Dark War

by Tim Waggoner

  "You're scared, aren't you?" I said gently.

  At first I thought he might deny it, but then he sighed and cast his gaze downward as if ashamed. "Yes. I'm middle-aged as Bloodborn go, but that means I've lived many centuries, and I remember life on Earth: the vampire hunters with their holy symbols always chasing us, searching for our sleeping places by daylight, and once they found us, loudly chanting prayers as they hammered sharpened stakes into our hearts…" He looked up then. "How do you know they won't simply kill us the moment they set eyes on us?"

  Shamika walked over and took Varney's hand and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

  Varney looked into the face of the being who only appeared to be a teenage girl, and he couldn't help but return her smile.

  "Very well." He turned to me again. "And I suppose it is my duty, after all. Lord Galm charged me with protecting his daughter, and I must do everything in my power to fulfill that charge." He sighed again. "Even if I don't like it."

  And then he climbed through the open dryer door and was gone.

  "Me next!" Shamika said, and then climbed after him, giggling.

  I've done a lot of strange things during my time in Nekropolis, but I have to say that climbing into a dryer that housed a secret entrance to a clandestine religious organization ranks right up there with the strangest. But in I went, and just as Bennie said, there was an opening on the other side. Once through, I was able to stand, and I joined Varney and Shamika in a closed elevator. A panel slid shut over the opening we'd just come through, sealing us in. But the elevator showed no sign of moving.

  There was no control panel, so there were no buttons to push, and no intercom to speak into. There was no floor display atop the elevator door to indicate which level the elevator was stopped at or might go to. There was nothing but a door, three walls, a ceiling, a floor, and us.

  "Now what?" Varney said.

  In response, a woman's voice issued from a hidden speaker somewhere in the elevator.

  "Now you have thirty seconds to tell us why we shouldn't flood the elevator with toxic gas and melt the flesh from your bones."

  Varney gave me a look as if to say, I told you so. Shamika's only reaction was to look around to see if she could determine the speaker's location. I guess when you're part of a group mind, you don't really worry about losing part of your body any more than humans worry about sloughing off a few skin cells.

  "My wife has been kidnapped, there's an extremely stupid and unnecessary war going on, and Nekropolis and Earth are in danger of merging permanently," I said. "Basically, a lot of shit is broken and I intend to fix it. So let me in or let me go, but don't waste my time."

  For a moment nothing happened, but then with a slight jolt the elevator began to descend. It took a while for us to reach our destination. I half-expected the elevator to play a Muzak version of the "Hallelujah" chorus on our way down, but the ride was quiet. The House of Dark Delights has a number of subterranean levels, and I doubted the Hidden Light would have their headquarters located in any of them. Some religions have a more liberal attitude toward sex than others, but not that liberal, and I figured the Hidden Light was located on an even deeper level still. Eventually, we got where we were going, the elevator stopped, and a moment later the door slid slowly open.

  Bright light flooded the elevator, making it impossible to see, and Maggie – the woman who'd spoken to us in the elevator – shouted, "Keep your hands where we can see them!"

  I held up the stump of my right hand. "I've only got the one at the moment."

  Varney hissed as the light poured over us and he averted his face and held up his arm to block his eyes. Shamika stared directly into the light, eyes wide open, as if the intense illumination didn't bother her a bit. The light didn't hurt my dead eyes either, but it was annoying not to be able to see our welcoming committee.

  Another voice, this one male and slightly nervous, said, "We've got three nonhumans. One Bloodborn, one corporeal revenant, and one unknown. Our scanners can't read her, but whatever she is, she's definitely not human."

  "Corporeal revenant?" I said. "Is that what the cool kids are calling zombies these days?"

  A third voice, this one male but deeper and rougher, almost animalistic. "A word of warning: we've got you covered with weapons that will destroy any kind of Darkfolk. Make one move without our express instructions, and we'll fire."

  I get ornery when people try to tell me what to do. You can imagine how much fun I was for supervisors to deal with back when I was a cop.

  "Your nervous friend just admitted you don't know what Shamika is, so how can you be so confident your weapons will have any effect on her?" I asked.

  Maggie answered, "We could always start firing and see what happens."

  "I retract the question," I said.

  Maggie chuckled. "We're going to turn off the illuminaries, but I want you to remain inside the elevator until we tell you, OK?"

  "All right," I said, and a second later the light cut out.

  My zombie eyes don't need time to recover from exposure to bright light, and I was able to instantly see the three people standing outside the elevator: a middle-aged woman, a thin bespectacled man in his thirties, and a large armored creature who resembled a bipedal armadillo. They were all armed, and the woman and armadillo lowered devices that looked like high-tech guns whose barrels were covered with glass. I assumed those were the illuminaries, the weapons that had blasted us with light, and I wondered how I might be able to get hold of one for myself. There are a lot of Darkfolk who aren't especially fond of light, and a device like that would come in handy in my line of work.

  The man held some sort of scanning device in his other hand, while Maggie and the armadillo both held offensive weapons. The armadillo held a small crossbow armed with silver-tipped bolts, while Maggie held a gun that looked to be covered in snakeskin.

  "Is that a serpent's tooth?" I asked her. I'd heard of the weapon, but never actually seen one.

  She smiled. "Nothing sharper, and the venom the teeth carry is deadly to any form of life, natural or supernatural."

  "I'm surprised to see a member of the Hidden Light carrying a weapon so nasty," I said.

  She shrugged. "God filled the Omniverse with tools for his servants to use. This is but one of them." Then she smiled. "But I have to admit, this one kicks particular ass."

  The devices weren't the only weapons the three had. Maggie wore a golden cross around her neck, as did the man, who also wore a Star of David, an ankh, a yin-yang symbol, a Native American dreamcatcher, a Celtic knot, a triple moon, and several other symbols I didn't recognize. It looked like he believed in being prepared. The armadillo wore nothing – I mean that literally; he was naked. It appeared he was content to rely on his illuminary and crossbow. Then again, since he was obviously Darkfolk of some kind, perhaps wearing holy symbols was too uncomfortable for him.

  These three weren't the only ones come to greet us, however. A half-dozen men and women stood behind them, armed with everything from automatic machine guns to gleaming broadswords, and from the grim looks of determination on their faces, they were more than ready and willing to use their weapons if necessary.

  Maggie looked us over for a moment more before lowering her serpent's tooth. Then she looked over her shoulder.

  "Stand down. I'll take responsibility for these three."

  One by one, the men and women lowered their weapons and moved off.

  The armadillo kept his crossbow trained on us a moment longer, but in the end he lowered it as well. The man with the scanner continued pointing it at Shamika and fussing with the controls, as if he were determined to wring some kind of reading out of it.

  Maggie tucked her serpent's tooth into a leather holster on her belt, then came forward and shook my left hand. She showed no distaste upon touching my undead flesh, and my estimation of her went up a notch. Many people say they don't have a prejudice against zombies, but ask them to touch one, and you'll find o
ut differently. Not Maggie, though.

  "So this is what you really look like, I take it."

  She was in her sixties and shorter than me, though not by much. Her silver hair was cut short, and she wore jeans and a white T-shirt displaying a cartoon image of Christ holding a razor, his beard covered with white foam, below it the words JESUS SHAVES!

  "In the flesh," she said. "No need for disguises here." Maggie turned toward her two companions. "The big guy in the leathery shell is Houston. He's a weremadillo."

  "I never would've guessed," I said.

  Houston gave me a hard look. "Don't mess with Texas," he growled.

  "Duly noted," I said.

  "And this trim fellow here is Arthur Van Helsing. He's one of our best researchers."

  Arthur wore wire frame glasses that made his eyes look larger than they really were. His unruly brown hair was badly in need of trimming, and from the pallor of his skin, it looked like he could use a few days in a tanning bed. He wore a white lab coat that was marred by several stains and scorch marks. His T-shirt said VAMPIRES SUCK! Varney's lip curled in a silent snarl when he saw it, but the Bloodborn said nothing.

  "I take it you've decided not to destroy us," I said.

  "For the moment," Maggie said. "Come on in, and try not to look around too much. This is supposed to be a secret headquarters, you know." She turned and walked away. Arthur followed her, casting backward glances at Shamika as if he was still trying to figure out what she was. Houston waited for us to follow, the big lyke clearly intending to bring up the rear and keep an eye on us. I was certain his crossbow bolts weren't merely silver-tipped; they were probably dipped in all kinds of nasty poisons and blessed seven ways to Sunday. They'd prove deadly to Varney, probably to me, and maybe even to Shamika – or at least this particular component of the Watchers' group mind calling itself Shamika. It was a strong incentive to remain on our best behavior.

  The Hidden Light's HQ was located in a hollowedout cavern, fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling and power cables stretching along the floor near the walls. Workstations were set up throughout the cavern, and while some contained books, scrolls, and parchments, just as many held high-tech computers and shimmering holo displays. Most of the men and women at the workstations were human, but there was a fair number of Darkfolk scattered among them. Maggie must've noticed me looking at them, for she said, "Just because someone's a monster doesn't mean they don't have spiritual needs." She paused, then added, "Sometimes they need the Light even more."

  "Traitors," Varney muttered.

  Arthur turned around to look at him as if he intended to comment, but when Varney saw the holy objects around the man's neck, he hissed and averted his gaze.

  "Sorry about that," Arthur said, sounding embarrassed. Arthur tucked the scanner he'd been holding into a pocket of his lab coat, rummaged around in there, then brought out a pair of dark glasses which he held out to Varney. "Put these on. They won't take away the pain entirely, but they should make it bearable."

  Varney hesitated, but he took the glasses from Arthur and donned them. He looked at Arthur, then at Maggie, then back to Arthur.

  "It is better," Varney said. "Thank you." He sounded as if it took some effort for him to express his gratitude, and Arthur seemed equally uncomfortable accepting it.

  "You're, ah, welcome. We call them diffusers. They're made from solidified shadow caught in a highly focused time-dilation field." He became more enthusiastic as he went on. "We have more call for them than you might think. We actually have Bloodborn in our organization, some of them quite high up in your people's hierarchy, and–"

  Maggie cut in. "The less we tell them the better, Arthur."

  He looked chastened. "You're right, of course. Sorry."

  The men and women around us represented a number of different ethnicities and religions, and while many were dressed in normal street clothes, more than a few wore clothing that indicated their religious tradition. I saw Catholic priests and nuns, Moslem clerics, Hasidic Jews, Buddhist monks, Shinto monks, and Hindu swamis. They worked side by side in apparent harmony, without any obvious conflict due to their different backgrounds and philosophies.

  Well, harmony might be overstating the case. Right then the men and women of the Hidden Light were more than a bit agitated, moving quickly from one workstation to another, consulting with each other in front of computer monitors and holo displays, or talking loudly into voxes and microphone headsets. The atmosphere reminded me of Varvara's war room, and I assumed it was for the same reasons.

  "I assume it's not always this lively down here," I said to Maggie.

  She said, "Hardly. Right now, we have a Situation with a capital S to deal with – as you well know."

  "You mean the war?" Shamika asked.

  Maggie laughed. "Goodness, no, child! What do we care if the Darkfolk want to go around slaughtering each other? More than usual, that is. Nekropolis is their city, and if they want to war with each other, that's their business, regrettable though it may be."

  "That attitude seems a little more 'eye for an eye' than 'turn the other cheek,'" I said.

  Maggie led us through the maze of workstations and people, and stopped before a rectangular glass structure that resembled a coffin – probably because sealed inside was the perfectly preserved body of a man wearing brown robes, a rope belt, and sandals. His hair was cut in a tonsure, making him look like a slimmed-down version of Robin Hood's Friar Tuck.

  Maggie turned to look at me. "The Hidden Light has a clearly defined mission, Matthew, and keeping peace between the Darklords isn't part of it."

  "What is your purpose?" Varney said. "Besides harassing us Darkfolk, that is."

  Houston prodded Varney in the back with his crossbow. "Watch it, Fangboy! No one speaks to Sister Holstrom like that! If you knew who she really was…"

  Maggie shut the weremadillo up with a stern glare. "All they need to know is that I speak for the Hidden Light. That's enough."

  Houston lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry, Sister."

  Maggie accepted his apology with a nod and then gestured to the monk under glass. "This is Saint Bartelmeu the Recondite. He's been deceased for a millennium, but like you, Matthew, he doesn't let a little thing like death slow him down."

  As soon as Varney heard the word Saint, he stepped back from the glass coffin. The diffusers might help him gaze upon holy objects, but it seemed there was only so much they could do when it came to an honest-to-God saint.

  Tendrils of ectoplasm curled up from the coffin to coalesce into a ghostly image of the monk hovering in the air. The ghost was typical of its kind, looking as if it were formed of shaped white mist, and when it was complete, Bartelmeu opened his eyes and smiled at us.

  "Visitors?" he said in a cheery voice. "I love visitors! Who are they, Joan?"

  Maggie sighed. "I go by Magdalene these days, Bartelmeu. Remember?"

  The monk made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, yes. A rose by any other name. Now tell me who these fine people are."

  Maggie introduced the three of us, and Bartelmeu grinned at each of us in turn, not seeming put off in the slightest by the fact we weren't human.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you all!" he said. "Nothing against my fellow champions of the Light, but it gets somewhat dull having the same people to talk to day in, day out." He lowered his voice. "And just between you and me, our people can be a bit on the stuffy side."

  Arthur seemed a bit offended by this last comment, but Maggie took it in her stride.

  "Bartelmeu is better than a dozen computers," she said. "Not only is his knowledge encyclopedic and his recall perfect, his clairvoyant and precognitive abilities are legendary."

  Bartelmeu grinned. "If my cheeks weren't formed of ectoplasm, they'd be blushing right now."

  Arthur picked up the conversation's thread then. "It was Bartlemeu that first informed us of what was happening – and who told us you three would be arriving soon."

  Bartelmeu looked startled. "Yo
u mean these three are those three? Why didn't you tell me?" He turned to us and grinned even wider than he had before. "It's even more of a pleasure to meet you then!"

  I looked at Maggie. "Perfect recall?"

  She shrugged. "Cut him some slack. He is over a thousand years old, you know."

  I looked at the ghostly saint and felt a surge of hope. "So you know what's going on? You can tell me where my wife is?" I wasn't really sure when I'd begun thinking of Devona as my wife, but I was aware I'd been doing it for a while now. It didn't matter that we weren't officially married. We were married in our hearts, and that was what counted the most.