Nekropolis

SEVENTEEN

“Forgive my little deception, but once I became aware of you, I thought it best to investigate. And the guise of Arleigh seemed a perfect way to do so.”

“And what did you learn?” I asked. It appeared Amon wasn’t limited to one wildform as were his subjects-which made sense seeing as how he was King of the Shapeshifters. Still, I was more than a little angry at myself for being fooled so easily. The yellow eyes should have been a tip-off. Who’d ever seen a rabbit with yellow eyes?

“What I needed to know: that you’re not a threat sent by one of my fellow Lords. This time of year, we Darklords tend to be busy with certain preparations. So busy that we’re more vulnerable than usual to each others’ machinations.” He smiled. “I myself have set in motion several plots against my peers over the centuries, most of them around the anniversary of the Descension. Unfortunately, none bore much fruit. We tend to be too evenly matched. Still, the fun is in the game, is it not?”

“I’m not a Darklord, so I wouldn’t know,” I said. Devona gave me a warning look, but I ignored her. The English gentleman act was getting on my nerves. “And speaking of preparations, shouldn’t you be conserving your energy for the Renewal Ceremony? I’m surprised you’re out hunting instead of meditating or something.”

The English fox hunter guise melted away to be replaced by that of a khaki-clothed big-game hunter, complete with elephant gun. The English accent disappeared, too, to be replaced by gravely American. “We each prepare in our own way. Galm meditates, Talaith engages in rites with her people, Edrigu communes with the spirit world, and Varvara throws a lavish party. I have been marshaling my power for weeks now. Today I prepare my mind and soul by engaging in the activity which is at the very core of my being-the Hunt.”

I nodded to the ravaged corpse of the huge bird. “It didn’t look like you were doing much hunting to me.”

Amon ignored the dig. “My sons and daughters always accompany me. This was Rolf’s kill.”

I looked at the lykes of varied species scattered about the clearing, all of whom were hunkered down, greedily devouring their shares of meat. “Nice family,” I said dryly.

Frank Buck gave way to a yellow-eyed Daniel Boone, dressed in the requisite buckskin clothing and coonskin cap, complete with Kentucky accent. “What they lack in manners, they make up for in enthusiasm.”

“You’re a busy monster, so let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “What do you intend to do with us?”

“The story we told Arleigh-told you-is true,” Devona added. “We’re just trying to get back to the Sprawl. We’re on an errand of great concern to my father, Lord Galm.”

“I believe you,” Amon said. “Though you provided few details, I could sense what you told me was indeed the truth.”

I wondered how Amon could be so sure of that. Because of his heightened shapeshifter senses, which functioned as an organic lie detector? Or maybe through other abilities he possessed as a Darklord? Whichever, he did seem to believe us, which was the important thing.

Devona started to talk but Amon, who had become a tall, lean, spear-wielding African tribesman, silenced her with a gesture. “Details are unnecessary. Regardless of whether your errand is of major or minor importance, if your failure to complete it will inconvenience Galm, that’s reason enough for me to keep you from continuing your journey.”

I still held my 9mm at my side. I wondered if silver would prove effective against Amon, who was obviously much more than an ordinary lyke. The way things were going, it looked like I’d find out soon enough.

“But I have another reason to detain you. Two, actually. And their names are Honani and Thokk.”

I groaned inwardly and was uncomfortably aware of the soul jar containing Honani’s spirit-which now seemed suddenly very heavy-still resting in my jacket pocket.

“Mr. Richter, you are responsible for Honani’s body being taken over by another, and for the grievous injuries inflicted on his sister when she tried to seek justice.”

“Vengeance,” I corrected.

Amon, now a Native American brave, shrugged. “A mere difference in terminology. Honani and Thokk turned to science to alter their natural abilities. As such, they are outcasts among my people.”

I gestured toward the nearly picked clean carcass of Big Bird. “You don’t seem completely adverse to science.”

“It has its uses,” Amon admitted. “Provided it isn’t taken too far. Still, even though mixbloods possess corrupted genes, they are shapeshifers and thus still family. You have transgressed against two of my subjects. As Lord of the Wyldwood, I have a responsibility to my people to see that justice is done.” He smiled. “Or, if you prefer, vengeance.”

I preferred neither in this case, but I kept my mouth shut.

Rolf had finished eating and walked over to us. “These two aren’t worthy of your attention, Father.” He licked blood off his muzzle. “Especially the zombie. Allow me to slay them for you so that you might not dirty your hands.”

Amon, now a shaggy caveman holding an animal’s jawbone in one of his thick-knuckled hands, affectionately cuffed his child. “You’ve had your fun, Rolf. Now it is your father’s turn.”

Rolf bowed his head and stepped back.

I wondered what the odds were of my squeezing off a shot at Amon before one or more of his children fell upon me. Not good, I decided.

Then I had an idea. I raised my left hand and displayed the mark upon my palm. “My master, Lord Edrigu, will be displeased if anything should happen to us.”

Amon looked at the mark for a moment and then burst out laughing. “That symbol merely means that Edrigu has laid a claim on your soul, zombie. I’m sure he’d be happy to collect it earlier than anticipated.”

“Then what of my father?” Devona said in her best haughty-regal voice. “I am not just his daughter; I am also the keeper of his Collection. He would be furious if any harm were to come to me or my companion.”

She sounded convincing enough, but I could tell by the uncertain look in her eyes that she wasn’t sure that Lord Galm would be all that upset if his half-breed daughter died in the Wyldwood. I felt sorry for her then. What would it be like to have known a father for over seventy years, to have taken care of his Collection for nearly thirty, to have worked hard for him in hope of some simple recognition and still not know whether he cared if you lived or died?

Maybe Amon sensed her uncertainty as well, for after a moment’s thought, he said, “You have aided in an assault on one of my subjects and trespassed on my Dominion. Galm cannot gainsay my right to justice.”

Amon shimmered and was now a beer-gutted, flannel-shirted, John Deere-capped, shotgun-toting hunter, complete with chewing tobacco juice dribbling down his stubbled chin.

“But as it’s the anniversary of the Descension and we are in the middle of the Wild Hunt, I shall make you a proposition.” He turned his head and spit a brown stream into the grass. “Several miles from here is a small glen. You will be taken there and set free. All you need do is reach the other side, and I shall let you continue on your way to the Sprawl and will seek no further action against you for what happened to Honani and Thokk.”

“And the catch is?” I asked.

Amon smiled, displaying tobacco-stained fangs. “I shall be hunting you.”

“You have been given a great honor,” Rolf said. He and his feral siblings escorted us through the forest, Rolf leading, the others enclosing us in a circle.

“Yeah, it’s a dream come true,” I replied.

He snarled and his clawed hands tensed. I’m sure he would’ve taken my head off if we hadn’t been his father’s prey. Before we’d set out, Rolf had taken my gun from me and now carried it in his left hand. Lykes are highly allergic to silver, but my bullets were safely encased within the gun, allowing him to hold it without harm. Still, I thought I could detect a slight swelling of his hand. I was surprised and puzzled that the lykes hadn’t gotten rid of my gun as soon as they’d taken it from me. But when we reached the glen, I understood why.

“The hunt shall begin as soon as we depart,” Rolf said solemnly. “My father, in deference to your weakness, shall give you a head start.” His sharp-toothed smile reminded me of Amon. “How much of a head start, however, you shall not know.” He pointed a clawed finger toward the other side of the glen. “The rules are simple. Reach the other side and your lives will be spared. Fail to do so, and you die.”

He dropped my gun to the ground. “Once we are gone, you may pick up your weapon and begin.” Before we could ask any questions, Rolf and the others bounded away into the forest, moving through the underbrush with silent, liquid grace.

I retrieved my gun and checked the clip. The five silver bullets were still there.

“It seems Lord Amon doesn’t believe in hunting defenseless prey,” Devona said.

“Or that he isn’t as vulnerable to silver as an ordinary lyke. Let’s get moving; the clock’s ticking.”

As soon as we stepped into the glen, it became night. I don’t mean the perpetual dusk created by the diffuse shadowlight of Umbriel; I mean honest-to-God night, with stars and everything. Despite our situation, I was so surprised that I stopped and stared overhead. They were the first stars I had seen in two years, and they were beautiful.

For an instant I had the dizzying sensation that we had somehow stepped through an unseen door between Nekropolis and Earth-that I was home.

“Are those stars?” Devona asked, her voice soft with wonder. “I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never actually seen any before. They’re lovely-and so far away. They make me feel small, and yet somehow big at the same time. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense. But they can’t be real stars. What we’re looking at is most likely an illusion, a distraction designed to slow us down.”

“You’re right, of course. I’ll lead the way; my night vision is better than yours.” She took my hand and pulled me forward.

“And keep a nose out for Amon. We don’t know what form he’ll be wearing when he attacks, but it has to have a scent.”

“Right.”

We ran. The grass was slick with dew, and the sound of crickets chirping filled the air. I knew it was all just special effects supplied courtesy of Amon, but a wave of homesickness hit me hard, and I thought that if I had to die for good, I could pick far worse places in Nekropolis.

We continued forward, Devona’s gaze fixed unwaveringly on the opposite treeline, her heightened senses alive and alert; I held my gun at the ready, my comparatively weak vision and hearing working overtime, cop instincts on full.

Moments that felt more like hours passed, without any sign of the master of the Wyldwood.

“Why is Amon even bothering to stalk us?” Devona said in frustration. “He’s a Darklord, one of the six most powerful beings in the city, including Father Dis. How can we possibly provide him with a real challenge?”

“I don’t know much about Amon, but I’ve heard it said he gets as much pleasure from swatting flies as he does from stalking big game. To him, the hunt is everything.”

Devona started to reply, but then she suddenly squatted down, yanking me along with her so hard I felt something pull in my arm. I heard rather than felt something large pass through the air above us, approximately where our heads had been. A shrill cry of frustration sounded, followed by the flapping of wings as whatever it was began gaining altitude for another run.

“Looks like our head start’s over,” I muttered, scanning the night sky for Amon. I looked for a black patch against the stars, but whichever shape Amon was wearing, he was moving too fast for me to locate him. And then I heard something large whistling through the air and Devona screamed.

The starlight didn’t provide much illumination, but it was enough for me to see that Devona was struggling with a large bird-an eagle or maybe a condor; it was difficult to tell in the dark. Whichever the particular avian, I knew it really was Amon. I raised my gun, but didn’t dare fire for fear of hitting Devona.

“Throw him off you so I can get a shot!” I shouted.

Devona grabbed the bird by the wings and hurled him forward. It was dark, the bird was moving fast, and my reflexes are not nearly as good as they were when I was alive. But I didn’t worry about any of that. I squinted my left eye, aimed, and squeezed off a shot.

The bird shrieked and hit the ground with a heavy thump. I held my gun on it, waiting for it to stir, but it didn’t move. Without taking my eyes off it, I asked Devona if she was all right.

“A few cuts on my face, a couple fairly deep. Messy, but otherwise I’m unharmed. I should heal before too long.”

The bird remained motionless, but I didn’t lower my gun an inch; I knew better. “He was probably going for your eyes. Makes sense, since you’re the only one of us who can see in the dark.”

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“I think a Darklord doesn’t die this easily.”

“I think you’re right.” I moved toward the bird slowly, keeping my gun trained on it the entire time. It didn’t so much as move a feather as I approached and stood over it.

“What kind is it?” I asked.

“An eagle, I think,” Devona answered. “I’ve only seen them in books, though.”

I carefully toed the eagle and its body collapsed into dust. I bent down, intending to get a closer look, but within seconds, the dust too was gone.

“Perhaps we got lucky,” Devona suggested.

“I don’t believe in luck.” I stood. “We’d better-” My sentence was cut off as a snarling piece of darkness detached itself from the night and slammed into me, knocking me to the ground, spitting and clawing. Ivory fangs glinted in the starlight as the panther buried its teeth in the undead flesh of my neck.

But as sudden and hard as the impact had been, I still had hold of my gun. As the big cat worried my neck, I calmly raised my pistol to its head, pressed the muzzle against its black fur, and fired.

The panther let out a cry and fell limp.

“Devona, could you help haul this thing off me?” I asked. “It’s pretty heavy. Oh, and be careful. Its teeth are still lodged in my neck.”

Together we got the panther off without much additional damage to my already ravaged neck. Devona then helped me to my feet, and I noticed that my head was canted to the left. I tried to hold it upright, but it wouldn’t stay. One more repair to add to the list for Papa Chatha-if I found a way to survive past the next couple days.

“Matt, your neck…” Devona sounded concerned and, although she was trying to hide it, mildly disgusted. She knew intellectually that I was a zombie, but I think this was the first time she’d really understood what that meant.

“It may look bad, but believe me, I’m okay. Now let’s check out Sylvester here.” I kicked the kitty corpse as I had the eagle’s, with the same result: it collapsed into dust.

“Amon must be cheating,” Devona said indignantly, “sending other shapeshifters in his place.”

“I don’t think so. Lykes don’t disintegrate like this when they’re killed. I think we have been fighting Amon, but he’s a far different kind of shapeshifter than his subjects. When we shoot him, we kill the body he’s wearing at the time-not him.”

“You mean he discards his shape, leaves it behind?”

“Like a snake shedding his skin. He’ll keep coming at us in different forms until I’ve used up my three remaining silver bullets. And then he’ll have us.”

“Not if we can get to the other side of the glen first,” Devona said.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. We ran for a while before Amon attacked, right?”

“Yes, I’d estimate for perhaps five minutes.”

“Me too. And in that time, we should’ve been able to cover a significant amount of ground, right?”

She nodded warily.

I pointed in the direction we had come, toward the line of trees where Rolf had left us-trees that were only a few feet away. “Then how come we haven’t moved?”