Nekropolis n-1

by Tim Waggoner

  Devona smiled, obviously enjoying my discomfort. “Sure, Matt. Whatever you say.”

  A white-furred werecat server wearing an almost nonexistent black leather bikini came over and asked if we’d like anything to drink-on the house. I politely declined, but Devona ordered a glass of aqua sanguis. The server winked at me as she left, swishing her tail a bit more strictly than necessary as she headed toward the bar. I noticed Devona scowling.

  “Why Ms. Kanti, if I didn’t know better, I might think you were actually jealous.”

  Devona laughed just a little too loudly. “ Right. As if I would be jealous of a cheap little thing like. Doesn’t she realize that six breasts is just overkill?”

  “You’re right: you don’t sound a bit jealous.”

  She smiled. “All right, I admit it, I am.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone snatching me away. I’m not exactly the best-looking guy in the place at the moment.” Cuts on my face, burnt arm, missing ear and pinkie, chewed-up leg, tilted head, and skin getting grayer by the minute-not to mention the state of my suit. I’d never been a male model, but I’d definitely seen better days.

  Devona reached over and took my hand. “It’s not the outside I see when I look at you. Especially after what happened in the glen.”

  All I could feel of Devona’s touch was the slight pressure of her fingers against my skin. But it was enough.

  “So you felt it too?”

  She nodded. “It was the most intense experience of any kind I’ve ever had.”

  “I thought you said you’d linked with men before.”

  “I have, but it was never like that. Those men were Shadows in more ways than one, Matt. Shallow, hollow men who just wanted me for my body, or because I was Bloodborn and exotic, or because they thought I could make them Bloodborn too. But you-you’re special. I don’t think you realize just how much.”

  “Devona…” I didn’t know what to say. We’d met each other less than a day ago, but after what had happened in the glen, after joining souls as we’d done, it was like we’d known each other for years. No, forever. But I couldn’t let this go on, no matter how much I wanted it to, and believe me, I did.

  The werecat brought Devona’s drink, and we were silent while she put it down on the table. She saw we were holding hands, so she kept her winks to herself this time when she departed.

  When the girl was out of earshot, I continued. “What kind of relationship can you have with a zombie? I’m not exactly fully functional, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t care about that, Matt. We don’t need physical love, not when we can link.”

  “Even so, I think it would be best for now if we just tried to concentrate our attention on the job at hand.”

  Her eyes grew cold and hurt and she tried to pull away, but I held her hand tight.

  “I’m not rejecting you, Devona. I want to make that clear. I probably should reject you, to be honest, but I can’t. But we shouldn’t go forward with this until I know for certain that I’m going to…I guess ‘live’ isn’t the right word. Survive, I guess. Unless your father can help me, I’ll be gone soon.”

  “Then we can have that time together, Matt.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t do that to you. I can’t. We know how we feel about each other-know it in a way that two people who haven’t been linked never could. Right now that has to be enough. If I’m lucky, in a couple days, I’ll still be here, and then we can continue this conversation where it left off. I promise.”

  A crimson tear pooled at the corner of her right eye. “And if you aren’t lucky?”

  I grinned. “Would you smack me if I said we’ll always have the glen?”

  She squeezed my hand and I squeezed right back.

  “Well, look who we have here! If it isn’t Matthew Richter, the man who helped supply me with the best bouncer I’ve ever had!”

  We looked up to see a tall, striking woman in a tuxedo striding confidently toward us. She wore her bright orange hair in a buzz cut, and her cherry-red lipstick contrasted with her ice-blue eyes. She stopped when she reached our table. There were only two chairs, and we were currently occupying them. I offered mine, but Bennie declined.

  “Thank you, Matt, but there’s no need.” In a louder voice, Bennie said, “The first person who offers their chair gets two minutes alone with me in the Correctionary.”

  A near-riot ensued as men, women, and creatures of indeterminate species and gender fought to be the first to get a chair to Bennie, but in the end, a man with iron spikes jutting forth from his flesh like he was some sort of industrial porcupine won. He held the chair as Bennie sat.

  “Thank you, love,” Bennie said then added, with a dark twinkle in her eye, “Let’s make it two and a half minutes, shall we? Don’t go far; I’ll come for you later. Or vice versa.”

  Spike-man looked so overwhelmed, I thought he might pass out, but he managed to hold onto consciousness long enough to thank Bennie before heading straight for the bar, no doubt intending to get some heavy-duty pharmacological assistance to prepare for his 180 seconds in the Correctionary with Bennie. If even a tenth of what I’ve heard about her skills is true, I figured he’d need it. Everyone else in the lounge was glaring jealously at Spike-man, and he was lucky no one present possessed the evil eye, or he would’ve been dead before he got two steps away from our table.

  “Thanks for the floor show, Bennie,” I said. “Do you take requests?”

  She let out a hearty laugh. “You wish!”

  I turned to Devona. “Devona Kanti, may I present the owner of the House of Dark Delights, Madame Benedetta.”

  Bennie reached out to take Devona’s hand in the way some women will, intending to clasp it gently from underneath and give it a gentle squeeze. But halfway across the table, Bennie’s slender fingers swelled and the slight reddish hair on the back of her hand became more pronounced. Bennie took Devona’s hand in a masculine grip and gave it a good shake.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Bennie said in a voice that had suddenly grown deeper. “You’re far too lovely to be keeping company with such a rough customer as Matt. However did the two of you meet?”

  Devona stared at Bennie. His shoulders were broader, neck thicker, the lipstick was gone, and he sported a mustache and goatee the same bright orange shade as his hair. Bennie was still just as striking as before, but he most definitely was-

  “A man?” Devona said.

  “Occasionally,” Bennie said. “There are so many pleasures to be had from life. Why limit yourself to experiencing them from only one perspective?”

  “And now, Devona, you’ve also met Master Benedict,” I said.

  “But you can call me Bennie,” our host said. “It makes things so much simpler.”

  Devona gave me an amused glance. “So I’ve heard.”

  “An ancestor of mine was a chemist who once tried to use specialized drugs to distill the good in man’s nature and separate it from the evil,” Bennie said. “My goals are somewhat less lofty. I use his formulae-along with some of my own devising-to make a buck or two.” He gestured toward his body. “And, as you’ve seen, to enjoy myself. I also helped developed most of the aphrodisiacs and performance-enhancers we serve at the bar, although I must admit, my Arcane employees have helped a great deal with those formulae which require magic. And speaking of formulae…”

  Bennie sat back and lifted his hand, and the werecat was instantly there, with a glass of scotch to put in it. Or at least, it looked like scotch. I wondered if it wasn’t the special libation that allowed him and/or her to switch back and forth between genders.

  “Thank you, Lourdes. That will be all…” Bennie gave her a smoldering look. “For now.”

  “Promises, promises.” The werecat purred as she slinked off to see to other customers.

  Bennie took a sip of his drink. “Lyra told me you needed my help with something. After what you did for that sweet child, Matt-not to mention what you did
to the bastard who killed her-I’m forever in your debt. Whatever you need, just name it.”

  I spent the next few minutes giving Bennie the rundown on why we were there.

  After winning our freedom from the Wyldwood, Devona and I returned to the Broken Cross, hoping that Shrike might know something about the veinburn dealer Morfran. Shike told us that Morfran was demon kin of a particularly rare insectine subspecies who mated only during a three-week period every year. This was the middle of week two for Morfran. It seemed he’d come into quite a bit of money recently-I could guess how-and that lately he’d been spending a good portion of his funds at the House of Dark Delights. According to Shrike, Morfran had been visiting the House several hours every day.

  “Father Dis, do I know him!” Bennie said when I was finished. As I’d talked, she’d switched genders again and was at the moment a woman. “If you look up the word indefatigable in the dictionary, you’ll find only a drawing of that disgusting little bug. But his darkgems are as good as anyone else’s, and he certainly has a lot of them to spend. I’m not sure if he’s here now, though. Descension Day is our busiest time of the year, Matt, and the customers come and go so quickly.” She grinned at her own pun, but quickly grew serious again. “So you think Morfran sold the drug which killed Devona’s brother?”

  “According to Gregor, there’s a good chance he did. We need to talk to him, Bennie-and we need him to give us some answers.”

  “I see.” Bennie’s scotch glass was empty. She held it up, and Lourdes swooped by to snatch it out of her hand and replace it with a fresh one. Bennie sipped as she thought. Then an idea came to her and she slowly smiled.

  ‘I think I know how can help you. You know my motto: Better living through chemistry. ” And her smiled became a broad grin.

  Devona glanced at the four-sided clock mounted on a metal pole in the middle of the bar. Nekropolis follows standard Earth time: twenty-four hour days, seven-day weeks, twelve-month years-not that it means very much when you live beneath Umbriel’s perpetual dusk and, like me, you don’t need to sleep. Bennie had left us some time ago, to see about one thing or another. A gender-switching brothel owner’s work is never done.

  “We’ve been waiting here almost an hour,” she said. “Maybe Morfran’s already left.”

  “We’d have seen him.” All of the House’s customers had to pass through the lounge in order to get to and leave the rooms. Bennie didn’t make nearly as much money on booze and drugs as she did sex, but she wanted to squeeze as many darkgems out of her customers as she could before sending them back into the streets, so she made certain her clientele had two opportunities to sit down and have a couple drinks. And, after hoisting a few on their way out, if they decided they’d rested up enough and were ready for another go, why, they could just head right back on through the lounge, and hire themselves some more fun.

  I’d heard it said that Bennie is as wealthy as any Darklord. I wouldn’t doubt it.

  “Perhaps he left through a rear exit,” Devona said.

  “There is no rear exit. Bennie had it bricked over years ago to stop deadbeat customers from sneaking out without paying.” Rumor had it that several such customers had been present-and bound in chains-when the bricks were laid. “Just try to relax.”

  “Shrike was probably wrong, and Morfran’s not even here.”

  “Bennie sent Lourdes to check for us, remember? He’s downstairs all right-with three girls: one lyke, one Bloodborn, and one demon kin. I can’t begin to imagine the geometric and metamorphic possibilities.”

  And before I could add anything more, Morfran finally walked into the lounge.

  The demon swaggered like he was, you’ll pardon the expression, cock of the walk. Or in his case, gigantic walking stick of the walk. He was a twig-thin insectine demon, with a carapace resembling fluorescent-red Formica. He had a triangular face something like a praying mantis, with huge eyes like those of a too-pre-cious moppet in a black-velvet painting.

  As he scuttled past our table, I said, “Morfran!”

  The demon stopped and swiveled his head back to look at me. His expression-assuming his bug face was even capable of making one-was unreadable.

  “It’s me, Matt. You remember, I was one of your customers, back when I was alive.”

  A few seconds ticked by, then he said, “Oh, yes” in a voice which sounded like a hive full of buzzing bees.

  His voice was almost as difficult to read as his face, but I thought he sounded a trifle unsure, as if he knew he didn’t remember me, but thought maybe he should. Exactly the response I wanted.

  “Why don’t you sit down and have a drink with us, for old times’ sake?”

  His head tilted quickly to one side, then to the other, then back once more, as if he were an insect version of a metronome.

  “I don’t know. There is much I should be doing.”

  “I’ve heard you’re quite the ladies’ man,” Devona virtually purred. “Three at one time, they say.”

  Given his physiognomy, it was impossible for Morfran to puff himself up with pride, but that’s what it looked like.

  “Nothing personal, Morfran,” I said, good-naturedly but with plenty of skepticism, “but three at a time? Come on!”

  “Yes, three at a time.” He sounded aggrieved. “Not only that, but once a day for nearly two weeks now.”

  “Really!” Devona said, leaning toward him and flashing more than a hint of cleavage. “Quite impressive!”

  Even without the necessary equipment for facial expression, Morfran still gave the impression of leering at Devona’s chest.

  “I don’t know…” I said doubtfully.

  Morfran skittered up to our table and, since his body structure wouldn’t allow him to take a seat, at least not comfortably, he stood. “Are you doubting my word, Mark?”

  “Matt,” I corrected. I signaled Lourdes and pointed to Morfran. She nodded and padded over to the bar, her tail swishing slowly back and forth, to get him a drink. I noticed Devona frowning at me, and I quickly returned my gaze to Morfran. “I’m not doubting you; I’m just saying that guys exaggerate sometimes, that’s all.”

  “I am not exaggerating. It is the nature of my subspecies to be sexually prolific during this time of the year. It is our mating season.”

  I tried to imagine just how something so…alien could manage to have sexual congress with one humanoid female, let alone three. But try as I might, I just couldn’t picture it.

  Lourdes brought over Morfran’s drink, set it in front of the demon, and gave me another wink before departing with more tail swishing. I really wished she hadn’t winked. I had a feeling I’d be hearing about that later on.

  “You mean the rest of the year you don’t…Well, that explains it, then.” I lifted my glass, and Devona did likewise. “Here’s to you, Morfran; you’re a bona fide sex machine.”

  “Only for three weeks out of the year,” he said, but he seemed pleased nonetheless. He leaned his head over his drink and a needle-thin organ extended out of his small mouth and dipped into the booze. He drank greedily, with great slurping sips. Within moments, his glass was empty.

  “Whoa! You must really have worked up a thirst back there!”

  Morfran’s body shivered. His equivalent of a laugh, I think. “One does tend to expend a great deal of fluid during mating.”

  I was glad my stomach was as dead as the rest of me; if it wasn’t, it would’ve turned right then.

  Morfran’s eyes narrowed. “I must admit that I don’t remember you as clearly as I would like, Mark. You said you were a customer of mine when you were alive? I certainly hope my wares were not the cause of your demise.”

  “Actually, I have a confession to make: we’ve never met before.”

  His head titled back and forth again, right-left, rightleft, very fast this time,.

  “We’ve come here to ask you a few questions,” I said. “About veinburn-and about a vampire named Varma.”

  Sometimes the direct a
pproach works; sometimes it doesn’t. This was one of the latter times. Morfran’s carapace turned completely brown-the same color as the table and floor, I noticed-he whirled about, and his twig legs became a blur as he fled for the foyer.

  “I told you he’d run,” Devona said.

  “You were right.” Neither of us bothered to get up and give pursuit. There was no need.

  A few moments later, Morfran was carried back to our table, squirming, legs flailing madly, carapace rapidly changing colors from red to yellow to brown.

  “He almost got past me,” Lyra said. “I guess I still haven’t gotten the hang of this body yet.”

  “You did great,” I told her. “Now if you could just hold him still for a moment while I explain a few things to him?”

  Bennie’s newest-and strongest-bouncer smiled sweetly, the effect somewhat spoiled by Honani’s jagged mixblood teeth. I hadn’t had a chance yet to tell her about what had happened at the edge of the Wyldwood with the soul that had previously occupied her current body, and I’m not sure I wanted to. The knowledge that Amon had Honani’s spirit-and worrying what the Dark Lord might seek to do with it-would only plague her. But I made a mental note to talk with Bennie before I decomposed. With her wealth and devotion to her staff, I hoped she could arrange for some way to protect Lyra from Amon, should it come to that.

  Lyra squeezed Morfran and the demon’s carapace creaked alarmingly.

  “Careful,” I warned. “We don’t want to reduce him to kindling now.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” She eased up. Morfran struggled a bit more, until it became obvious he wasn’t going anywhere, and then he finally gave up and just hung motionless in Lyra’s massive arms.

  “Okay, here’s the situation, Morfran,” I said. “Before the waitress brought your drink over, I spiked it with a potion specially prepared for you by Bennie herself. She serves a lot of potions, you know. Some work to induce a state of sexual readiness in someone whose spirit may be willing but whose flesh needs a little more help. Other potions work just the opposite: they suppress sexual functioning. These are used these for clients who refuse to pay their tabs or for those who mistreat the staff.”