quickly scanned the street, looking for cover, but there was nothing. We'd just have to fight in the open.

  "Hey, deader! What you doing here in Bloodsville?" The voice, a male's, came from out in the street, but no one was in sight.

  "Maybe he's come to see how his betters live," came a second voice, this one female.

  "Or maybe he's looking to upgrade." Another male. "Trade in his rotten zombie teeth for a nice new pair of shiny fangs."

  Disembodied laughter echoed up and down the street.

  "Who–" Devona started to ask, but I cut her off and pointed to the end of the street.

  "Just watch," I said.

  Moments later a roiling wall of crimson mist came wafting around the corner. It rolled forward, gathering momentum, completely filling the street. The mist stopped when it reached us, and quickly dissipated, as if scattered by wind. But the air was still.

  Standing in front us were now three young (or at least youngseeming) vampires, two male, one female. Instead of wearing clothing, their fish-belly white bodies were wrapped in tangles of multicolored wire, cables, and circuitry. The bodysuits might've been high-tech, but I knew they were powered by the vampires' own dark lifeforces, making their outfits a fusion of science and magic. All three had clean-shaven skulls, and in their foreheads were embedded tiny silver crosses, the flesh around the holy objects swollen, cracked, and festering. They smiled, displaying their canines, the left incisors painted bright ruby red – the calling card of the Red Tide, one of the most vicious street gangs in Nekropolis.

  "How are you two doing this fine Descension Day?" asked the girl, whose body appeared to be that of a fourteen year-old girl, fifteen tops. A pair of glowing tesseracts dangled from her lobes like earrings. The latter were a nice touch, I thought.

  "Us, we're bored bloodless," said one of the males, who was tall, lean, and looked to be in his mid-twenties.

  "Then you three ought to head to the Sprawl and live it up with the rest of the city," I said.

  The other male, short, stocky, and looking like he was in his early thirties, spat a gob of blood-colored saliva onto the cobblestones. "Fuck
that
noise. Bunch of lame-asses running around drunk in the streets. Not our kind of fun, is it, Narda?"

  The girl gave a wicked, lopsided smile. "Not at all, Enan."

  The lean male giggled, a high-pitched, crazy sound.

  "What is your kind of fun?" I asked, though I had a damned good idea.

  Narda answered. "Thought maybe we'd take ourselves apart a zombie."

  "See what it looks like inside," added Enan.

  The still nameless male just kept giggling.

  Narda looked at Devona and frowned. "What are you doing with this corpse, honey? Can't find yourself a real man?"

  "Maybe she likes 'em dead," Enan said.

  "Dead and limp," added the giggler.

  "Why don't you just go on ahead and find a party somewhere, honey?" Narda said. "And leave the deader to us."

  I'd had enough of this, and was about to step into the street and confront them when Devona spoke, her voice shaky with barely contained fear.

  "Do you have any idea who I am?"

  Nada wasn't impressed. "Yeah, you're a dumb half-breed blood-slut who ought to have better taste than to hang around with a pile of walking hamburger like him." She nodded in my direction.

  I signaled for Devona to be quiet, but she ignored me and went on.

  "I am Devona Kanti, daughter of Lord Galm and guardian of his Collection," she said haughtily, or at least as haughtily as she could while trembling.

  I groaned inwardly. That was exactly the wrong thing to say.

  "You're lying, bitch," Narda said. "And if you aren't, you're just plain stupid. The Red Tide doesn't give a damn about the highand-mighty Lord Galm."

  "Galm hates tech," Enan put in.

  The giggler raised his forearm and made a fist. The wires around his arm quivered like hungry worms. "And Red Tide is wired, man."

  As if in agreement, the holo-cubes dangling from Narda's ears flashed red. "Wired
solid
," she finished.

  
Screw this
, I thought, and raised my surprise and leveled it at the three undead gang bangers.

  "You'll get the hell out of here if you know what's good for you," I said in my best I'm-a-cop-and-I'm-through-taking-shit voice.

  They saw what I was holding and burst out laughing.

  "A squirt gun?" Narda said, incredulous. "Deadboy, your brains must have rotted away to goo!" She turned to her two companions. "C'mon, let's each grab a limb and make a wish."

  They started forward and I aimed my plastic green squirt gun at their heads and pumped the trigger three times in rapid succession. Three streams of liquid flew out of the nozzle, one for each vamp.

  When the fluid struck them, their undead flesh sizzled and popped and steam rose into the air. I imagine it didn't smell too good, either. They screamed and fell to their knees, clutching their wounded faces in their hands.

  "That's a mixture of holy water and garlic juice," I said. "And unless you want some more, you'll–" Before I could finish, Narda – her burns already beginning to heal – pointed at me and a thick tentacle of braided wire and circuitry shot forth from her arm. The tentacle wrapped around my gun arm and squeezed. Sparks crackled where the wire connected with my arm, and I could hear my own flesh begin to fry. I knew I had to do something quick, before my dry zombie skin caught fire.

  I dropped my gun, intending to catch it with my left hand and continue squirting, but my zombie reflexes were too slow. I missed and the plastic gun clattered to the street.

  I tried to bend down to retrieve my weapon, but Enan stabbed his hand forward and a thick black cable lashed out toward me like a whip. It coiled around my neck and Enan grunted as he yanked me forward. I slammed face-first onto the cobblestones and got to listen to a few of my ribs break for good measure.

  This wasn't exactly going as well as I'd hoped.

  The Giggler decided to get into the act then. Thin tendrils of wire uncoiled from around his arms and came snaking through the air toward me. Like Narda's, electricity coruscated up and down the length of the Giggler's wires, but unlike hers, his streaked toward my mouth. I realized then that the bastard intended to cook me from the inside out.

  I clamped my mouth shut tight and struggled to roll over onto my side. I would've pinched my nostrils shut to prevent the Giggler's wires from entering me that way, but I only had one hand free, and I had a more important use for it. I reached into my jacket and groped for something else that might fend off the vampires, but before I could get hold of anything they started shrieking anew. I looked up and saw that Devona had retrieved my squirt gun and was dousing the Red Tide members with my holy water and garlic combo.

  "For godsakes, be careful!" I warned. "You don't want to get any of that stuff on you!"

  The three tech-vampires retracted their cables and wires, releasing me. She and the other two vamps didn't look so hot. Their faces were a mass of burns, and their combination hi-tech and magic body suits were starting to short circuit, throwing off showers of miniature fireworks.

  The vampires staggered to their feet and stumbled off, howling in pain. At the end of the street, Narda turned, and fixed us with a hate-filled stare from her single remaining eye.

  "The Red Tide's going to store this in permanent memory, fuckers! Bet on it!" Then she turned and continued running after the other two, leaving us alone on the streets of Gothtown. They were vampires; their injuries would heal eventually. But it was going to take some time.

  I pushed myself to my feet with my left arm, and stepped over to Devona. She still pointed the squirt gun in the direction the Red Tide vamps had gone, holding it in an iron grip. Her entire body shook, and her breath came in ragged gasps. I'd only fired my weapon twice in the line of duty when I was cop – before coming to Nekropolis, that is – but I understood what Devona was feeling.

  "Why don't you give that back to me before you break it and that crap leaks all over your hands?"

  She looked at the gun as if realizing for the first time what she was holding, and she handed it over to me gingerly, like it was a live grenade. I suppose for a vampire – even a half-vampire – it was.

  I checked the water level, saw that the squirt gun was almost empty, and then replaced it in my jacket pocket.