The Nekropolis Archives (9 page)

  Once the cab had settled into a groove, Lazlo responded to my question. "I hear lots of things, Matt. Rumor has it that the Conglomeration tried to absorb one too many bodies and ended up in the Fever House, where it's being treated for separation anxiety. I also heard there was a riot at Sinsation last night when they ran out of aqua sanguis and tried to replace it by draining water out of the toilet tanks and adding red food coloring."

  "Fascinating," I said, "but I was thinking more along the lines of crime-related activity. For example, hear about any big thefts recently?"

  Devona frowned, but she didn't object to my asking.

  "Big thefts? How big?"

  "Big. We're talking about an object of power, Lazlo. A lot of power."

  "Can't say as I have, Matt. But I'll keep my ear to the ground."

  "Just so long as you keep your wheels on the ground, Lazlo."

  The demon guffawed as turned on the cab's radio and turned it to Bedlam 66.6, the most popular station in the city.

  A song ended and the DJ's fake-enthusiastic voice came through the cab's tinny speakers. "That was the latest from Midnight Syndicate's new album,
The Dead Matter
. Happy Descension Day, Nekropolis! Eat, drink, and be scary! And now, by request, let's give a listen to the music of Erich Zann."

  Unearthly sounds that bore only the faintest resemblance to music filtered forth from the speakers, and Lazlo hummed along in voice that sounded like a rabid weasel slitting its own throat. The demon kept the gas pedal jammed to the floor as he continued the insane kamikaze death-race he called driving, and Devona and I held on for dear life, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Once we crossed the Bridge of Nine Sorrows and entered Gothtown, Lazlo pulled off the Obsidian Way, and we drove through the Dominion's narrow streets. I really could've done without the cobblestones, though, especially at the speed at which Lazlo drove over them. Before long, even my dead kidneys were starting to ache from the abuse.

  The Sprawl is to Nekropolis what the French Quarter is to New Orleans – which is exactly the way Lady Varvara likes it – and thus the majority of the Descension celebration was taking place there. But that didn't mean Gothtown was deserted. Lazlo passed a number of horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping along, as well as midnight-black stretch limos silently cruising the streets, all likely bearing their occupants to various private parties. The older vampires tend to keep to themselves and their Dominion; it's the younger ones who seek out the more decadent lifestyle offered by the Sprawl.

  Gothtown itself lives up to its name: every street looks like a set-piece for an old Universal horror flick, buildings of gray stone sporting arches, spikes, towers, turrets, and gargoyles. Gothtown is the cultural, historical, and artistic center of the city, which only makes sense given how long the Bloodborn live. They prefer anything of a classical nature, meaning anything as old as they are. The best art and historical museums, the grandest concert halls, and the most respected theatre district in the city are all located here. And while the elder Bloodborn tend to look down their undead noses at other species in general, they admire nonvampires who display high intelligence or exceptional artistic skill, so it's not uncommon to find a demon painter with a Bloodborn patron living in Gothtown, or a mixed-species orchestra performing in one of the concert halls. Nekropolis's hospital, the Fever House, where the poor Conglomeration was evidently at that very moment missing out on all the Descension fun, is also located in Gothtown. The Bloodborn aren't particularly known for their mercy, but they do have an ancient tradition of keeping blood – both theirs and that of their food supply – pure, hence their highly developed knowledge of medicine.

  We kept driving for a time and finally the Cathedral hove into view. I asked Lazlo to let us off a couple blocks away.

  "Will do, Matt."

  Lazlo slowed and actually came to a stop without slamming on the brakes and fishtailing for a half dozen yards as he usually does. Maybe his driving skills were beginning to improve. Or maybe he figured we'd suffered enough for one ride and decided to take pity on us. Whichever, he stopped and we got out. Being dead, I guess my sense of balance was less affected by the tumultuous ride than Devona's. As soon as her feet touched the cobblestones, her knees buckled under her. She would've fallen if I hadn't managed to catch her in time.

  I helped her stand, and she nodded to indicate she was okay. I wasn't so certain, but I took my hands away. She stood a trifle unsteadily, but she stood.

  She turned to Lazlo. "How much do we owe you?"

  The demon's fur turned crimson, and his cab began to growl beneath the hood. "Owe me?" he said, as if grievously insulted. "Lady, Matthew Richter and his friends never have to pay to ride in my cab – not after what he did for me!" And then with a wave and a wink of one bulbous bloodshot eye, he roared off to endanger lives elsewhere in the city.

  "What did he mean by that?" Devona asked.

  "I've done favors for other people besides you. But I don't think Lazlo would appreciate me discussing the particulars."

  She scowled. "You didn't seem too reluctant to discuss my problem when you were asking him questions. 'Hear about any big thefts recently?' I told you I don't want anyone to find out what's happened – especially Lord Galm."

  "One of the things I hated the most when I was alive was people trying to tell me how to do my job. And that hasn't changed now that I'm dead. You want me to find the Dawnstone? Then I'm going to have to ask questions. And you'll just have to trust me to do so as discretely as possible. You don't have to worry about Lazlo. He won't say anything; he's good people, even if he is a demon."

  She looked like she was going to say something, but then thought better about it. "All right. I'm sorry I questioned you. Now let's go."

  We started walking toward the Cathedral.

  "By the way," Devona asked, "how did Lazlo know to come get us?"

  "I have no idea. Sometimes he just shows up when I need him."

  "That's odd," she said.

  I laughed. "You're a half-human vampire who's asked a zombie ex-cop to help you track down a stolen magic crystal – and you think Lazlo's odd?"

  She smiled. "You've got a point."

  We walked to the end of the street, turned the corner, and before us lay the Cathedral, the seat of Lord Galm's power. I've never been to Europe, but I've seen pictures of the great Gothic cathedrals. But this place made them all look like tarpaper shacks. It rose four, maybe five hundred feet into the sky (Umbriel's strange shadowlight sometimes makes it hard to judge distances correctly). I'd never been this close before, and if I still breathed, the sheer insane scope of the structure would have taken my breath away. If I hadn't known this was Galm's home, I wouldn't have been surprised to discover the name "Jehovah" stenciled on the mailbox.

  A number of carriages, and one or two limos, were lined up outside the Cathedral. Handsome men and beautiful women with chalk-white skin were disembarking and entering through the vast entranceway between twin black oak doors at least fifty feet tall. The Bloodborn's clothing represented numerous eras in Earth's history: ancient Rome and Greece, Elizabethan England, medieval France, colonial America, the Aztec and Mayan Empires, feudal Japan, and many more time periods, cultures, and countries that I didn't recognize. I was impressed despite myself.

  "Lord Galm always hosts a reception for the elite of the Bloodborn before the Renewal Ceremony," Devona said. "A number of dignitaries even return from Earth to attend."

  "There are still vampires on Earth? I thought all the Darkfolk, vampires included, had migrated to Nekropolis."

  "Most did. But some remained behind, hidden, to look after the Lords' interests on Earth – and to keep trade routes open."

  That explained how so much modern technology had found its way to Nekropolis. Even across dimensions, the law of supply and demand still held sway.

  I felt a pang at the thought of the dimensional portal housed within the Cathedral. Each Darklord had one; I had entered Nekropolis through Lady Varvara's. But any one of them would return me to Earth, if not to my hometown of Cleveland. But they wouldn't do me any good now that I was dead.

  I had heard of the Renewal Ceremony before, of course, but I didn't know much about it. But I had more immediate concerns right then. "Maybe this isn't the best time to examine the Collection. Things look awfully busy right now."

  "No, it's the perfect time. Everyone is so caught up in the reception that no one will notice us."

  "I don't think too many zombies received engraved invitations to Lord Galm's party."

  "There'll be quite a few humans there as well. Ones who are… drawn to the Bloodborn."

  "I know what you mean. Shadows." Vampire groupies who get their rocks off by having their blood drained, or who hope to form a relationship with a vampire and become one of the Bloodborn. Or both. They're called Shadows because they stick close to whichever vampire claims them – and because over time the cumulative blood loss makes them thin, pale shadows of their former selves.

  "If anyone takes note of your pallor, and the way you walk, they'll just think you're another Shadow." She smiled, almost shyly. "My Shadow."

  I frowned. "What's wrong with the way I walk?"

  "Never mind." She took my elbow, the strength of her grip surprising me even though it shouldn't have, and led me across the cobblestone street toward the Cathedral. I tried very hard not to feel self-conscious about my slightly stiff-legged zombie gait.

  A crimson carpet, appropriately enough, had been laid out for the occasion, and we walked across it, up the steps, and toward the open doorway. Above the entrance perched a clutch of snarling stone gargoyles, and as we came closer, I could have sworn that one of them moved the slightest bit. I tried to tell myself that it was my imagination, but I wasn't very convincing.

  Whether they were just statues or something else, the gargoyles remained motionless after that, and then we were in.

  Before us stretched a long stone corridor with torches burning in wall sconces. The flames were green-tinted – the same fire as that which burned in Phlegethon? I didn't know. But whatever the nature of the flame, it produced no smoke. No heat, either, as near as my dead nerves could tell. Still, I didn't want to get too close. No sense taking a chance on becoming zombie barbecue.

  "We'll just take the corridor to the ballroom, and then keep on going," Devona whispered.

  I nodded slightly. We were on her turf; all I could do was follow her lead.

  As we continued, the mingled sounds of merriment – tinkling glasses, the buzz of conversation punctuated by an occasional burst of laughter, the soft lyrical sound of a string quartet – grew louder. The couple before us, who were garbed in Roman togas as white as their alabaster skin, were greeted enthusiastically at the ballroom entrance by a large burly vampire dressed like a Scottish highlander.

  The highlander said something I didn't catch, and the three of them broke into peals of laughter. But their merriment had a dark edge to it, and I was glad I hadn't overheard what had sparked it.

  We reached the ballroom and kept going, passing the Romans and the highlander, who were still chuckling over whatever black joke had amused them. And although I shouldn't have done it, was risking drawing attention to ourselves – or specifically to my non-vampiric, non-human, not-invited-to-the-party self – I couldn't resist taking a quick look into the ballroom. What can I say? A curious nature was one of the things which led me to become a cop in the first place.

  The ballroom was gigantic, four stories high at least. The floor and walls were completely covered by a smooth, mirrored surface that reflected the greenish light from the wall sconces, a scattering of people whom I took to be human, and nothing else – despite the fact that the room was packed with men and woman garbed in all manner of historical dress. Among those whose reflections were visible, however, were strolling human musicians who wandered through the room, along with equally mortal singers, comedians, jugglers, acrobats, and stage magicians. When the humans' performances met with the Bloodborn's approval, they received polite applause, and if the vampires were particularly amused, they might slip a performer a few darkgems as well. But when the performers didn't quite measure up… well, the humans had more to offer than their meager talents, and the Bloodborn weren't shy about taking their entertainment in liquid form.

  I tried to catch a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror, but there was so many people milling about I couldn't. I did, however, see a hazy ghost image of a petite blonde for just a moment. Devona was half human. It only made sense she would cast half a reflection.

  But as impressive as the gathering of Bloodborn royalty was in and of itself, one thing was more impressive still. In the center of the room stood a great marble fountain, and bubbling forth from it a thick shower of reddish-black liquid. I told myself the viscous fluid couldn't really be what it seemed; that it was either aqua sanguis, the synthetic blood substitute produced in the Sprawl, or a decorative effect of some sort achieved through Lord Galm's dark arts. I almost believed it, too.

  And then Devona and I were past the ballroom and continuing down the corridor.

  "I don't think anyone noticed us," Devona said, relieved.

  "I hope you're right."

  After a few dozen more feet we came to a winding stone staircase. Devona removed a torch from a sconce on the wall and started up the stairs. I held back a little. Maybe the torch wasn't lit with real fire, but zombie-flesh is dry, bloodless, and very flammable. I wasn't about to take any chances.

  Devona led the way up: two, four, seven floors. I don't tire as I did when alive, but just to break the silence, I said, "I wonder if Lord Galm has ever considered installing an elevator."