The Nekropolis Archives

by Tim Waggoner

  Bogdan was an irritatingly handsome warlock in his late thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, with red hair and beard with just a hint of gray. A sharp dresser, he always wore a stylish outfit of one kind or another, and today he had on a suit made of spidermesh that hugged his fit body like spandex. I think spidermesh looks silly on most people, but I had to admit he made it work, damn him.

  I should probably mention that he has a crush on Devona too. At least, that's what I – the trained detective – think. Devona says I'm a jealous idiot and it's just my imagination. I admit that Bogdan's never come out and hit on Devona, but I think he's just biding his time.

  Devona turned to Scorch. "Well?" she demanded.

  Scorch appeared to be a slender teenage girl with a long blonde ponytail that stretched down to the middle of her back. She usually dressed garishly, and today she wore a Black Flag concert T-shirt cut to expose her bare midriff, along with a mini-miniskirt over a pair of hot pink tights and ultra-high heels. If I hadn't already known she was a supernatural creature, the shoes would've given it away. There's no way a human woman could've successfully maintained her balance on such ridiculous footwear.

  Scorch's skin is usually the typically light color of blondes, but at the moment it had a reddish cast to it, and though I couldn't feel it, I knew waves of heat were rolling off her. She was a fire demon, and when she got angry, she literally got hot under the collar, or in her case, under the cut-off T-shirt.

  "We were talking about Talaith's unprovoked attack on the Sprawl–" Scorch began.

  Bogdan cut in before she could finish. "Hardly unprovoked. Rumor has it that there's evidence Varvara is somehow involved in the recent disappearances of magic-users. While I admit that Talaith was a bit… overzealous in her response, I wouldn't say–"

  "Overzealous!" Scorch's skin darkened a couple shades and patches of scale began to appear. Her girlishly thin limbs swelled a couple sizes, her neck thickened, and a pair of stubby horns protruded from her forehead. Scorch's other form was that of a classical fire demon – big, scaly, powerfully muscled, horned, fanged, clawed, with a long tail that ended in an arrow-tipped point. She only assumed her full demonic aspect when she intended to wreak some serious havoc, and the fact that her change was beginning was not a good sign that she was going to be calming down anytime soon. "Talaith had the Weyward Sisters destroy both bridges! And without so much as a warning! That sounds more than a 'bit overzealous' to me! It sounds like Talaith is looking to start a war, and if that's what the bitch-witch wants, that's what we Demonkin will give her!" Scorch paused ominously, her eyes turning a very disturbing crimson. "That's what we'll give all of you Arcane!"

  Bogdan glared at her and clutched his mystic medallion tighter, but he didn't start slinging spells just yet.

  Tavi looked at Devona. "I am so glad you're here!" he said. "The two of them have been going at it like this for twenty minutes now. I tried to settle them down, but they wouldn't listen to me."

  Tavi was an East Indian man, lean and wiry, wearing a tan Nehru jacket and matching pants. At least, that was his current form. Like Scorch he was a shapeshifter, but he wasn't a demon. He was a lyke, and as such he could assume a wildform whenever he wished, and given the way he was eyeing Bogdan and Scorch with increasing alarm, I figured he'd been on the verge of transforming in order to protect himself when we'd walked in.

  I looked at Varney and Shamika. Varney was grinning like a kid on Descension Day, no doubt recording every second of Bogdan and Scorch's fight for his documentary. Shamika looked at the two of them with curiosity but no alarm. I didn't know if she'd spent all her life in Nekropolis or if she was an immigrant like me, but I chalked up her lack of fear to living in a city where the denizens are just as likely to go at each other's throats as they are to say hello. Nekropolitans are used to sudden outbreaks of violence in the same way that people who live in rainy climates come to expect periodic cloudbursts.

  "They're not always like this," I assured her.

  She looked at me skeptically, but didn't say anything.

  "The two of you need to sit down, cool off, and discuss this like adults!" Devona said in a you'll-listen-to-me-if-you-know-what'sgood-for-you voice. A tone that like would serve her in good stead as a mother, I thought. Hell, I practically took a seat on the couch, and she wasn't even yelling at me.

  Bogdan smirked at Scorch, whose skin had turned scaly and a deep crimson; her horns had become far more pronounced, though she still appeared partially human.

  He said, "I have a feeling I'll have an easier time cooling down than she will."

  An angry bellow burst from Scorch's throat, the sound deep and savage, like something a jungle animal might make. She raised her right hand palm upward and materialized a ball of fire in it. I knew we had only a split second before she hurled it at Bogdan, prompting him to defend himself magically, and then the fighting would begin in earnest. I decided I'd stood by long enough.

  "Rover!" I called out to the air.

  A sudden gust of wind blew through the great room, extinguishing Scorch's fireball. But the wind didn't stop there. It increased in intensity, centering on Bogdan and Scorch, swirling around them like a mini cyclone. The wind whipped their hair around and tore at their clothes as it lifted them off the floor and held them suspended several feet in the air.

  I shouted to make sure they could hear me over the roaring wind. "Are you two going to cut it the hell out, or should I tell Rover to start spinning you around?"

  Both Bogdan and Scorch yelled various rude phrases at me, but eventually they acquiesced, and I commanded Rover to put them down. I should've been a bit more specific about how, I suppose, because the wind abruptly ceased, unceremoniously dumping both Bogdan and Scorch onto their backsides. Oh well. Maybe it would knock some sense into them, I thought.

  A gentle breeze ruffled my hair, and I reached up to trail my fingers through the air as a way of petting Rover. "Good boy," I said.

  Shamika looked up at the air with a frown. "What is that?"

  "Rover is a sentient security spell created by the warlock who originally owned the Midnight Watch," I told her. "Devona inherited him when she bought the place. He's kind of like our pet, I suppose." A deadly pet who had killed everyone who'd tried to purchase the Midnight Watch for years until we came along, but I figured there was no point in telling Shamika that. Once Rover understood that we meant no harm to him or the business his creator had established, he'd curbed his murderous tendencies and had been well behaved ever since.

  Shamika continued staring into the air as if she could see Rover. Who knows? I thought. Since she was a magic-user, maybe she could. "Interesting," was all she said.

  Bogdan and Scorch – the latter looking once more like an ordinary teenage girl – both got up off the floor, took seats on the opposite ends of the couch, and pointedly avoided looking at one another.

  "Sorry," Scorch muttered grudgingly.

  "As am I," Bogdan said with stiff dignity.

  "There," I said. "Was that so hard?"

  In answer, they just glared at me.

  Tavi looked relieved, Devona looked like she was trying very hard not to smile, and Varney looked as if I'd just pooped on his parade. I'm sure he was disappointed that I'd robbed him of some great hand-to-hand combat footage.

  "Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to Shamika," I said. "She's Papa Chatha's niece, and it looks like Papa may be among the missing magic-users."

  Despite the fact that Bogdan and Scorch had been ready to kill each other only a few moments ago, they were professionals, and they – along with Tavi – listened with full attention as I told them about our witnessing the attack on the Bridge of Nine Sorrows and our visit to Papa's home – omitting the visit by Dis, of course.

  When I was finished, Scorch started to say something, but I held up a hand to stop her. "I'd rather not discuss the destruction of the bridge right now. I want to focus on Papa's disappearance."

  Scorch scowled, but she
nodded and kept whatever she'd been about to say to herself. While any citizen of Nekropolis is technically free to live in any of the five Dominions, the Darkfolk tend to stay in whichever one the Darklord of their species rules. Thus Bloodborn tend to live in Gothtown, the Arcane in Glamere, lykes in the Wyldwood, and the Dead in the Boneyard. Since Varvara rules the Sprawl, the Demonkin live there, but since the Demon Queen believes the bigger the party the better, she encourages anyone and everyone to come play in the Sprawl and, if they wish, to live there. And as a result, the Sprawl is by the far the most cosmopolitan and diverse Dominion in the city. But those of us who live here and aren't of the diabolic persuasion forget that the Demonkin view the Sprawl as their home and see the rest of us as guests. Scorch was angry because she saw the destruction of the two bridges as an insult to her people and their Darklord, and I had no doubt the rest of her demonic brothers and sisters felt the same way. I wondered how many more scenes like the one I'd just witnessed between Scorch and Bogdan were playing themselves out in the businesses and streets of the Sprawl right now. Angry demons confronting equally angry witches and warlocks, all of them far too eager to settle their disputes with blood. The Sprawl was dangerous enough at the best of times, but I had a bad feeling it was swiftly going to get a hell of a lot worse out there if someone didn't find out who was behind the disappearances of the magic-users – and soon. And unfortunately for me, I'd been elected to be that someone.

  Thanks a lot, Dis, I thought to myself.

  "But you don't have any actual evidence that Papa was abducted," Bogdan pointed out.

  "As far as we know right now, there's no evidence that any of the missing magic-users were abducted," I said. "All we know is that they're gone."

  Bogdan opened his mouth as if to contradict me, then he frowned. "I suppose you're right." He glanced at Scorch, she looked back at him, and I could see the last of their anger at each other drain away.

  "That's not to say there isn't any evidence," Devona pointed out. "Presumably Talaith believes she has some, or else she wouldn't have attacked."

  "Maybe," I said. "But Talaith's nuts. It wouldn't take much to prompt her to order an attack. A vague suspicion or whispered rumor could easily have been enough to set her off."

  Again, Bogdan looked as if he might say something, but he didn't. The Arcane might be loyal to their Darklord, but I haven't met one yet who didn't understand that Talaith could be, as Bogdan himself had put it a while ago, overzealous at times. Instead, the warlock shifted back to professional mode.

  "Since we don't have any evidence at our disposal, I suppose we should try to get some," he said. "I could attempt to cast a spell to locate Papa Chatha."

  "Which is why we came here," I told him.

  "And you've probably already come to the conclusion that if Papa has experienced the same fate as the other missing Arcane, I likely won't be able to find him. Because if it were that simple, someone else would've tracked down the missing people by now."

  "Yes," Devona said, "but if Papa's missing for a different reason…"

  Bogdan nodded. "Then with any luck, I'll be able to find out, and hopefully locate him in the bargain." He stood up, clapped his hands together, and rubbed them briskly. "I'll need something of Papa's to help me work the spell, or at least something related to him." He looked at Shamika. "Actually, you might work best since you're literally related to him. Would you be willing to help? I assure you, you'll be perfectly safe and suffer no ill effects."

  A look of panic came into Shamika's eyes, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared. "I'll be glad to help in any way I can, but I think Mr Richter would be a better choice. Uncle has cast many spells on him over the years, leaving traces of his personal aura behind. I would think you could use that to make a more effective connection."

  Bogdan looked at her blankly for a moment, then grinned. "That's a brilliant idea! You might have a genetic link to Papa, but Matt has a mystical one, and magic is what we need most right now. I'm impressed. You don't usually find such a high level of thaumaturgical thinking in someone so young."

  Shamika looked uncomfortable, and I figured Bogdan's comment had embarrassed her.

  "What's wrong, Bogdan?" I said. "Surprised that you got outthought by a kid?"

  He gave me a look that said I wasn't half as funny as I thought I was. "Let's go into another room. The spell will be more effective if the two of us are alone when I cast it." He glanced at Varney. "And before you ask, when I say just Matt and me, I mean it."

  "Bummer," Varney muttered, but he stayed where he was.

  "Come on, Matt," Bogdan said. "Let's go."

  I turned to Shamika. "Hopefully, this won't take long, and with any luck, we'll get some information that will lead us to Papa."

  "Maybe," she said, but didn't sound confident, and I didn't blame her. Still, I didn't want to discourage her, so I gave her a parting smile before turning to Devona.

  Don't worry, she thought to me. I'll look after her while you're gone.

  I nodded, and then followed Bogdan out of the great room.

  Bogdan and I went into Devona's office, where it took him only ten minutes to cast his spell. He gripped his medallion, chanted words in a language I didn't recognize, and made a series of mystical gestures in the air with his free hand. But in the end, the result came as no surprise.

  "Sorry, Matt," Bogdan said. "I'm unable to locate any trace of Papa at all."

  I'd had plenty of time to think while Bogdan had been working his magic, and I asked him about one of the things that had occurred to me. "Is it possible that Papa is using his own magic to hide himself from tracking spells?" I knew he was capable of it, since he'd done the same for me not long ago when Quillion had put a price on my head and every bounty hunter in the city had been hunting me.

  "Normally, I'd say yes," Bogdan said. "But Shamika was right. Papa's put a lot of work into you over the years, and because of this the two of you have a strong mystical connection to each other. That connection should allow me to locate him even if he is attempting to hide. Even if he were dead, I would be able to locate his corpse. But as I said, I can detect no trace of him. Something is preventing Papa from being tracked magically – something powerful."

  I might not be Bogdan's biggest fan, but he's a highly skilled warlock, and I took him at his word.

  We left Devona's office and headed back to the great room. Someone had brought in a portable Mind's Eye set and put it on the floor in front of the couch. Everyone had gathered around it, and they were all grinning and laughing.

  "What are you watching?" I asked as Bogdan and I entered.

  Varney turned to me. "While you were gone, my producer transmitted some finished footage of the documentary to me, and I'm playing it for everyone."

  "You can do that?" I'd had no idea Varney could receive information transmitted directly to him, and then turn around and transmit it to a nearby Mind's Eye set.

  Devona had saved a seat for me on the couch, and she patted it, indicating I should join the group. From the amused way everyone was looking at me, I already had a bad feeling before I sat down, but once I did and mentally tuned into the Mind's Eye transmission, I realized things were far worse than I could've imagined.

  I saw an image of a shadowy alley, and the silhouette of a man walking down it, away from the camera. A voiceover accompanied the footage – my voice, but they were words I'd never spoken.

  "It was dark, even for Nekropolis. The shadows in the alley were as cold and unfeeling as my undead flesh, and though I moved among them like a creature born to darkness, they gave me no comfort. The shadows might be where I belonged now, but they'd never be home.

  "I was searching for Argus of the Thousand Eyes, a small-time criminal who worked the streets of Ruination Row, one of the most squalid neighborhoods in the Sprawl. The sidewalks there are caked with filth, the gutters slick with blood, and the air heavy with despair and suffering. On Ruination Row, a visitor's life expectancy can be meas
ured in mere moments, but that didn't scare me because I was already dead."

  "Oh my God," I said, but everyone shushed me and the travesty continued.

  "Counterfeit darkgems had been appearing on the streets of the Sprawl over the last few weeks, and I'd been hired by the Dread Exchequer to discover the source of the faux darkgems. Argus had a thing for highlander ale – made with real Scotsmen – and rumor had it that he'd been paying his extensive bar tabs with the phony darkgems. I'd encountered him a few times before, and I knew he was the type to cave under pressure. All I had to do was find him and after a brief but painful conversation – painful for him, anyway – he'd tell me what I needed to know. Of course, by the time I was finished with him, he might have to change his name to Argus of the Rather Less Than a Thousand Eyes, but that was OK. It wasn't as if he couldn't spare a few dozen.

  "I stepped out of the alley and nearly bumped into a human woman wearing a tight red dress with a bodice so low and a hemline so high she might as well have been walking around naked. She was a beautiful brunette with long hair that spilled over her shoulders and framed her more than ample breasts. No rail-thin model type she. She was luscious, just this side of Rubenesque, and I felt hunger begin to rise. My needs weren't sexual, though. My hunger was literal. I wanted nothing more than to sink my teeth into her succulent flesh and tear off sweet bloody chunks of meat. Without realizing it, I took a step toward her, my hands raised, ready to reach out and snatch hold of her. But though it took every ounce of self-control I possessed, I fought my hunger down and slowly lowered my hands.