Dark War (11 page)

  I leaned against a workbench, arms folded over my chest, Devona standing next to me. Varney stood on the other side of the room in the corner, the better to film the entire room, I supposed. The girl, who'd introduced herself as Shamika, sat on a high stool, bare feet dangling several inches from the wooden floor.

  I looked at Shamika. "You're really Papa's niece?" 

  Devona elbowed me. "She already told you she was."

  "Sorry. I don't mean to sound so skeptical, but Papa's never mentioned you before."

  I wasn't sure what bothered me more. The fact that Papa had never spoken about his family to me or that I'd never asked him about them. Maybe we weren't as close as I thought we were, and I wondered how much of that was my fault.

  "Most of our family lives on Earth," Shamika said. "Our ancestors were pure Arcane, but many of their descendants married humans over the years, and not all of their children could work magic. Those that could moved to Nekropolis. The rest stayed on Earth."

  Unlike other Darkfolk, Arcane appear perfectly human, and this allows them to interbreed with humans, if for no other reason than humans don't find them automatically repulsive and run screaming in the other direction. Because of this, Arcane bloodlines have become greatly diluted over the centuries, resulting in fewer true Arcane being born, and those who are born with the ability to work magic aren't always very powerful. It's one of the reasons Talaith is fiercely protective of her people: she fears the eventual extinction of the Arcane race. Among the five Darklords, she was one of the strongest proponents for the creation of Nekropolis. She hoped that relocating her people to another dimension would limit their opportunities to breed with humans, forcing them to mate within their own race. She couldn't outright forbid intermarriage – that would go against the Blood Accords, the laws that govern all Nekropolitans, Darklords included – but she does everything she can to discourage it.

  I glanced at Devona's slightly swollen belly. If what Galm had told us was true, our interbreeding was going to produce a truly special child. And while I suppose I understood the rationale behind Talaith's medieval mindset, I was glad neither Devona nor I shared it. What a great adventure we'd have missed out on.

  "How long has it been since you heard from Papa?" Devona asked Shamika. Her tone was gentle, and through our link I could feel her concern for the girl. 

  "Three days. I stopped by for a visit, but he wasn't here, so I called his vox and left a message. He usually calls back within a couple hours, but when he didn't, I tried again. He didn't answer, so I left another message. I kept calling and leaving messages, but he never called me back. Finally, I got so worried that I came over here and…" She looked suddenly sheepish. "I used my magic to let myself in." She brightened a bit. "I'm not as powerful as Uncle, but I can do a few tricks."

  "Don't be so modest," Devona said. "The security spells Papa has placed on his shack are top-notch, if a little… idiosyncratic. You have to know more than a 'few tricks' to get past them."

  Shamika looked suddenly uncomfortable. She gazed down at the floor and shrugged. "I suppose." 

  I pulled out my hand vox, flipped open the lid, and pressed Papa's number. I hated using the damned thing – the tiny ear you speak into is weird enough, but the small mouth you press your own ear against is just plain gross, especially when it gets a little sloppy with its tongue. I listened to Papa's phone ring several times, and then I got his voicemail. The voxmouth spoke in a perfect imitation of Papa's voice, and the effect was eerie as always, like Papa was whispering in my ear.

  "If you called my number, you know who I am, and you know what to do."

  The vox-mouth made a tiny beep sound, and I started talking.

  "Hey, Papa, it's Matt. Devona and I are at your place, sitting and talking with Shamika. She's worried about you and wonders why you haven't been returning her messages. Give her a call ASAP, and call me back too, while you're at it." 

  I disconnected and put my vox away.

  "So Papa's been gone for three days, and he's not answering his vox or returning messages." I didn't like the way this was looking. Like most magicusers, Papa was highly disciplined – you need to be when working with chaotic and potentially lethal forces – and he lived by a regular routine. It simply wasn't like him to deviate from it. I'd never known him to leave his home for so long, and I had a hard time believing he would ignore his niece's messages. He was too considerate.

  Devona looked at me, and though she didn't speak aloud, I heard her voice in my mind. 

  I understood why Devona was speaking telepathically. She didn't want to alarm Shamika unnecessarily.

  
It's possible,
I answered.
It's also possible that any
number of awful things have happened to him. This is
Nekropolis, you know. But Papa's a highly skilled magic
user and, more importantly, a smart man. He can protect
himself well enough from the city's usual dangers.
 

  It's the unusual ones I'm worried about,
Devona said. 

  I agree. I think we should ask around a bit and see if we
can find out what Papa's gotten himself into. Don't you?
 

  I waited for Devona to respond, but all I heard in my mind was silence. I looked at her, but she was staring off into space, not moving, not even blinking. 

  "Devona? Honey?"

  No response. I leaned over and nudged her, but she didn't budge. She felt as solid and immobile as a statue.

  I looked over at Varney and Shamika, and saw both of them were similarly frozen. What the hell was going on here? Had we accidentally activated one of the magic objects lying around in Papa's workroom, and if so, why hadn't its power affected me?

  "Because if I froze you too, it would be awfully difficult for us to hold a conversation, wouldn't it?" 

  The voice was a rich, mellow tenor, and it seemed to issue from the empty air. An instant later the shadows in the room all flowed toward a corner, merged and expanded, shaping themselves until they finally resolved into the form of a man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, stood over six feet, and wore a purple toga. He was movie-star handsome, with short curly black hair, a large but distinguished-looking nose, and the kind of smile that when you saw it made you want to smile back. But appearances are all too often deceiving in Nekropolis, and not only was he not a man, he was far, far older than he seemed. This was Father Dis, once worshipped as a god of death by the Romans, the absolute ruler of the Darkfolk and the single most powerful being in the city – which also made him the most dangerous.

  He walked toward me with an easy, relaxed stride, but the aura of power that surrounded him put Galm's to shame. If being in Galm's presence was like sensing an oncoming thunderstorm, being close to Dis was like sensing the approach of a Category 5 hurricane, with an earthquake or two tossed in for good measure. 

  "Hello, Matthew."

  Dis stopped when he reached me and held out his hand, but I hesitated to shake it. As far as I knew, Dis had no ill feelings toward me, but I still found him intimidating as hell. After all, he could reduce me to a pile of dust with a mere thought, and he could do far worse if he felt like exerting himself. But in the end I shook his hand, and it felt like any other. I didn't look too deeply into his eyes, though. I was afraid of what I might see there. 

  Dis frowned as we shook. "Had a little accident, did you?"

  I was startled by a sudden warmth in my wrist. I don't experience physical sensation on a regular basis, and when I do, it usually means there's some serious magic at work.

  "There," Dis said as he released my hand. "Good as new! Well… as new as a zombie can get, I suppose." 

  I flexed my fingers, then rotated my wrist. Everything felt solid and properly connected once more, and I realized Dis had reattached my hand to my body. I'm sure it was child's play for him, considering that he'd once reconstructed my entire undead body.

  "Thanks," I said, because when a god does a favor for you – even when that god scares the crap out you – it's a good idea to be suitably grateful. 

  "You're welcome. You don't have to worry about Devona and the others. I'll return them to normal when we're finished talking, and they'll be none the worse for wear. And there will be no ill effects for Devona's pregnancy either. Congratulations on that, by the way."

  "Thank you. I'm a little confused about why you felt a need to freeze them at all, though." 

  Dis walked around Papa's workroom as he talked, looking over the items on the tables and shelves, occasionally lifting one to examine it, before putting it back down and moving on to another. "The balance of power in Nekropolis is a tenuous thing at best. The laws that govern the city apply not just to its citizens, but also to the Darklords – and myself. But there is one law that applies to me alone: I may not directly interfere in a dispute between the Darklords."

  "By 'dispute,' I assume you're talking about Talaith sending a strike force to destroy the bridges that link the Sprawl to its neighboring Dominions." 

  "Yes. The Weyward Sisters, often mistakenly referred to as the 'Weird Sisters.' A trio of sorceresses almost as powerful as Talaith herself. The ancient Greeks called them the three Fates, and the Vikings knew them as the three Norns. Dispatching them to destroy the bridges was Talaith's way of telling Varvara that she is deadly serious about her ultimatum." 

  "Talaith believes Varvara is responsible for the missing magic-users. Is she?" I asked.

  Dis stood before Shamika now, and he paused to regard the girl, reaching out to gently brush her cheek with his fingers. He then turned to face me. 

  "If I knew, I couldn't tell you, as passing along such information would constitute interference." 

  "Not to point out the obvious, but you're Dis. You're more powerful than all five Darklords put together. If you really want to interfere, who can stop you?"

  "I'm not as strong as you might imagine, Matthew, and as I've told you before, most of my strength goes toward maintaining both Phlegethon and the city's stability in this dimension. I don't have much power left over for settling arguments between squabbling Darklords. But even if I did, I wouldn't try. The cooperation of all six of us is needed to recharge Umbriel each year, and while I donate the lion's share of mystic energy to that process, I couldn't accomplish it without the others. When the Darkfolk first moved to Nekropolis, I tried to impose my will upon the Darklords in order to keep the peace, and not only did it not work out, it nearly resulted in the destruction of the city on more than one occasion. It took a while, but I finally learned my lesson. The less I interfere, the better. My Sentinels patrol the Dominions, and my Adjudicators deal with any criminal investigations or legal disputes that the Darklords either don't wish to or cannot handle on their own, but that's the extent of my interference." 

  "That's not completely true," I said. "You destroyed Gregor."

  "Gregor was a threat from outside the city, and thus not specifically covered by our laws." 

  "What about this conversation? That's why you froze the others, isn't it? So they wouldn't hear it." I nodded toward Varney. "You froze his eye camera too, right? He's not recording us, is he?" 

  Dis gave me a look that said, Yo
u know I'm a god,
right?
"Varney's ocular device is paused, and I've made sure that when he plays back his footage of this visit, there will be no indication he missed recording anything. And to answer your original question, yes, I want to make sure this conversation is private between you and me." A hint of a smile played across his lips. "I may not exactly be breaking any laws by talking to you, but I am bending them significantly."

  "Then let me save you the trouble of having to bend them any further. If someone – say, for example, me – were to investigate the disappearances of the magic-users and discover who's behind them and why, the answers will hopefully settle the conflict between Talaith and Varvara, preventing all-out war between the two Dominions." 

  "Such a person would be doing the city a great service," Dis said noncommittally.

  "Assuming this person manages to remain in one piece long enough to get the answers," I said. "I doubt if either Varvara or Talaith will be in a mood to cooperate with an investigation, especially one that doesn't have any official sanction. And when Darklords get cranky, they have a tendency to annihilate first and ask questions later." A thought occurred to me. "Speaking of official investigations, why not have the Adjudicators look into the disappearances?"

  "They have been," Dis admitted, "but without much success. Like too many of the Darkfolk, they tend to believe most problems are better solved by the application of force – the more extreme the better – instead of brainpower."

  I thought about my less-than-pleasant experience with First Adjudicator Quillion. "I know what you mean."

  "But this situation requires someone who's not only a skilled investigator but also an insightful one. Someone who can see things as they are, not as they appear."

  There was nothing special in the way Dis spoke these last words, but I nevertheless had the feeling that he was trying to tell me something important. Just because he couldn't come out and tell me clearly didn't mean that he couldn't hint, and I filed the comment away for later pondering.