by Jonah Hewitt
“What are they?!” Lucy whispered, trying to hold down the panic in her voice.
“Meat golems,” Moríro responded, as if this was painfully obvious. “Oh, so these are what meat golems are!” Lucy thought to herself sarcastically. Knowing what to call them did not help in the slightest.
“They are soulless creations, golems, made to do the bidding of their masters. We use them as watchdogs.”
“Soulless?!” Lucy winced as one sniffed at her.
“Yes, you can summon a soul into a body, but it is forbidden to try to create a new soul for an undead creation. That was the sin of the Bezalel of Prague and of young Victor Frankenstein.”
Lucy turned and goggled at Moríro. She just wasn’t prepared to ask if she was related to Frankenstein just yet. The second meat golem sniffed her with one head while the calf head bleated at her disconsolately.
“But why make them out of pieces?!” she hoarsely whispered, “Why not make it out of just one animal!”
“Because one carcass would attract the return of the animal’s original soul which could take possession of it. Making it out of several confuses the spirits, making them less likely to be…temperamental,” Moríro rushed through this explanation and then quickly issued an order, “Now command them.”
“What?!” Lucy desperately wanted to ask for more instruction than “command them” but she never got the chance.
“Remember, you are a necromancer. A master of all dead things.” Moríro said one last time before he shoved her forward.
Lucy skidded onto the porch spinning her arms wildly to keep her balance. When she stopped she realized she was frozen in a ridiculous position, bent over with her arms far forward like someone who had just recovered from nearly falling; hardly a commanding position. The two beasties were snorting around her. She stood up quickly and went rigid without a clue of what to do. Should she pet them and say “nice doggy?” They weren’t exactly dogs. Somehow she instinctively reached out her hands, palms out. At first the wretched things just sniffed them, and she was certain she was blowing this trial by fire that Moríro had forced her into. But then they stopped and began backing away as if they could sense the blood of a necromancer. She stepped forward and extended her hands and the undead critters backed away even further. She felt more confident and took another step. They sensed her unspoken wish for them to back away. Eventually, they retreated to the sides of the opulent, columned porch where they assumed positions so still they were like stone gargoyles. Lucy lowered her hands and peeked over her shoulder. Moríro’s face was expressionless, but at least he wasn’t scowling. That must have meant she did okay. Moríro merely indicated the front door with one hand. He meant for her to enter the house.
Lucy swallowed hard. She walked up to the ornate double doors that had a large, broken pediment over the top of them. She grabbed the big, brass door handle and turned it. It was unlocked. She didn’t know what to expect inside, but she knew her mother’s body was in there somewhere and she wanted to see it. She took a breath. She had been through a lot tonight – vampires, demonically possessed psychos, zombies, imps and now mutant baby specimens and meat golems, but she had somehow managed through all of it, perhaps not brilliantly, or without the occasional breakdown, but she had survived this far. She was beginning to think she was prepared for whatever was behind this door. She turned the door handle and pushed the door open and took a step inside. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
She had no words for what she was seeing. The room was full of dead things: the undead, zombies, skeletons, vampires, mummies and other monsters and things she couldn’t even name, and every eye or empty socket was staring right at her. She turned to look behind her for assistance, but Nephys and the others seemed equally shocked and amazed. Only Moríro and Graber were nonplussed. Moríro took a step closer to her and stood directly behind her, waiting for her to advance. She had no choice but to go forward. She took one cautious step, and Moríro and everyone else took one step as well. Then she took another, and everyone else kept pace, preventing any possible retreat. It was very annoying. Slowly she walked into the center of the room, and the crowd of dead parted deferentially around her like water around the prow of a ship. Whether they were showing respect to her or to Moríro, she didn’t know, but she was glad they were keeping a respectful distance.
It was a large, elaborate ballroom, but it had been through a lot. There was broken and peeling plaster everywhere and even several smashed walls. It had obviously seen better days. Everywhere were large, standing candelabras with dozens of candles, but none of them gave off a warm yellow light like regular candles. Instead, they gave off an eerie bluish-white light that made the lifeless occupants look even less lifelike if that was possible. They were a horrendous and motley bunch of corpses.
On the right, there was a gathering of tall figures in long, black robes that covered them from the floor to their faces. Only when the hoods turned towards her did Lucy realize they were skeletons. They were sharing a silver ball like an eye, passing it between them, holding it up to their empty sockets like a monocle in their bony fingers. Some were sitting in chairs also made of human bones, but they stood up and bowed slightly as she passed. Then the chairs they were sitting in stood up and reformed into several separate skeletons themselves who also bowed!
Moríro leaned over and whispered into her ear, “High Ossurans,” he said simply. This meant nothing to Lucy. “Probably from Baltimore. Ossurans never disrobe in front of non-skeletals. Don’t bow to the chairs,” Moríro offered, “They’re just the help – common bone golems.”
On the other side was a gathering of emaciated figures with leathery skin, most wrapped in linens and shrouds, but a few were wrapped in vibrant, geometric textiles.
“Mummies,” Moríro continued his commentary, “Some from Peru, but most are from Egypt. These likely came from the university collections.” They bowed from the neck and Lucy returned the nod uncertainly.
Next was a group of what looked like zombies, but they weren’t shambling and filthy. While their flesh was blue and rotten, their clothes were spotless. They were wearing spats and pinstriped suits and dressed like mobsters from the twenties. “They probably were mobsters from the twenties!” thought Lucy.
A little further up was a gathering of women in black. They were wearing old-fashioned clothes, long gloves and veils. They pulled up the veils as Lucy passed and she had to try desperately not to flinch for fear of offending them, because their faces were like wax with half-melted features.
“Soap mummies,” Moríro whispered, “Alkaline water leeches into the coffins and partially saponifies the body fat, turning it into grave wax.” Lucy only partially understood that. “These are from a Quaker cemetery north of here, but I don’t see any of the famous Mexican ones.”
Lucy was really beginning to wish that Moríro would drop the running commentary as he introduced her to countless ghouls, monsters and other dead things. There were incorporeal wraiths floating on the ceiling and black ghosts writhing on the floor like shadows. There was a whole collection of blood-drenched figures that only appeared in your peripheral vision or in reflective surfaces but disappeared whenever you looked directly at them. Lucy checked twice just to make sure they were really there. She was only positive they were there because none of the other things would stand in the space where she had seen them out of the corner of her eye.
Moríro had names and classifications for all of these too, but it was beginning to overwhelm her. Slowly, they made their way to the opposite side of the hall. There was a sort of raised dais, like a platform for nobility or maybe a chamber orchestra. Here were some things she could finally recognize because she had had some rather unpleasant recent experience with their kind. They were vampires.
They were all superficially pretty and pale, young and beautiful, dazzling even, with piercing, pale blue or golden eyes. Each had a sort of aura, a magical glamour about them that made them look scintillating and
attractive. None looked over thirty and while many of the other undead were plump or misshapen, they were all tall, fit and thin. Only the skeletons were thinner. They were obviously the celebrities of the undead world, the popular kids, but it was all a lie. When she narrowed her eyes at them, she caught flashes of the same dead eyes and corpse faces she had seen when she had first seen Schuyler for what he truly was back in the Impala.
There was a group of five teenage girls, nearly identical, like quintuplets in identical old-fashioned nightgowns. They were all very thin, very pale and very pretty, with long white hair and they clung together in languid poses like pretentious supermodels in a perfume ad. They were quite toothsome and reminded Lucy of a pack of fierce kittens. The second they saw Lucy’s group approach, they hissed like cats and rushed at them. Lucy froze for a moment in terror, but they rushed right past her. Lucy turned to see what their intended target was, only to see them pawing and clawing at the admittedly gorgeous and naked torso of Schuyler, squealing like a pack of ravenous, Japanese, school-girl, pop-star groupies. They even nipped him around the ears and shoulders affectionately.
“Ladies! Ladies! Ouch! Calm yourselves! Watch the upholstery!” Schuyler faked demurred embarrassment well, but Lucy could tell he was reveling in it. He already had two under each arm, while the fifth clung to his waist and mooned up at him running one clawed hand over his rock-hard abs.
“Ick,” thought Lucy. It was painfully embarrassing to remember how taken she was with this creep just a few hours ago. That felt like a lifetime ago. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off the disgusting spectacle. Watching it, she saw another disgusted face nearby rolling his eyes as well. It was Miles. It suddenly struck Lucy that he was the most unvampirish vampire of all. He had acne scars on both cheeks, a broad chin, small eyes, a thick, round face and short, red hair. He had no aura of glamour at all. He wasn’t awful to look at, in fact he wasn’t as ugly as Lucy had originally remembered him – Lucy realized she was probably in the thrall of Schuyler’s glamour at the time – but he was rather plain and ordinary looking. She looked around at the group of bloodsuckers one last time. None of them were plain. They were all pretty, almost painfully so, tall and thin. Miles was average looking, short and stocky. All of them had a whiff of smugness or melodramatic uneasiness about them. Miles just looked tired and frustrated and grumpy. Miles was a very different vampire. She wasn’t certain why, but she decided to file this observation away for future reference.
As they approached the dais, the beautiful people parted to reveal a mortifying sight. There at the top of the dais was a large, battered, old-fashioned lounge with gold fringe, and laying on it, wearing the clothes she had last seen her in, the blue jeans, simple flats, and red plaid flannel shirt layered over a long sleeve pink t-shirt, was the body of her mother. Lucy gasped, and almost ran to her, but the strong hand of Moríro restrained her. She fought with herself inside, trying not to cry or to be angry with Moríro. She could tell this was a hostile place and he was probably just trying to protect her, but then she really didn’t know that for sure.
Behind her mother was a tall, thin man wearing a battered leather jacket over simple hospital scrubs. He was bald, maybe mid-forties. He didn’t look like a vampire either. While everyone else was staring intently at Lucy and Moríro, he was sitting at a small, antique writing desk making notes on scraps of paper. He looked totally unconcerned about anything; he was merely pushing paper like an accountant. All the other vampires looked at him to see what he would do. “Was this the famous Hokharty-Ra, the Father of All Vampires?” thought Lucy. He was not what she was expecting at all. She was expecting someone grand in outlandish robes of gold or silk, seated on a throne like a king. He seemed more like a bookkeeper or a bureaucrat than a scary vampire. He finished whatever he was working on, looked up at Moríro with a glimmer of recognition on his face and then quietly stood up gathering his papers.
He walked to the front of the dais and then bowed most solemnly before Moríro.
“Necromancer,” he said simply.
“Chamberlain!” came a hoarse whisper in Lucy’s ear. It was Nephys.
Nephys looked up at the figure in front of him. He didn’t have the silver visor of Horus, or the finger coverings, and he was wearing strange clothes and not his black and silver robes, but there was no doubting it was the Chamberlain. He had the same presence, the same bearing, and though the features of his lower face were identical, it was the voice that gave it away. That was the Chamberlain’s voice. The implication was horrifying. What was the Chamberlain up to! Nephys winced and in doing so his natural eyes faded and the Death Sight took him. In the Halls of Death, the Chamberlain’s heart flame had burned faintly and clearly, but here, there was no heart flame at all. Here, there was only the swirling shadow occupying the seat of the heart. Nephys gasped. Here, the Chamberlain truly was a vampire.
Nephys pressed up close behind Lucy and looked like he might die of fright. Lucy just instinctively reached over and grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard to reassure him. Moríro eyed Hokharty suspiciously. Whatever was going on, the Necromancer was definitely not pleased.
The Father of All Vampires stood back up and eyed the assembled group before him carefully. He looked directly at Nephys and smiled, but his look turned to concern when he saw the demonic bagpipe.
“Flubbit – paraantfh-FAAARNT!!” the thing hooted derisively back at the vampire’s sneering look, as if to say, “Yeah…that’s right! I’m an imp!”
Hiero took up a defensive position directly between Lucy and the Father of All Vampires and stabbed the butcher knife threateningly into the wood floorboards in front of him. Lucy wasn’t certain why the vile little thing had suddenly taken a protective interest in her, but it did strangely make her feel more confident. Hokharty looked long and hard at Lucy, Nephys and the bagpipe as if he was considering something rather unpleasant. Then his faced went impassive again and he looked directly at Miles, Tim and Sky and said in a rather flat voice, “Thank you for returning the child to the Necromancer.” Whatever slight cue or body language he gave, the three of them immediately recognized that that was a subtle communication to take their places with the rest of his minions on the dais. With the exception of Sky, who practically bounded up onto the dais, they shifted rather uncomfortably in their shoes before moving to his side of the room. It was like everyone was choosing up sides before a fight.
Graber moved first, taking a position to Hokharty’s left. Schuyler was right behind him, bouncing up on the dais with pride, the five kitten girls in tow. As he stepped behind Hokharty to take a position on his right, his foot caught something on the floor. He reached down and picked up an old-fashioned, black military coat with silver embroidery. It was like something the male lead out of one of her mother’s corset dramas would wear. Schuyler smiled broadly, dusted it off and draped it across his shoulders triumphantly – the girls squealed in laughter and cooed even more after that. Whatever it was, it meant something to them. Tim and Miles were next. They went the slowest and exchanged nervous glances between themselves before ambling slowly towards the dais. Miles looked back at Lucy for a long time before he finally took a position next to Schuyler and Tim. Tim stared off into space. He looked numb and defeated. Miles just looked down, his shoulders slumped in resignation.
So the sides were chosen. Lucy, Nephys, Moríro and the imp, against the Father of All Vampires, the walking brick wall, Graber, Miles, Tim, Schuyler and his fan club, thirty to forty other snotty-looking vampires and a host of other undead things.
Hokharty stood there looking utterly placid as if nothing unusual was going on. Moríro was fuming, however, and spoke first.
“What is the meaning of this, Hokharty?”
“Necromancer,” Hokharty bowed respectfully from the waist before beginning, “Allow me to explain. I am only following the orders you gave me.”
“Following orders?!” Moríro was indignant.
“Yes, Necromancer,” said the vamp
ire without a trace of irony, “To the best of my ability.”
“TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITY?!” Moríro bellowed so loudly it made the plaster shake.
Moríro breathed hard through his nostrils and all the eyes or empty sockets passed between him and the Father of All Vampires as they waited for one of them to speak. The Necromancer was clenching Lucy’s shoulder so hard it hurt.
“Yes, Necromancer. I have followed your orders,” The Father of All Vampires said didactically as if speaking to a child, “Exactly.”
“How…” Moríro began carefully, “How can you believe you have followed my orders?” It wasn’t stated as a question.
The vampire tilted his head curiously as if the matter was obvious, but he stepped down from the dais and began circling Lucy, Moríro, Nephys and the imp like a schoolmaster explaining a simple lesson.
“I have done nothing but what you have asked me to do, Necromancer,” he said simply, rolling the fingers of one hand close to his face.
“I asked you to return the child to me,” Moríro replied testily.
“And I did so.”
“I expected you to retrieve her, personally, Hokharty.”
The vampire shrugged, “My apologies, Necromancer, but you did not specify so. Therefore I felt free to assign others to the task.”
“But these?!” Moríro pointed to the boys – Tim, Miles and Sky. Miles and Tim looked a little hurt and ashamed, but Sky was oddly cool, twirling the lollipop and thinking.
“They were…” the vampire brought his hand close to his face and rolled the fingers thoughtfully as he chose his next word, “Inexperienced, that may be true, but they had unique talents I thought were necessary for the girl’s protection. You no doubt realized others would be in pursuit. I wanted to take precautions.”
