The Nekropolis Archives (43 page)

  The door was covered with leech vine, but since I'd known the building had been abandoned for years and had likely fallen prey to the vine, I'd come prepared. I took my right hand out of my jacket pocket and aimed the object I'd removed – a tiny figurine resembling a white ape – at the door. I spoke a single activating word and the ape's mouth opened, unleashing a torrent of frigid air. The leech vine covering the door instantly turned black and fell to the ground. When the figurine was finished, I tucked it back in my pocket.

  "What in the nine hells was that?" Devona demanded. "The stench is awful!"

  "Yeti's Breath," I said. "It's a great spell for killing leech vine." I smiled. "Especially when your sense of smell is as dead as the rest of you."

  Devona looked as if she was desperately trying to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged. "Give a girl some warning next time, all right?"

  "Sorry." Embarrassed, I turned away from her. When you're dead, it's easy to forget the strong impact that sensory input can have on others.
Maybe
, I thought,
it'll be better for Devona when she doesn't have to work with me anymore.

  I examined the door. It was covered with frost that was already starting to melt, but beneath it I could make out a metal plaque with these words engraved upon it:

  The Midnight Watch: Guarding All Workhouses and Institutions Against Intruders and Meddling. Savage Beasts Employed.

  "Catchy," I said. I turned back to Devona. "Sense anything?"

  In response, Devona closed her eyes and concentrated. Not only was she highly skilled at detecting wardspells, as a vampirehuman hybrid, she possessed certain psychic abilities that most Bloodborn did not.

  "Yes, I…" She broke off, frowning. Then she opened her eyes. "I thought I sensed something there for a moment, almost as if there was someone inside the building, but the feeling faded quickly. Most likely I was picking up psychic impressions from the businesses on either side."

  "Maybe." But I didn't believe it. I'd lived – or maybe I should say
existed
– in Nekropolis too long. Besides, if Varvara was amused at the idea of the two of us entering the building, there was definitely something Bad inside.

  I pointed to the door knob. "How about that?"

  Devona waved her hand over the knob several times and then bent down and examined it visually. She straightened.

  "Clean. No traps, mystical or otherwise."

  I
hmpfed
. "For a security firm, it seems they weren't too concerned with folks breaking in."

  "Wardspells are intricate to construct and require constant maintenance," Devona said. "It's been at least fifty years since the building's been occupied Any wardspells on the door would've lost their potency and deactivated long ago."

  "Fifty years, and no one's bought the building in all that time? Or at least tried squatting in it? I find that hard to believe." And considering the kinds of things I'd had to learn to believe in since coming to Nekropolis, that was saying something. "This might not be the most prime location in the Sprawl, but real estate here is always in high demand. After all, it's sin central for the entire city, and that means there's a hell of a lot of darkgems to be made here. What would keep a building in the Sprawl vacant for so many years? Wait – let me guess. It's supposed to be haunted. And not just regular haunted, with a few ghosts flitting about the rooms to lend the place some gloomy atmosphere. It's haunted with a capital H, by some kind of unknown and incredibly deadly force that will shatter our minds, mutilate our bodies, and ravage our souls, right?"

  "As a matter of fact…"

  I didn't sigh this time. I was too depressed to bother.

  "This probably isn't the time or place for this, Devona, but I think you and I really need to work on our communication skills."

  I tried the knob and wasn't surprised in the slightest to find it unlocked. I turned it (far too easily, I might add), pushed the door open (it didn't even have the good grace to creak), and we went inside.

  It was dark, of course. Any windows were completely covered by leech vine, but since Nekropolis is shrouded in the perpetual dusk created by Umbriel the Shadowsun, it would've been dark inside even if the windows were clear and left wide open. Devona's hybrid eyes could see in the dark far better than my undead ones, so while I took a flashlight out of my jacket pocket, I didn't turn it on right away.

  After several moments, she said, "We're in a foyer, but I don't see anything special. You might as well go ahead and turn your light on, Matt."

  I flicked the flashlight's switch and played its beam around to get my bearings. It was just as Devona had said: a foyer with stone walls and ceiling and a marble tiled floor. Nice enough, in a cold, Spartan way, but nothing to e-mail home about. There were sconces on the walls where greenfire torches had undoubtedly once burned to light the place, but the mystic flames had died away decades ago, and without an Arcane torchlighter to rekindle them, it looked like we were stuck with my flashlight.

  As we started slowly down the foyer, I said, "So, are you going to tell me
why
this place is supposed to be haunted?"

  "The original owner and founder of the Midnight Watch was a warlock named Leander Crosswise. He was reputed to be a genius when it came to devising new and innovative wardspells and was also known for breeding some of the fiercest and most intelligent guard animals the city has ever seen. He ran the Midnight Watch very successfully for nearly a century before he finally decided to retire. But before he could, he was murdered, right here in the building, doors locked, wardspells in place. When one of his employees arrived for work the next day, Leander was found lying facedown on the floor of his office, a Dire Blade sticking out of his back."

  Nasty things, Dire Blades. Obsidian daggers with mystic runes carved into the surface, absolutely deadly to supernatural creatures, the Arcane included. They're the favored weapons of the Dominari, Nekropolis' version of the Mafia, but other criminals use them as well, provided they can scrounge up enough darkgems to purchase one of the things. They're damned expensive, and a good thing, too, or else every low life in the city would have one.

  By this time Devona and I had left the foyer and entered a large room that looked something like a den – dilapidated furniture, stone fireplace filled with cobwebs, musty old paintings on the walls, rotting wooden beams overhead. I assumed the room had been used as a place to meet clients and was likely impressive enough, in its time. There was no sign of anything out of place, and certainly no ghosts leaping out from behind the moldy couch or the cracked leather chairs, so Devona and I left to continue our exploration of the building. As we walked, I asked Devona some questions about the story she'd just told me.

  "Was the murderer ever caught?"

  "No. Leander was a prominent citizen in the Sprawl, so Varvara sent her best Inquisitors and Hellhounds to investigate, but they turned up nothing. She even asked Talaith to send some Arcane investigators, but their magic failed to locate a single clue, let alone reveal the identity of Leander's killer."

  So the warlock's employees were cleared and, while it was possible, if not likely, that Crosswise had enemies or even disgruntled clients who wished him ill, it seemed none of them had been implicated either.

  "Did the investigators have any luck tracing the Dire Blade?"

  Devona and I were walking down a hallway now. When we came to a door, we'd stop, Devona would check for wardspells or booby traps, and when she gave the all-clear, I'd open the door and shine my flashlight inside. All we found was office furniture: desks, chairs, filing cabinets and the like. Nothing of interest. At least nothing had jumped out of the shadows and tried to devour our faces – yet.

  "The Blade belonged to Leander. As you might imagine, he owned quite a few weapons, some mystical, some not. Some he'd purchased for the business, some he'd picked up on various jobs. The employees all testified that the Blade was Leander's."

  "And no fingerprints or DNA – or the magical equivalent – was found on the weapon," I said. "Except for Crosswise's."

  "That's right."

  That didn't necessarily mean anything. Nekropolis is lousy with beings who can manipulate objects magically or with the power of their mind. And a really good magic user could destroy any traces that they'd handled the weapon. But then again, two Darklords had sent their best investigators to look into Crosswise's death, and even if a magic user had tried to remove any evidence they'd handled the weapon, investigators of that caliber would've found it.

  "You said Crosswise was going to retire."

  "That's right. He was killed on the night before he planned to officially retire, as a matter of fact."

  "That's interesting."

  "Why?"

  We'd just finished checking our third office and were headed toward our fourth. I was beginning to think that Varvara had been so amused at the thought of our coming here because she'd known the place would end up boring us to death.

  "It might speak to possible motive," I said. "Maybe someone resented Leander retiring. Was he planning on selling the business or giving it to a successor?"

  "Neither," Devona said. "He planned to close the business and sell the building. He wanted the Midnight Watch to end with him."

  "Maybe someone didn't want him to sell."

  "Is that really enough motive to kill someone?"

  We reached the fourth door. None of them had any names on them, but this was nicer than the others, made of sturdy black oak that I imagined had once held a highly polished sheen. I had no doubt this was Crosswise's office.

  "Back when I was homicide detective on Earth, I once arrested a man who killed his brother for changing the channel during his favorite sitcom. And it was a rerun."

  "Point taken," Devona said as she waved her hands in the air over the door. I figured she'd find nothing and proceed to visually examining the lock, but instead she stopped her hand waving and frowned. "Something's strange here."

  I can't get cold chills anymore, but if I could've, I would've then.

  "What?"

  "I'm getting that feeling again, like I did outside. As if there's something alive in the office, only… not. Something that's almost there but not quite."

  "You know, you still haven't told me why people believe this building is haunted." Although right at that moment, standing in a dark hallway before an ominous black door, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  "People have tried to enter the building since Leander's death. Some report a force like a strong wind shoving them back outside. Others…"

  "Go on," I urged.

  "Others have died in some particularly horrible ways. Bodies turned inside out, blood boiled in their veins, that sort of thing."

  "Lovely. And what distinguished those poor unfortunates from the lucky ones who were simply evicted?"

  "The ones who died…" Devona paused, and time seemed to slow to a crawl while I waited for her to finish her sentence. "Were those who intended to purchase the building."

  "Once again, we so have to work on our communication skills! When were you planning on telling me this?"

  "I don't know," she said. "I was still trying to figure out the best way to tell you I'd already gone ahead and bought the damned building."

  The instant the words left her mouth, the door burst open and a roaring wind filled the hallway. The force slammed Devona into the opposite wall and held her there. The wind – or whatever it was – grabbed hold of me with insubstantial hands and started dragging me away from her. I fought it, tried to tear myself free of its grip, but there was nothing I could do. I could feel the force holding me, but when I tried to touch it, to grab hold and dislodge myself, I couldn't feel anything. I dropped the flashlight. It hit the floor, luckily without breaking, and rolled into a position where its beam illuminated Devona. Her face was contorted with agony and bright dots of red covered her skin. Whatever this unknown force was, it looked as if it was drawing the blood out of her body through her skin. Vampires – even half ones like Devona – can take a hell of a lot of punishment and heal, but one thing they can't recover from is the loss of their blood supply. Their power is in their blood, and if they're drained, they have no magic to draw upon in order to heal themselves. I knew if I didn't do something fast, Devona would die, and she wouldn't be coming back.

  I'd brought some other toys with me, various spells and such, but none of them would prove effective against the strange force attacking us. And with each passing second, the wind was pulling me farther from Devona. I had only seconds in which to act, and I had no weapons that I could use. Except the one weapon which has always served me best, whether I was alive or dead. My mind.

  I thought fast. What did I know about the Midnight Watch, Leander Crosswise, and how he died? Devona had told me he specialized in creating new and powerful wardspells, that he also developed new breeds of strong, intelligent guard animals, and he was killed on the eve of his retirement, after which he planned to close his business and sell the building. And he was killed by a Dire Blade that had apparently wielded itself. Or been wielded by something that didn't need a physical hand to hold it.

  That's when it came to me.

  I shouted to be heard over the roar of the wind. "She
did
buy the building, it's true, but she did so in order to resurrect the Midnight Watch!"

  It might have been my imagination, but I thought I felt the wind's grip on me lessen, and it seemed I was no longer traveling so swiftly down the hallway away from Devona. Encouraged, I continued.

  "Her name's Devona Kanti, and she hopes to start her own security business right here, in this very building, and she plans to use the name Midnight Watch! It's a proud, noble name, one she's honored to be associated with!"