by Tim Waggoner
"I'd have thought you'd be used to burns by now," I said. "After all, don't the crosses embedded in your foreheads burn your flesh?"
"Sure they do," Narda said. "They show the Red Tide's hardcore, and that we're not afraid of anything."
The Giggler let forth another peal of his high-pitched, girlish laughter. I was really getting tired of that sonofabitch. I bent down and picked up a broken brick from the worn and cracked street.
The Red Tide vampires laughed.
"What do you think you're gonna do with that?" Enan asked.
"This." Throwing isn't easy as slow as I am, but I've had plenty of practice. With a wind-up and then a half-throw, half-lurch, I hurled the makeshift missile as hard as I could at the Giggler's forehead. It struck the cross set into his flesh, driving it inward. The Giggler screamed and clawed at his forehead, but it was no good. The cross's corrosive effect on vampire flesh and bone, aided by the impact of my brick, had buried the holy object in his brain. Steam curled forth from the wound, and then rays of pure white light shot out of his eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth. The light winked out and Giggler now had nothing but open ruins where his sensory organs had been. He stiffened and fell forward onto the broken pavement. I was confident he was dead, but I half expected him to start giggling again anyway.
"You worm-eaten motherfucker!" Narda shrieked.
For a moment, all Narda and Enan could do was stared in stunned amazement at the body of their fallen comrade – long enough to allow me to pull out my garlic and holy water squirt gun, which was mostly empty. But before I could start pumping the plastic trigger, Narda pointed and tendrils of wire shot forth to wrap themselves around Devona's arm.
"Put the gun down, Deadboy, or little Miss Leather here'll get a few million volts. Enough to fry her up good."
Vampires, for all their strengths, have a surprising number of weaknesses. Beyond the ones everyone knows about – sunlight, holy objects, wooden stakes – are others such as silver and fire. Vampires aren't as flammable as zombies by any means, but fire can kill them.
I dropped the squirt gun to the ground with a plastic clatter.
"Kick it away."
I did.
Enan grinned. "Now we're going to have ourselves a little fun. Put your hands above your head, zombie, and step toward me slowly. Make any funny moves, and Narda turns your friend into charcoal. Got it?"
I nodded and did as he ordered.
"Stick out your arm," he commanded.
I did; I knew what was coming. "Veinburn won't work on me. I'm dead. All the way dead, not like you overgrown mosquitoes."
"Then you won't mind if I do this!" Enan plunged his needle fingers into the unfeeling flesh of my forearm. After a few moments, Enan yanked his hand away – tearing five ragged holes in my gray skin in the process – and the needles thickened into fingers once more.
"Well?" he asked. "How's it feel, deader?"
"I told you, I'm not–" I broke off, my body beginning to shake all over. I collapsed to the pavement not far from the Giggler's corpse, flipping and flopping like a fish tossed live into a frying pan.
"I'll be damned again!" Narda crowed. "This shit's even stronger than they said it is! Look at him go!"
"I bet that's the best he's felt in a loooooong time!" Enan laughed.
My exertions became so severe that I rolled over onto my stomach, and when I came around on my back again, I'd drawn my 9mm and leveled it at Narda's head. If I'd still been a cop, I'd have given her a warning. But I wasn't a cop anymore.
Two silver bullets apiece later, Narda and Enan had joined the Giggler on the ground. I stood, walked over to the bodies, reloaded, and pumped another couple rounds into their hearts, just to be sure.
Devona had untangled herself from Narda's wire. "I take it the veinburn didn't affect you. Nice acting job."
"What can I say? I was in drama club in high school." I examined the patches of plaskin on the forms of the dead vampires. I wondered if the substance might help fend off my decay, but I decided it probably wouldn't. The plaskin likely only worked on living tissue. No loss; I don't look good in blue anyway.
Devona gazed at the remains of the Red Tide members. "Makes it rather difficult to question them, doesn't it? Their being dead and all."
"You complaining?"
She smiled. "Not in the slightest. But it does narrow our options."
"The Red Tide has to get its technology somewhere, and the only Darklord enamored of technology is Varvara. But none of this strikes me as her style. Varvara's charming, fun, and she'd betray her best friend in a heartbeat if there was a laugh in it, but the Red Tide are too déclassé for her. My money's on the Dominari. They have the connections to import technology from Earth and supply it to the Red Tide, and from what Gregor told us, the Dominari are involved in the manufacturing and testing of veinburn, which Enan possessed in abundance."
I put my gun away and shook my arm; it felt heavy and swollen. "Stupid vamps. Not only doesn't this stuff work on me, you'd think they'd have realized I'd need a functioning circulatory system to distribute it throughout my body."
"What will happen to the veinburn?"
"It'll just sit in my arm until I have it removed. Papa Chatha can do it for me. If I'm still around in a few days." As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. It was one thing to think those kind of morbid thoughts, another to voice them.
"Oh, Matt, I wish you had told me earlier."
"We only met a few hours ago, Devona. My situation has no bearing on your problem or on our efforts to resolve it." I paused. "Besides, I didn't want you worrying about me."
"That's sweet." And then she did something that surprised the hell out of me. She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I hadn't been kissed since I'd died, hadn't even really been touched – in a non-violent way, that is – by a woman.
I didn't know how to react, so I didn't. Just stood there and looked at her. Pretty smooth, huh?
"I want you to know something, Matt. No matter whether we find the Dawnstone or not, I intend to ask my father to help you."
Now I really didn't know what to say. But Devona didn't wait for a reply. "I assume we're off to the Sprawl again?"
I nodded. "To locate either Morfran or the drug lab." I smiled. "And I promise not to kill anyone else before we've had a chance to talk with them."
• • • •
You know the old punchline? You can't get there from here. Nekropolis can be like that sometimes. To get back to the Sprawl, we had to either go through Glamere once more – definitely not an option – or pass through the Wyldwood, Dominion of Lord Amon, King of the Shapeshifters.
When I brought this up to Devona, she said, "Couldn't we take a shortcut across the grounds of the Nightspire?"
The Nightspire rests on a small island in the middle of the pentagram that is Nekropolis. This island is surrounded by the fiery waters of Phlegethon, the same waters which enclose the city and separate the five Dominions from each other. But in addition to the main bridges, there is a second set of smaller ones which connect each section of the city to the Nightspire. Devona's suggestion made sense on the surface. It would make our journey to the Sprawl far simpler and less deadly if we could walk from the Boneyard to the Nightspire, pass the bridge leading to the Wyldwood and take the one which led to the Sprawl.
"Unfortunately, it isn't that simple. During my time here, I've had occasion to travel a good bit of the city. I had the same idea as you a while back and tried to cross over one of the bridges to the Nightspire."
"What happened?"
"It didn't work. Powerful winds buffeted me, nearly knocking me into Phlegethon. When I retreated, the winds ceased. I later learned from Gregor that the wind, which he said was caused by the invisible Furies which guard the Nightspire, repels all who attempt to cross – not including the Darklords, of course – unless they are accompanied by one of Dis's representatives."
"So that's out then," Devona said. "And we can't
risk another encounter with Lady Talaith."
"I'd rather not," I admitted.
"Which leaves only the Wyldwood."
"Talk about Scylla and Charybdis."
Her eyebrows rose. "I didn't realize you were so well read."
"Yeah, well, when you don't sleep, eat or go to the bathroom anymore, you have a lot of extra time for reading. Let's go. And on the way, maybe you can talk me out of it."
SIXTEEN
Before leaving the Boneyard, Devona and I discussed the best way to make it through the Wyldwood. Devona argued that the Accord which established unrestricted travel on the Obsidian Way would protect us in the Wyldwood, and so we should stay on it. I countered that might be true – if we were traveling in a vehicle, preferably a very fast one that could outpace a speeding lyke. But by walking completely unprotected out in the open, we would be marking ourselves as prey for every denizen in the Wyldwood. And Accord or no Accord, no lyke would pass up the opportunity to attack a pair of morons who wouldn't even bother trying to conceal their presence. As far as a lyke would be concerned, anyone that stupid deserved to have their flesh shredded into bloody gobbets.
"But the lykes will still be able to catch our scent, whether we're traveling on the Way or not," Devona said.
"Off the Way, we can move through the trees, and that will help mask our scent somewhat," I suggested. "Plus, my zombie… uh, ambience will seem more like rotting carrion in the woods, where there's less chance of lykes seeing me and realizing the smell is coming from a walking dead man. If they think I'm just the remnants of another lyke's kill, they'll leave us alone and go off in search of fresh prey."
In the end we compromised. We'd travel overland but stick as close to the Obsidian Way as possible, so we could return to it if necessary.
We crossed the Bridge of Silent Screams, left the Obsidian Way, and entered the dense tangle of forest that was the Wyldwood. We picked our way carefully through the underbrush, searching for a path and trying not to make too much noise lest we attract the attention of any lykes that might be nearby. Lykes were chaotic enough outside their Dominion, but here they were totally wild, killing on sight any who dared attempt to cross their land. Like I said, Devona and I made our way very carefully.
Despite the thickness of the forest, we could still see well enough. Some strange quality of Umbriel's shadowy light? Or maybe Lord Amon's magic was responsible. Whichever, I was grateful. Otherwise, I would have been totally dependent on Devona's vampire vision to lead me – and I don't like being dependent.
Still, being able to see didn't help us navigate. I'd been a city boy all my life and death, and Devona had spent most of her existence within the Cathedral and the surrounding environs of Gothtown. Neither of us was exactly a skilled outdoorsman. In order to make sure we didn't stray too far from the Obsidian Way, Devona had to climb trees a number of times to check the position of Umbriel and get a fix on our location. She went up with an easy grace and came down the same way, and watching her, admiring her strength and beauty, I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I told myself it was probably the result of the numerous injuries I'd sustained since taking on Devona's case, but I knew better.
After one such check, Devona climbed down from a large oak, a deep scowl on her face and said, "As near as I can tell, we've been going in circles – and I couldn't see any sign of the Way."
"Maybe there's some sort of enchantment on this Dominion that makes navigating difficult." I said this to make Devona feel better, but in truth I figured we two city kids had simply lost our way. I would've killed for a compass, but I'm not certain one would work in Nekropolis's dimension. I thought for a moment, trying to get my dead brain to cough up what little woodlore it knew. "Maybe we should start marking trees as we go, so at least we don't–"
Devona put a finger to her lips to shush me, and then she touched her ear. I listened, but I didn't hear anything. Devona's half-vampire hearing was far superior to mine, though, so I listened again, and this time I heard it: a soft rustling of leaves, not very far away and coming closer.
A lyke? I mouthed. The Wyldwood was home to many ordinary animals as well, all prey beasts for the lykes to hunt. Hopefully, what we heard was only a deer and not a savage shapeshifter come to gut us and feast on our entrails.
Devona shrugged then sniffed the air. At first she frowned, and then nodded, but she didn't seem all that certain. I wondered why, but knew now wasn't the time to ask. Something was coming, and whatever it was, I doubted it was the Welcome Wagon. I wished I'd given in to Devona earlier and stuck to the Obsidian Way like she'd wanted, but it was too late for regrets now. We headed off through the brush in the opposite direction of the rustling, trying to be as silent as we could, but being two city dwellers, I sure we failed miserably.
The rustling became a crashing as something loud bounded toward us. I pulled my 9mm out and rested my finger easily on the trigger. I only had five silver bullets left – not nearly enough to get us through the Wyldwood, but I couldn't worry about that now. Whatever it was came around our left and then approached from in front, slowing as it neared.
I aimed my weapon at the spot in the brush where I judged the lyke would appear and waited.
A few seconds later the leaves parted and I tightened my finger on the trigger. But then I paused as a six-foot white rabbit with yellow eyes stepped out of the underbrush.
"Don't tell me," I said. "You're late for a very important date."
The hare scowled. "Funny. But if she's Alice, then who the hell are you?" The voice was masculine, if a bit on the high side.
"I'm the guy who's got a gun full of silver bullets pointed at your chest. Please tell me you're not a carnivorous bunny."
The rabbit's large amber eyes fixed on my pistol, but his voice remained steady enough. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"
"This is Nekropolis, pal. A meat-eating rabbit would actually be rather mundane here."
"Good point. But no, I'm not a predator." He opened his mouth and displayed flat rabbit teeth. And then his form blurred and shifted until before us stood a thin, but still rabbity looking young man his mid-twenties, with an unruly shock of white hair and wearing nothing but a pair of overalls.
"Where did the pants come from?" I asked, curious. "I mean, you weren't wearing them before, and now here they are."
He shook his head as if I'd just asked the stupidest question imaginable. "Magic. A far better question is where did you two come from?"
I lowered my gun, but I didn't put it away. I wasn't ready to trust Bugs just yet. "The Boneyard."
He looked me over. "That I could've guessed." He wrinkled his nose. "And smelled."
"Sorry, but they don't make deodorant for zombies." I gave him an extremely truncated version of who Devona and I were and what we were doing here.
"You'd have been better off taking your chances with Lady Talaith. The Wyldwood is never a safe place for outsiders, but it's even more dangerous now."
"Why?" Devona asked.
The wererabbit opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of horns echoing in the distance. Hunting horns.
"That's why. Today Lord Amon is conducting the Wild Hunt."
I sighed. "Of course he is." Why, I wondered to myself, are these things never easy?
The lyke, whose name turned out to be Arleigh ("It means 'from the hare's meadow,'" he said proudly), led us through the forest and to a vast stretch of pasture where cattle grazed contentedly beneath Umbriel's shadowlight.
"Here in the Wyldwood, we produce most of Nekropolis's meat and blood – real blood, not that synthetic glop Varvara's factories have started churning out." Arleigh said. "Well, animal blood, anyway. Cattle, sheep, goat… Non-preds like me tend the herds. The carnies are too impulsive for the work and usually end up killing and eating the animals themselves."
"You're a farmer?" Devona asked.
Arleigh nodded. "Most herbs like me are."
"So you lykes have a caste system?" I
asked. "Doesn't seem fair."
Arleigh shrugged his lean, bony shoulders. "It suits my nature, and I enjoy the work. What's wrong with that?"
I thought of my own work as a "doer of favors." In reality, I had to admit to myself, I was really still just a cop. My nature, I suppose. "Nothing wrong at all."
I noticed Devona was frowning, and I wondered if she was thinking about her own work as tender of Lord Galm's Collection.
"We're safe along the pastureland," Arleigh said. "The Hunt's conducted in the wilder part of the forest, using animals Lord Amon has specially bred at his Lodge." He lowered his voice. "I've heard it said that this year, he's using animals that have been… augmented."
"What, you mean through technology?"