The Nekropolis Archives (65 page)

  "So what landed you in the hoosegow?" Scorch asked. Once we'd boarded the tram both she and Tavi assumed their human guises and now she looked like a teenage girl again, but she still had the demon's gruff attitude.

  I told them all about my visit to the Nightspire, my interrogation by Quillion and what the First Adjudicator had shown me.

  Devona was scowling long before I was finished and when I stopped speaking she continued scowling, lost in thought. Then she shook her head as if to clear it.

  "First things first," she said. There was a duffle bag on the seat next to us and she reached over, opened it, and pulled out a smaller cloth bag. She opened the bag and removed a bracelet made of tiny bones from a lizard or maybe a rodent.

  Good thing Gnasher isn't here to see this, I thought.

  "I stopped by Papa Chatha's before we came to get you," Devona said.

  She slipped the bracelet onto my broken wrist and within seconds I could feel the bones knitting themselves back together and I could feel my smashed nose resetting itself. After a couple minutes Devona removed the bracelet and put it back into the bag.

  "That should do it," she said. "Papa placed a restorative spell on the bracelet to heal any damage you sustained in Tenebrus and he also added a preservative spell to make you look as fresh as possible." She leaned forward and examined my neck. "It even healed the seam on your neck where Victor Baron reattached your head. Excellent!" She leaned back, looking very pleased with herself.

  I experimentally flexed my left hand but its coordination was still off. I guess there's only so much the magic of a voodoo priest can fix. Still, I wasn't complaining. Papa had more than done right by me.

  "Let me guess: if I'm going to operate incognito, I need to look like a living man, so no tinge of gray to my skin, and no obvious injuries that apparently don't hurt me."

  She nodded. "If we're going to attempt to clear your name, we're probably going to run into trouble."

  I smiled. "Don't we always?"

  She smiled back. "When we do – difficult as this may be for you – try to avoid getting beat up. And if you do get injured, pretend like it hurts. You're the only self-willed zombie in the city, and you'll need to do everything you can to act like a living man if you want to avoid being recognized."

  Sounds easy enough, right? After all, I'd spent almost four decades alive before becoming a zombie. But after being dead for several years, I wasn't sure that I could fake being alive. The big things I could do just fine. After all, I could still think and talk, but I move more stiffly than I did when I was alive and I don't notice small things like temperature changes and strong smells. Passing for one of the living wouldn't be easy.

  Devona reached into the small bag again and this time pulled out a necklace made from dried chicken feet strung on braided strands of black hair – dead man's hair, I guessed. Before I could ask about it she placed the ugly thing around my neck and I felt a strange sensation of warmth pass through me briefly and then it was gone.

  "What was that?"

  "I knew that once we got you out of Tenebrus, Keket would search for you and the Adjudicators would probably get involved too. We need to conceal you from any tracking magic they might use so Papa created a charm that temporarily binds your spirit with that of one of the lower ranking Loa. It'll only last a few days, but during that time it will block the effects of any spell used against you. While you wear it you will be undetectable by magic and anyone who runs a magical scan on you will only detect the voodoo spirit's presence."

  Having a security expert for a lover is a wonderful thing sometimes.

  "What about scientific scans?" I asked.

  "The charm won't affect those, but that sort of tech is rare in the city, so you should be safe enough."

  "What about my scent?" I asked. There are any number of creatures in Nekropolis with enhanced senses – vampire and lykes chief among them. They'd be able to smell that I was a zombie.

  Tavi was sitting behind us and he leaned forward to answer my question.

  "Since you're now fresh your scent has only the vaguest hint of decay to it. Bloodborn have a somewhat similar scent so if you remain close to Devona you shouldn't arouse any suspicion."

  Tavi was a lyke so I figured that his advice was sound.

  "Looks like you've covered most of the bases," I said to Devona. "I can't be tracked by magic and for the most part I look and smell human again. Now all I need is a disguise."

  "I've got that covered, too." She reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a black great coat with a double row of ivory buttons down the front. She thrust it at me. "Put it on."

  As I donned the coat she pulled a large black hat out of the duffle. It was flattened a bit and she quickly reshaped it and plopped it on my head.

  "There! Just the thing for an escaped convict on the run," she said.

  She said this lightly, trying to make a joke of it, but for the first time I realized that I was a criminal now. I might have been sentenced to Tenebrus for a crime I hadn't committed but I had chosen to escape the prison. I'd rationalized my act by telling myself that I hadn't had a real trial, let alone a formal one, and the only way I could hope to clear my name was if I was free to investigate the theft of Lord Edrigu's bone flute by myself. And while both of those things might be true it was also true that I'd broken the law. I was used to bending the law in my line of work, and when I did, I always told myself that it was necessary to get the job done and that I was doing it to find some measure of justice for my clients. But this time I hadn't just bent a law – I'd shattered it, and I'd done so for myself and no one else. I was still trying to right a wrong, so that hadn't changed, but somehow that didn't help me feel any better.

  The great coat fit well, and while it was a little too stylishly neo-noir for my tastes, I had to admit it looked kind of snazzy.

  "This is nice," I told Devona. "Where did you get it?"

  Bogdan answered instead. "It's just something I had hanging around in my closet, but I'm glad you like it, Matt."

  Great. Not only was I an escaped criminal, I was going on the run wearing one of Bogdan's hand –me downs. This day just kept going from bad to worse.

  At least now I understood why Devona had dyed her hair and changed her own outfit: to disguise herself as well. She and I were too recognizable as a couple around the city, especially in the Sprawl, where we lived and worked.

  "Thanks for everything," I told her, sounding less than thrilled. "Looks like I'm all set."

  She frowned then, looking at me as if trying to read my thoughts, though if she'd really been trying, I'd have felt her probing my mind.

  What was my problem? I should've been grateful for Devona's preparations, and I suppose on one level I was, but I was also upset about them, though I wasn't sure why. I decided to chalk up my mixed feelings to stress. After all, I'd experienced more than my fair share lately and I told myself not to worry about it.

  One thing I was worried about was the price Devona had paid to the Dominari for their help. I was dying to ask her, but I didn't want to do so in front of her employees. I had no idea whether they'd been privy to her negotiations with the vermen – though knowing my love, I guess she'd negotiated in private – and I didn't want to put Devona on the spot by asking her for details right then. I decided to wait until we were alone.

  "So now what?" I said, thinking aloud. I hadn't really intended it as a question for anyone, but Devona answered anyway.

  "We can't go to any of your usual haunts –" she grinned at the joke – "so to speak. Once Keket reports your escape to Quillion, Sentinels from all over the city will be looking for you. That means we'll have to start out in the one place in Nekropolis you'd never set foot in."

  I didn't like where this was headed.

  "You don't mean–"

  Devona grinned wider.

  "Yep. Get ready, cowboy. We're heading to Westerna's."

ELEVEN

Devona and I sat at a corner table, too close to a speaker that was currently blaring "Achy Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus. On the dance floor rows of vampires along with a smattering of other creatures wearing country and western regalia line-danced to the less-than dulcet tones of Cyrus the Virus. It made me long for the earsplitting din of Scream Queen and Kakophonie. Like a lot of clubs in the Sprawl there were large Mind's Eye projectors hanging on the walls, transmitting images of Billy Ray cavorting around the stage as he sung. If I hadn't already been deceased I would've begged for God – any god – to strike me dead and put me out of my misery.

  I'd never set foot inside Westerna's before, but the place lived down to my expectations. The walls were red brick, the floor old stained wood and the round tables and chairs looked as if they'd been stolen off a set of an old Western movie. Almost everyone here – patrons as well as servers – dressed like they'd just arrived from Nashville. It was like
Urban Cowboy
meets
Mad Monster Party
. Luckily not every customer was done up in C&W drag, so Devona and I didn't stand out too much.

  Like Sinsation, Westerna's had a Victor Baron built doorman, this one looking something like a greenish skinned John Wayne with scars crisscrossing his flesh. He'd even greeted us with, "Howdy, Pilgrims," as we'd entered. Our server was a Bloodborn woman with a mound of bleach blonde hair and a Dolly Partonsized chest who insisted on calling us "Hon" and "Sugar." I'll leave you to guess which was which. We both ordered mugs of aqua sanguis and Countess Dolly brought them over right away, giving us a smile and a saucy wink as she departed.

  "Don't get any ideas," Devona warned as she took a sip of synthetic blood.

  "I won't," I assured her. "Breasts like that are dangerous. I might lose an eye or something. Besides, how do you know she was winking at
me
? She might've been flirting with you."

  Devona frowned and I immediately regretted my comment.

  "Are you going to start being jealous of everyone we meet from now on?"

  "Sorry. It was just a joke." I raised my mug to my lips and pretended to drink. I can ingest liquid and food when I want, but since I can't digest it, I eventually have to throw it up, otherwise it'll spoil inside my stomach and the resultant bacteria would begin feeding on my insides – not to mention the horrendous smell it would produce. So I avoided eating and drinking unless I absolutely had to. Since I looked fairly fresh, was dressed in black, and was in the company of a half-vampire, Devona and I had decided it would be best for me to try to pass as one of the Bloodborn, hence my ordering aqua sanguis. But I wasn't going to actually drink it unless it became necessary to maintain my disguise.

  The Dominari tram had brought us to a point beneath the Sprawl and we'd emerged in a warehouse owned by the vermen only a few blocks from Westerna's. It was there that we parted ways with Bogdan, Tavi and Scorch. The members of the Midnight Watch wanted to help me clear my name, but while I appreciated the gesture, I refused to accept their assistance. For one thing I was in a Lycanthropus Rex sized pile of trouble and I didn't want to drag the others into it anymore than they already were. And to be practical the more people Devona and I had tagging along the greater the odds that we'd be recognized. Devona and the Midnight Watch had been making a name for themselves over the last couple months, and while her employees weren't exactly household names throughout the city, they were well enough known – especially in the Sprawl – that their presence was a risk we couldn't afford. They were disappointed but they understood and they wished me luck as Devona and I left the warehouse and headed for Westerna's.

  We sat there for a bit, sipping our drinks and watching people make fools of themselves on the dance floor, and eventually I decided that this would be a good time to broach the subject of Devona's deal with the Dominari. I decided to be subtle about it.

  "So… what did you have to give the Dominari in exchange for their help?"

  OK, so I stink at subtle. But I was concerned about the price Devona had been forced to pay – what it might mean for her… and for us.

  She gazed straight ahead and answered in a toneless voice. "I had to swear eternal allegiance to them and become one of their operatives."

  If I'd had a working heart it would've skipped a beat right then, but she turned to me with a grin and punched me on the shoulder.

  "Gotcha! You should see the look on your face!"

  "Very funny."

  Over the months since we'd gotten together Devona's sense of humor had developed a cruel streak. I think I've been a corrupting influence on her.

  "Seriously," she said, "they only wanted information."

  "That's all?" I was suspicious. The Dominari had gone to a lot of trouble to assist in my jail break – including probably damaging their working relationship with Keket. I couldn't imagine them doing so without significant compensation in return.

  Devona looked down at the tabletop then and I knew whatever she'd done to help me it was serious. The only time she has trouble meeting my gaze is when she's feeling guilty.

  "They wanted me to provide details of the Cathedral's security set up – which I did. At least, as much as I was able to. I was only the curator of my father's collection and not actually part of his security staff. Still, the Dominari were satisfied with the information I was able to provide."

  If I told you I was shocked that would only begin to describe how I felt right then. Despite the fact that Devona had helped me stop Lord Galm's Dawnstone from being used to destroy the city, the Lord of the Bloodborn had cast his half human daughter out of his home, making it clear that, as far as he was concerned, they were no longer father and daughter. Nevertheless Devona still cared for Galm – you can't exactly love a Darklord, even when you're related to him – and I couldn't imagine her betraying him like this, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it.