Dead Streets (40 page)

  I'd met Devona when she'd hired me to help her recover an artifact that had been stolen from Galm's collection. In the process, we'd not only found the artifact and saved the city from total annihilation, we'd also fallen in love. Makes for a great first date story, don't you think? Unfortunately, Galm cast out Devona for losing the artifact in the first place – even though another of his children had been responsible for the theft – and so jobless and homeless, she'd moved in with me. She'd been helping me with cases ever since, and I thought we made a good team, professionally as well as personally, but Devona eventually decided she wanted to work for herself.

  Please don't take this the wrong way, Matt, she'd told me. I've loved working with you, but I served my father all my adult life… lived in his home, tended his property… I've never had anything of my own. Never had to make my own way in the world. I want to see if I can. I hope you'll understand.

  Of course I did. You don't get to be the only private detective in a city full of monsters, demons, and witches without having a strong independent streak. I told her I loved her and admired her for wanting to start her own business – which was true, though I knew I'd miss her working with me. The mean streets of Nekropolis would seem a little lonelier without her by my side.

  When I asked her what business she wanted to go into, she said, I was thinking security. A big part of my job for father consisted of overseeing the protections – both magical and mundane – on his collection. I could put that experience to good use in my own security firm. And if I advertise that I used to do security work for a Darklord…

  I had to admit, it sounded like my love had a head for business. If things kept going this way, I might well end up working for her one day.

  Devona turned back to examine the building once more. "I did check into buying the name. When the original owner died, the property defaulted into Varvara's hands, and when I asked her if I could simply purchase the name Midnight Watch, she told me the name went with the property, and I couldn't have one without the other."

  "I don't suppose she gave you a reason."

  Devona looked at me as if I'd just said something incredibly stupid, and on reflection, I didn't blame her. The Demon Queen did what she did solely for her own pleasure.

  "All right, then tell me this: did she smile when she told you that?"

  Devona's face is normally pale – she is half Bloodborn, after all – but it went chalk white as the implications of my question hit her.

  "I was afraid of that." If Varvara finds something amusing, it's usually bad news – especially if what she finds amusing is you. "So there's something wrong with the building… probably very wrong. All right, let's go find out what it is."

  I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and started toward the building's entrance.

  Devona put a hand on my shoulder to stop me, and stop me she did, dead – if you'll pardon the expression – in my tracks. She's petite, but her vampiric heritage gives her greater strength than a human. I couldn't have gone anywhere if I'd wanted to.

  "No, Matt. If it's going to be dangerous–"

  I turned back to look at her. "I appreciate the concern, but this is Nekropolis. Everything is dangerous here: the only question is how dangerous. Besides, if you really want to set yourself up in business as the revived Midnight Watch, you'll need to use this building, right?"

  "That's very sweet of you."

  She leaned forward and gave me a hard kiss on the lips. Devona knows I can only feel the pressure of her kisses, so she always makes sure there's enough for me to feel. When she pulled back, she gave me a wry smile.

  "And this gallantry of yours has nothing to do with your irritation over the fact that Varvara knew you'd come here with me to check the place out and was amused at the notion of you tangling with whatever lies inside."

  "Not in the goddamned slightest," I said. "C'mon, let's go."

  As we walked toward the door, I warned Devona to stay clear of the leech vines. The bloodsucking vegetation wouldn't bother me – no blood – but Devona had plenty of the red stuff coursing through her veins, and it was half vampire. Leech vine loves vampire blood best of all. It's like the finest of wines to the plant. Me, I find it poetic justice that one of the city's greatest predators has a bloodthirsty 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.

  The door was covered with leech vine, but since I'd known the building had been abandoned for years and had likely fallen prey to the vine, I'd come prepared. I took my right hand out of my jacket pocket and aimed the object I'd removed – a tiny figurine resembling a white ape – at the door. I spoke a single activating word and the ape's mouth opened, unleashing a torrent of frigid air. The leech vine covering the door instantly turned black and fell to the ground. When the figurine was finished, I tucked it back in my pocket.

  "What in the nine hells was that?" Devona demanded. "The stench is awful!"

  "Yeti's Breath," I said. "It's a great spell for killing leech vine." I smiled. "Especially when your sense of smell is as dead as the rest of you."

  Devona looked as if she was desperately trying to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged. "Give a girl some warning next time, all right?"

  "Sorry." Embarrassed, I turned away from her. When you're dead, it's easy to forget the strong impact that sensory input can have on others. Maybe, I thought, it'll be better for Devona when she doesn't have to work with me anymore.

  I examined the door. It was covered with frost that was already starting to melt, but beneath it I could make out a metal plaque with these words engraved upon it:

  The Midnight Watch: Guarding All Workhouses and Institutions Against Intruders and Meddling. Savage Beasts Employed.

  "Catchy," I said. I turned back to Devona. "Sense anything?"

  In response, Devona closed her eyes and concentrated. Not only was she highly skilled at detecting wardspells, as a vampire-human hybrid, she possessed certain psychic abilities that most Bloodborn did not.

  "Yes, I…" She broke off, frowning. Then she opened her eyes. "I thought I sensed something there for a moment, almost as if there was someone inside the building, but the feeling faded quickly. Most likely I was picking up psychic impressions from the businesses on either side."

  "Maybe." But I didn't believe it. I'd lived – or maybe I should say
existed
– in Nekropolis too long. Besides, if Varvara was amused at the idea of the two of us entering the building, there was definitely something Bad inside.

  I pointed to the door knob. "How about that?"

  Devona waved her hand over the knob several times and then bent down and examined it visually. She straightened.

  "Clean. No traps, mystical or otherwise."

  I hmpfed. "For a security firm, it seems they weren't too concerned with folks breaking in."

  "Wardspells are intricate to construct and require constant maintenance," Devona said. "It's been at least fifty years since the building's been occupied. Any wardspells on the door would've lost their potency and deactivated long ago."

  "Fifty years, and no one's bought the building in all that time? Or at least tried squatting in it? I find that hard to believe." And considering the kinds of things I'd had to learn to believe in since coming to Nekropolis, that was saying something. "This might not be the most prime location in the Sprawl, but real estate here is always in high demand. After all, it's sin central for the entire city, and that means there's a hell of a lot of darkgems to be made here. What would keep a building in the Sprawl vacant for so many years? Wait – let me guess. It's supposed to be haunted. And not just regular haunted, with a few ghosts flitting about the rooms to lend the place some gloomy atmosphere. It's haunted with a capital H, by some kind of unknown and incredibly deadly force that will shatter our minds, mutilate our bodies, and ravage our souls, right?"

  "As a matter of fact…"

  I didn't sigh this time. I was too depressed to bother.

  "This probably isn't the time or place for this, Devona, but I think you and I really need to work on our communication skills."

  I tried the knob and wasn't surprised in the slightest to find it unlocked. I turned it (far too easily, I might add), pushed the door open (it didn't even have the good grace to creak), and we went inside.

  It was dark, of course. Any windows were completely covered by leech vine, but since Nekropolis is shrouded in the perpetual dusk created by Umbriel the Shadowsun, it would've been dark inside even if the windows were clear and left wide open. Devona's hybrid eyes could see in the dark far better than my undead ones, so while I took a flashlight out of my jacket pocket, I didn't turn it on right away.

  After several moments, she said, "We're in a foyer, but I don't see anything special. You might as well go ahead and turn your light on, Matt."

  I flicked the flashlight's switch and played its beam around to get my bearings. It was just as Devona had said: a foyer with stone walls and ceiling and a marble tiled floor. Nice enough, in a cold, Spartan way, but nothing to e-mail home about. There were sconces on the walls where greenfire torches had undoubtedly once burned to light the place, but the mystic flames had died away decades ago, and without an Arcane torchlighter to rekindle them, it looked like we were stuck with my flashlight.

  As we started slowly down the foyer, I said, "So, are you going to tell me why this place is supposed to be haunted?"

  "The original owner and founder of the Midnight Watch was a warlock named Leander Crosswise. He was reputed to be a genius when it came to devising new and innovative wardspells and was also known for breeding some of the fiercest and most intelligent guard animals the city has ever seen. He ran the Midnight Watch very successfully for nearly a century before he finally decided to retire. But before he could, he was murdered, right here in the building, doors locked, wardspells in place. When one of his employees arrived for work the next day, Leander was found lying facedown on the floor of his office, a Dire Blade sticking out of his back."

  Nasty things, Dire Blades. Obsidian daggers with mystic runes carved into the surface, absolutely deadly to supernatural creatures, the Arcane included. They're the favored weapons of the Dominari, Nekropolis' version of the Mafia, but other criminals use them as well, provided they can scrounge up enough darkgems to purchase one of the things. They're damned expensive, and a good thing, too, or else every low life in the city would have one.

  By this time Devona and I had left the foyer and entered a large room that looked something like a den – dilapidated furniture, stone fireplace filled with cobwebs, musty old paintings on the walls, rotting wooden beams overhead. I assumed the room had been used as a place to meet clients and was likely impressive enough, in its time. There was no sign of anything out of place, and certainly no ghosts leaping out from behind the moldy couch or the cracked leather chairs, so Devona and I left to continue our exploration of the building. As we walked, I asked Devona some questions about the story she'd just told me.

  "Was the murderer ever caught?"

  "No. Leander was a prominent citizen in the Sprawl, so Varvara sent her best Inquisitors and Hellhounds to investigate, but they turned up nothing. She even asked Talaith to send some Arcane investigators, but their magic failed to locate a single clue, let alone reveal the identity of Leander's killer."

  So the warlock's employees were cleared and, while it was possible, if not likely, that Crosswise had enemies or even disgruntled clients who wished him ill, it seemed none of them had been implicated either.

  "Did the investigators have any luck tracing the Dire Blade?"

  Devona and I were walking down a hallway now. When we came to a door, we'd stop, Devona would check for wardspells or booby traps, and when she gave the all-clear, I'd open the door and shine my flashlight inside. All we found was office furniture: desks, chairs, filing cabinets and the like. Nothing of interest. At least nothing had jumped out of the shadows and tried to devour our faces – yet.

  "The Blade belonged to Leander. As you might imagine, he owned quite a few weapons, some mystical, some not. Some he'd purchased for the business, some he'd picked up on various jobs. The employees all testified that the Blade was Leander's."

  "And no fingerprints or DNA – or the magical equivalent – was found on the weapon," I said. "Except for Crosswise's."

  "That's right."

  That didn't necessarily mean anything. Nekropolis is lousy with beings who can manipulate objects magically or with the power of their mind. And a really good magic user could destroy any traces that they'd handled the weapon. But then again, two Darklords had sent their best investigators to look into Crosswise's death, and even if a magic user had tried to remove any evidence they'd handled the weapon, investigators of that caliber would've found it.

  "You said Crosswise was going to retire."

  "That's right. He was killed on the night before he planned to officially retire, as a matter of fact."

  "That's interesting."

  "Why?"

  We'd just finished checking our third office and were headed toward our fourth. I was beginning to think that Varvara had been so amused at the thought of our coming here because she'd known the place would end up boring us to death.

  "It might speak to possible motive," I said. "Maybe someone resented Leander retiring. Was he planning on selling the business or giving it to a successor?"

  "Neither," Devona said. "He planned to close the business and sell the building. He wanted the Midnight Watch to end with him."