by Tim Waggoner
The writhing, softly chittering wall of darkness that surrounded my back and sides was only an inch away now. I knew if I swept my flashlight beam around, they would scurry off. But I kept the light shining at my feet. I wanted to lure as many of them into the basement as possible.
“I understand why you misled us into thinking Talaith might be behind the Dawnstone’s theft; you wanted to draw attention away from yourself. But why did you tell us the truth about Morfran being a veinburn supplier?”
“Because the best lies are those mixed with some truth. And if the Red Tide vampires failed to kill you, we hoped that Morfran would lead you to Skully, who would finish you off. A hope that was in vain, as it turned out. It is a shame our plan failed, but we are nothing if not patient. We came close this time, and we shall succeed the next, whether it be tomorrow or a hundred years from now.”
“I’m glad to see you’re maintaining an optimistic outlook.”
“We would have succeeded if not for you, Matthew. You have a fine, incisive mind and excellent instincts. Join us; help us free our home from the scourge of Others which infests it.”
“Help you?” I said incredulously. “After everything that’s happened, everything you’ve done, how can you even ask such a thing?”
“Because I have something to offer you, Matthew. I can make you mortal again.”
“You’re lying.”
“The child Ms. Kanti hosted remained hidden in the Nightspire long enough to witness the Renewal Ceremony completed and Dis reward you for saving his city by removing your spirit from the Sentinel and restoring your body to you. But he didn’t return you fully to life, did he?”
“He said it was beyond his power, that I had been a zombie too long to make me human again.”
“Perhaps it is beyond the capabilities of Dis, but it is not beyond ours. Remember what you said when I asked you how you felt about being a zombie? You said you were a freak, trapped in a body that was little more than a numb piece of meat. Cut off from the world around you, on the outside of life. A pale memory of the man who was once Matthew Richter. We can end your suffering, Matthew. Help us destroy the invaders and we shall make you live again.”
I didn’t respond.
“Surely you have no love for this city or its inhabitants. Your kind regard them as monsters: unnatural, unholy things. You would be doing creation a favor by helping us destroy them.”
“After nearly two years as a walking dead man, it’s hard to see others as monsters, Gregor.”
“Then consider it justice. This is our home; the Others are trespassers. They have no right to live in this dimension, no right to befoul it with their obscene otherness. Help us be rid of them, and we shall make you a man once more and use one of the Darklords’ portals to return you to Earth. Perhaps you will not be able to resume your life where you left off, but at least you may begin a new one.”
“Sorry, Gregor, but I can’t do that. Maybe Dis and the Darklords shouldn’t have built Nekropolis here, but they did, and you didn’t protest.”
“We did not understand! We knew nothing of otherness then! We did not know there were Others to protest to!”
“Even so, the city and its people have been here for almost four centuries. Isn’t it time you learned to coexist with them?”
“Impossible! Otherness can not be tolerated!”
“Then there’s nothing I can do for you, Gregor. I won’t help you. In fact, I’ll do everything I can to stop you.”
“You’ll do nothing. It’s a pity you won’t join us, but that is your decision. You were foolish to come here alone, Matthew. We destroyed your body once, and we shall do so again-and this time there is no one to restore you. And don’t think your flashlight will protect you. While we are creatures of this dark dimension and light does hurt us, there are far too many of us for your feeble beam to kill.”
“I don’t intend to use my flashlight. And you’re wrong, Gregor. I didn’t come alone.” I clicked off the light and was plunged into darkness.
No insects swarmed over me as in the Nightspire. Instead, there was a rushing, moaning sound that made me think of a cold winter wind blowing across a bloodsoaked battlefield. And then I heard the screaming of thousands upon thousands of tiny voices, the same as when I had shone the Dawnstone into the Sentinel’s chest cavity, only multiplied to the nth degree.
And then there was silence. I waited a few moments more, and then I turned the flashlight back on. Its beam revealed Father Dis, standing alone in the now empty basement.
“Are they all gone?” I asked. I was grateful my flashlight had been turned off. I had no idea how Dis had destroyed the insects, and from the horrible sounds they had made while dying, I was certain I wanted to remain ignorant.
“All that were present at this location. I fear many more remain within the city, however, and even if none do, there are uncountable millions more outside Phlegethon’s boundaries. I seriously doubt we’ve heard the last of the Watchers.” He sighed. “I was of course aware of them when I led my people to this dimension, but I thought them some sort of native animal life. I never realized they were intelligent. If I had…well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
“Can’t you do something? Like wave your hand in a godly gesture of omnipotence and smite them?”
Dis smiled. “As I told you when I restored you, there are limits to even my powers. The vast majority of my strength is used to maintain Umbriel and Phlegethon. The Darklords help, of course, but far less than even they imagine. Still, there’s no use in letting them know that; everyone likes to feel they’re important, don’t they?”
“So you were telling the truth when you said you couldn’t make me alive again?”
Dis nodded. “Though I was able to see to it that you are in no danger of inevitably decomposing again, provided of course you keep up regular applications of preservative spells. Barring accidents, you might very well exist forever.”
Forever. The word had no meaning to me now. I wondered if it ever would. I figured I’d find out.
I showed Dis the underside of my hand. “My little finger grew back when you restored me, but I still have Edrigu’s mark.”
“Edrigu had a previous claim on you which I can do nothing about. Be careful what deals you make in Nekropolis, Matthew. They are always binding.”
“I figured you’d say something like that. One more thing: back at the Nightspire, that mural in the corridor…”
“Yes?”
“The first scene depicted shadow creatures emerging from a swamp. Those things were the beginning of the Darkfolk, weren’t they?”
“The Shadowings,” Dis said. “There were indeed the progenitors of all of my kind that would follow. That was our only form for millions of years until humans began to evolve. Their dreams changed us, molded us, until we became dark reflections of their worst fears. Creatures that drank blood, changed into animals, worked black magic, and survived beyond death-all because humans imagined it so.” Dis smiled. “So you see, Matthew, the Darkfolk really are your people’s nightmares.” But his smile quickly faded. “But the humans outgrew us, came to hate us and desire our destruction. Perhaps because we reminded them of the darkest parts of themselves.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But eating them might’ve had something to do with it too.”
A hint of Dis’s smile returned. “Possibly.”
“When you and I first met, you allowed me to glimpse the true darkness that lies behind Father Dis. That darkness is what you really are, isn’t it? You’re one of the first Darkfolk-a Shadowing. One that’s never changed for all these millions of years, not deep down where it really matters.”
Dis didn’t respond right away, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he said. “It’s why the Darkfolk call me Father, you know. I didn’t literally sire them, of course, but my kind gave rise to theirs.”
“That’s why you wanted to create Nekropolis, wasn’t it?” I said. “Because it’s a father’s
duty to look after his children, to make sure they have a safe place to live.”
Dis smiled fully once more, showing his perfect movie star teeth, but I knew that what I was really looking at was only a mask, a disguise for something so old, so utterly inhuman, that there was no way I could ever hope to understand it.
“You know, Matthew, you’re really quite good at figuring things out. Have you ever considered becoming a detective?”
He laughed, and with that Dis began to fade, like the Cheshire Cat in a purple toga, until he was gone, not even leaving behind so much as a smile.
I picked my way though the rubble above what had been Gregor’s lair, and walked down the steps to the broken sidewalk. Dis had brought me here after restoring my undead body so we could take care of Gregor before he abandoned his hidey hole, but for whatever reasons, the Lord of Nekropolis hadn’t seen fit to provide me with a lift home. Not that I was ungrateful: Dis had already done plenty for me. Still, it was rude to leave a guy stranded-especially when said guy had just saved the whole goddamned city.
I started walking. But I hadn’t gotten more than a block away from Gregor’s when I heard what sounded like a water buffalo moaning in extreme pain coming up behind me, followed by a blat like a strangling trumpeter swan.
I turned and saw a hideous conglomeration of metal barreling down the street toward me. The thing screeched to a stop, and Lazlo hung out the window.
“Sorry it took me so long, Matt, but I had a little trouble getting the old cab running. I ended up having to cobble together a new one from what I could scrounge up in the junkyard-with a technical assist from the folks at the Foundry. I think it turned out pretty good overall, don’t you?”
I walked over to the bent and twisted thing that coughed and shuddered alongside the curb. Not only was it patched together from different pieces of metal, but from swatches of living flesh as well. The hood opened a crack, displaying rows of teeth-some of which were now made out of iron-and I had the impression that the cab was smiling at me.
“This…is a car?”
Lazlo guffawed. “You really kill me sometimes, Matt, you know that?” He shook his head. “’ This is…a car? ’ That’s rich! Come on, hop in!”
I climbed into the passenger seat-once I figured out how to get the door open-and Lazlo said, “Where to, pal?”
“Demon’s Roost,” I answered.
TWENTY-FIVE
I found Devona standing alone in front of Varvara’s bedroom mirror, looking at the image of a park at nighttime. Fluorescent lights glowed, attracting small clouds of insects, and even with the competition from the lights of the buildings downtown, the stars remained visible in the dark-blue sky.
I looked around, but Varvara was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the unconscious playmate Victor Baron had made for her. Maybe the Demon Queen was being uncharacteristically considerate and decided that Devona and I needed some time alone together. Then again, maybe Varvara had taken Magnus back to the Foundry for some repair work. Whatever the case, I was glad for the chance to be alone with Devona.
“Those are real stars, aren’t they?” Devona asked without taking her eyes off the scene in the mirror. “They look different from the illusion in the Wyldwood. Crisper, brighter.”
“Yes, they do.”
“You know, I’ve never really experienced night before. I thought I had, living in Nekropolis, but what we have here isn’t true night, is it? More like a perpetual gray. Real night seems more peaceful…soothing. And, even though everything is still, it possesses an energy all its own.”
“Maybe that’s your vampire half talking. After all, the night-true night-is a vampire’s natural environment. Still, I know what you mean.”
“I wish there was sound to go with the image,” she said wistfully. “Birds singing…” She turned to me. “Do birds sing at night?”
I smiled. “Sometimes.”
Devona turned back to the mirror. “Good. Birds singing, leaves rustling in the wind…”
Horns honking, brakes squealing, people shouting…but I decided not to mention these things just then. Why spoil the moment for her?
Devona took my hand and we stood silently and drank in the night.
Once the Renewal Ceremony had been completed and Umbriel was recharged for another year, Dis resurrected me-for the second time-and took me to Gregor’s. Varvara offered to take Devona back to Demon’s Roost while Dis and I dealt with the giant insect. Exactly how Dis and I traveled, I couldn’t tell you. One moment we were in the Nightspire, the next we were standing on a street in the Boneyard. I guess when you’re a god you can go wherever you want, whenever you want. When Lazlo later dropped me off at Demon’s Roost, I figured I’d find Devona up in Var-vara’s penthouse. I’d hoped she wouldn’t be standing in front of Varvara’s mirror when I walked in, but I wasn’t surprised to find her there.
After a time, Devona said, “At first it devastated me when Father fired me and cast me out of the Bloodborn. But now I see that Father never cared for me. A creature like him is incapable of feelings like love, tenderness, forgiveness…I failed in my duty, and I had to be punished. It was as simple as that to him. Never mind that I served him for well on thirty years. That’s only the blink of an eye to a being like him.” She turned back to face the mirror. “Thirty years…” She shook her head as if to clear it before going on. “But I’ve decided to view my excommunication as an opportunity. I’ve spent all my life in Nekropolis, most of it cloistered within the Cathedral, tending a collection of someone else’s half-forgotten memories. It’s time I created some memories of my own.”
“I think that would be a very good thing.” I paused and tried to sound nonchalant when I asked, “Any thoughts about how you might start?”
“I’m not sure. While I can’t return to the Cathedral, I’m not entirely banned from Gothtown-though I doubt I’ll ever be very welcome there.” She smiled sadly. “I suppose I could try to find work in one of the museums on the Avenue of Dread Wonders. I have the right experience, though I worry the work might be too much like tending Father’s Collection. I’d just be trading one dusty old cage for another.”
With her free hand, Devona brushed her fingers against the mirror’s glass. She continued to hold onto my hand with the other.
“I suppose I could explore the other half of my heritage…get to know my mother’s world, the world I was born into. I…spoke with Varvara while you were gone. I told her I was thinking about visiting Earth for a while, and she gave me the names of some of her people there who could help me get settled. She even gave me some Earth money.”
If my heart had been beating it would’ve seized up in my chest at Devona’s words.
She turned to face me then. “What do you think, Matt? Do you have any suggestions about what I should do?”
I knew by the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice what she wanted me to say: I love you. Please don’t go. I knew it was crazy-Devona and I had met only yesterday-but the psychic link we’d shared in the Wyldwood had connected us on such a profound level that it was like we’d known each other all our lives. Maybe it shouldn’t have made sense, but this was Nekropolis: nonsensical things happen here every day and twice on Sundays. The truth was that I did love Devona, more deeply and completely than I’d ever loved anyone before.
“I think you should go to Earth,” I said.
A look of shocked disappointment spread across her face. She let go of my hand and took a step away from me. I hurried on before she could speak again.
“Earth is as much your birthright as Nekropolis. Maybe the new life you’re looking for isn’t here-it’s there.” I gestured toward mirror. “There’s only one way you’re ever going to find out, and that’s to step through and see for yourself what’s waiting for you on the other side.”
Devona looked at me for a long moment, searching my eyes, trying to gauge my emotions. But my eyes are as dead as the rest of me, and they won’t reveal anything I don’t want them
to.
When she spoke again, her tone was slightly reserved, the way it had been when we first met. “Maybe you’re right.”
Devona leaned forward as if she wanted to kiss me, but I held back. I couldn’t bear the thought of her soft living lips touching my dead ones right then. Besides, no mere physical contact could ever compare to the link we’d experienced in the Wyldwood. After a moment she pulled away.
“You take care of yourself, Matthew Richter.” Crimson tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and she fought to hold them back. If I’d been physically capable of crying…but I wasn’t.
“You too.”
She gave me a last long look before turning and walking toward the mirror.
I almost said it then: Don’t go. Stay with me. But I gritted my teeth and held the words back.
And then she stepped through the glass and was gone. I wanted to watch her walk through the park a while, wanted to see her initial reactions to physically being on Earth for the first time since she’d been a baby. But as soon as she was through, the portal became a simple mirror again, and I was left staring at my graytainted face. I’d expected my expression to be completely emotionless, but the man I saw gazing sadly back at me from the mirror looked as if his undead heart was breaking.
“I thought it best if the portal closed as soon as she passed through.”
I turned to see Varvara sitting on the edge of her bed. The Demon Queen was dressed in a skimpy red silk gown with a Chinese dragon embroidered in gold encircling the waist, its tail-which served as the robe’s belt-clutched in its mouth.
“I should have known you couldn’t pass up spying on us,” I said bitterly. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“I just teleported in this very moment, Matthew. I placed a spell on the mirror to let me know when Devona had gone through. I assure you, I know nothing of what occurred between the two of you-but I can guess. Noble idiot that you are, you let her go, didn’t you?”
“She was born on Earth, Varvara. She deserves a chance to get to know her homeworld.”
