Dark War

SIXTEEN

We passed a number of ladders leading to the surface – and the remains of several carts and their vermen drivers who had been unlucky enough to encounter the subway train – until we finally came to the ladder we wanted. That is, if I hadn't screwed up the directions Skully had given me. The ceiling light above us activated as I parked the cart, and we climbed the ladder. Just as I had at Skully's, I opened the trapdoor to protect Varney and Shamika from any defensive spells there might be, and we stepped into a basement. Like Skully's, this basement was used for storage. The big difference was what was stored here.

Shamika looked around, frowning. "What are these things?"

Varney and I exchanged uncomfortable glances. We both knew that Shamika only looked like a young girl, that in truth she was far older than either of us, maybe older than any being in Nekropolis – with the exception of Gregor, of course. But I still couldn't help feeling more than a little awkward at having to explain all the sex toys and S amp;M equipment lining the shelves around us.

"They're, ah, recreational devices," I said lamely.

She looked at me with too-innocent eyes. "What, you mean, like for kinky sex? Do you and Devona ever use stuff like this?"

Varney looked as if he was trying really hard not to laugh. I ignored Shamika's question and said, "Let's go."

We headed up the basement stairs. The door at the top of the stairs wasn't locked – with the defensive spells on the trapdoor, it didn't need to be – and we opened it easily and stepped out into a small parlor. The room was done entirely in crimson: ceiling and walls, carpeted floor, chairs, couch… all were a deep, rich red. The parlor wasn't empty, though. A naked two-headed man was on the couch servicing an equally naked woman whose mottled skin resembled a snake's. The man had a trim athlete's physique, and when I say he had two heads, I'm not referring to what sat atop his neck. His name was Richard… Richard Deux, and he was one of the most popular men on Bennie's staff for two very obvious and prominent reasons.

The woman was too busy moaning and gyrating to notice us, but Richard looked in our direction, startled at first, but then he smiled.

"Hey, Matt! What's up?"

I resisted making the obvious joke. "Hey, Rich. Sorry to, uh, disturb you at work."

As he talked, Richard continued performing his duties with energetic enthusiasm, seemingly unbothered to have an audience, even one that contained a being who appeared to be a young girl. But then, this was the House of Dark Delights. They got all kinds here.

"Not a problem. I can multitask." He grinned.

There was a soft whirr as Varney's cybernetic eye focused on the salient portions of Richard's augmented anatomy. "I can see that," he said, sounding impressed despite himself.

Richard's grin only grew wider.

I myself made sure to keep my gaze fixed firmly on Richard's face. "We need to talk to Bennie, Rich. It's kind of an emergency."

"Last time I saw them, they were holding court in the lounge. I'd look there first."

The woman's moans suddenly increased in volume and pitch.

"Now if you don't mind, I really need to concentrate for this next part," Richard said.

"No problem. Uh, good luck," I said, and we left through the parlor's other door. I closed the door as the woman's moans became screams of pleasure.

Shamika looked thoughtful. "You know, I've never tried that sort of thing before. I wonder-"

"Maybe you should wait until you grow up a little more," I said without thinking.

She looked at me with a surprised expression for a moment, and then she smiled. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

We headed through the House of Dark Delights until we came to the lounge. It was very strange to be here again, considering that my last visit had been to an alternate version of the lounge that existed in a different dimension. That lounge had been crawling with Hydes, and while this one was no less crowded, at least things were normal here. Or as normal as they ever got, I guess I should say. Clients sat at tables drinking, talking, and laughing as they impatiently waited for their appointments to begin, tried to recover from an especially vigorous session, or – for those with stronger sexual appetites and an abundance of stamina – paused for a rest between assignations. Every type of Darkfolk was represented in the crowd, along with more than a few humans. If there was one thing that Darkfolk and humans had in common, it was they both loved sex. And as we stepped into the lounge, I couldn't help thinking, who would've thought that the city's most famous brothel was also a cover for the Hidden Light?

We found Bennie at his/her usual table, surrounded by some of the city's most famous and infamous citizens. Arvel the ghoul was there, sitting atop a titanium chair designed to hold his incredible – and grotesquely naked – bulk. The banshee pop singer Scream Queen sat next to him, occasionally fanning the air near her nose in a vain attempt to dissipate Arvel's stench. Victor Baron sat on the other side of Scream Queen, dressed casually in a long-sleeved white shirt and gray slacks, looking like the platonic ideal of a male supermodel. Overkill sat next to him; the petite mercenary smiled and gave me a nod of greeting. And next to her sat Acantha the gorgon. She pointedly avoided looking at me – at least I think so; it was hard to tell considering the wraparound sunglasses she wore – but her cameraeye head serpents hissed to let me know she was considerably less pleased than Overkill to see me. And sitting between Acantha and Bennie was a woman who called herself the Psychovore. I knew her only by reputation, and while she looked normal enough, supposedly she had no need to eat or drink. Instead, she subsisted off the psychic emanations of those around her. If that was true, being in the House of Dark Delights must've have been like an all-youcan-eat buffet for her.

Bennie was currently female as we approached, and she gave me a grin when she saw me coming.

"Well, if it isn't the savior of my fine establishment! Well, one version of it, at any rate. I trust my other-dimensional counterpart was suitably grateful for your assistance?"

"You helped too," I said. "It was your antidote that did the trick. All I did was deliver it."

I introduced Varney and Shamika, once again saying that she was Papa Chatha's niece. And then a sudden thought struck me. "Have any of you have seen Darius lately?"

"Funny you should ask," Arvel said in his wet, bubbling voice. "We were just wondering the same thing."

"Indeed," Victor Baron said in his mellow tenor. "We thought if anyone could shed light on the strange dimensional disturbances the city has experienced of late, it would be the Sideways Man."

Which was what I'd realized. Great minds think alike – even if one of them was transplanted by a mad scientist and the other belonged to a walking dead man.

"But no one's seen any sign of him since you returned from the other Nekropolis," Bennie – now a man – said. "You and Devona left abruptly for the Fever House, and in the confusion, I lost track of him. By the way, how is Devona?"

I gave Shamika and Varney a warning glance. "Better now. Thanks for asking."

My companions gave me looks that said they weren't clear on why I wanted to keep the truth to myself, but they went along and said nothing. It wasn't that I didn't trust Bennie and his/her tablemates. Well, I trusted Bennie, Baron, and Overkill. I didn't trust Arvel as far as I could hurl his immense bulk, and Acantha would gleefully tear me to shreds with her own hands if she got the chance. I didn't know the Psychovore, but I've always found psychic vampires to be manipulative sociopaths, and she was supposed to be the strongest psychic vampire of all. But the real reason I didn't want to tell them the truth was I wanted to avoid drawing Gregor's attention to them. I had no doubt that a number of Gregor's bugs were present in the House of Dark Delights, and while it was tempting to ask Bennie for help – not to mention Baron and Overkill – I didn't want to draw bullseyes on their backs. Bad enough Gregor was out to get me, Shamika, and Varney. I didn't want to add any more names to his hit list.

"We were here when the last dimensional fluctuation occurred," Acantha said. "It was most dreadful!"

Scream Queen nodded. "We found ourselves sharing space with a group of humans working in tiny areas separated by flimsy partitions. More nightmarish than anything you can find in Nekropolis, if you ask me, darling!"

I couldn't help smiling. "Sounds like the lounge overlapped an office building. What you saw is something humans call a cube farm."

"Whatever it was, I hope to Perdition I never see it again!" Scream Queen said. Her companions agreed and everyone toasted to it.

"Why don't you and your friends sit down and join us?' Bennie – female again – asked. "You look like you can use a rest. Nothing personal. I know your job can be a bit rough on you sometimes." "Rough?" Acantha said. "He looks like he's been through a rusty meatgrinder!"

"If you drop on by the Foundry later, I'll fix you up," Baron offered.

Before I could acknowledge his offer, Overkill said, "You get caught up in the war between Varvara and Talaith?"

"I'm surprised you're not out there fighting for one side or the other," I said.

She grinned. "No one's made me an offer yet. This girl doesn't fight for free, you know."

"Not even if the cause is right?" I asked.

She laughed. "Righting wrongs is your department. Mine's kicking ass and cashing a fat paycheck for it."

"Do you have any news of the war?" Arvel asked. He gestured to the Mind's Eye screens around the lounge, all of which were displaying music videos or reruns of razorball games. "Since General Klamm ordered an information blackout, news is harder to come by than a virgin around here."

The frustration in the ghoul's voice was palpable. Arvel owns a restaurant in the Sprawl, the Krimson Kiss, but in addition to being a glutton for fresh raw meat and blood, he also has an insatiable appetite for information. I've found him to be a useful source in the past, and I knew the media blackout had to be driving him nuts.

"Sorry," I lied. "I don't know any more than the average citizen."

Arvel scowled. "As if I believe that!" But he didn't press me further.

I wish I could've told him. He'd have been indebted to me then, and I could cash in the favor later. Instead, I turned to Bennie. "I see the war hasn't hurt your business any."

"And why should it?" she said. "The threat of imminent death is one of the greatest aphrodisiacs of all! Other businesses in the Sprawl might be empty right now, but my boys and girls are busier than ever." She took a sip of her drink – some bubbling concoction of her own mad design, I'm sure – then said, "What can I do for you? I know you're not here for pleasure, so it must be for business."

"Just tying up a loose end," I said. "Like you said, Devona and I left in a hurry once we returned from the other Nekropolis. I had some Hyde plague antidote left over, but in the rush I forgot to leave it with you. I know you told me the chemicals can turn volatile over time if they're not stored properly, so I figured I'd better return the extra to you."

I'd thought of the cover story on the way over. In fact, we'd used up all the antidote Bennie had given us. And I'd made up the part about the chemicals becoming unstable. But before Bennie could contradict me, I used the code phrase Skully had given me.

"By your good graces," I added.

Bennie's eyes widened, and a look of surprise crossed his now-male face. But he recovered quickly, took another sip of his bubbling drink, then smoothly rose from the table.

"Please excuse me," Bennie said to his companions. "It won't take more than a few moments to get the chemical stored away properly. After all, we wouldn't want it suddenly exploding and destroying our poor Matthew, would we?"

"Speak for yourself," Acantha muttered.

Bennie came over and escorted us across the lounge, smiling and nodding at people as he went, but not pausing to chat with anyone. As the Madam/Master of the House of Dark Delights, Bennie isn't only the host of the endless party that takes place in the establishment, he/she is also the most sought-after sexual companion in the place, and there's never any end of people trying to catch his/her eye. But Bennie is most particular about who he/she spends time with, and the fortunate few who receive his/her favors are in a very exclusive – and satisfied – club. However, Bennie took no time to flirt now, and we made it across the lounge within a few moments.

By then she was a woman again, and she led us down a hallway to a plain wooden door.

"Are we going to get to see someone else having sex?" Shamika said eagerly.

Bennie looked at me and cocked a curious eyebrow. I sighed.

"We came in through an… alternative entrance and accidentally ran into Richard Deux at work," I explained.

"You know about the Underwalk too?" Bennie said. "I have to say I'm impressed, Matt. I knew you were a good detective, but I didn't know you were aware of that particular secret. Or this one."

She opened the door and gestured for us to precede her. We entered and found ourselves standing in… the laundry room.

Several dozen washers and dryers were hard at work, and the noise was quite loud. Four of Bennie's staff were present, tossing dirty linen into washers, or removing clean sheets from dryers and folding them.

"As you might imagine, we go through a lot of bed linen around here," Bennie said. She smiled with more than a hint of lasciviousness. "Not to mention underwear."

"I really didn't need to hear that," I said.

Bennie clapped her hands to get the workers' attention.

"Take a ten-minute break everyone." She paused, then added, " Now."

The workers didn't speak. They merely stopped what they were doing, left their laundry lying where it was, and quietly filed out of the room. When the last one had departed, Bennie locked the door, then turned to face us.

"I don't know how you found out, and I don't want you to tell me. The less I know the better. But I must warn you: a code phrase won't be enough to get you in. They'll decide whether to admit you or not. And if they decide against it… well, let me just say that it's been a pleasure knowing you, Matt."

Before any of us could reply, Bennie walked down the row of front-loading dryers until she came to the very last one – which wasn't in use. We followed. She removed a key ring from her pocket, aimed a small remote control at the door, and pressed a button. There was a soft click, and the dryer's door swung open. Then she stepped back.

"You crawl through this one at a time. There's an entrance to an elevator on the other side. Once you're all in, the entrance will close. After that, what happens will be up to them. Good luck."

Bennie was in the process of changing into a man when she leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. It felt disturbingly like a goodbye kiss.

He started to go, but before he got far, I asked, "I understand why the Hidden Light would locate its headquarters here. Who'd ever suspect it? But why do you allow it? It doesn't quite seem to fit with the, ah, tone of the rest of your establishment."

Bennie turned around and gave me a smile. "As you might recall, my ancestor was obsessed with discovering chemical means to isolate the good and evil natures of human beings. My light and dark sides might express themselves slightly differently than my predecessor, but I have my dichotomies too. As I said, good luck."

Bennie turned and left the room. A second later there was a soft snick as he locked the door.

I gazed at the open dryer door. "It's not exactly through the looking glass, but shall we see what's on the other side?"

"You bet!" Shamika said and started toward the circular opening, but Varney put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"I'm not so certain it's a good idea that I accompany you," he said.

Shamika frowned. "Why not? It'll be interesting!"

"Undoubtedly," Varney said wryly. "But the Hidden Light is an organization of humans who represent Earth's major religions. Throughout history, those religions fought against the Darkfolk, driving us out of their towns and villages into the wilderness and doing their best to exterminate us. Such persecution was one of the major reasons we left Earth and founded Nekropolis. But our leaving wasn't enough. The humans followed us to our new home, and continued their persecution of us in the guise of the Hidden Light, harassing us at every opportunity!" His expression grew dark. "They may paint themselves as representatives of the Light, but the truth is they're nothing more than terrorists."

I didn't want to argue with him. It's true the Darkfolk left Earth, but they still had means of getting back and coming and going as they pleased. And while Dis and the Darklords forbid preying on humans, it still happened in Nekropolis all too often, and something had to be done about it. Despite having been resurrected from the dead, I'm not a particularly religious man, and I might not always agree with the Hidden Light's tactics, but that didn't mean I was going to write them off as terrorists. And the religious artifacts Maggie provided me had helped me and my clients out on more than one occasion. But I sensed Varney had something other than philosophical and political objections for not wanting to visit the Hidden Light.

"You're scared, aren't you?" I said gently.

At first I thought he might deny it, but then he sighed and cast his gaze downward as if ashamed. "Yes. I'm middle-aged as Bloodborn go, but that means I've lived many centuries, and I remember life on Earth: the vampire hunters with their holy symbols always chasing us, searching for our sleeping places by daylight, and once they found us, loudly chanting prayers as they hammered sharpened stakes into our hearts…" He looked up then. "How do you know they won't simply kill us the moment they set eyes on us?"

Shamika walked over and took Varney's hand and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Varney looked into the face of the being who only appeared to be a teenage girl, and he couldn't help but return her smile.

"Very well." He turned to me again. "And I suppose it is my duty, after all. Lord Galm charged me with protecting his daughter, and I must do everything in my power to fulfill that charge." He sighed again. "Even if I don't like it."

And then he climbed through the open dryer door and was gone.

"Me next!" Shamika said, and then climbed after him, giggling.

I've done a lot of strange things during my time in Nekropolis, but I have to say that climbing into a dryer that housed a secret entrance to a clandestine religious organization ranks right up there with the strangest. But in I went, and just as Bennie said, there was an opening on the other side. Once through, I was able to stand, and I joined Varney and Shamika in a closed elevator. A panel slid shut over the opening we'd just come through, sealing us in. But the elevator showed no sign of moving.

There was no control panel, so there were no buttons to push, and no intercom to speak into. There was no floor display atop the elevator door to indicate which level the elevator was stopped at or might go to. There was nothing but a door, three walls, a ceiling, a floor, and us.

"Now what?" Varney said.

In response, a woman's voice issued from a hidden speaker somewhere in the elevator.

"Now you have thirty seconds to tell us why we shouldn't flood the elevator with toxic gas and melt the flesh from your bones."

Varney gave me a look as if to say, I told you so. Shamika's only reaction was to look around to see if she could determine the speaker's location. I guess when you're part of a group mind, you don't really worry about losing part of your body any more than humans worry about sloughing off a few skin cells.

"My wife has been kidnapped, there's an extremely stupid and unnecessary war going on, and Nekropolis and Earth are in danger of merging permanently," I said. "Basically, a lot of shit is broken and I intend to fix it. So let me in or let me go, but don't waste my time."

For a moment nothing happened, but then with a slight jolt the elevator began to descend. It took a while for us to reach our destination. I half-expected the elevator to play a Muzak version of the "Hallelujah" chorus on our way down, but the ride was quiet. The House of Dark Delights has a number of subterranean levels, and I doubted the Hidden Light would have their headquarters located in any of them. Some religions have a more liberal attitude toward sex than others, but not that liberal, and I figured the Hidden Light was located on an even deeper level still. Eventually, we got where we were going, the elevator stopped, and a moment later the door slid slowly open.

Bright light flooded the elevator, making it impossible to see, and Maggie – the woman who'd spoken to us in the elevator – shouted, "Keep your hands where we can see them!"

I held up the stump of my right hand. "I've only got the one at the moment."

Varney hissed as the light poured over us and he averted his face and held up his arm to block his eyes. Shamika stared directly into the light, eyes wide open, as if the intense illumination didn't bother her a bit. The light didn't hurt my dead eyes either, but it was annoying not to be able to see our welcoming committee.

Another voice, this one male and slightly nervous, said, "We've got three nonhumans. One Bloodborn, one corporeal revenant, and one unknown. Our scanners can't read her, but whatever she is, she's definitely not human."

"Corporeal revenant?" I said. "Is that what the cool kids are calling zombies these days?"

A third voice, this one male but deeper and rougher, almost animalistic. "A word of warning: we've got you covered with weapons that will destroy any kind of Darkfolk. Make one move without our express instructions, and we'll fire."

I get ornery when people try to tell me what to do. You can imagine how much fun I was for supervisors to deal with back when I was a cop.

"Your nervous friend just admitted you don't know what Shamika is, so how can you be so confident your weapons will have any effect on her?" I asked.

Maggie answered, "We could always start firing and see what happens."

"I retract the question," I said.

Maggie chuckled. "We're going to turn off the illuminaries, but I want you to remain inside the elevator until we tell you, OK?"

"All right," I said, and a second later the light cut out.

My zombie eyes don't need time to recover from exposure to bright light, and I was able to instantly see the three people standing outside the elevator: a middle-aged woman, a thin bespectacled man in his thirties, and a large armored creature who resembled a bipedal armadillo. They were all armed, and the woman and armadillo lowered devices that looked like high-tech guns whose barrels were covered with glass. I assumed those were the illuminaries, the weapons that had blasted us with light, and I wondered how I might be able to get hold of one for myself. There are a lot of Darkfolk who aren't especially fond of light, and a device like that would come in handy in my line of work.

The man held some sort of scanning device in his other hand, while Maggie and the armadillo both held offensive weapons. The armadillo held a small crossbow armed with silver-tipped bolts, while Maggie held a gun that looked to be covered in snakeskin.

"Is that a serpent's tooth?" I asked her. I'd heard of the weapon, but never actually seen one.

She smiled. "Nothing sharper, and the venom the teeth carry is deadly to any form of life, natural or supernatural."

"I'm surprised to see a member of the Hidden Light carrying a weapon so nasty," I said.

She shrugged. "God filled the Omniverse with tools for his servants to use. This is but one of them." Then she smiled. "But I have to admit, this one kicks particular ass."

The devices weren't the only weapons the three had. Maggie wore a golden cross around her neck, as did the man, who also wore a Star of David, an ankh, a yin-yang symbol, a Native American dreamcatcher, a Celtic knot, a triple moon, and several other symbols I didn't recognize. It looked like he believed in being prepared. The armadillo wore nothing – I mean that literally; he was naked. It appeared he was content to rely on his illuminary and crossbow. Then again, since he was obviously Darkfolk of some kind, perhaps wearing holy symbols was too uncomfortable for him.

These three weren't the only ones come to greet us, however. A half-dozen men and women stood behind them, armed with everything from automatic machine guns to gleaming broadswords, and from the grim looks of determination on their faces, they were more than ready and willing to use their weapons if necessary.

Maggie looked us over for a moment more before lowering her serpent's tooth. Then she looked over her shoulder.

"Stand down. I'll take responsibility for these three."

One by one, the men and women lowered their weapons and moved off.

The armadillo kept his crossbow trained on us a moment longer, but in the end he lowered it as well. The man with the scanner continued pointing it at Shamika and fussing with the controls, as if he were determined to wring some kind of reading out of it.

Maggie tucked her serpent's tooth into a leather holster on her belt, then came forward and shook my left hand. She showed no distaste upon touching my undead flesh, and my estimation of her went up a notch. Many people say they don't have a prejudice against zombies, but ask them to touch one, and you'll find out differently. Not Maggie, though.

"So this is what you really look like, I take it."

She was in her sixties and shorter than me, though not by much. Her silver hair was cut short, and she wore jeans and a white T-shirt displaying a cartoon image of Christ holding a razor, his beard covered with white foam, below it the words JESUS SHAVES!

"In the flesh," she said. "No need for disguises here." Maggie turned toward her two companions. "The big guy in the leathery shell is Houston. He's a weremadillo."

"I never would've guessed," I said.

Houston gave me a hard look. "Don't mess with Texas," he growled.

"Duly noted," I said.

"And this trim fellow here is Arthur Van Helsing. He's one of our best researchers."

Arthur wore wire frame glasses that made his eyes look larger than they really were. His unruly brown hair was badly in need of trimming, and from the pallor of his skin, it looked like he could use a few days in a tanning bed. He wore a white lab coat that was marred by several stains and scorch marks. His T-shirt said VAMPIRES SUCK! Varney's lip curled in a silent snarl when he saw it, but the Bloodborn said nothing.

"I take it you've decided not to destroy us," I said.

"For the moment," Maggie said. "Come on in, and try not to look around too much. This is supposed to be a secret headquarters, you know." She turned and walked away. Arthur followed her, casting backward glances at Shamika as if he was still trying to figure out what she was. Houston waited for us to follow, the big lyke clearly intending to bring up the rear and keep an eye on us. I was certain his crossbow bolts weren't merely silver-tipped; they were probably dipped in all kinds of nasty poisons and blessed seven ways to Sunday. They'd prove deadly to Varney, probably to me, and maybe even to Shamika – or at least this particular component of the Watchers' group mind calling itself Shamika. It was a strong incentive to remain on our best behavior.

The Hidden Light's HQ was located in a hollowedout cavern, fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling and power cables stretching along the floor near the walls. Workstations were set up throughout the cavern, and while some contained books, scrolls, and parchments, just as many held high-tech computers and shimmering holo displays. Most of the men and women at the workstations were human, but there was a fair number of Darkfolk scattered among them. Maggie must've noticed me looking at them, for she said, "Just because someone's a monster doesn't mean they don't have spiritual needs." She paused, then added, "Sometimes they need the Light even more."

"Traitors," Varney muttered.

Arthur turned around to look at him as if he intended to comment, but when Varney saw the holy objects around the man's neck, he hissed and averted his gaze.

"Sorry about that," Arthur said, sounding embarrassed. Arthur tucked the scanner he'd been holding into a pocket of his lab coat, rummaged around in there, then brought out a pair of dark glasses which he held out to Varney. "Put these on. They won't take away the pain entirely, but they should make it bearable."

Varney hesitated, but he took the glasses from Arthur and donned them. He looked at Arthur, then at Maggie, then back to Arthur.

"It is better," Varney said. "Thank you." He sounded as if it took some effort for him to express his gratitude, and Arthur seemed equally uncomfortable accepting it.

"You're, ah, welcome. We call them diffusers. They're made from solidified shadow caught in a highly focused time-dilation field." He became more enthusiastic as he went on. "We have more call for them than you might think. We actually have Bloodborn in our organization, some of them quite high up in your people's hierarchy, and-"

Maggie cut in. "The less we tell them the better, Arthur."

He looked chastened. "You're right, of course. Sorry."

The men and women around us represented a number of different ethnicities and religions, and while many were dressed in normal street clothes, more than a few wore clothing that indicated their religious tradition. I saw Catholic priests and nuns, Moslem clerics, Hasidic Jews, Buddhist monks, Shinto monks, and Hindu swamis. They worked side by side in apparent harmony, without any obvious conflict due to their different backgrounds and philosophies.

Well, harmony might be overstating the case. Right then the men and women of the Hidden Light were more than a bit agitated, moving quickly from one workstation to another, consulting with each other in front of computer monitors and holo displays, or talking loudly into voxes and microphone headsets. The atmosphere reminded me of Varvara's war room, and I assumed it was for the same reasons.

"I assume it's not always this lively down here," I said to Maggie.

She said, "Hardly. Right now, we have a Situation with a capital S to deal with – as you well know."

"You mean the war?" Shamika asked.

Maggie laughed. "Goodness, no, child! What do we care if the Darkfolk want to go around slaughtering each other? More than usual, that is. Nekropolis is their city, and if they want to war with each other, that's their business, regrettable though it may be."

"That attitude seems a little more 'eye for an eye' than 'turn the other cheek,'" I said.

Maggie led us through the maze of workstations and people, and stopped before a rectangular glass structure that resembled a coffin – probably because sealed inside was the perfectly preserved body of a man wearing brown robes, a rope belt, and sandals. His hair was cut in a tonsure, making him look like a slimmed-down version of Robin Hood's Friar Tuck.

Maggie turned to look at me. "The Hidden Light has a clearly defined mission, Matthew, and keeping peace between the Darklords isn't part of it."

"What is your purpose?" Varney said. "Besides harassing us Darkfolk, that is."

Houston prodded Varney in the back with his crossbow. "Watch it, Fangboy! No one speaks to Sister Holstrom like that! If you knew who she really was…"

Maggie shut the weremadillo up with a stern glare. "All they need to know is that I speak for the Hidden Light. That's enough."

Houston lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry, Sister."

Maggie accepted his apology with a nod and then gestured to the monk under glass. "This is Saint Bartelmeu the Recondite. He's been deceased for a millennium, but like you, Matthew, he doesn't let a little thing like death slow him down."

As soon as Varney heard the word Saint, he stepped back from the glass coffin. The diffusers might help him gaze upon holy objects, but it seemed there was only so much they could do when it came to an honest-to-God saint.

Tendrils of ectoplasm curled up from the coffin to coalesce into a ghostly image of the monk hovering in the air. The ghost was typical of its kind, looking as if it were formed of shaped white mist, and when it was complete, Bartelmeu opened his eyes and smiled at us.

"Visitors?" he said in a cheery voice. "I love visitors! Who are they, Joan?"

Maggie sighed. "I go by Magdalene these days, Bartelmeu. Remember?"

The monk made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, yes. A rose by any other name. Now tell me who these fine people are."

Maggie introduced the three of us, and Bartelmeu grinned at each of us in turn, not seeming put off in the slightest by the fact we weren't human.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all!" he said. "Nothing against my fellow champions of the Light, but it gets somewhat dull having the same people to talk to day in, day out." He lowered his voice. "And just between you and me, our people can be a bit on the stuffy side."

Arthur seemed a bit offended by this last comment, but Maggie took it in her stride.

"Bartelmeu is better than a dozen computers," she said. "Not only is his knowledge encyclopedic and his recall perfect, his clairvoyant and precognitive abilities are legendary."

Bartelmeu grinned. "If my cheeks weren't formed of ectoplasm, they'd be blushing right now."

Arthur picked up the conversation's thread then. "It was Bartlemeu that first informed us of what was happening – and who told us you three would be arriving soon."

Bartelmeu looked startled. "You mean these three are those three? Why didn't you tell me?" He turned to us and grinned even wider than he had before. "It's even more of a pleasure to meet you then!"

I looked at Maggie. "Perfect recall?"

She shrugged. "Cut him some slack. He is over a thousand years old, you know."

I looked at the ghostly saint and felt a surge of hope. "So you know what's going on? You can tell me where my wife is?" I wasn't really sure when I'd begun thinking of Devona as my wife, but I was aware I'd been doing it for a while now. It didn't matter that we weren't officially married. We were married in our hearts, and that was what counted the most.

Bartelmeu looked a bit chagrined. "Not as such, no."

Maggie explained. "It's not that he doesn't know. He has to be careful of how much he tells us."

"He has to avoid temporal paradox," Arthur said. "By giving us information about the future, he risks changing that future, thereby rendering the information he gives us useless."

"And perhaps making things even worse in the process," Maggie added.

Despite his lack of physical lungs, Bartelmeu sighed. "It's true. Sometimes I think God has a warped sense of humor."

I struggled to contain the frustration I felt. This man – well, this ghost – knew everything I needed to know in order to stop Gregor and save Devona. Only he couldn't tell me.

As if reading my mind, and perhaps he did, Bartelmeu hurriedly added, "But that doesn't mean I can't help! You came here to obtain weapons that will help you get through Varvara's army and reach Demon's Roost. That was your own idea, and I won't be interfering with the natural course of events by telling you that we plan to supply you with such weapons."

"You'll have to go on your own, though," Maggie said. "Just the three of you, the way you'd planned to before coming here."

Arthur gave us an excited smile. "Since we knew you were coming, I had time to prepare some real good ones for you!" As quickly as it had come, his smile faded. "I just wish I could go along and watch you use them. One of the problems with being a techie is that I hardly ever get out into the field."

Maggie gave him a consolatory pat on the back. "Maybe next time."

Behind his diffusers, Varney frowned. "But why will you loan us weapons? Why help us at all, for that matter? You said you don't care about the war."

"Because helping you supports our mission," Maggie said. "Bartelmeu has confirmed that someone is attempting to move Nekropolis to Earth. Not just part of it, not just a single Dominion, but the entire city. The Hidden Light has been around in one form or another since the Darkfolk first appeared, trying to protect humanity from being preyed on by the monsters that dwelled in the dark. As you might imagine, we were quite happy to see the Darkfolk leave Earth for Nekropolis. In fact, you might say that we helped you move. As powerful as Dis and the Darklords are, opening a portal to another dimension, building a city there, and transporting an entire race of people to live in it was a task they couldn't quite accomplish on their own. They needed our aid, and we were glad to provide it. But once they settled in Nekropolis, not every member of the Darkfolk was thrilled to be cut off from the pleasures Earth had to offer, and some attempted to return. The Darklords tried to stop them, but some got through."

"And that's where we came in," Arthur said. "We set up shop here in Nekropolis to make sure the Darkfolk stay here. We don't want to hurt you, especially, but we want to make certain that you never return to Earth and begin preying on humanity again."

"We intend to stop whoever and whatever is attempting to transport Nekropolis to Earth," Maggie said. She glanced at Bartelmeu. "And according to our resident psychic saint, arming you three is our best shot at doing so."

Bartelmeu smiled. "And I predict a solid fifty-fifty chance of success! You can't ask for better odds than that!" He frowned. "Well, I suppose you could, but you're not going to get them."

"So either we'll win or we won't." I sighed. "How comforting."

You know something? Sometimes I really hate my job.