Nekropolis

EIGHTEEN

“No wonder Amon steered us to this glen,” Devona said. “It’s enchanted.”

“I hate Darklords,” I said. “I really do.”

“I don’t know if we’ve been running in place, running in circles, running in a straight line through warped space, or have been standing still and just think we’ve been running.”

As an experiment, I stepped back to the treeline-keeping an eye out for Amon’s next attack, of course. I didn’t seem to have any trouble getting there. I even reached out and touched the trunk of an elm. I looked back and saw Devona standing several feet away.

“Start walking.”

She did, and it was the oddest thing. On one hand, she appeared to be walking away from me, but on the other, she seemed to stay in place. It was as two different films were being played at once on the same screen.

“Keep walking, but look back over your shoulder,” I called. “And tell me what you see.”

“All right.” A pause. “This is strange; I appear to be moving away from you, but at the same time you seem to be almost right next to me.”

“Okay, stop walking.”

My vision lurched, and I experienced a dizzying moment of vertigo that might very well have nauseated me if I still had a working stomach. The far-off image of Devona was gone, and only the close-up Devona remained.

I returned to her side. “Well, that didn’t help any.” I scanned the sky and ground for any sign of Amon, but there was none. Maybe he had to recover, build up his strength again from having been shot twice. Or maybe he was just enjoying our confusion over the nature of his glen.

“No, it helped a great deal,” she said. “The effect we experienced is similar to that of certain wardspells which operate by making someone believe he is walking toward the object warded, when in reality he cannot approach it.”

“So how do we break the spell?”

“I said this spell is similar; I didn’t say it was the same. We’re talking about a spell laid by a Darklord. Even if I had the mystical ability to circumvent the normal version of this spell-and remember, my father made certain I was trained only in the monitoring of wardspells, not the laying or breaking of them-I couldn’t begin to touch the enchantment on this glen.”

“Just because Amon cast this spell doesn’t mean it can’t be broken. The Darklords can’t afford to waste much power on such trifles as this, can they? They have the Renewal Ceremony to think about, let alone trying to defend themselves from each other. Maybe you didn’t receive any formal training in getting around wardspells, but that doesn’t mean you can’t extrapolate from what you did learn. And if a person knows how a lock works, he stands a good chance of picking it.”

“But I’m not a magicworker,” Devona protested. “I’m a curator, and I suppose really little more than a glorified security guard.”

I sighed. “Look, I’d like to do this gently, but we don’t have time. What you are, Devona, is a half-breed vampire who gets her entire sense of sense of self-worth from basically dusting another man’s treasures. Because of the way you were brought up and the attitude of other vampires toward your mixed heritage, you feel that being the keeper of your father’s Collection is all you can do, that there isn’t any more to you.

“But in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve seen much more. I’ve seen a woman who when faced with danger doesn’t run, doesn’t back away-she fights. I’ve seen a woman who when faced with a problem doesn’t give up-she keeps working at it until she finds a solution. I’ve seen a woman who’s intelligent and caring…and,” I said softly, “who sees the man inside me, the man I thought had died along with his body. I’ve seen a woman who, having ventured beyond her tightly circumscribed life, is starting to find out who she really is and what she’s truly capable of. Well, it’s time to find out some more, Devona. It’s time to find us a way out of here.”

I didn’t know how she’d react: tell me to go to hell, start crying, or haul off and belt me. Maybe all three. But she just looked at me for a long moment, her expression blank, eyes unreadable in the dark. And then she nodded.

“Let’s start walking again. I need to examine the spell while it’s functioning.” She headed off without waiting for my reply.

I smiled as I hurried after her. Wholly human or not, she was some woman.

While we walked and walked and got nowhere, Amon came at us again, this time in the more classic form of a large gray wolf. He managed to take a hunk out of my right leg before I dispatched him, or rather, his shape.

Two bullets left.

“I have an idea,” Devona said not long after Amon’s wolf facade had disintegrated. “I’m not sure it’ll work, though.”

“I’m rapidly running out of ammunition. Anything’s worth a try at this point.”

“I don’t have the mystical training to break the spell, but I do think I understand how it’s constructed. It’s really very simple, a mere matter of aligning psychothaumaturgic energy structures in a constantly rotating-”

“In simple English, please, for the magically challenged among us.”

She grinned. “Sorry. Basically, the spell works by constantly assaulting our minds with false sensory input. The trick to overcoming such a spell is to block out the false input so that our senses can detect reality once more.”

“Sounds like quite a trick.”

“It is. But I think I know how we might accomplish it. Remember I said that as half Bloodborn I possess a certain amount of psychic ability? While I haven’t been trained in its use, I believe I may be able to sense in which direction the Sprawl lies by focusing on the combined mental energy of all the celebrants there. Ordinarily, I might not be able to accomplish such a feat, but this time of year there are so many people crowding the streets of the Sprawl and the emotional atmosphere is so charged, that even with my untutored powers I should be able to get a fix on it. And once I know where the Sprawl is-”

“You’ll be able to shut out the glen’s spell and lead us across,” I finished. Earlier, I’d been wishing for a compass. Now it looked like Devona had found us a psychic equivalent.

“There’s a problem, though,” she said.

I smiled. “Only one?”

“You’ll still be affected by the spell.”

“Why is that a problem? You can guide me.”

“And if Amon attacks and we become separated?”

“You can use your powers to locate me.”

“I don’t know if I can maintain my fix on the Sprawl and locate you at the same time. And even if I could, Amon might take the opportunity to finish one or both of us off while I’m looking for you.” She shook her head. “No, it would be better if we both were able to home in on the Sprawl.”

“That would be nice, but I’m afraid a set of psychic powers wasn’t included in my zombie membership kit.”

“You don’t need powers of your own; we can link minds. That way you’ll be able to sense what I sense.”

“Link minds?” I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my mind joined with someone else’s, but I couldn’t. The closest I could come to was some sort of psychic equivalent to a phone connection, and somehow I doubted it would be like that.

Devona must have sensed my reluctance because she hurried to add, “I really believe it’s the only way.”

It wasn’t like we had a lot of options to choose from. “Have you ever linked with anyone before?”

She looked down at the ground, and when she answered, she sounded embarrassed. “I’ve had a few Shadows of my own over the years. And I’ve linked with some of them.”

She said Shadows but the word I heard was lovers. I don’t know why it bothered me-we were both adults, and Devona was older than I, in her seventies chronologically. And for that matter, I was a zombie. I had no business being jealous-but I was.

“Will it work on me?” I asked. “However my brain functions, I’m sure it’s not the same as a living man’s.”

“I don’t know, Matt. We’ll just have to try.”

I didn’t like the idea of anyone invading my mind, no matter who it was. But it didn’t look like I had a choice. “Okay. But we’d better hurry before Amon attacks again.”

Without another word, Devona reached out with both hands and placed her fingers lightly on the sides of my head. I wondered what her touch felt like.

Nothing happened at first, and I was afraid that my zombie mind wasn’t capable of linking with a living one, when all of a sudden a warm, bright light flashed behind my eyes. And then I felt Devona inside me.

There are moments in every person’s life when they feel close to someone else. It could be something as simple as a shared look, a moment when you exchange glances and know that each understands the other perfectly. Or it could be a joke that you share, one that always makes the two of you break up even though no one else around you ever seems to get it. Holding hands while walking at sunset; running your fingers slowly, gently along each other’s skin after making love; hugging each other tight, bawling like babies as your hearts are breaking.

Being linked with Devona was all of these things and more.

It had been so long since I had felt this close to another person-no, I had never felt this close to another person: not any of my friends, not my ex-wife, not even my partner Dale. And I didn’t know whether to feel joy at this sharing of souls with Devona, or sadness because I had never allowed myself to experience it before.

And then I looked to the far side of the glen, and although it didn’t appear any different than before, somehow I could tell that it wasn’t very far away at all. Only a few minutes’ run at most.

Race you, Devona said in my mind.

Not with the hunk Amon took out of my leg, I responded. How about a fast walk?

You’re on, she thought playfully, and we set off.

Together.

I expected Amon to attack just as we reached the other side, but he didn’t. We stepped out of the glen, through the trees, and then the night sky and stars vanished, to be replaced once more by Umbriel and the featureless gray-black sky it hung in.

And there, not more than fifty feet away, lay the Obsidian Way and the Bridge of Forgotten Pleasures, the crossing point from the Wyldwood to the Sprawl. We’d done it.

Without thinking about it, Devona and I hugged each other. Linked as we were, the gesture was automatic and completely natural, a physicalizing, however imperfect, of the closeness that we shared.

And then the link dissolved and one became two again.

Devona stepped back. “I’m sorry. I was so excited to see the bridge, I lost concentration.”

“That’s okay. The link had served its purpose anyway.” I had never felt more alone in my existence. I felt like half of my soul had been ripped away. And yet, an echo of Devona remained inside me, the merest trace, like a memory of shared laughter, or a kiss that lingers on the lips long after your lover has departed.

I reached out and took Devona’s hand. “Let’s get out of here before Amon comes after us.” I led her toward the bridge.

“But he said we’d be free if we made it across the glen.”

A guttural voice came from behind us. “I lied.”

I whirled around to see a massive yellow-eyed grizzly bear standing on all fours at the edge of the glen. Amon roared and charged. I raised my gun to fire, but before I could pull the trigger, the bear was upon us.

With a powerful blow of his huge paw, Amon knocked the 9mm out of my hand. It flew through the air, struck the ground, and discharged. It would have been nice if the bullet had happened to strike Amon, but it went flying off into the trees, wasted.

One bullet left.

Devona leaped onto the bear’s back and grabbed double handfuls of its coarse brown fur. She then bared her fangs and sank them into the beast’s back, using them like knives, slashing and tearing at Amon’s ursine flesh.

Amon bellowed in pain and reared up on his hind legs. He tried to shake Devona off, but she clung to his back as if she were the world’s largest and most determined tick. Amon then tottered toward the bridge in the stumpy-legged gait bears have when walking erect.

I ran-well, given the state of my chewed-up right leg, I half-ran, half-hobbled-toward my gun. I retrieved it, and galumphed toward the Bridge of Forgotten Pleasures.

Amon had crossed onto the bridge, and technically Devona and he were no longer in his Dominion. But he didn’t show any sign of stopping his attack, and I didn’t expect him to.

Devona continued ripping away at Amon’s flesh. Her face was covered with blood, and she looked as savage and wild as the bear she battled. It was hard to reconcile this Devona with the one I’d so recently been linked to. But I didn’t have time to think about that. Amon had backed up against the iron railing and his form began to shimmer and change.

So far he had only come at us in one shape at a time, and although that had never been spelled out as part of the deal, I’d assumed it was. Looked like I was wrong.

His interim form resembled a blurry amoeba, and Devona was having a tough time holding on. In a flash, I understood what he was going to do: he intended Devona to lose her grip on his fluid transitional form and fall into Phlegethon. If the river’s mystic green flame didn’t kill her, the Lesk which swam within it surely would.

“Devona, jump!” I shouted as I raised my gun and fired.

The last silver bullet struck Amon in the chest-or rather where his chest would have been if he’d been solid-just as Devona launched herself up and over the Lord of the Wyldwood. Devona landed easily on the bridge as the amoebic Darklord pitched backward over the rail and plummeted soundlessly toward Phlegethon’s fiery green embrace.

I tucked my empty gun into my shoulder holster and hurried over to Devona. She was covered with blood, but it was impossible to tell if any of it was hers.

“Are you okay?”

She wiped a smear of blood from her mouth and nodded. “Do you think it’s over?”

“It’s possible Amon is more vulnerable in his transitional state and the last silver bullet did him in.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I believe Darklords are very hard to kill. Let’s get out of here before-”

A gigantic reptilian head rose up before us, fiery green water trickling down its black-scaled hide.

“Too late, zombie.” The voice of Amon’s British hunter guise, the one that annoyed me so much, boomed out of the Lesk’s serpentine mouth. I’d never seen one of the great beasts close up before, only the black lines of their backs as they plied the waters of Phlegethon. The creature was far larger than I had imagined, and looked something like a snake encased in black armor. Its brow was spiked, and it had a row of bony serrated triangles running down its back. And of course it possessed Amon’s feral yellow eyes-eyes full of fury and hunger.

“Let us go, Amon!” I shouted. “We played by the rules of your challenge and beat you, fair and square!”

Amon laughed, a harsh, brittle sound, as of a thousand bones breaking.

“The Hunt has only a single rule, little man: victory belongs to the strongest and swiftest.” He hissed and his jaws opened wide in preparation to devour us.

“What of Honani, Darklord?” I yelled.

Amon paused and narrowed his basketball-sized eyes.

I reached into my jacket and removed the soul jar. “This container is what I used to draw Honani’s spirit from his body. Honani remains inside. All I have to do to release him is pry open the lid.” I gripped the lid in my fingers. “If I do, his spirit will be set free to wander Nekropolis for eternity. Or maybe he’ll end up in the Boneyard as one of Edrigu’s servants.”

Amon’s head swayed slowly back and forth as he regarded me.

“You told us earlier that despite being a mixblood, Honani was still one of your subjects-one of the family, as you put it.” I gave the jar a shake. “Well, here he is, Amon. Are you going to abandon him just because his body now belongs to another?”

Amon hissed softly. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“How did you know it when you pretended to be Arleigh?” I countered.

Amon considered. “Very well,” he said at last. “Place the jar on the bridge and you may go.”

“Nothing personal, but I’d rather keep it with us until we reach the other side, if it’s all the same to you.”

Amon laughed again, and I was surprised to hear no malice in it. “Go on, then!”

We backed toward the Sprawl side of the bridge, keeping our eyes on Amon the entire way. When we reached the far side, Amon touched his serpent’s nose to the bridge and flowed into his English hunter body.

I set the jar on the bridge and Amon gave me a little salute. “Well played, Mr. Richter. Well played, indeed. I haven’t enjoyed a Wild Hunt this much in decades.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” I said wryly. And Devona and I turned and hurried into the Sprawl before the lord of the shapeshifters could change his mind.

From now on Amon would have to add a corollary to his rule about the Hunt: sometimes victory doesn’t go to the strongest or swiftest. Sometimes it goes to a desperate dead man with deep pockets.