Nekropolis

NINE

I stood with my back flattened against a smooth wooden wall, 9mm held easily at my side in my right hand, a small device gripped tightly in my left. The corridor was lit by a series of gently glowing blobs of yellowish light hovering near the ceiling, and the shadows they cast seemed to slither across the floor as if possessing a life of their own. From what I’d seen of this insane city so far, I knew it was quite possible that the shadows really were alive, and I reminded myself to keep an eye on them. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck and across one of the many small wounds covering my body. It stung, and I started to take in a hissing breath of air out of reflex, but I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath instead.

You swore an oath to serve and protect, Matt. And even if you are a bit out of your jurisdiction, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

My partner stood next to me, gun held ready as he peered around the corner.

“How many?” I whispered.

Dale pulled his head back and turned to face me. “Two,” he said, speaking softly. “Both male, big and tough-looking. The corridor stretches a long way-a couple hundred feet, easy-and they’re standing guard in front of a large wooden at the end of it. No obvious weapons that I could see.”

“They don’t need to carry physical weapons,” I reminded him. “Not in this place.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Dale Ramsey was a lean African-American man in his early fifties. His short black hair was starting to grey at the temples, and the lower half of his face was covered with thick stubble. People thought he did that to look stylish, but I knew it was because he often forgot to shave, sometimes for days. He wore a sharp-looking blue suit and, despite his slightly scruffy physical appearance, his outfit was dry-cleaned and neatly pressed as always. Dale had been my partner in the homicide division for the last five years, though I’d known him even longer, all the way back to when I’d started on the Cleveland force as a patrol cop and he was working Vice.

Thin lines of blood trickled from tiny wounds peppering Dale’s forehead, and he bent his head forward and used his tie to wipe away the blood so it wouldn’t run into his eyes. He’d used his tie instead of the back of his hand because his hands-like mine-were covered with similar wounds and were bleeding too. Not a lot, certainly not enough to be life-threatening, but definitely inconvenient.

Dale looked at the new smear of blood on his tie and grimaced. He hated getting his clothes dirty. “Who uses a barrier of animated thorn bushes as security? I mean, really.”

“Just be glad we got through without being sliced to bits.”

“I think that little lizard you picked up the Sprawl helped some,” he said.

“Salamander. They’re amphibians.” At least, I thought the creature I’d used to clear a path through Talaith’s thorn barrier was an amphibian. The dealer who’d sold it to me had said the small bright-red animal was a salamander in the mythological sense, meaning that it blazed with intense magical fire when threatened. I didn’t care what species it was, just as long as it worked as advertised. When Dale and I approached the thorn barrier surrounding Woodhome, and I’d had to do was removed the little guy from my pocket, and toss him into the thorns. The instant one pricked him, he opened his tiny mouth and let loose a blast of flame that would’ve done Godzilla proud. The salamander’s fire-blast cut a swatch through the thorns, and Dale and I had to run like hell to reach the entrance to Woodhome before the barrier closed up again. We’d made it, but not without getting pricked, scratched, and slashed in the process. I didn’t know what had happened to the salamander, but I wasn’t worried. As the little guy had so amply demonstrated, he could take care of himself.

I was only sorry that the creature’s magical fire hadn’t been strong enough to set Woodhome itself ablaze. But from what I understood, Talaith wasn’t only a witch, she was a Dark Lord-one of the most powerful beings in Nekropolis. And that meant her stronghold was protected by some serious magic, and since it was basically a gigantic tree-really a living mass formed from dozens of huge ancient trees inter-twined-she’d been smart enough to fireproof it. But not, it seemed, smart enough to do the same to her thorn barrier. Or maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to waste the magic on her thorns. I didn’t know from magic, and I had no intention of learning. Dale and I had come to Woodhome for one reason: to track down the warlock who’d been killing people in Cleveland and bring him to justice. After that, Dale and I would head home and this place would be nothing more than a nightmare that both of us would work damned hard to forget.

Inside, the corridors and chambers of Woodhome looked as if they’d been grown instead of built. The ceiling, walls, and floors were smooth but somewhat uneven, and instead of running straight, the corridors had a tendency to curve right or left, up or down. There were no signs to help us tell which way to go, but I’d picked up a few other items in the Sprawl besides the salamander, and one of them was the object I held in my left hand.

“You sure this is it?” he asked.

In response I held up the compass. Beneath the glass was the tiny figure of a skeleton lying flat, right arm stretched over its head, index finger pointing toward the wall-or rather, toward the chamber on the other side of the wall.

“How are we supposed to know if that thing’s working right? Or if it is working, it’s functioning as advertised?”

I shrugged and tucked the compass into one of my jacket pockets. “It’s supposed to locate sources of powerful magic. And if what the seer in the Sprawl told us is true, what we’re looking for should be the most powerful device in this place. Besides, I can’t think of any other way to find this Overmind thing. Can you?”

Dale made a face as if he’d just taken a bite of what he thought was prime rib only to discover someone had snuck a turd onto his plate when he wasn’t looking. “I hate this place. I like to keep things simple: good guys, bad guys, witnesses, and evidence. I could do without all this hocus pocus.”

“You and me both, partner,” I said. “But when in Rome…”

“I’ve never been to Rome, but I’m confident it’s nothing like this shithole.” He sighed. We’d worked together for so long that I knew Dale’s quirks and mannerisms as well as my own. Better, in fact. That sigh was Dale expelling the last bits of tension from his body as he geared up for action. He raised his gun and fixed me with his soft brown eyes. “You ready?”

I reached into one of my pockets with my left hand and took out a small mirror.

“Let’s do it.”

Without another word, we turned the corner and started running down the corridor.

The guards were exactly as Dale had described-big and mean-looking, but then they were guards: that was how they were supposed to look. They were two of a kind, Literally, they were twins. Both wore their black hair pulled back in pony-tails, both sported Vandyke beards, and both wore black tunics, black pants, and high black boots. I’d only been in Nekropolis a couple days, but I’d already learned that in this city, black was the new black. The warlocks looked surprised at first to see us, but they only hesitated a few seconds before raising their hands and gesturing wildly as they prepared to throw some very nasty magic our way.

The twins’ hands began to glow with silver-tinted energy, and Dale and I poured on the speed.

“That damned mirror better work!” Dale shouted.

“Look on the bright side,” I yelled. “If it doesn’t, we’ll be dead before we find out!”

Before Dale could come back with a witty rejoinder, the twins thrust their hands forward, sending a pair of lightning bolts crackling down the corridor toward us. Still running, I held out the mirror in front of me, and it drew the lightning toward its glossy surface and swallowed it whole. The glass vibrated and grew hot in my hand as it struggled to absorb the mystical power of the twins’ strike.

“How many spells is that thing good for?” Dale shouted.

“Three,” I said, “so we have two-” My words cut off as the mirror exploded in my hand, glass shards piercing the soft flesh of my palm.

“Fuck!” I shouted. My hand was bleeding like crazy and hurt like a sonofabitch. I lost momentarily lost my concentration and started to stumble, but Dale caught hold of my elbow and steadied me. “Make that one,” I said through gritted teeth. Whether on Earth or in Nekropolis, it seemed you couldn’t trust a goddamned street vendor.

Dale and I had covered half the distance to the chamber at the end of the corridor, but the twins started gesturing and chanting once more, both of them grinning with dark anticipation. They had us and they knew it.

Still running, Dale and I raised our guns and started firing. One thing about spellcasters: it’s hard for them to shift gears when they’re in the middle of working an enchantment. Our aim wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough, and several 9mm slugs slammed into the warlocks, and while their black tunics might’ve been the latest in magical guard chic, the cloth didn’t do a damned thing to stop bullets. By the time Dale and I reached the wooden door, the twins had slumped to the floor, bleeding from their wounds. Dale had gotten his twin twice-once in the shoulder, once in the gut-and I’d hit mine in the chest. Both were still alive, but they were in too much pain to concentrate on working any hoodoo on us.

If we’d been on Earth, Dale and I would’ve cuffed the two warlocks and called for an ambulance. But this was Nekropolis, and even if it wasn’t we didn’t have time to do things by the book. Dale and I slammed our gun butts into the twins’ heads, and they fell onto their sides, unconscious. I knew there was a chance one or both of them might die from their injuries, but they were warlocks. There was an equally good chance they’d find a way to heal themselves soon. At least, that’s what I told myself to assuage my conscience.

Dale took a second to check his weapon. “I’m out of ammo.”

“Me too.” And neither of us had reloads. We’d used up all our bullets over the last couple days just surviving long enough to get this far. I holstered my gun, and Dale did the same. “Guess we’ll just have to improvise,” I said.

“Fair enough.” Dale grabbed the door handle, but before he opened it, he said, “How much you want to bet there’s no lock on it?”

“Who needs locks when you have a pair of beefcake warlocks to guard your secret chamber of evil?” I said.

Dale laughed as he opened the door, and we rushed inside. I’d been expecting the chamber to be like the rest of Woodhome-smooth, barkless wood-but instead it was spherical and covered with glimmering metal panels. The chamber reeked of ozone and overheated circuitry, and a low thrumming filled the air, the sound of a powerful machine in the process of warming up. In the middle of the room was a huge pinkish mass the size of a bull elephant. Its wrinkled surface was slick with blood, and dozens of black cables extended from its pulpy substance out to different points on the walls and ceiling.

This was the Overmind.

Dale and I stopped to look at the obscene thing.

“I thought brains were gray,” he said.

I shook my head. “That’s only after they’ve been preserved. Inside our skulls, they look like that: all pink.”

Dale and I weren’t alone in the chamber, though. There were two others standing before the Overmind. A male warlock with long flowing blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard standing next to a handsome middle-aged woman with short black hair. The warlock wore a dark red robe-not quite black, but close enough, I supposed-while the woman was garbed in an old-fashioned Puritan dress of severe black-and-white. I didn’t recognize the warlock, but I had a pretty good idea who the woman was: the Dark Lady Talaith, ruler of Glamere and mistress of the Arcane.

Dale immediately fixed his attention on the warlock. “Let me guess. You’re the sonofabitch who’s been killing people in my town back on Earth.” We’d tracked the killer down in Cleveland, even watched as he’d disappeared back through Varvara’s mirror portal, but neither of us had gotten that good a look at him. But now, standing here gazing at the bastard, both Dale and I knew this was our man.

If the warlock was surprised to see us, he didn’t show it. He stepped toward us with a casual confidence that said he was used to having his evil rituals interrupted by a pair of out-of-town cops. Very out-of-town.

“I’m afraid I’m unacquainted with you two gentlemen, but I’m impressed that you made it this far.” He looked us over. “Though I must say that you both appear somewhat the worse for wear.”

Despite the fact his weapon was out of ammunition, Dale drew it and leveled it at the warlock’s head. “You can cut the ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond’ crap. Just tell me if you’re the person responsible for the death of seven men and women in Cleveland.”

Amusement flickered in the warlock’s eyes, and I wondered if he could somehow sense that Dale’s gun was empty. “I am. Though as you can see, they’ve been reborn.” He gestured toward the Overmind. “So technically, I suppose I’m not a killer. I’m more of a…” a slow smile spread across his face. “A recycler, I suppose you could say.”

Despite ourselves, Dale and I turned to regard the Overmind once more.

“The coroner’s report said the people you killed died without outward signs of violence,” I said. “We’ve already figured out that you used some kind of spell to stop their hearts. But the coroner also said that portions of their brains were missing, even though each of their skulls was intact.”

The warlock bowed his head in mock-humility. “I must confess to possessing a certain modicum of skill at psychic surgery.”

I ignored the arrogant bastard and went on. “So you’re telling us that you used the brain matter you stole from those people to build the Overmind?”

The warlock stepped closer to the giant brain and laid his hand on it as if stroking a beloved pet. “Precisely. Those seven people were all extremely gifted psychically, but none of them knew it. Moreover, they’d never even used their preternatural abilities, which meant their brain matter was completely unspoiled. Pristine minds-virgin minds, if you will-are almost impossible to find in Nekropolis. They need to be…imported.”

Up to this point, Talaith hadn’t said anything, but now she stepped toward the warlock, grabbed his shoulder none-too-gently, and spun him around to face her. “We don’t have time for this foolishness, Yberio. We need to finish powering up the Overmind and use it strike against Edrigu before he becomes aware of what we’re trying to do! The fool may be Lord of the Dead, but doesn’t mean he’s as slow-witted as his mindless subjects. We only have moments before he senses what we’re up to.”

She glanced past Yberio at Dale and me, and I could feel the hatred blazing in her eyes as if it were a physical force. “Kill them while I continue the ritual.”

Yberio’s jaw muscles tensed, telling me that he didn’t appreciate being spoken to as one of the help. “Yes, my love,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Forget the ‘my love’ shit and just do it!” she snapped. She turned to face the Overmind, raising her hands over her head and chanting harsh, guttural words in a language I didn’t recognize, but which hurt to hear. It felt like someone was jamming rusty metal spikes into my ears.

Dale and I exchanged a quick look. Understanding the emotional stressors on your opponents is just as important as knowing what weapons they have-sometimes more so. It was obvious that Yberio was Talaith’s lover and that he thought that relationship made them equals. It was just as obvious to Dale and me that Talaith thought differently.

Yberio glared at Talaith for a moment, but she ignored him as she continued working whatever magic was necessary to get the Overmind to do its thing. Yberio turned back to face us, and from the dark expression on his face, it was clear he intended to take out his anger toward Talaith on us.

Dale kept his empty gun trained on the warlock, and with his free hand he gestured to me behind his back. Get ready.

My left hand still had fragments of glass in it-and still hurt like hell-but my gun-hand was free and uninjured, and I took a half-step behind Dale to cover my motion from Yberio as I reached into my jacket pocket and removed the last device we’d managed to acquire in the Sprawl. It looked like a simple pocket watch, old and badly in need of polishing, but otherwise unremarkable. Lady Varvara-who was very displeased that Talaith had made use of her dimension portal in her latest scheme to attack Lord Edrigu-had given the device to us before we left the Sprawl. She’d said it was called the Death Watch and that all we would have to do was push the switch to activate it when the right time came. After that, we’d know what to do.

I hoped like hell she was right-and that she was telling the truth. She was a demon, after all, and her kind had a reputation for being somewhat lacking in the truth-telling department.

If Yberio had seen me take hold of the Death Watch, he gave no sign. Perhaps he simply thought he was too powerful to worry about whatever meager magics Dale and I might have acquired during our brief stay in Nekropolis.

“You gentlemen were quite correct in your earlier surmise,” the warlock said. “I did use magic to kill those people. The spell is a quite simple one, really.” He smiled coldly. “Allow me to demonstrate it to you.”

That sure as hell sounded like a cue to me. I thumbed the switch atop the Death Watch, and the black hands on the clock face began spinning wildly. Dark energy spread outward from the watch, so cold that it felt as if I’d plunged my hand into ice water. I wanted to drop the damned thing, but I forced myself to hold on to it.

Talaith continued chanting, but she shot me a quick look, and her eyes widened in shock when she saw what I held. Yberio stared at the Death Watch and the spreading ebon energy that surrounded it, his jaw hanging open in a way that might’ve been comical in other circumstances.

“You can’t possibly have that!” Yberio shouted. “There’s no way you could’ve gained possession of a token of such power!

Talaith broke off her chanting to yell at him. “Don’t be an idiot! That bitch Varvara must’ve have given it to them! But it doesn’t matter how those poor excuses for mortals came by it, just kill the morons before they can use it!”

Yberio’s head jerked as if she’d just physically slapped him, and he blinked several times before raising his hand and pointing his index finger at me. I understood then what was going to happen to me: Yberio was going to use his magic to stop my heart, just as he had done with the seven men and women he’d killed on Earth. By this time the dark energy emanating from the Death Watch had formed a black sphere around my hand about the size of a soccer ball. My hand felt frozen, and I could sense tremendous power building up within the sphere, but I still had no idea what to do with it.

C’mon, Varvara…you said I’d know what to do when the time came…

Yberio spoke a word and a thin beam of white light shot forth from his finger and headed straight toward me. But Dale threw himself between me and the warlock, and the light speared him straight through the heart instead. He made no sound, but his entire body stiffened as if a massive electric current passed through him, and then he simply collapsed to the floor. No final words, no last look passing between us. It was like Yberio had reached inside my partner, found his life switch, and flipped it off.

Yberio grinned as he looked down at Dale’s corpse, then he raised his head to look at me.

“That’s eight,” he said. “And you’ll make nine.” He lifted his hand and aimed his index finger at me.

And then, just as Varvara had promised, I understood what I had to do.

“Fuck you-” I looked to Talaith-“both.” And then I turned to the Overmind and thrust the hand holding the Death Watch into the pulpy mass of the gigantic brain. I heard Talaith shout “No!” followed by the sharp sensation of Yberio’s magic beam cutting through me. And then I heard the Overmind’s voice in my mind-a chorus of six voices combined, actually, and it whispered two words:

Thank you.

And then a darkness blacker, deeper, and colder than anything I had ever imagined rushed in to fill me, and I knew nothing more.

“When I woke up, the Overmind was nothing but a pool of necrotized tissue on the floor on the metal chamber, the cables that had attached it to the walls dangling useless in the air. I crawled over to Dale-my limbs were stiff and uncooperative, and at the time I thought it was just due to the aftershock of the Over-mind’s destruction-and I checked his pulse. I wasn’t surprised to find he no longer had one. Yberio and Talaith were both lying on the floor as well. I assumed they’d been hit by some kind of psychic or magical backlash when the Overmind exploded, but I had no idea if it would cause them any permanent damage. After all, I was still alive. Or so I thought.

“I checked their pulses. Yberio didn’t have one. Talaith did, but hers was weak. I was a cop-supposedly one of the good guys-but I confess at that moment, I seriously considering wrapping my hands around Talaith’s throat and finishing what the destruction of the Overmind had started. Instead, I turned away and did a quick search for the Death Watch. I’d lost my grip on the device when I blacked out, I couldn’t find it in the mess of what remained of the Overmind. For all I know the Death Watch was destroyed, but if not, I suppose Talaith has it. I really don’t know, and to tell you the truth, I don’t care. I gave up looking for the watch, picked up Dale’s body, and carried him out of the chamber.”

Devona, who’d been listening to my story as raptly as Arvel, if not more so, put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard enough so I’d be sure to feel it. “I’m sorry for your loss, Matt.”

I nodded my thanks for her sympathy. Dale was a good man, a good partner, and a good friend. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through my divorce if he hadn’t been there for me. He saved my life more than once on the streets of Cleveland, and in the end he’d given his own life so that I could live a few moments longer to finish the last case we’d ever work together.

“He was a hell of a cop, and he died in the line of duty.” It was all the epitaph I could bring myself to say aloud, but maybe it was enough.

“Yberio was a Demilord,” Arvel said, “one of the high-ranking Darkfolk who, while extremely strong, weren’t quite powerful enough to be chosen by Dis to help him create Nekropolis. There’s been no mention of him on the streets for the last couple years.” The ghoul smiled with his blood-stained lamprey mouth. “Now I know why.”

“What happened to Talaith?” Devona asked.

“She’s a Darklord,” I said. “I assume her powers enabled her to withstand the blast, but considerably weakened. She’s recovered some since then, but she’s still not up to her full strength. Needless to say, I haven’t been to Glamere many times since. And I make sure to watch my back when any Arcane are around.”

Arvel smacked his lips. “A most…delicious story, Mr. Richter. But you left out one salient detail: how you became a zombie.”

“Remember how I said the murder victims showed no sign of external injuries? It’s because Yberio threw a deathspell at them and stopped their hearts instantly. That’s how Dale died, and Yberio did the same to me-just as I released the power of the Death Watch into the Overmind. Somehow, Yberio’s spell, the Death Watch’s magic, and the release of psychic energy when the Overmind died all combined and when I awoke, I was dead, but in a way still alive, too.” I shrugged. “That’s Papa Chatha’s theory, anyway.”

“Fascinating!” Arvel gushed. “I knew some of the details, of course, but I’ve never heard the full story. Tell me, what arrangements did you make for the disposal of Mr. Ramsey’s remains?”

I felt a wave of anger and disgust. Ghouls had an unhealthy preoccupation with dead bodies, and I wasn’t about to tell Arvel where and how I’d laid Dale to rest, just in case the gluttonous monster decided to go in search of my dear, departed partner.

“Not to be rude,” I said, not caring if I was or not, “but my associate and I are in something of a hurry.”

“Ah, another case full of danger and intrigue! You must let me know how it turns out!”

“I will,” I said. It was an easy promise to make, since I knew there was a chance I might not be around to keep it. “Now if you could quid quo pro us right back?”

“I’ll be happy to answer your questions; once I’ve finished attending to nature’s call, that is.”

I was about to ask if he needed any help getting up, but then I noticed the large metal washtub beneath his chair. Arvel clicked his teeth and Carbuncle scuttled over and pulled a lever on the side of the ghoul’s chair, releasing a trap door in the seat.

As the next few moments passed-along with a number of other things-I was more grateful than ever that I had no sense of smell.