Dead Streets

THREE

"How's the shoulder?"

"Like new." Devona's leather outfit had a tear over the shoulder, the edges crusted with dried blood, but the exposed skin was once more smooth and healthy. "Thanks, Bogdan."

The warlock shrugged in what I thought was a blatantly insincere attempt to appear modest. "Healing magic doesn't always work with Bloodborn – they are, after all, undead – but as you're half-human, I thought I'd make the attempt. I'm glad my spell was successful."

As for my own injury I'd removed Overkill's blade from between my ribs and aside from a new hole I'd need to get sewn up the next time I visited my houngan, I was no worse for the wear. Papa Chatha is able to use his voodoo magic to keep me from rotting away to nothing, but when it comes to torn skin, broken bones and the like, instead of invoking the Loa, Papa tends to rely on thread, staples and superglue.

Devona and I – along with the rest of the team – had returned to the Midnight Watch building and now lounged in the great room. When Devona had first bought the building the stone fireplace was cracked and filled with cobwebs, musty old paintings hung on the walls, and the wooden beams overhead were rotten and falling apart. Devona had spent a significant amount of money to renovate the building's interior and the great room now had all new leather furniture, abstract holo art hanging on the walls – not really my taste, but hey, it's Devona's business, not mine – and an illusory fire flickering in a brazier set in the fireplace, providing plenty of light but no heat. Zombie flesh tends to be on the dry side, especially when I'm due for a new batch of preservative spells, and I try to stay away from fire whenever possible. Devona, considerate partner that she is, had the magical brazier installed just for me.

"She could've healed herself simply by chugging a mug or two of the red stuff before we left Sinsation," I said, trying not to sound irritated with Bogdan and failing miserably.

Devona scowled at me. "You know how I feel about drinking blood in bars, Matt."

Many of Nekropolis's denizens require blood as a major part of their diet and supplying that need is one of the city's major industries. The real thing, as you might imagine, is difficult to come by and the artificial substitute aqua sanguis – while providing a certain amount of nourishment – mostly just takes the edge off the thirst. Vampires often get blood from their shadows, human followers who serve their undead masters in the hope of one day joining their dark ranks, and over at the Foundry, Victor Baron produces blood by the gallons from an army of cloned human bodies that lack higher brain functions, primarily because, as rumor has it, they don't possess any heads. But all of those sources still aren't enough to meet the demand and there's a brisk black market trade in blood – and the sellers aren't too picky about how they come by their supply or who they have to kill to obtain it. According to the law in Nekropolis humans who choose to live in the city are not inferior beings to be exploited, save by their own choice, but they are fair game as prey, as is every other being in the city.

During the decades Devona served her father she lived in the Cathedral and gave little thought to where her food came from. In the stronghold of the Darklord Galm blood flows freely from a large marble fountain that never runs dry. If a member of the household or one of the staff wishes to slake his or her thirst they need only dip a goblet into the fountain and drink their fill. But during the few months since Devona had abandoned her sheltered existence and come to live with me, she'd learned a great deal about what life is like outside the walls of her father's home and she'd developed a social conscience. She refused to take part in exploiting humans – after all, her mother was human – and if she wasn't absolutely sure where blood came from, she wouldn't drink it, like humans back on Earth refusing to eat tuna from companies whose indiscriminate fishing practices result in the death of dolphins. And bars were among the worst offenders when it came to selling black market blood. As a former human myself, I normally admired Devona's attitude, but it bugged me that night… mostly because it had led to Bogdan getting to use his magic to heal her.

Are you getting the idea that I wasn't the warlock's biggest fan?

Devona sat on a couch near the fireplace and she'd just finished arranging five piles of darkgems in front of her on a crystal coffee table. She looked up at everyone and smiled.

"Scream Queen was very happy with our work tonight," she said. "So much so that she gave us each a bonus of ten darkgems." She gestured at the money. "Go ahead. You earned it."

Bogdan, Scorch and Tavi – the latter two once again wearing human form – stood on the other side of the coffee table. I stood next to the fireplace, learning against the wall, arms crossed, a scowl on my face. Normally I enjoyed standing close to the coldfire since I liked to gaze into its flickering flames and I knew they couldn't do any damage to me. But that night I stood there mostly out of habit. I wasn't enjoying myself in the least.

Despite Devona's invitation to collect their pay the three members of the Midnight Watch didn't step forward. Instead they exchanged uneasy glances and remained standing where they were.

Devona frowned. "What's wrong?"

Bogdan spoke for the trio. "Scorch, Tavi and I are reluctant to take a full share of tonight's profits. We don't feel as if we earned it."

"We were hired to protect Scream Queen," Devona said, "and we stopped Overkill from stealing her voice. She was pleased with the service we provided and she paid us. All of us." She looked at Bogdan. "And you were able to cast a spell that returned her voice to her."

Bogdan shrugged. "It was a simple matter. An Arcane child could've done it."

My scowl deepened. You're a modest son of a bitch, aren't you? I thought.

"And all of you-" Devona took in Scorch and Tavi with her gaze now – "participated in the fight against Overkill."

"For all the good we did," Scorch said in a pouty voice, sounding like the preteen she appeared to be. "The three of us got our butts kicked."

"We were up against Overkill," Tavi pointed out. "We're lucky to still be alive." He turned to glance at me. "Uh, sorry, Matt. I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Living or dead, I'm still ambulatory and that's all that matters."

"Look, everyone," Devona said in what I'd come to think of as her boss voice. "We all shared the risk, so we all share in the profit."

Bogdan, Scorch and Tavi all glanced at me then as if to see whether I had anything to say about the issue. While none of them seemed to have bought into any of that 'savior of the city' crap that folks like Acantha wanted to saddle me with they did seek my opinion every now and again – though I felt Bogdan did so more to keep up appearances with his fellow employees than because he really cared what I thought about anything.

When I didn't answer right away Devona said, "Well, Matt? What do you think?"

When you're part of a couple there are times when you know your significant other is asking you a question to which there is only One Right Answer. I recognized this as one of those times. Unfortunately I had no idea what the correct response was. So I did what I usually do in situations like that. I gambled.

I shrugged and tried to sound as casual as I could as I replied: "It's your business, so it's your call."

I knew my gamble had been a spectacular failure when Devona gave me a scowl that said We'll talk about this later. Then she returned her attention to her employees.

"So it's settled then."

The three exchanged glances one last time before finally stepping forward and collecting their share of the night's earnings.

"So…" Bogdan said. "When are we going to discuss what happened tonight? I have some ideas on ways we might improve our performance next time."

I'll just bet you do, I thought. And from the way the warlock looked at Devona as he spoke I had the feeling that when he said we he wasn't talking about all five of us sitting down for a chat.

Scorch groaned. "Really, Bogdan, why do you always have to be such a worker bee? It's getting late and I have a pile of newly acquired darkgems burning a hole in my pocket. I say we head on back to Sinsation and see what other kinds of trouble we can get into tonight."

Bogdan frowned at the demon, but Devona cut him off before he could reply. "Was there anything we could've done differently to deal with Overkill? Of course. There's always room for improvement, but that's not important right now. What matters is we got the job done and that's enough for one night. Let's save the post mortem for another time, shall we?"

She gave Bogdan a smile to take the sting out of her words and the warlock responded with a courtly half bow that, if I still had a gag reflex, would've made me want to vomit on the spot.

"Of course, Devona," he said. "It's probably a good idea that you don't work anymore tonight anyway. After the injury you sustained you could use some rest. Magical healing can only do so much you know." The warlock then gave her a wink and Devona actually blushed a little. Considering how pale she is even a mild blush looked like fiery explosions beneath her skin.

I ground my teeth so hard I thought I might have to visit a zombie dentist.

Bogdan begged off accompanying Scorch back to Sinsation. Tavi tried to escape as well, but Scorch wasn't about to be denied twice. She hooked her arm in his and, since she was far stronger than the shapeshifter even while wearing the guise of a preteen girl, he had no choice but to allow her to drag him off in search of further excitement. Given the sort of activities a demon considers fun I hoped the lyke survived the night.

That left Bogdan, Devona and me – and you know what they say about three being a crowd? Well, evidently Bogdan had never heard of the phrase for he sat down on the couch next to Devona, laying his arm across the back, almost but not quite putting it around her. At that point I was a very unhappy dead man.

"You were really the star tonight," Bogdan said to Devona. "It was the security spell you placed on the club's entrance that prevented Overkill from simply waltzing out of there with Scream Queen's voice. It was extremely sophisticated spellcraft, worthy of one of my own people. Very few non-Arcane can work magic of that level. It was most impressive."

The warlock scooted an inch closer to Devona. If she noticed, she didn't react. Maybe, I told myself, she didn't react because she liked the idea of Bogdan – a living man – getting closer to her.

Don't be an idiot, I told myself. You know how Devona feels about you.

Still, there are a lot of disadvantages to being dead and one of them is that I'm not exactly fully functional in certain key areas, if you get my drift. And despite the fact that I disliked Bogdan quite a bit at that moment – actually, loathed might be a more accurate description of my feelings toward him – I had to admit that he was handsome enough, in a sleazy kind of way. And as sheltered as Devona had been for most of her life she hadn't had a lot of experience with men and might not realize just what a superficial, shallow and manipulative jerk he was. Yeah, loathed is definitely the right word.

"Thank you, Bogdan," she said. "That means a lot, coming from a warlock as accomplished as you are."

I'd had enough. Beneath my breath, I whispered, "Sic 'em, Rover."

At first nothing happened, but then Bogdan's red hair began to stir as if tousled by a sourceless breeze. A second later a miniature windstorm erupted in the great room centered, strangely enough, on the couch where Devona and Bogdan sat. They squeezed their eyes shut against the wind and Devona shouted something, but her voice was muffled by the storm's howling. Devona and Bogdan tried to stand, no doubt intending to get away from the couch and the winds that buffeted them, but the small-scale gale was too powerful, and every time they managed to rise off the couch so much as an inch, a fresh gust of air would shove them back down.

I let this go on for a minute or so before whispering, "That's enough, Rover. Heel."

The mini windstorm gave a final howl that sounded almost disappointed before finally dissipating. Both Devona and Bogdan's hair was mussed – revealing the beginnings of a bald spot atop the warlock's head I noted with petty satisfaction – and though Devona's leather outfit had weathered the storm just fine, Bogdan's clothes were now rumpled and in dire need of a good pressing.

"I'm so sorry about that, Bogdan!" Devona said. "I've been working on housebreaking Rover, but as you can see, he still acts up from time to time." She shot me a look then and in an icy tone added, "Doesn't he, Matt?"

"He does have his high-spirited moments," I said, doing my best to keep my tone neutral.

When Devona first purchased the Midnight Watch building we'd discovered that the original owner – a powerful warlock named Leander Crosswise who specialized in security magic – had created a guardian creature for his establishment by granting a level of sentience to a wardspell. Unfortunately for Crosswise when he decided to retire and sell the business the guardian had decided that the warlock had become a threat to the place it was supposed to protect and it killed its creator. The building gained a reputation for being haunted after that, especially since the guardian attacked anyone who considered purchasing the place, and the Midnight Watch building remained empty for decades. The creature had attacked Devona and I when we inspected the property and we'd barely managed to figure out what was happening before the creature destroyed us. We made friends with it, after a fashion, and in a strange way it had become something of a pet to us, hence the name Rover. I'd never been much on having pets when I was alive, but for whatever reason Rover and I seemed to get along pretty well and I could usually count on him to listen to me – especially if I encouraged him to misbehave. In many ways he was just a big puppy. A big disembodied puppy formed of mystic energy that had killed his first master and any number of potential buyers that had been foolish enough to inspect the property he guarded over the years, but hey, nobody's perfect. At least he doesn't piddle on the carpet.

If Bogdan suspected I'd had anything to do with Rover's sudden burst of playfulness he gave no indication. But he didn't look in my direction, either.

"No need to apologize," he said, reaching out and patting her hand. Earlier that week a street vendor hawking second hand cybernetic implants had tried to sell me a pair of laser emitting eyes. At that moment I wished I'd taken him up on the offer. If I had I'd have focused my ocular energy beams on the warlock's hand and severed it at the wrist. Bogdan went on. "The fact that you've been able to tame the creature to the extent you have is only further testament to your skill with spellcraft."

I'd had just about all the Bogdan I could take for one evening.

"I hate to give you the bum's rush, Bogdan, but as you said, Devona should get some rest."

It was a damned broad hint and I was pleased the warlock didn't miss it. "Of course. Forgive me for prattling on." He rose from the couch then turned to Devona. "Should I return tomorrow at the usual time? I know we don't have another job lined up at the moment, but if you want to get together to discuss our performance this evening…"

Devona gave me a quick frown before standing and giving Bogdan a smile. "That sounds good. I'll give you, Scorch and Tavi a call tomorrow and we'll set up a meeting time."

Bogdan had been smiling, but now his smile faltered a bit, as if he were less than thrilled at the prospect of having his fellow employees invited to his meeting with Devona, but his tone remained pleasant enough as he said, "I'll look forward to it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that the warlock turned and exited the great room, giving me a curt nod of farewell as he passed.

Devona waited until she heard the front door open and close before speaking.

"What was that all about?"

Now that Bogdan was gone I was beginning to regret my childish actions toward him and even though I knew I deserved the chewing out Devona was about to give me I still wanted to put it off as long as possible. So I decided to try and change the subject.

"I've been thinking. Maybe we should continue guarding Scream Queen a while longer. Overkill isn't exactly the type to gracefully accept defeat. There's a chance she might make another attempt to snatch Scream Queen's voice."

Devona shook her head. "Now that Overkill has failed three times and been exposed as the kidnapper – voicenapper? – she won't try again. Whoever hired her won't risk employing her any longer. What if next time she's captured and forced by the Adjudicators to reveal her employer's identity? No, after tonight Overkill's become a bad risk. Unfortunately that means the only way for her to regain face is to confront the person who forced her to stand down without so much as raising a hand against her."

"Which would be me."

Devona nodded. "If anyone needs guarding it's you, Matt. Not Scream Queen. But you know this. You're just trying to avoid talking about your problem with Bogdan."

Since distraction hadn't worked, I figured I'd give denial a shot.

"I don't have a problem with Bogdan. As far as I'm concerned he's no better or worse than the others." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew I'd screwed up royally.

Devona had been frowning at me, but now her frown deepened into a truly serious scowl. "What do you mean by that?"

I was sorely tempted to try summoning Rover again and see if he might blow up another windstorm to distract Devona and allow me to beat a hasty retreat, but I knew she'd never fall for that.

"This is your business, Devona, and they're your employees. It doesn't matter what I think about them."

While we'd been talking Devona had remained standing next to the couch, no doubt keeping her distance from me because she was irritated. But her irritation now edged toward anger – I could feel it through our telepathic link – and she walked over to the fireplace where I was standing and fixed me with a look that said I'd better stop jerking her around.

"It matters to me," she said.

"Uh, could we go back to how I'm an idiot for being jealous of Bogdan?"

Devona just kept looking at me, and since it was clear that I wasn't going to get out of this, I decided to give it to her straight.

"You've been running the Midnight Watch for over a month now and you've done a great job. Word that the Watch is open for business again has gotten around the city and people are starting to hire you for some high profile gigs – like tonight."

"And…?"

"And so far, so good. When you re-opened the Watch you hired the best employees that you could afford and they did well enough when all you had to do was inspect a business's current security set up and recommend updates or investigate a case of employee theft at a warehouse. But now that you're landing bigger jobs the work is getting more dangerous. And I'm afraid Bogdan, Scorch and Tavi just aren't up to the challenge. Not only did Overkill almost get away tonight the three of them could've easily gotten killed. Sure, they survived, but what about the next time? And what about any innocents who might get hurt because your employees can't do their jobs?"

As I talked Devona's skin tone had become increasingly darker, changing from a pale white to a faint pink. On a fully human Caucasian woman the new color would've looked natural, but for Devona it was a sure sign that she was getting furious. When she opened her mouth to speak, instead of yelling, she spoke with a cold control. When you grow up in the house of a Darklord you learn to keep a tight rein on your emotions when you speak or else you might not live to reach the end of your sentence.

"I'll grant you that Bogdan, Tavi and Scorch need more training, but Overkill got the best of me tonight too, Matt. Are you suggesting that I'm not up to the challenge either?"

At this point I'd have rather gone a few more rounds with Overkill than continue with this conversation and I was desperately searching for an exit strategy.

"Of course not. Like I said you've done a fantastic job getting the Midnight Watch up and running again. I guess what I'm trying to say is maybe you should think about moving more slowly and not taking on jobs that are too dangerous until your team is ready for them."

I thought I'd done a decent job of sounding reasonably supportive while trying to climb out of the hole I'd managed to dig for myself. But I realized I'd failed when Devona said, " Our team."

"Huh?"

"It's our team, Matt. You and I run the Midnight Watch together." Her eyes narrowed and I could feel her probing my mind through our telepathic link. "Don't we?"

Normally I like being linked mind to mind with Devona. It allows us to experience a closeness that I've never known in a relationship before and that closeness allows us to have a physical relationship – simulated on the psychic plane – that would normally be impossible given my biological limitations. But right then I'd have happily severed the link if I'd known how.

"Devona, you know I'm proud of everything you've accomplished with the Midnight Watch so far and I'll support you in every way I can as you continue to grow the business. But the Watch is yours, Devona. Not mine. I'm happy to help out whenever I can, but I have my own work." I shrugged. "I guess I'm just used to being my own man – or zombie."

I'd tried to make a joke, but it went over like an explosive burst of flatulence at a funeral. Not only didn't Devona smile, she averted her gaze and I knew that my words had hurt her.

"Back on Earth you didn't work alone," she said. "You had a partner."

Dale Ramsey had been my partner when I'd worked homicide in Cleveland. We'd been a team for years until we investigated a series of murders that led us to Nekropolis. Both Dale and I were killed during the investigation, but unfortunately for my partner he didn't rise from the dead afterward like I did. Then again, I sometimes wonder if Dale wasn't the luckier of the two of us.

"Well, yeah. But… you know. He died." I sensed that Devona was trying to get at something, but telepathic link or not, the message wasn't coming through.

"Yes. But I thought that…" She trailed off and looked at the flickering coldfire flames.

"What?" I prompted.

She continued gazing into the fire a moment more before looking up at me and smiling.

"Nothing. You made a good point about the training we need if we're going to take on more risky jobs. I'll see what I can set up. In the meantime, I've got some work to finish up here, but it's nothing I need you for. It shouldn't take me more than an hour. Why don't you head on home and relax a bit? As busy as we've been lately, you could use the rest."

As a zombie I don't tire and I don't need to sleep, but periodic rest slows my body's rate of decay and helps me put off my next dose of preservative spells, which is a good thing considering how expensive they are. I'd seen Papa Chatha within the last week so I was still pretty fresh, but my skin was starting to get that telltale grayish tinge and I knew Devona's advice was sound. I couldn't help feeling that she'd been about to say something important and had changed her mind at the last minute, but I decided not to pursue the matter any further just then. It was getting late and I wanted to avoid a fight. We could always resume the conversation at a later date and if she decided not to bring the issue up again, that was OK too.

Feeling more than a little like a coward I gave Devona a kiss, said goodnight to Rover – who ruffled my hair with a tiny breeze of farewell – and left the building.

The large oak door closed with a sonorous thud behind me and I stepped out into the dusky half light of Umbriel's perpetual gloom. I heard the sounds of various locks – magical, mechanical and electronic – engaging behind me, and though I didn't possess the skill with magic to sense it, numerous wardspells also kicked in. The stone building didn't just house a security business – it was one of the most secure places in the city.

A metal plaque on the door read THE MIDNIGHT WATCH: SAFEGUARDING ALL WORKHOUSES AND INSTITUTIONS AGAINST INTRUDERS AND MEDDLING. SAVAGE BEASTS EMPLOYED. It was, as you might tell from the phrasing, the original sign put up by the Watch's founder several centuries ago and Devona had decided to keep it. Not only to maintain continuity, but because after decades of safeguarding her father's collection of rare objects, she had an appreciation for historical artifacts. The sign seemed a bit stuffy to me, but I had to admit it suited the place.

Devona and I lived only a few blocks west of there. This was a relatively sedate part of the Sprawl – one of the reasons why I'd chosen to rent an apartment here – but the emphasis was most definitely on relatively. The Sprawl is the Dominion of the Demon Queen Varvara and she believes in absolute freedom. It's rumored that the old Beast, Aleister Crowley, stole his infamous satanic commandant from her: Do as Thou Wilt. I wouldn't be surprised. If the Sprawl doesn't exist in a state of total anarchy, it'll do until the real thing shows up. But, like I said, this neighborhood was quiet enough, with pedestrians going about their business searching for prey or trying to avoid becoming prey – often at the same time – and vehicles of various makes, models and degrees of sentience rolling, crawling and scuttling down the street.

Some of the vehicles were imports from Earth: sports cars, SUVs, Hummers and so on. The Darkfolk may have relocated to another dimension, but they maintain ties with the world of their origin, mostly so that they can get their greedy little talons on the latest toys the human race invents. But there were plenty of home grown vehicles racing along the street as well. Carapacers – vehicles created from the hollowed-out animated husks of giant insects – drove alongside Meatrunners: leprous constructions of sinew, muscle and bone that didn't so much roll as lurch spasmodically forward on disjointed legs, diseased lungs expelling rancid exhaust as their drivers hurried toward whatever dark destinations awaited them. The latter monstrosities, like so much of the city's organic tech, sprang from the feverish and ever fertile imagination of Victor Baron, the original Frankenstein monster, who was something like Nekropolis's version of Thomas Edison – or maybe Bill Gates would be a more apt comparison. Everywhere you go you encounter one of his fleshy machines, each of them tattooed with the slogan Another Victor Baron Creation. Baron isn't a Darklord, but in his own way he's as powerful as any of them and certainly he's as rich. The city would grind to a halt without the monstrous tech his Foundry produces.

To the right of the Watch building was a misfortuneteller's establishment and on the left was a head shop (new and used, all species, original size and shrunken). Not exactly the most glamorous of neighbors, but they were, if not normal, harmless enough at least. Both businesses were closed – doors shut, windows dark – and I started walking west past the head shop in the direction of my apartment. Nekropolis follows a standard twenty-four hour Earth day, but because so many of its citizens don't need sleep, shop owners keep their own hours and many businesses stay open all the time. Not the Midnight Watch's neighbors, though, and given my current mood, that suited me just fine. The last thing I wanted was to have a bored shopkeeper stroll out onto the sidewalk and attempt to strike up a conversation with me. I wanted to be left alone with my thoughts.

The Sprawl contains a bizarre mix of earthly architectural styles – Victorian, gothic, baroque, postmodern, American colonial, classical, neoclassical, Spanish and more – along with structures that look like something straight out of a fever dream. Buildings that resemble giant insect hives resting next to structures formed of light and mist. Many of the buildings were formed from material resembling bone and the streetlights were made of the same stuff, making them resemble skeletal arms holding globes of greenish light. As I walked through the crazy quilt of Varvara's Dominion on my way home, I brooded and kept an eye out for danger. In Nekropolis, not paying attention to your surroundings is an excellent way to commit unintentional suicide. Viscous blue pseudopods extruded from sewer grates as the Azure Slime quested for bits of detritus to feed upon, but as long as I didn't step too close to the curb and tempt the creature, I'd be fine. Building fronts were covered with leech vine, a parasitic plant that grabs hold of its prey and feeds upon its blood. As a zombie my blood had long since turned to dry dust in my veins and the vine ignored me as I passed. Devona has to be more careful around the stuff, though. Leech vine loves vampire blood best of all – even half vampire blood. It's like the finest of wines to the plant. I find it poetic justice that one of the city's greatest predators has a blood thirsty nemesis that desires to feed on its liquid life essence, but the vampires don't see it that way. That's why the best leech vine exterminators in the city are Bloodborn.

I passed a number of nightclubs as I walked down the street and a majority of them had Frankenstein bouncers standing outside their entrances who resembled the bouncer at Sinsation – a few of them resembled him so much, in fact, that it was obvious they'd rolled off the same assembly line. More of Victor Baron's handiwork. 'Making life to make life better', as another of his slogans went.

I was halfway home, reviewing my conversation with Devona and mentally kicking myself for acting like such a jerk, when I passed by an alley. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement in the shadows and an instant later something obstructed my vision. I realized a cloth hood had been dropped over my head, but before I could do anything about it, I felt a razor thin sharpness bite into my neck. A garroting wire, I guessed. It didn't hurt, but I could feel the pressure as the wire was pulled backward, slicing through my bloodless flesh. When the garrote hit my neck bone, the wire began to vibrate with a soft humming sound, as if it were some sort of mechanical device, and it cut the rest of the way through my neck with the ease of a laser bisecting a stick of butter. All of this happened in mere seconds, far faster than my undead reflexes could react, and the next thing I felt was a sudden dizzying lurch as I fell, hit the ground, and bounced a couple of times before coming to a stop. At the same moment, I heard the sound of something large landing next to me with a muffled thud. This was followed by shuffling footsteps, rustling cloth and grunts of exertion. More footsteps then, quickly fading away. After that, there was only silence and darkness.

I already had a good idea what had happened to me, but I had to check. I tried to reach up and remove the hood from my head, but my arm refused to obey me. I then attempted to sit up, but once again my body failed to cooperate. The reason for this was distressingly simple: I no longer had a body. Or at least, it wasn't currently attached to my head.

This was not good. And a moment later, it got even worse.

I heard something moving – lots of somethings. Tiny claws scraping against stone, little high-pitched voices muttering, drawing closer as they spoke.

"What is it?"

"Something in a bag."

"Just more trash."

"No, no. Take a whiff!"

Soft snuffling sounds.

"Meat!"

"Starting to go bad."

"Starting to go good, you mean!"

Dark laughter then, with a hungry edge to it.

Inside the hood I couldn't see what was coming for me, but I already knew: carrion imps, some of the nastiest little scavengers in the city. Normally the miniature versions of ghouls aren't much of a threat, but I no longer had a body with which to defend myself. Now I was just a hunk of discarded meat, an unexpected but quite welcome feast for the little bastards, and once they picked my skull clean not all the magic in Nekropolis could resurrect me again.

All in all it was turning out to be a pretty shitty night.