Dark War

by Tim Waggoner

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

  Do you think Papa's disappeared like those other magic-users who've vanished?

  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 magicuser 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, You 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.

  "I don't suppose this job comes with a fee attached?" I said hopefully.

  "Just my undying gratitude," Dis said, giving me that movie-star smile of his.

  "That's what I was afraid of." I sighed. "All right, but tell me this: is Papa's disappearance linked to that of the other magic-users?"

  Dis just looked at me, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he simply said, "Yes."

  I nodded. "Then I'll take the case. Is there anything else you can tell me before I get started?"

  "Just good luck."

  And then Dis turned, stepped back into a pool of shadows that had gathered in one corner of the room, and vanished.

  "Thanks a lot," I muttered.

  "Thanks for what?" Devona said, frowning.

  She was moving again, as were Varney and Shamika.

  "Nothing. Just thinking out loud." I wanted to tell Devona about the visit from Dis, but I didn't feel comfortable doing so in front of Varney and Shamika. I considered filling Devona in telepathically, but the others would see the two of us staring silently at one another and wonder what was going on. I decided I'd tell her later. I knew Dis wanted me to keep his visit secret, and I would, but not from Devona. She was my… well, my partner, and I wasn't going to keep any secrets from her, even if a god wanted me to.

  Devona gave me a strange look, but she didn't press any further. Instead, she said, "So what's our next move?"

  "I think we should head on over to the Midnight Watch. Maybe Bogdan will be able to cast some kind of tracking spell that will allow us to locate Papa Chatha." I knew it wouldn't be that simple, though. The Adjudicators had access to the best magic and technology available in the city, and if they hadn't been able to track down the missing magic-users, I doubted the Midnight Watch's resident warlock would be able to. But since Bogdan was Arcane, he might have some insight into why someone would want to abduct magic-users in the first place. If nothing else, it was a place to start. Too bad I could barely stand to look at the sonofabitch, let alone talk to him.

  I turned to Shamika. "Why don't you come with us? Maybe you can help Bogdan." I had no idea how powerful or skilled a witch Shamika was, but I figured Papa was her uncle and she deserved to be included in the investigation – until it started to get dangerous anyway. And what could possibly be dangerous about going to the Midnight Watch?

  SEVEN

  "I'm going to tear your head off and use it for a bowling ball!"

  "Not before I transform you into something small and extremely squishable!"

  Devona, Varney, Shamika and I stood in the entrance to the great room of the Midnight Watch. Since Lazlo hadn't been available, we'd hired a skeletal rickshaw pulled by a long-limbed ghoul to get us here. Devona had renovated the great room not long ago, and it had all-new leather furniture, abstract holo art hanging on the walls, and an illusory fire flickering in a brazier set in the fireplace. The mystic fire produced light but no heat, which was great for me since I tend to get a little on the dry and flammable side when my preservative spells start to wear off.

  Devona's three employees were there: Tavi stood next to the fireplace, keeping his distance from Bogdan and Scorch, who from the look of things were less than pleased with one another. The two faced each other in front of the large black leather couch, hands balled into fists, jaws jutting forward pugnaciously, looking for all the world like a pair of bickering children.

  Despite the fact that it sounded as if Bogdan and Scorch might soon come to blows – or more likely, because of it – Devona strode into the room, looking pretty angry herself. I almost asked her to hang back just in case a fight really did break out, but I managed to keep quiet. I told myself no matter how upset Bogdan and Scorch were, they wouldn't hurt Devona, and I believed it. More or less.

  "What the hell are you two doing?" she demanded.

  Bogdan answered Devona without taking his eyes off Scorch. "She started it!" His right hand touched the golden medallion that hung from his neck, and I knew he was prepared to cast a spell – in all likelihood, an appallingly nasty one – on Scorch if she so much as made a move toward him.

  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 cutoff 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's-good-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.