Dead Streets

• • •

We found them standing in the hallway near the entrance, the one where the paintings of Frankenstein's homeland were displayed. A trio of hulking monsters – one male, one female and one which could've been either or both – stood battling a shadowy figure in a top hat and cape. The bodies of several other monsters lay behind them in the hall, heads and limbs severed from torsos, blood splattered on the floor and walls. The dark man held black knives in each hand, the blades of which seemed formed from solid shadow. The surviving security monsters attempted to grab hold of him but he avoided their hands with almost casual ease, deftly slicing out with his blades, their edges passing through flesh and bone as if they were no more substantial than air. The monsters roared in fury as they lost hands and arms and the dark man's attacks increased in speed, until he became a shadowy blur impossible to track, and when he once more grew still, the last three monsters had joined the others as bloody piles of severed body parts scattered across the floor.

I remembered something Baron had said: "There's always a spare body or two lying around here". If I'd been a living man, I'd have tossed the contents of my stomach right then. I consoled myself by remembering where we were. If anyone could put all those poor Humpty Dumptys together again, it was Victor Baron.

Despite the slaughter he'd just witnessed Baron stepped forward, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and the anger on his face was terrible to behold.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Baron demanded in a voice tight with fury.

The features of the cloaked man were shrouded in darkness, so his expression was impossible to read. It wasn't clear if he even had a face. But he seemed to be looking at me when he raised a black gloved hand and pointed one of his dripping knives.

I stepped forward to stand next to Baron and Devona came with me. Henry remained where he was, demonstrating more good sense than the rest of us, I thought.

"His name is Silent Jack," I said. "He's one of Lord Edrigu's servants. As for what he wants… well, I guess it's me."

Ever since Jack had marked my hand with Edrigu's sigil, I'd been waiting for the Lord of the Dead to summon me and It looked like the time had finally come.

"But why break into the Foundry?" Devona asked. "Why not just stay outside and wait for us to leave?"

"Maybe for some reason Jack couldn't wait," I said. "Or maybe it's just more fun for him this way."

Jack's some manner of spirit, but one who can be solid enough when he chooses, as Baron's unfortunate security monsters had discovered. But considering who he was reputed to have been during his mortal life on Earth, the bloodshed – while sickening – was hardly surprising. And Baron's monsters hadn't been about to let Jack enter the Foundry without challenge. So all appearances to the contrary, there might have been nothing especially sinister motivating Jack's appearance that night. But there was something in his stance, a cold anger radiating from him like an almost physical force that told me something was wrong here. And a moment later I had an idea what it was when a larger gray fleshed figure stomped around the corner and headed down the corridor toward us.

The creature stood eight feet tall and its naked body was roughly humanoid in shape, though its face was smooth and featureless, and it possessed no sexual organs. It was a Sentinel, one of the golems that served as Nekropolis's version of a police force, or as close to it as the city came. Sentinels were more like enforcers than cops, making sure that citizens obeyed the law – or else.

The Sentinel walked through the carnage Jack had wrought, not bothering to step over body parts, instead crushing them into bloody paste as it went. The golem stopped next to Silent Jack who, true to his name, spoke not a word as he continued pointing his black knife at me. The Sentinel stepped forward, grabbed hold of me with inhumanly powerful hands, and tucked me under its arm. It then turned and began carrying me back the way it had come.

After spending the better part of the night as a severed head, I was plenty sick of being hauled around like an infant. I squirmed, trying to break free from the Sentinel's grip, though I knew it was useless. I didn't know any creature that was stronger than a Sentinel. So I stopped struggling and allowed myself to go limp. As we passed, Silent Jack tucked his knives away somewhere in the dark folds of his midnight-black cloak, and turned to follow us.

Whatever was going on it looked like my long night was about to get even longer.