by Tim Waggoner
Devona reached out a finger to prod one of the ravens. The bird gave her an angry squawk, startling her. It seemed to glare at her, as if to say, Do you mind? and then became motionless again.
Devona turned to face David.
"Real work?"
He nodded again. "I go through the hours of video my ravens collect, looking for something useful."
Devona gave me a mildly frustrated look which I interpreted as meaning Would somebody just tell me what's going on here?
But before I could say anything, an electronic tone sounded from the monitor closest to him.
"Excuse me for a moment."
David swiveled around to face the monitor and typed a few strokes on the keyboard. The video download on the screen paused, David minimized it and brought up a new window. This one showed a man in his early sixties with straight black hair, glasses and a friendly looking if somewhat long and rectangular face. The display showed him from the mid-chest up, revealing that he was wearing a black Ramones T-shirt. When the man spoke, he did so in a mild New England accent.
"Hey, David, how you doing? My publisher's breathing down my neck about the new book and I need something to send him real soon. You got anything good for me?"
"I've put together a few things for you, Steve. I'll email them to you right now."
David typed a few more keystrokes and hit SEND. A couple of seconds passed and then the man on the other end – who obviously was sitting in front of his own computer – said, "Got it! Thanks, David!"
"No problem. Take a look at the files and see if anything strikes you as interesting. If not let me know and I'll see what else I can dig up for you."
"You got it. Thanks again, man. From now on I'm going to start calling you Wint-o-green, because you're a lifesaver!"
The display went black as the man disconnected, and with a few more keystrokes, David closed the video chat window and resumed downloading the raven's information.
"That call," Devona said. "You have a direct connection with Earth?"
"Not exactly," David said. "I have to go through Nekropolis's Aethernet to connect to Earth's Internet – which isn't as easy as it sounds. The first thing you have to do-"
David's something of a techhead and I knew if I didn't cut him off right away we'd end up learning far more about Nekropolis -to Earth communication than we wanted to.
"You've just witnessed David in action," I said. "Horror is a way of life here in Nekropolis but back on Earth it's big business. Books, movies, comics, videogames… The people who create them all need ideas, and when they run out, they get in touch with David."
Devona looked at the ravens with new understanding. "You go through all the video they collect, looking for ideas to pass on to your customers," she said to David.
He nodded. "The business has been in the family for a long time – almost since the founding of Nekropolis. Back then ideas had to be sent out by courier and carried to Earth through Varvara's mirror. But as you can see, we've updated quite a bit since then, which has made the whole operation a lot more efficient and has allowed us to expand a great deal." David smiled proudly. "These days, almost every horror professional on Earth uses our service."
"It's very impressive," Devona said, "but why all the secrecy? The faux haunted house, the robotic ravens… Why not just advertise what you do? You'd get a lot more people coming in to tell you their stories that way."
"True," David said, "but I'd also get a lot of people who aren't comfortable with the idea of their secrets being sent to Earth so that artists can create entertainment for humans. More than one of my ancestors found that out the hard way and ended up having to accept forced retirement, if you know what I mean."
"Of course, David doesn't get all his information from his ravens," I said.
"That's right. People drop by now and again to tell me their stories and I pay them for their time. That's how I met Matt, as a matter of fact."
Devona looked at me and I shrugged. "It's an easy way to pick up some extra darkgems when the investigation business is slow."
"I just wish you'd let me use your story, Matt," David said. "I know any number of people who'd love to get their hands on it."
I shook my head firmly. "No way. You know I like to keep a low profile."
David gave me a wry smile.
"OK, I admit that's something I haven't done an especially good job of lately."
"That's putting it mildly," he said. "I caught Acantha's broadcast."
"You and everyone else within range of a Mind's Eye," I said.
"You have to fill me in on all the details. You've told me some good stories before, but I bet this one beats them all."
"I'll have to take a rain check on that. Besides, the story's not finished yet. That's why we're here. I was framed, and in order to prove it, I had to get out of Tenebrus. But now that I'm free-"
"You can't go to any of your usual sources because you're a wanted man," David said. "Got it. I'll do whatever I can to help."
I briefly explained the basics of how my head was stolen and my body used to steal an object from Lord Edrigu.
"I'm hoping that one of your ravens might've recorded footage of either the attack on me or of my body entering and leaving the Reliquary."
"It's possible, I suppose," David said, "but I only have so many birds out at a time and Nekropolis is a big place. The odds aren't great that they collected the footage you're looking for."
"I know, but it's the best shot I've got right now at learning who did this to me and why."
David looked thoughtful. "Since my business is gathering ideas I program my ravens to wander the city randomly for hours at a time. It's more like fishing than hunting. I send them out and hope they manage to bring back something I can use. They don't perform systematic searches of designated areas. So even if they managed to record the real thief, it'll take me some time to search through all the most recent video and find it. Don't get me wrong: I'm happy to do it. After all, I have to review the video eventually anyway. I just want you to be aware of how long it might take – assuming I find anything at all."
"I understand and I appreciate it," I said. "In return I promise to come back and tell you everything that happened in as much detail as you can stand. Provided I survive, that is."
Devona swatted me on the arm. "Stop that kind of talk. It's defeatist."
"What you call defeatism, I call realism," I said.
In response she swatted me again.
"So what are you two going to do in the meantime?" David asked.
"I'm not sure," I confessed. "I need to find out as much as I can about the object that was stolen from Edrigu." I described the bone flute to David. "Does it sound familiar to you?"
He shook his head. "No, I'd suggest you pay Waldemar a visit at the Great Library, but that's probably out of the question right now."
"It's too bad my father and I aren't on speaking terms anymore," Devona said. "He's spent thousands of years collecting objects of power. There's a good chance he'd know what the flute is."
I started to reply but I paused as a new thought struck me. Could Galm be behind the bone flute's theft? There were all kinds of ways to build a collection, not all of them legitimate, and the Darklords were constantly plotting against each other one way or another. And Galm had no love for me. Perhaps it had amused him to use my body to steal something from a rival Darklord. Or maybe it had been Talaith. She'd had run ins with Edrigu before and she absolutely loathed me. Maybe she'd decided to kill two birds with one stone and…
But then I derailed that particular train of thought. According to Quillion all the Darklords, along with Father Dis, were still sleeping off the after effects of the Renewal Ceremony. Unless either Galm or Talaith had woken up early, they couldn't be behind the theft.
"You could try asking someone else about the bone flute," David said. "After all, Galm's not the only collector in the city."
"You got someone else in mind?" I asked.
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"Maybe. I hear a lot of things in my line of work. For a couple years now I've been hearing rumors about a Bloodborn who owns a used bookstore in the Sprawl – not far from where you two live, if I remember correctly."
I nodded. "The store's called Nosferatomes. Devona and I've been there before. What have you heard about the owner?"
"Nothing concrete," David said. "Just hints, really. But supposedly the owner – his name's Orlock – collects more than just old books. A lot of people come to tell me their stories and some of them are well connected to the seamier side of Nekropolis – or at least they like to make out they are: mercenaries, thieves, self-styled adventurers of one sort or another…" He gave me a meaningful look at this point. "And some of them claim to have done work for Orlock. None of them told me what exactly they did for him, but it wasn't hard to read between the lines."
"You think they acquired items for his collection," I said.
"And if he's a collector then he might be able to identify the bone flute for us," Devona added.
David nodded. "But like I said it's only a suspicion. My ravens have captured video of some questionable characters going into Orlock's shop, but that doesn't prove anything."
"Maybe not," I said, "but it's a lead and it's more than we had when we came in here. Thanks, David."
"You're welcome. Let me know what you learn about Orlock. I might be able to use the information for one of my clients. In the meantime I'll start searching through my ravens' recent footage and see if I can't find any video of the attack on you. If I do, I'll give you a call."
I gave David the number of Shrike's vox, then we thanked him again and said our goodbyes. He offered to see us to the door but I told him to go ahead and get started reviewing the video. We'd show ourselves out.
As Devona and I stepped onto the front porch she said, "You know, those ravens of David's could have all kinds of security applications. You think he might be interested in doing some work for us on the side?"
"You mean for you," I said.
Devona frowned. "I don't understand."
We continued talking as we walked down the porch steps and headed across the mist enshrouded grounds toward the gate.
"The Midnight Watch is your business. I just help out from time to time."
Devona didn't respond right away, and I knew I'd said something wrong, though I wasn't exactly sure what.
"I thought it was our business, Matt. Something we did together."
Aw, crap, I thought. Out loud, I said, "Look, I didn't mean-"
She cut me off. "I understand that you're used to working alone… living alone, being alone. You lived like that for years after you became a zombie and probably for more years before that. But you're not alone anymore. I don't understand why it's so hard for you to get that."
Right then being alone sounded pretty good. When you're alone you don't have to deal with other people's expectations and feelings and you don't have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing and hurting them. Being alone means freedom and no hassles. There's only one problem with it: it's damn lonely.
As we passed through the gate and onto the sidewalk, leaving the House of Mysterious Secrets behind, I struggled to come up with some kind of reply that might salve Devona's hurt feelings. But my poor zombie brain was coming up empty, so instead I started looking around for a cab. It would take about twenty minutes to walk to Nosferatomes from where we were, but given my current fugitive status I figured the less I was seen in public the better. Our disguises had worked well enough so far but I didn't want to push it. The traffic was relatively light just then and there were no cabs for hire around. No real surprise there, since cabbies tend to frequent Sybarite Street, where the best clubs and restaurants in the Sprawl are located. Still, I'd hoped there might be at least one cab around, maybe even Lazlo, roaring up to the curb in his ramshackle machine, as he so often does when I need a ride. Riding with him would be a calculated risk, since I'm known to do it so often, but at that point I figured it would be one worth taking. But there was no sign of the demon.
I remembered what Quillion had told me about a Sentinel "interviewing" Lazlo and I hoped he was simply busy driving another fare around town. I knew from first hand experience that Sentinels weren't exactly the most gentle of creatures and I feared my friend might be laid up somewhere, metaphorically – or who knows, maybe literally – licking his wounds as he recovered from the Sentinel's little chat with him.
I turned to Devona. "Looks like we're going to have to hoof it."
Her frown deepened into a scowl and I thought she wasn't going to let me get away with trying to change the subject, but then she looked past me and her eyes widened and I knew our discussion was about to be tabled.
I turned around and saw a man striding purposefully down the sidewalk toward us. He wore a long black trench coat open to reveal a chiseled bare chest and well defined abs. Black jeans and worn cowboy boots completed his outfit. He was a handsome black man with mahogany skin, a shaved head and piercing, almost startling green eyes. He appeared to be unarmed but I didn't need to frisk him to know he wasn't carrying any weapons. You don't need to when you are a weapon.
The first of the bounty hunters had found us.
TWELVE
The man stopped when he was within half a dozen feet of us and smiled.
"Hey, Matt. What's up? Nice coat. Good to see you finally got a little style going on."
His voice was deep and rich and though his tone was relaxed on the surface it held an underlying current of tension. I knew exactly how he felt.
"Hey yourself, Malik," I said, ignoring his comment about Bogdan's hand-me-down. "It's been a while."
"Since we tangled with the Incarnator, remember?"
"How could I forget? We had a hell of a time figuring out which body he was inhabiting. If he hadn't kept that habit of his regardless of which body he wore-"
Malik laughed. "Right! He always kept sniffing and swallowing, like he had sinus trouble no matter who he was possessing. How weird was that?"
"Weird but useful," I said. "We might never have caught him otherwise."
We'd kept our gazes locked on one another as we talked, only pretending to enjoy our little trip down memory lane. In truth we were gauging each other – opening feints that were merely a warm up for what was to come.
"Matt, who is this?" Devona asked.
I hadn't forgotten about her, but there was no way I was going to take my eyes off Malik. I continued to keep my gaze trained on him as I answered.
"This gentleman goes by the street name of Crossbreed but his friends just call him Malik. We've worked together a couple times when we had jobs that ended up overlapping. As you might've gathered we took down the Incarnator together."
"And we recovered the Lost Shroud of Glorian, don't forget that," Malik said.
"Neither of us got paid on that one."
"Only because you insisted on destroying the shroud when you learned what it could do." Malik's tone took on a colder edge as he said this.
"What can I say? I have a thing about handing over deadly magical artifacts to psychopaths, which both of our clients happened to be."
"Maybe so, but their money would've spent as good as any sane man's."
"Money can't buy self-respect."
"You can't eat, drink, or screw self respect." Malik had continued smiling as we'd talked but now his smile fell away. "Speaking of money there's a pretty hefty price on your head these days, Matt. You've always had a knack for getting in trouble, but damn, son! Five hundred thousand darkgems' worth is serious even for you!"
I felt Devona's mind reaching for mine.
I can see that you two aren't exactly friends. Just how dan gerous is he?
Let's just say you wouldn't want to go up against him in a dark alley. Or a lit one. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Aloud, I said, "And you've come to collect."
He shrugged. "Someone has to cash in. Might as well be me
. No offense."
"None taken. How did you figure you'd find me here?"
Malik's smile returned. "Everyone else is watching your usual hangouts, but they're idiots. We may have only worked together a couple times but I know you well enough. Anyone else in your situation would've had the good sense to go into hiding, but not you. I knew you'd try to find a way out of the mess you're in and that means you need information. Since you can't make use of your regular sources, I guessed you'd go to David." His smile widened into a grin. "Looks like I guessed right."
I suppose I should've expected this. With the number of people out looking for me someone was bound to have figured out where I'd go.
"Congratulations. I'm sure this'll get you a nomination for mercenary of the year."
Malik's body spasmed from head to toe as his bones, muscles and flesh went through a rapid transformation. His green eyes turned a glowing crimson, his teeth became sharp and long, his hands sprouted deadly looking ebon claws and his skin sprouted scaled armor.
"Now you see why Malik calls himself Crossbreed," I said to Devona. "You know how Overkill has worked to make herself the ultimate human? Well, Malik has made himself into the ultimate monster, courtesy of the genetic expertise of the good Doctor Moreau."
Just looking at Malik you could pick out vampire, demon and lyke in him and I'm sure there's more than a few other less obvious monster genes in the mix as well.
Devona frowned. "I didn't think it was possible to combine the DNA of Darkfolk like that."
Malik bared his mouthful of fangs in a savage grin and when he spoke his voice was rough and guttural.
"It's not – for anyone else, that is. Dr. M told me that every time he tried it before the subject died. But the procedure worked for me." His smile grew wider, making him look something like a shark in humanoid form. "Guess I'm just that tough. So, Matt… what's it going to be? You going to make this easy and come with me peacefully, or are you going to give me trouble? Please say it's the latter. It'll be more fun that way."
