by Tim Waggoner
Gilmore goggled as he looked at the line of blood trickling from the wound on my finger.
I smiled at him. "Like you told me, I didn't say a word."
Gilmore spun toward RJ and raised the Argentum Perditor, but he was too late to avoid getting a face full of aluminum. Demons are tougher than humans, but not tougher than half a dozen. RJ's friends moved in and started working on Gilmore, punching and kicking, and it didn't take long before the demon was lying on the ground, moaning in pain, his arms and legs bent at awkward angles, his face swollen, bruised, and bloody.
When my fellow humans stepped back, I bent down and pried the Argentum Perditor out of Gilmore's hand and tucked it into my pocket. I wiped the blood from my finger on Gilmore's shirt before straightening. Then I turned to RJ.
"Thanks for the help," I said. I offered my hand to shake, and RJ grinned as he took it. The man's grip was strong and warm, and it felt good to shake another man's hand – another living man's – and really feel it.
"No problem," he said. "All the Darkfolk can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but demons really annoy me." He gave Gilmore a last half-hearted kick the ribs, and the demon moaned loudly. RJ turned back to me. "You want to come on in and have a drink? It's on the house."
I was tempted. It had been several years since I'd tasted anything, and a drink sounded damn good right then. But I had somewhere very important to be.
"I'll have to take a rain check," I said. "But I want to thank you all one last time. Lately, I've been worrying that Nekropolis isn't the best place for a human to live, but now…" I smiled. "Now I think it's not so bad."
RJ smiled. "Not so long as we watch out for each other."
We shook hands one last time, and I headed west once more, while RJ and his friends returned to their bar. We left Gilmore lying on the sidewalk, moaning and trying to find the strength to get to his feet. I knew the demon would recover, and eventually he'd come looking for me, determined to make me pay for what I'd done to him, but right then, I didn't care. All that mattered to me was getting home, putting my arms around the woman I love, and for the first time since I'd met her, knowing what it felt like to touch her.
BOOK III
DARK WAR
ONE
The air rippled like disturbed water, and the world folded in on itself, distorting this way and that, as if reality had been thrown into a vast cosmic Mixmaster and some deity had hit the on switch. When time and space finally decided to behave themselves once again, Devona and I found ourselves standing in exactly the same place as when we'd left. Except not.
"This is as close as I can get you," Darius said. "The wardspells on the House prevent me from materializing inside. Otherwise, I'd take you all the way in."
Darius had been holding onto our arms, but now that we'd reached our destination, he released his grip. The three of us – Darius, Devona, and I – stood in an alley across the street from a familiar white three-story building with green shutters and matching shingles. The House of Dark Delights was located on the southeast end of Sybarite Street within the Sprawl, the Dominion of the Demon Queen Varvara. At least, that's who rules the Sprawl in our Nekropolis, but I wasn't sure who was in charge in this one. Maybe no one, if the chaos raging in the street was any indication.
The Sprawl is a nightmarish combination of Vegas and rushhour Manhattan, where predators of all kinds come to stalk their prey, and where, if the hunters aren't careful, they can all too easily become the hunted. The sidewalks of the Sprawl are choked with people in search of thrills – the darker and more decadent, the better – and the never-ending traffic roars by at speeds so appalling that even the most experienced Autobahn driver back on Earth would give serious thought to selling their car and converting to pedestrianism. And this wasn't just any street in the Sprawl – this was Sybarite Street, where the best (or worst, depending on your point of view) bars, clubs, restaurants, shops, and attractions in the city were located. So a certain amount of madness and mayhem was normal here. But the pandemonium currently raging in the street was shocking, even by Nekropolitan standards.
Bestial creatures of a type I'd never seen before filled the streets. They possessed similar features – pronounced brow ridges, sharp jagged teeth, bloodshot eyes, clawed hands, long shaggy hair – and misshapen bodies whose arms and legs didn't always match: some limbs were short and thickly muscled, while others were overlong and skeletally thin. Along with their twisted physiology, the creatures shared a similarly crazed temperament. They broke windows, tore doors off hinges, even bent street lamps and overturned cars with incredible strength. They gorged on food, swilled booze, injected drugs, had sex – consensual or not – out in the open, with no regard for modesty or shame. They raced cars up and down the street, ramming into other vehicles, mowing down pedestrians, or slamming into buildings. Most of all, they fought each other with savage delight, sometimes using weapons, but more often employing only their claws and fangs. Blood ran freely, spraying the air, splattering onto the ground, and running through the gutters in crimson streams. Dead bodies littered the sidewalks and streets, and more than a few of the creatures took advantage of the carnage to indulge in a bit of cannibalism or necrophilia, often at the same time. And all the while the creatures laughed, shouted, and roared with delight, even when their actions left them wounded, mutilated, or dying – or perhaps especially then. Pleasure or pain, it was all the same to them. The beasts appeared to live only for sensation, the more intense the better.
It only made sense, though, considering what the creatures were: the physical incarnation of everything cruel and selfish within a man or woman's soul, liberated from all restraint and conscience and given free rein to do whatever they pleased, and to whomever they pleased.
They were Hydes.
The Sprawl is never quiet, but the chaotic din here was so loud that we had to shout to hear each other. I was grateful that my eardrums were as dead as the rest of me, or else I might've found the noise level painful instead of merely irritating.
"You told us it was bad here, but I never imagined it would be anything like this!" Devona said. "You should've brought an army instead of just the two of us!"
Darius shrugged. "It's hard enough traveling between dimensions on my own, let alone bringing people with me. Two is about all I can manage."
"Two is good," I said. "I've been getting sick of tagalongs, lately."
Devona looked out upon the mad riot taking place before us, her brow furrowing in concentration. Our goal was simply stated: we needed to enter the House of Dark Delights and put a stop to the madness that had gripped this Nekropolis – but in order to do that, we first had to cross the hellish war zone that was Sybarite Street. Devona was busy trying to figure out a way to make that happen, but she was an expert in security, not battle strategy. We share a telepathic link that enables us to know what the other is feeling most of the time, and I could sense her mounting anxiety. She felt as if she was in way over her head here, and I didn't blame her. I felt the same way. Devona and I had been in dangerous situations before, but nothing quite like this. I wasn't afraid of getting hurt or killed. I'm a zombie. I don't feel pain, and I'm just about as dead as I'm ever going to be. Don't get me wrong: I wasn't eager to step out into the street and be torn apart by those psychotic creatures, but only because it would be a real pain in the ass to put me back together. I was afraid for Devona. Normally she can handle herself in a fight just fine. She's smart as hell, and as a half-vampire, she's supernaturally strong and swift – but she was also several months pregnant.
She turned to look at me. "What do you think?"
"I think this is the last time I accept an invitation to travel to a parallel world."
A few hours earlier, Devona and I had been working at the Midnight Watch, the security business she owns and I sometimes help out with. Dr Moreau, the scientist who runs the House of Pain, was planning a big shindig to celebrate the unveiling of a whole new line of genetic mutations, kind of like t
he Nekropolis version of a fashion show. Devona had been building the business by leaps and bounds since she'd started it, and Dr M – impressed by the Midnight Watch's growing reputation – had come to her to handle the security for his event. It was a high-profile gig, and Devona was determined that everything would go off without a hitch. We were in her office, going over her security plans for the tenth time – well, she was going over them; I was doing my best to look like I was still paying attention – when Darius appeared out of nowhere. The Sideways Man explained to us that he'd just come from an alternate Nekropolis that was in desperate need of our help.
"Not to sound unsympathetic," I'd told him, "but I have a hard enough time trying to keep this Nekropolis in one piece. Don't they have anyone over there who can take care of the problem, whatever it is?"
"One man was working on it, but he got captured. He did manage to get a message to me, though. It was very simple: Go get Matt."
"How do you know he meant me? Maybe he was referring to a different Matt."
Darius smiled. "I doubt it, considering the man who gave me the message was you."
I could hardly turn down a request for help from myself, could I?
Devona and I stopped worrying about Dr M's mutant extravaganza as Darius filled us in on what was happening in that other Nekropolis. When he finished, we left the Midnight Watch, made a stop to pick up supplies, and then Darius did his thing – I'm not sure how; he's pretty closemouthed about how his abilities work – and we found ourselves transported to this insane version of our city. Well… more insane than usual.
I'd had reservations about Devona coming along, given her current, ah, state of health, but she insisted, told me that she was made of sterner stuff than a fully human woman and added that I should stop being such a typical man. I'd pointed out to her that since I was a self-willed zombie – the only one that's ever existed, from what I've been told – I was hardly a typical anything, but she just said, "Dead or alive, a man's a man," and that was the end of that. But now that we were here and I could see just how bad the situation was in this Nekropolis, I wished I'd tried harder to talk her out of coming. But we were here now, for better or worse, and we had a job to do.
Devona was an attractive petite blonde who looked to be in her late twenties but was actually closer to eighty. The half-vampire blood flowing through her veins that gave her supernatural strength had the side benefit of keeping her looking young. When working, she usually wears a skin-tight black leather outfit which is something of a fetishist's dream – and which I appreciate looking at quite a bit. Hey, I may be dead, but I'm not that dead. Devona's outfit was a bit snug around her belly, but since she was only a few months along in her pregnancy, she could still fit into her gear, though I doubted she'd be able to for much longer.
Unlike Devona, my supernatural state of non-life doesn't do much for my appearance. I still look like I'm in my late thirties – and always will, I suppose – but unless I've had a recent application of preservative spells courtesy of Papa Chatha, my local houngan, my skin tends to be grayish green and flaky around the edges. Basically, I often look – and unfortunately smell – like something that's been left to mold in the refrigerator too long. This day I was halfway through the cycle of my current round of preservative spells, so while my flesh was a bit discolored and I smelled like trash that needed to be taken out, all things considered I wasn't too bad. When I was alive and living on Earth (in Cleveland, to be precise), I'd worked as a homicide detective, and I still dressed like I had then: white shirt, gray suit, black shoes, and tie. I tended to wear ties with cartoon characters on them – Looney Tunes are a particular favorite – and today I was sporting my Tasmanian Devil tie.
We needed to get across the street and enter the House of Dark Delights, and before we'd left our dimension, we'd worked out a plan for accomplishing this. The only problem was we hadn't realized just how many of the rampaging Hydes would be in our way. I was starting to regret my earlier comment about being glad Darius had brought only Devona and me. From the looks of things, we could've used some backup. Overkill would've come in handy right then, or maybe the Crimson Shadow. But the three of us would have to do.
I turned to Devona and started to speak, but I stopped myself before the first word came out. As a zombie, I'm not exactly the fastest creature in the supernatural kingdom. Even a normal living human is faster than I am. Devona can move far more swiftly than me – not to mention how much stronger she is – and when it came to carrying out an attack, it only made sense for her to take the lead. I wasn't sexist. As a cop, I'd worked with plenty of women who were just as good if not better at their jobs than men were, and Devona and I had worked enough cases together for me to fully respect her capabilities. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put aside the fact that Devona was pregnant. It should've been impossible. After all, she's a half-vampire and I'm dead – meaning than I'm not functional in certain key biological areas, if you catch my drift. But not long ago, I'd helped recover a stolen artifact for Edrigu, the Darklord who rules the Dead, and he'd rewarded me with a magical coin that could grant me one day, and one day only, of mortal life again.
Once it became possible for Devona and me to have children, we discussed whether we wanted to. Devona was more than eager, me less so. After all, Nekropolis can be an insanely dangerous place – not exactly the best environment for raising children. But in the end I agreed and used the coin, and afterward, I was able to, er, get back in the game, so to speak. But things rarely go smoothly in Nekropolis. There were complications and we almost missed our opportunity, but that, as they say, is a story for another time. In the end, we managed to accomplish our goal and – with a bit of help from a fertility spell provided by Papa Chatha – Devona had conceived. So while I'm certain I'd have been hesitant for Devona to spring into action even if her pregnancy had been a normal one, the fact that it was literally a once-in-a-lifetime event made me even more reluctant to see her rush into a street full of homicidal monsters.
She recognized my hesitation for what it was, and she reached out to squeeze my arm in a familiar gesture of reassurance. I can't feel touch, but I can feel pressure, so she always makes sure to squeeze hard.
"Don't worry, Matt. I'll be OK." Her tone was confident, but I could see a trace of worry in her eyes, and I knew she was having similar thoughts, even if she'd never admit to it. But she didn't have to. Our telepathic link told me the truth.
I told myself that she was a fully capable adult who'd proven on numerous occasions that she could handle herself in dangerous situations. And we'd known this was going to be a risky mission when we'd agreed to accompany Darius. Still, it's not an easy thing to see the woman you love walk into battle – especially when she's carrying your child.
I was about to lie and tell her I knew she was going to be OK, when a rustling noise sounded behind us in the alley. The three of us turned to look and saw a hulking female Hyde like those rioting out in the street. The same bestial aspect and mismatched limbs, the same madness gleaming in her eyes, but there was one important difference: this creature had no skin.
"What do we have here?" she said in a guttural voice. Her red wet facial muscles pulled her mouth into a leering smile, the better to display her mouthful of sharp, jagged teeth. "You three need to join the party."
She leaned forward and I thought at first she was going to attack us, but instead she opened her mouth wide and breathed on us. Devona and Darius immediately started gagging, and I knew that the Hyde's breath must've been truly horrendous. Fortunately, the stench had no effect on me. Sometimes there are advantages to being dead, such as no functioning sense of smell.
The Hyde straightened and watched us for a moment, almost as if she were waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, she scowled.
"What's wrong? Why haven't you changed?"
"Well, Glassine, I'm a zombie, so I only breathe in order to take in enough air to speak. Since no air exchange occurs within my lun
gs, I can't be infected by the plague you're carrying. And as for my companions, they were each inoculated against your disease before we left home."
Glassine's scowl deepened. "How do you know my name?"
"We have a Glassine back where I come from. Her ancestor was a scientist who invented a formula for invisibility. Unfortunately, when she tried to use the formula on herself, it only made her skin transparent. Looks like the same thing happened to you in this dimension too."
Glassine leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she got a better look at me.
"Do I know you?"
"One of me, maybe."
I reached inside one of jacket pockets and brought out a gun. It wasn't my 9mm – I carry that on a shoulder holster hidden by my jacket – and it wasn't my squirt gun, which I keep filled with a combination of holy water, garlic juice, liquid wolfsbane, and a few other special ingredients. This was a gleaming chrome device that looked more like a piece of medical equipment than a weapon. Fortunately for me, it was both. I squeezed the trigger and a burst of yellow gas struck Glassine in the face. She pulled back, coughing.