Dead Streets

ELEVEN

Devona and I sat at a corner table, too close to a speaker that was currently blaring "Achy Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus. On the dance floor rows of vampires along with a smattering of other creatures wearing country and western regalia line-danced to the less -than dulcet tones of Cyrus the Virus. It made me long for the earsplitting din of Scream Queen and Kakophonie. Like a lot of clubs in the Sprawl there were large Mind's Eye projectors hanging on the walls, transmitting images of Billy Ray cavorting around the stage as he sung. If I hadn't already been deceased I would've begged for God – any god – to strike me dead and put me out of my misery.

I'd never set foot inside Westerna's before, but the place lived down to my expectations. The walls were red brick, the floor old stained wood and the round tables and chairs looked as if they'd been stolen off a set of an old Western movie. Almost everyone here – patrons as well as servers – dressed like they'd just arrived from Nashville. It was like Urban Cowboy meets Mad Monster Party. Luckily not every customer was done up in C amp;W drag, so Devona and I didn't stand out too much.

Like Sinsation, Westerna's had a Victor Baron built doorman, this one looking something like a greenish skinned John Wayne with scars crosscrossing his flesh. He'd even greeted us with, "Howdy, Pilgrims," as we'd entered. Our server was a Bloodborn woman with a mound of bleach blonde hair and a Dolly Parton-sized chest who insisted on calling us "Hon" and "Sugar." I'll leave you to guess which was which. We both ordered mugs of aqua sanguis and Countess Dolly brought them over right away, giving us a smile and a saucy wink as she departed.

"Don't get any ideas," Devona warned as she took a sip of synthetic blood.

"I won't," I assured her. "Breasts like that are dangerous. I might lose an eye or something. Besides, how do you know she was winking at me? She might've been flirting with you."

Devona frowned and I immediately regretted my comment.

"Are you going to start being jealous of everyone we meet from now on?"

"Sorry. It was just a joke." I raised my mug to my lips and pretended to drink. I can ingest liquid and food when I want, but since I can't digest it, I eventually have to throw it up, otherwise it'll spoil inside my stomach and the resultant bacteria would begin feeding on my insides – not to mention the horrendous smell it would produce. So I avoided eating and drinking unless I absolutely had to. Since I looked fairly fresh, was dressed in black, and was in the company of a half-vampire, Devona and I had decided it would be best for me to try to pass as one of the Bloodborn, hence my ordering aqua sanguis. But I wasn't going to actually drink it unless it became necessary to maintain my disguise.

The Dominari tram had brought us to a point beneath the Sprawl and we'd emerged in a warehouse owned by the vermen only a few blocks from Westerna's. It was there that we parted ways with Bogdan, Tavi and Scorch. The members of the Midnight Watch wanted to help me clear my name, but while I appreciated the gesture, I refused to accept their assistance. For one thing I was in a Lycanthropus Rex sized pile of trouble and I didn't want to drag the others into it anymore than they already were. And to be practical the more people Devona and I had tagging along the greater the odds that we'd be recognized. Devona and the Midnight Watch had been making a name for themselves over the last couple months, and while her employees weren't exactly household names throughout the city, they were well enough known – especially in the Sprawl – that their presence was a risk we couldn't afford. They were disappointed but they understood and they wished me luck as Devona and I left the warehouse and headed for Westerna's.

We sat there for a bit, sipping our drinks and watching people make fools of themselves on the dance floor, and eventually I decided that this would be a good time to broach the subject of Devona's deal with the Dominari. I decided to be subtle about it.

"So… what did you have to give the Dominari in exchange for their help?"

OK, so I stink at subtle. But I was concerned about the price Devona had been forced to pay – what it might mean for her… and for us.

She gazed straight ahead and answered in a toneless voice. "I had to swear eternal allegiance to them and become one of their operatives."

If I'd had a working heart it would've skipped a beat right then, but she turned to me with a grin and punched me on the shoulder.

"Gotcha! You should see the look on your face!"

"Very funny."

Over the months since we'd gotten together Devona's sense of humor had developed a cruel streak. I think I've been a corrupting influence on her.

"Seriously," she said, "they only wanted information."

"That's all?" I was suspicious. The Dominari had gone to a lot of trouble to assist in my jail break – including probably damaging their working relationship with Keket. I couldn't imagine them doing so without significant compensation in return.

Devona looked down at the tabletop then and I knew whatever she'd done to help me it was serious. The only time she has trouble meeting my gaze is when she's feeling guilty.

"They wanted me to provide details of the Cathedral's security set up – which I did. At least, as much as I was able to. I was only the curator of my father's collection and not actually part of his security staff. Still, the Dominari were satisfied with the information I was able to provide."

If I told you I was shocked that would only begin to describe how I felt right then. Despite the fact that Devona had helped me stop Lord Galm's Dawnstone from being used to destroy the city, the Lord of the Bloodborn had cast his half human daughter out of his home, making it clear that, as far as he was concerned, they were no longer father and daughter. Nevertheless Devona still cared for Galm – you can't exactly love a Darklord, even when you're related to him – and I couldn't imagine her betraying him like this, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," she said, still not meeting my gaze. "The Cathedral's security procedures are routinely revised and updated, so everything I told the Dominari was no longer current. I think they knew this, but they were happy to get whatever inside information they could. I'm not sure what they think they can use the information for, but since it's old, it won't do them much good." She looked up then. "At least, that's what I've been telling myself."

I reached across the table, took hold of Devona's hand, and gave it what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you've done. The risk you've taken… If Galm ever finds out…"

She smiled weakly. "If Father learns what I did I won't have to worry about being sentenced to Tenebrus. He'll hunt me down and kill me himself."

It's one thing when a person tells you they love you. It's another when they stick it out with you even when times are tough. But it's what we're willing to do for one another – the chances we take, the sacrifices we make – that truly speak to the depth of our love. Before this I'd known that Devona loved me, but I realized I hadn't appreciated just how much, and I felt like a world class idiot for being jealous of Bogdan, for being jealous of anyone. At that moment I didn't feel worthy of Devona's love and I decided right then and there that I was going to spend the rest of my life trying to become worthy of it. Of course, to do that, I was going to have to get my name off Nekropolis's Most Wanted list somehow.

Just then I saw coils of gray smoke drifting our way. They stopped next to our table, grew larger and thicker, and took on a human shape. An instant later a young – or at least young-appearing – Bloodborn male stood there, wearing a black leather jacket, white T-shirt, jeans and running shoes, a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his pale lips. He was also wearing a backpack and he slipped it off and handed it to Devona before pulling out a seat and joining us.

"Tell me something, Shrike," I said, "I get how vampires' clothing transforms with you whenever you assume your travel forms, but how do you manage to take extra stuff like that backpack with you?"

Shrike grinned. "Magic," he said simply, and I nodded. What else?

"Thanks for coming," I said.

"Devona filled me in on the basics of what happened when she called me," Shrike said. "I gotta tell you, you have some of the worst luck of anyone I know, living, dead, or in between."

I sighed. "Wish I could argue with you on that."

Devona opened the backpack and quickly checked the contents.

"This looks good. Thanks." She looked up and met Shrike's gaze. "Did you have any trouble getting into our apartment?"

"I didn't even try," Shrike said. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and while the end glowed, the cig didn't decrease in size. It never did, and as far as I know, Shrike always had the same endlessly burning butt in his mouth. When he exhaled smoke, his entire body grew faint until you could see through it, solidifying again a moment later. "There are Sentinels posted on the corner for blocks in all directions around your building. Real subtle, huh? But I managed to pick up some goodies here and there for you. Maybe not as good as your regular gear, but hopefully it'll do."

Like Lazlo, Shrike's an old friend, and Devona knew we could count on him in a pinch, which was why she'd contacted him before heading for Tenebrus to break me out. She knew we'd need weapons and Shrike was the only one we knew who could move about the city undetected, given the nature of his travel form.

Devona handed the backpack over to me and it was my turn to examine the contents. There were a number of minor magical items from Hop Frog's and I chose several and tucked them away in various pockets in my coat. That is, in Bogdan's coat. I left the remainder of the magic items for Devona to choose from. She usually doesn't carry weapons, preferring to rely on her formidable intelligence, supernatural strength and speed, as well as her psychic abilities. But considering our current situation, I figured she might want to stock up on some extra insurance.

Best of all was the gun Shrike had found for me. It was a. 45 instead of the 9mm I usually carry, but escaped convicts can't be choosers. A 9mm carries more ammo and the velocity is better, and there's less recoil, which makes it easier for me, with my slower zombie reflexes, to use. Still, the. 45 has better stopping power, which makes it a decent weapon on the streets of Nekropolis. I removed the weapon from the backpack and tucked it into my jacket along with the box of ammo Shrike had brought along.

"I don't suppose you managed to score silver bullets?"

"Sorry," Shrike said, "just the regular."

I nodded. It would have to do. I returned the pack to Devona and she took the rest of the contents for herself. My vox had been taken from me back at the Nightspire so Shrike gave me his and I slipped it into one of my pockets.

"I know I don't have to ask if you were followed," I said to Shrike, "but as I'm more paranoid than usual right now, I'm going to anyway. Were you?"

Shrike looked as if my question had deeply wounded him. "Matt, I'm surprised by your lack of faith in me. For Christ's sake-" He didn't get any farther, for upon speaking the holy name his mouth burst into flame.

Shrike cursed as he attempted to beat out the flames with both hands. I sighed and handed him my mug of aqua sanguis. He downed the contents in a single gulp, extinguishing the flames but leaving his tongue and lips burnt and blackened. He took another long drag with his cigarette and this time when his body re-solidified his mouth was healed.

"You really need to learn how to watch your language," I told him for perhaps the hundredth time since we met. He just grinned at me like he always does and not for the first time I wondered if Shrike "accidentally" spoke holy names as simply another aspect of an eccentric street persona. After all, the man was nothing if not theatrical in his presentation.

"Well, at least we're armed," I said. I'd felt naked without some sort of weaponry on my person, and even though what Shrike had procured for us wasn't top of the line by a long shot, it was a damn sight better than nothing, and I felt a lot better than I had upon first walking into Westerna's.

"So what's the word on the street?" I asked Shrike. "Is anyone aware that I'm a wanted zombie?"

Shrike shook his head. "I don't think so. You know how it works. When the Adjudicators pull someone off the street and toss them into Tenebrus, word may never get out. As far as their friends and family are concerned, they've just gone missing – and since there are any number of reasons why someone might end up with their face on a milk carton in this city-"

"No one's ever sure what happened to them," I finished. Good. Bad enough that the Sentinels were looking for me, but as long as no one else was aware that I'd been sentenced to Tenebrus and escaped, I could Westerna's Mind's Eye projectors were showing a video from a homegrown group called the Hunchback Forty, when all of a sudden they went black, taking the music with them. The club's patrons booed and hissed, and since more of them were vampires, they had hissing down to an art. But the bartender shouted for everyone to be quiet.

"Acantha's just come on the Mind's Eye with a special broadcast," he said. "I'm going to switch over to it."

There were murmurs of surprise and delight from the crowd, but Devona and I looked at each other and said the same thing: "Uh-oh."

The Mind's Eyes activated once more, this time showing Acantha's transmission. As usual, since the image was captured by the camerasnakes on her head, Acantha herself wasn't visible, but the voice came through loud and clear. The person her cameras were trained on was very familiar to me, as it had been less than a day since I'd seen him.

Quillion.

The voice, however, was Acantha's.

"Hello, Nekropolis! You're live on the scene with Acantha! I'm standing inside the Nightspire talking with Brother Quillion, the First Adjudicator. Thank you so much for granting me this exclusive interview, Quillion. I'm sure my viewers are aware of how rarely Adjudicators speak to the media."

Implied in that was a big screw you to the city's other media outlets: The Tome, the Daily Atrocity, Bedlam 66.6 and others – as Acantha publicly gloated over her "exclusive."

Quillion, looking stiff and uncomfortable on camera, nodded.

"You're welcome, Acantha."

"I know you're a busy man, so let's get right down to it. As I understand it, you have a message you wish to deliver to my viewers."

"That's right." Quillion's gaze shifted slightly upward, and he was now speaking directly to Acantha's camerasnakes, and thus to everyone in the city who was watching Acantha's unscheduled broadcast which, given the gorgon's popularity, was doubtless one hell of a lot of people.

I had a good idea what was coming next.

"Citizens of Nekropolis," Quillion began. "Many of you are no doubt familiar with Matthew Richter, a selfwilled zombie, who for several years has worked in the Sprawl as a private investigator. During that time he was reputed to have served his clients well. In fact, Acantha recently featured a brief interview with him on her program."

"Yes, I did, Quillion," Acantha broke in, more because she loved being on a first name basis with an Adjudicator than out of any real need to confirm his statement.

Quillion went on.

"Whatever Mr. Richter's past deeds, he was recently found guilty of a very serious crime, the nature of which I am not at liberty to divulge at this time, and he was sentenced to Tenebrus. As impossible as it sounds, Mr. Richter somehow managed to escape and is believed to be at large. I've alerted every Sentinel in the city to be on the lookout for Mr. Richter, but I wish to bring him back into custody as swiftly as possible. For that reason, I'm offering a substantial reward to anyone who can capture Mr. Richter and bring to him the Nightspire…" He paused. "Relatively intact."

"When you say substantial…" Acantha said.

"Five hundred thousand darkgems," Quillion said, speaking the obscenely large number without so much as blinking.

I was impressed by the size of the reward Quillion was offering. I hadn't realized I was so dangerous. Evidently Acantha was impressed too for she let out a low whistle and the image of Quillion started shaking. I guessed her camerasnakes had become overly excited by the Adjudicator's news. Acantha made a few soothing sounds to calm her pets and the image steadied.

"You heard it here first, folks," the gorgon said, sounding far too pleased with herself. After the way I'd humiliated her at Sinsation she had to be absolutely loving this.

"And for those of you who need a reminder of what Matthew Richter looks like…"

Quillion's image faded from Westerna's Mind's Eyes to be replaced by a still image of me. It was one from my disastrous interview with Acantha, pulled from her memory, no doubt. She'd selected a moment toward the end of the interview, right before I'd hit her with Anansi's Web. I was scowling and my eyes blazed with anger. I looked like I was ready to kill her.

Shrike turned to me. "I think you should probably avoid speaking to reporters in the future." He glanced back at the frozen image of my face. "Seriously."

The picture changed again, this time to an image of Acantha herself. Off to the right the extended length of a camerasnake curving away from her head was visible and I guessed one of her pets had stretched itself out in front of her face so it could film her.

"Matthew Richter: once thought to be a hero, now a wanted fugitive," she said. "How long will he remain at large? With five hundred thousand darkgems as a reward for his capture, my guess is not very long." She gave her audience a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. "This is Acantha, saying good night and good hunting."

The image went to black and several seconds later the Hunchback Forty returned to Westerna's Mind's Eyes.

Devona, Shrike and I sat for a moment, staring silently at the closest Mind's Eye. After a bit Devona turned to me, her normally pale complexion ashen.

"This is bad," she said.

"Extremely," Shrike added.

I would've loved to disagree with them, but I couldn't.

"Given the size of the reward Quillion is offering, every professional bounty hunter and mercenary in the city will be out looking for you," Devona said.

"Not to mention all the amateurs who'll be tempted by that money," Shrike said. "Hell, if you weren't my friend, I'd try to collect the reward myself."

"I appreciate your self restraint," I said drily. But I knew they were both right. The whole damned city would be trying to find me – which is exactly what Quillion wanted, and Keket too, mostly likely.

"What are you going do?" Shrike asked.

"Try to clear my name. What else can I do? Not that I have the faintest idea where to start. We don't have any solid suspects and I have no idea what the object stolen from Edrigu is, let alone why someone would want it."

"It's obvious why they chose you," Devona said. "Or rather, why they chose your body. You carry the mark of Edrigu on your hand. Whoever stole your body and animated it knew that mark would not only gain you entrance into Edrigu's stronghold, but it would also allow you to enter his bedchamber – and more importantly, to leave it without being stopped by his guards."

Clearing my name wasn't the only reason I had for wanting to discover who had stolen Edrigu's bone flute. The thief had used my body to commit the crime, with used being the operative word. One of the things about being a zombie is that, bereft of the full range of physical sensations you enjoyed while alive, you can become detached and remote if you're not careful. More than that, you can start feeling that you're a thing, no more alive than a brick wall or a piece of furniture. An object instead of a person. And that's exactly how the thief had treated me – as an object, a tool, a means to an end. But I wasn't an object. I was Matthew Fucking Richter and when I found the son of a bitch who'd stolen my body and used it like a remote control toy I intended to make damn sure he or she knew who I truly was.

"The solution to all this seems simple enough to me," Shrike said. "You find yourself a good forensic sorcerer, someone skilled enough to use their magic to discover the identity of whoever hijacked your body. I mean, there have to be some magical traces of them clinging to your body, right? Then you…" He trailed off. "Never mind. It's a stupid idea. The bounty on your head is so large, any sorcerer you contact would likely just cast a stasis spell on you and hand you over to Quillion."

"Yep," I said. "And because so many bounty hunters will be out looking for me, I can't consult my usual sources." Waldemar at the Great Library, Skully, Arval the ghoul restaurant ownerand a dozen lesser but still valuable contacts – all of them would be watched by Sentinels and bounty hunters alike. If I went anywhere near them, I'd be captured for sure."

Thinking about bounty hunters reminded me about Overkill. Acantha hadn't been the only person I'd humiliated at Sinsation and – assuming she hadn't had anything to do with the theft of my body, something I hadn't entirely ruled out – she'd be after me like the rest of her mercenary minded brothers and sisters. If Acantha had taken great delight in delivering news of Quillion's reward, Overkill would be ecstatic at the thought of getting a rematch with me, especially one that held the extra incentive of such a large paycheck. She'd no doubt be disappointed by Quillion's desire I be delivered to him 'relatively intact', but for five hundred thousand darkgems I'm sure she'd find a way to live with it.

Given the seriousness of my dilemma I would've considered asking Varvara for help. The Demon Queen isn't exactly a friend of mine but she finds me amusing, which is more valuable in her mind than friendship anyway. She's been something of a patroness to me since I arrived in Nekropolis, but even so, I'm careful not to ask too many favors of her. It's never a good idea to become too indebted to a demon, let alone their queen. But I wouldn't get a chance to appeal to Varvara's generosity this time. If what Quillion had told me was true, Varvara – like the other four Darklords – was still sleeping, recharging her energy after the last Renewal Ceremony. So no help there.

I was starting to feel hopeless and Devona, likely sensing my emotions through our psychic link, reached over and gave my arm a squeeze. "You're a detective, Matt, and a damned good one. You'll figure something out."

"I wish I shared your confidence in me." Truth was I relied on my network of contacts far more than I liked to admit, even to myself. Without them I wasn't sure I'd be able to discover the identity of the thief who'd stolen Edrigu's bone flute and framed me for the crime – not with the entire city out hunting for me, that is.

I was so stuck on where to turn for help that I considered trying to contact the Dominari, but I didn't consider it for very long. For one thing I wanted as little to do with the mobsters as possible, and for another I didn't want to think about what sort of price they might charge for their assistance this time. But in the end the reason I decided against contacting the Dominari was a purely practical one: they'd be just as likely to want to collect the bounty on me as anyone else in the city. As I'd learned from Gnasher the Dominari was nothing if not all business and five hundred thousand darkgems would make a nice profit for simply – pardon the expression – ratting me out to Quillion.

What I needed was someone who not only was tuned in to what was happening in Nekropolis on a daily basis but who wasn't someone I consulted very often. Someone who kept a low profile – so low that no one would even realize he was an information source.

Then it came to me and a slow grin spread across my face. Maybe – just maybe – I wasn't beaten yet.

I grabbed Shrike's hand and gave it a quick shake.

"Thanks again for everything, but Devona and I have to get moving."

"You've got an idea," Devona said with a smile. It wasn't a question and she didn't seem surprised in the least. Is it any wonder I love her?

"I do. I think it's time we paid a visit to the House of Mysterious Secrets."

"This is some kind of joke, right?"

Devona stood on the sidewalk, hands on her hips, head cocked at an appraising angle. I stood next to her, hands in the pockets of my new (Bogdan's old) coat. When Devona had procured my disguise she'd had no idea what crime I'd been arrested for, so she hadn't brought me any gloves. But since Edrigu's mark on my hand was what we used to call a 'distinguishing feature' back when I was a cop, I figured I should keep that hand concealed as often as possible.

We stood outside a large manor house surrounded by a high wrought iron fence with nasty looking spikes on the tips of the bars. We were still in the Sprawl, not far from the Grotesquerie, and the gamey smell of zoo animals hung thick in the air. I could tell because Devona kept wrinkling her nose.

The manor was constructed entirely out of black wood and brick and its grounds were overgrown with weeds and decorative shrubs that had long ago been left to grow wild. The shutters – black, of course – hung askew on their hinges, the windows were dirt-smeared and cracked and the entire structure listed slightly to the right, as if the manor were perpetually on the verge of collapse. Ravens perched everywhere – on the chimney, the roof, the fence… twenty-nine at my count. A low lying fog-like mist clung to the ground, the whitish vapors roiling slowly as if they possessed some sort of sinister life.

"The only thing missing is a miniature storm cloud hanging overhead discharging the occasional lightning bolt," Devona added. "It's the stereotypical haunted house. It's more than a cliche – it's a cliche of a cliche!"

"That's the whole point," I said. "In Nekropolis a place like this is as unremarkable as a ranch house in a suburban neighborhood back on Earth. It's the perfect disguise."

"Disguise for what?" Devona asked suspiciously.

I just smiled. "You'll see."

I walked up to the main gate. It wasn't locked and it swung open easily at my touch. But even though the gate's motion was as smooth as if it had just been oiled, a creaking groan that sounded almost human filled the air. Once the gate was all open I turned to Devona and gave her a courtly bow, or at least a reasonable version thereof.

"After you, milady."

Devona gave me a look that said she wasn't in the mood to play and walked through. I followed and the gate swung shut behind us of its own accord. Devona didn't even bother looking back over her shoulder at it.

"Cute," she said sarcastically.

We disturbed the layer of ground mist as we walked, but it closed right up behind us, leaving no evidence of our passage. We found the front walk by accident more than anything else and we continued along it until we reached the porch. The ravens roosting on the property made no sound as we approached, but they kept their beady eyed gazes upon us as if they were trying to determine whether we were up to no good.

A quartet of cracked stone columns held up the roof over the porch and spiders had spun elaborate webs between them. Something was caught in one of the webs and I took a closer look.

"Help meeeeeee!" came a tiny voice.

I reached out and with a thumb and forefinger carefully plucked the human headed fly from the webbing.

"Get on back to the Foundry, you slacker," I said.

I flicked the human headed fly off my fingersand his wings began to buzz. He circled our heads a couple times before straightening his course and making a beeline – or rather a flyline – in the general direction of the Boneyard.

"A little guy like that needs to be extra careful when he decides to take a flight on the wild side," I said.

I stepped up to the large front door – black, naturally – took hold of the thick iron ring knocker, lifted it, and let it fall once, twice, three times, then I stepped back to wait.

"Let me guess," Devona said. "The door will creak open and a scary-looking butler will poke his head out and say, 'Good eve-hu-ning' in a sepulchral tone."

"Exactly what does a sepulchral tone sound like anyway?" I asked.

The door opened then, and true to Devona's guess, it did so with a creaking sound. But instead of a scary butler an ordinary human man stood there. He was tall, in his early to mid-thirties, with a round face, thinning straight black hair, glasses and a neatly trimmed black mustache. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt, jeans and running shoes.

"Can I help you?" he said, speaking in a pleasant deep voice that was sonorous rather than sepulchral. He paused, frowned as he gave me a closer look, then he smiled.

"Matt!" I didn't recognize you in your new get-up." He turned to Devona. "And you must be Devona." His frown returned. "Funny, I thought you had blonde hair."

"She normally does," I said. "We're traveling in disguise right now."

The man nodded. "Of course. I should've realized." He opened the door wider and stepped back. "Come on in. My House of Mysterious Secrets is your House of Mysterious Secrets."

He smiled as his joke while Devona and I walked past him. Once we were inside he closed the door and entered a code on an electronic keypad on the wall next to it. There was the sound of locks engaging and I knew the manor's impressive security system was now activated.

Devona had of course seen the keypad and had no doubt noticed how out of place it was with the manor's outside appearance. But that was nothing compared to the place's inside. We now stood within a pleasant looking foyer more suited to an upper middleclass house on Earth than a haunted mansion in Nekropolis.

Devona turned to me with a questioning look.

"Allow me to introduce you to the master of this forbidding edifice," I said. "The enigmatic and eldritch being known only by the sinister appellation of… David Zelasco!"

David gave Devona a smile.

"Hi."

David led us through his tastefully furnished home to a workroom toward the back of the manor. It was a large room with long tables lining the walls, a dozen computer monitors with keyboards resting on top of them. With the exception of a half empty liter bottle of soda and a crinkled bag of nacho chips near one of the monitors, the tables were clear and free of clutter. It looked like a normal enough office space, except each of the monitors had a raven perching on top of it, the birds standing motionless, connected to the monitors by wires plugged into the backs of their heads. Images flashed across the monitor screens in fast-motion, scenes from all five of Nekropolis's Dominions.

A wheeled office chair sat in front of one of the monitors and David went over to it and sat down.

Devona stepped closer to one of the ravens and examined it more closely. "These things are some kind of machines, aren't they? And I bet the ones outside are too."

David nodded as he turned the chair around to face us and sat down. "They're partially robotic. They were specially designed for me by-"

Devona held up a hand to stop him. "Victor Baron, right?"

David smiled. "Who else? I've got about a hundred or so working at any given time. They fly all over the city, recording video and audio. When their memories are full, they fly back here and I download the information they've gathered into my mainframe. That's when the real work starts."

Devona reached out a finger to prod one of the ravens. The bird gave her an angry squawk, startling her. It seemed to glare at her, as if to say, Do you mind? and then became motionless again.

Devona turned to face David.

"Real work?"

He nodded again. "I go through the hours of video my ravens collect, looking for something useful."

Devona gave me a mildly frustrated look which I interpreted as meaning Would somebody just tell me what's going on here?

But before I could say anything, an electronic tone sounded from the monitor closest to him.

"Excuse me for a moment."

David swiveled around to face the monitor and typed a few strokes on the keyboard. The video download on the screen paused, David minimized it and brought up a new window. This one showed a man in his early sixties with straight black hair, glasses and a friendly looking if somewhat long and rectangular face. The display showed him from the mid-chest up, revealing that he was wearing a black Ramones T-shirt. When the man spoke, he did so in a mild New England accent.

"Hey, David, how you doing? My publisher's breathing down my neck about the new book and I need something to send him real soon. You got anything good for me?"

"I've put together a few things for you, Steve. I'll email them to you right now."

David typed a few more keystrokes and hit SEND. A couple of seconds passed and then the man on the other end – who obviously was sitting in front of his own computer – said, "Got it! Thanks, David!"

"No problem. Take a look at the files and see if anything strikes you as interesting. If not let me know and I'll see what else I can dig up for you."

"You got it. Thanks again, man. From now on I'm going to start calling you Wint-o-green, because you're a lifesaver!"

The display went black as the man disconnected, and with a few more keystrokes, David closed the video chat window and resumed downloading the raven's information.

"That call," Devona said. "You have a direct connection with Earth?"

"Not exactly," David said. "I have to go through Nekropolis's Aethernet to connect to Earth's Internet – which isn't as easy as it sounds. The first thing you have to do-"

David's something of a techhead and I knew if I didn't cut him off right away we'd end up learning far more about Nekropolis -to Earth communication than we wanted to.

"You've just witnessed David in action," I said. "Horror is a way of life here in Nekropolis but back on Earth it's big business. Books, movies, comics, videogames… The people who create them all need ideas, and when they run out, they get in touch with David."

Devona looked at the ravens with new understanding. "You go through all the video they collect, looking for ideas to pass on to your customers," she said to David.

He nodded. "The business has been in the family for a long time – almost since the founding of Nekropolis. Back then ideas had to be sent out by courier and carried to Earth through Varvara's mirror. But as you can see, we've updated quite a bit since then, which has made the whole operation a lot more efficient and has allowed us to expand a great deal." David smiled proudly. "These days, almost every horror professional on Earth uses our service."

"It's very impressive," Devona said, "but why all the secrecy? The faux haunted house, the robotic ravens… Why not just advertise what you do? You'd get a lot more people coming in to tell you their stories that way."

"True," David said, "but I'd also get a lot of people who aren't comfortable with the idea of their secrets being sent to Earth so that artists can create entertainment for humans. More than one of my ancestors found that out the hard way and ended up having to accept forced retirement, if you know what I mean."

"Of course, David doesn't get all his information from his ravens," I said.

"That's right. People drop by now and again to tell me their stories and I pay them for their time. That's how I met Matt, as a matter of fact."

Devona looked at me and I shrugged. "It's an easy way to pick up some extra darkgems when the investigation business is slow."

"I just wish you'd let me use your story, Matt," David said. "I know any number of people who'd love to get their hands on it."

I shook my head firmly. "No way. You know I like to keep a low profile."

David gave me a wry smile.

"OK, I admit that's something I haven't done an especially good job of lately."

"That's putting it mildly," he said. "I caught Acantha's broadcast."

"You and everyone else within range of a Mind's Eye," I said.

"You have to fill me in on all the details. You've told me some good stories before, but I bet this one beats them all."

"I'll have to take a rain check on that. Besides, the story's not finished yet. That's why we're here. I was framed, and in order to prove it, I had to get out of Tenebrus. But now that I'm free-"

"You can't go to any of your usual sources because you're a wanted man," David said. "Got it. I'll do whatever I can to help."

I briefly explained the basics of how my head was stolen and my body used to steal an object from Lord Edrigu.

"I'm hoping that one of your ravens might've recorded footage of either the attack on me or of my body entering and leaving the Reliquary."

"It's possible, I suppose," David said, "but I only have so many birds out at a time and Nekropolis is a big place. The odds aren't great that they collected the footage you're looking for."

"I know, but it's the best shot I've got right now at learning who did this to me and why."

David looked thoughtful. "Since my business is gathering ideas I program my ravens to wander the city randomly for hours at a time. It's more like fishing than hunting. I send them out and hope they manage to bring back something I can use. They don't perform systematic searches of designated areas. So even if they managed to record the real thief, it'll take me some time to search through all the most recent video and find it. Don't get me wrong: I'm happy to do it. After all, I have to review the video eventually anyway. I just want you to be aware of how long it might take – assuming I find anything at all."

"I understand and I appreciate it," I said. "In return I promise to come back and tell you everything that happened in as much detail as you can stand. Provided I survive, that is."

Devona swatted me on the arm. "Stop that kind of talk. It's defeatist."

"What you call defeatism, I call realism," I said.

In response she swatted me again.

"So what are you two going to do in the meantime?" David asked.

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "I need to find out as much as I can about the object that was stolen from Edrigu." I described the bone flute to David. "Does it sound familiar to you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'd suggest you pay Waldemar a visit at the Great Library, but that's probably out of the question right now."

"It's too bad my father and I aren't on speaking terms anymore," Devona said. "He's spent thousands of years collecting objects of power. There's a good chance he'd know what the flute is."

I started to reply but I paused as a new thought struck me. Could Galm be behind the bone flute's theft? There were all kinds of ways to build a collection, not all of them legitimate, and the Darklords were constantly plotting against each other one way or another. And Galm had no love for me. Perhaps it had amused him to use my body to steal something from a rival Darklord. Or maybe it had been Talaith. She'd had run ins with Edrigu before and she absolutely loathed me. Maybe she'd decided to kill two birds with one stone and…

But then I derailed that particular train of thought. According to Quillion all the Darklords, along with Father Dis, were still sleeping off the after effects of the Renewal Ceremony. Unless either Galm or Talaith had woken up early, they couldn't be behind the theft.

"You could try asking someone else about the bone flute," David said. "After all, Galm's not the only collector in the city."

"You got someone else in mind?" I asked.

"Maybe. I hear a lot of things in my line of work. For a couple years now I've been hearing rumors about a Bloodborn who owns a used bookstore in the Sprawl – not far from where you two live, if I remember correctly."

I nodded. "The store's called Nosferatomes. Devona and I've been there before. What have you heard about the owner?"

"Nothing concrete," David said. "Just hints, really. But supposedly the owner – his name's Orlock – collects more than just old books. A lot of people come to tell me their stories and some of them are well connected to the seamier side of Nekropolis – or at least they like to make out they are: mercenaries, thieves, self-styled adventurers of one sort or another…" He gave me a meaningful look at this point. "And some of them claim to have done work for Orlock. None of them told me what exactly they did for him, but it wasn't hard to read between the lines."

"You think they acquired items for his collection," I said.

"And if he's a collector then he might be able to identify the bone flute for us," Devona added.

David nodded. "But like I said it's only a suspicion. My ravens have captured video of some questionable characters going into Orlock's shop, but that doesn't prove anything."

"Maybe not," I said, "but it's a lead and it's more than we had when we came in here. Thanks, David."

"You're welcome. Let me know what you learn about Orlock. I might be able to use the information for one of my clients. In the meantime I'll start searching through my ravens' recent footage and see if I can't find any video of the attack on you. If I do, I'll give you a call."

I gave David the number of Shrike's vox, then we thanked him again and said our goodbyes. He offered to see us to the door but I told him to go ahead and get started reviewing the video. We'd show ourselves out.

As Devona and I stepped onto the front porch she said, "You know, those ravens of David's could have all kinds of security applications. You think he might be interested in doing some work for us on the side?"

"You mean for you," I said.

Devona frowned. "I don't understand."

We continued talking as we walked down the porch steps and headed across the mist enshrouded grounds toward the gate.

"The Midnight Watch is your business. I just help out from time to time."

Devona didn't respond right away, and I knew I'd said something wrong, though I wasn't exactly sure what.

"I thought it was our business, Matt. Something we did together."

Aw, crap, I thought. Out loud, I said, "Look, I didn't mean-"

She cut me off. "I understand that you're used to working alone… living alone, being alone. You lived like that for years after you became a zombie and probably for more years before that. But you're not alone anymore. I don't understand why it's so hard for you to get that."

Right then being alone sounded pretty good. When you're alone you don't have to deal with other people's expectations and feelings and you don't have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing and hurting them. Being alone means freedom and no hassles. There's only one problem with it: it's damn lonely.

As we passed through the gate and onto the sidewalk, leaving the House of Mysterious Secrets behind, I struggled to come up with some kind of reply that might salve Devona's hurt feelings. But my poor zombie brain was coming up empty, so instead I started looking around for a cab. It would take about twenty minutes to walk to Nosferatomes from where we were, but given my current fugitive status I figured the less I was seen in public the better. Our disguises had worked well enough so far but I didn't want to push it. The traffic was relatively light just then and there were no cabs for hire around. No real surprise there, since cabbies tend to frequent Sybarite Street, where the best clubs and restaurants in the Sprawl are located. Still, I'd hoped there might be at least one cab around, maybe even Lazlo, roaring up to the curb in his ramshackle machine, as he so often does when I need a ride. Riding with him would be a calculated risk, since I'm known to do it so often, but at that point I figured it would be one worth taking. But there was no sign of the demon.

I remembered what Quillion had told me about a Sentinel "interviewing" Lazlo and I hoped he was simply busy driving another fare around town. I knew from first hand experience that Sentinels weren't exactly the most gentle of creatures and I feared my friend might be laid up somewhere, metaphorically – or who knows, maybe literally – licking his wounds as he recovered from the Sentinel's little chat with him.

I turned to Devona. "Looks like we're going to have to hoof it."

Her frown deepened into a scowl and I thought she wasn't going to let me get away with trying to change the subject, but then she looked past me and her eyes widened and I knew our discussion was about to be tabled.

I turned around and saw a man striding purposefully down the sidewalk toward us. He wore a long black trench coat open to reveal a chiseled bare chest and well defined abs. Black jeans and worn cowboy boots completed his outfit. He was a handsome black man with mahogany skin, a shaved head and piercing, almost startling green eyes. He appeared to be unarmed but I didn't need to frisk him to know he wasn't carrying any weapons. You don't need to when you are a weapon.

The first of the bounty hunters had found us.