by Tim Waggoner
"When I couldn't go with you to the other Nekropolis, I snuck a portable camera onto you when you weren't looking. The quality of its recording isn't quite as good as what I can do, but it'll serve in a pinch. Just let me start downloading…" He paused and his expression went blank. "Yeah… yeah, that's some good stuff." He looked at me and grinned. "My producer is gonna love it!"
I sighed. It seemed I couldn't get away from Varney no matter what I did. "Do me a favor: don't put any more of those damned things on me without my permission, OK? We dead folk have a thing about bugs."
While that was true enough, the real reason I disliked carrying around an insect – even a machine that resembled an insect – was because of an experience I'd had several months back with a friend of mine named Gregor. At least, I thought he'd been a friend. As it turned out, he'd been something far different. He was gone now, but I still didn't like bugs, and I especially didn't like them riding around concealed on me.
"Sure thing," Varney said. "Whatever you say, Matt."
What I wanted to say next was less than polite and would've earned me another disapproving Matt from Devona, but a second knock sounded at the door before I could speak, this one sharp and businesslike. The door opened and a woman wearing a white doctor's coat walked in. She was a tall, thin Bloodborn woman, with short black hair and porcelain-white skin. Her lips were full and red, and I knew that she'd recently dined. But considering this was a hospital, I figured the staff had ready access to fresh blood. She appeared young – barely out of her teens – but she moved with the preternatural stillness that only very old vampires were capable of.
She crossed to Devona's bed with brisk strides, ignoring Varney as she passed, but when she saw me her brow furrowed and her lips pursed in distaste.
"What is this thing doing here?" she demanded in an icy tone. "This is a hospital room, not the morgue."
Devona scowled. "This thing is my husband, and I want him here."
It didn't surprise me that Devona stuck up for me. It wasn't the first time she'd done so. While Nekropolitans could be quite liberal-minded about some things, the idea of anyone having a zombie for a romantic partner was, to put it mildly, out of the ordinary, and people tended to have varying reactions when they saw us together. What surprised me was hearing Devona refer to me as her husband. We weren't married, not in any legal sense of the word. Before relocating to Nekropolis to escape the alwaysincreasing human population, the Darkfolk had tended to live in isolated pockets and out-of-the-way places. They hadn't really had anything like a centralized government, so there was no need for formal laws. If one Darkfolk wanted to have a long-term romantic relationship with another, they just did so without worrying about any kind of legally binding agreement. Besides, the concept of holy matrimony didn't sit well with the more diabolical members of the Darkfolk. And so there were no priests or justices of the peace to marry people in Nekropolis – at least as far as I knew – and the issue had never come up between Devona and me, despite the fact that we'd been living together for a while now and she was carrying my child.
I'd been married once before, back on Earth when I was alive, but it hadn't lasted long. I'd been a cliché – the cop who was more dedicated to his career than his marriage – and eventually my wife got tired of trying and gave up. And I don't blame her one bit. But that had been years ago, and I'd long since moved on. I wasn't averse to the idea of getting married again; it just didn't seem like something that was even possible in Nekropolis, let alone necessary.
So why did it bother me to hear Devona refer to me as her husband?
The doctor looked at me like I was something nasty she'd found in a patient's bedpan. "Be that as it may, we maintain the strictest standards of cleanliness at the Fever House, and it's unacceptable for there to be a… person present in the room who's experiencing active – if delayed – decay. The germs…"
"I was thoroughly, and rather humiliatingly, decontaminated when we arrived," I said. "And a nurse gave me this." I removed a gem-encrusted amulet from my jacket pocket and showed it to the doctor. "She told me that as long as I kept it on my person, I wouldn't be in danger of germifying anyone."
The doctor frowned. "Such magic isn't one hundred percent efficacious – it's the main reason we prefer to use technology whenever possible in our treatment plans – but I suppose it'll be sufficient in this case." She turned one again to Devona. "Especially since you so strongly desire your… husband to remain. Though I will have to ask him to please step away from the bed so that I might conduct my examination without hindrance."
The doctor was long past the point of getting on my nerves, but I reminded myself that she was here to help Devona, and I kept my mouth shut as I stood and stepped away from the bed.
The doctor introduced herself as she checked the readouts on the various monitors.
"I'm Dr Servia, director of emergency medicine. I realize that your past appointments have been with one of my colleagues in obstetrics, but as of now, I'll be taking charge of your care. Tell me what happened."
So Devona gave the doctor a condensed version of our adventure in the parallel dimension Darius had transported us to, while Servia continued examining her.
Fever House was an old-fashioned name for hospital, and the first time I'd heard the term, I'd imagined something like an asylum filled with shrieking straitjacketed patients confined in cell-like rooms with stone floors and walls. But vampires have been practicing the art of medicine since before humanity had developed a written language, and there's nothing primitive about the facilities at the Fever House. They're easily as sophisticated as any Earth hospital, if not more so. You might wonder why vampires bother with medicine – after all, as long as they have access to a steady diet of human blood, they're immortal and rapidly heal all injuries (with the exception of wooden stakes to the heart and severe sunburn). But the Bloodborn's interest in medicine has nothing to do with them. Rather, it's all about maintaining a healthy food supply. The healthier humanity is, the purer their blood. So throughout the centuries vampires developed and passed on their medical knowledge to human physicians so that the health of the herd might be maintained. Most human beings are unaware of this, of course, and good thing. Who would want to know that the cough syrup they'd just given their sick child was developed by a predator species that views humans as a tasty snack?
Over the course of the four centuries since Nekropolis was founded, the physicians at the Fever House have expanded the scope of their medical knowledge to encompass treating Darkfolk of all kinds, and while many Nekropolitans have healing powers equal to those of vampires, there are still any number of illnesses and injuries – mundane and magical – that they need help recovering from, and the Fever House does a brisk trade. I knew Devona was in good hands medically speaking, the best the city had to offer, but I was still nervous. Our situation wasn't exactly a common one, and I doubted they covered half-vampire/zombie matings in vampire medical school.
As I was thinking, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye – something small and dark scuttling across the floor. Without a functioning nervous system, I couldn't feel a physical chill, but I experienced the psychic equivalent. The last time I'd seen something like that… I turned to get a clearer look, and I saw a black shape the size of a large insect zip past my feet and disappear beneath Devona's bed. Or thought I did. It moved so fast, I couldn't tell if it was real or maybe just a trick of the light combined with my anxiety over Devona's condition. I may not be the most imaginative guy, but living in Nekropolis will make anyone a bit jumpy. Here, monsters under the bed aren't just a childhood fantasy.
I didn't want to say anything, not only because I wanted to avoid worrying Devona but I also to avoid looking like a fool in case the bug was nothing more than my imagination. So I concentrated, and the thin flesh tendrils keeping my right hand attached to my wrist released their grip. I allowed my hand to fall to the floor, and I followed up the soft plap of its dead meat hitting the tiled floor with a mutter
ed, "Damn it!" Then I bent down to retrieve my hand and took the opportunity to sneak a quick peek under the bed. There was nothing there, not even dust. It seemed the hospital staff's fanatical devotion to keeping their institution germ-free extended to the finer points of housekeeping as well. Which made the likelihood that there were insects scuttling around the rooms seem all the more impossible.
I decided the bug had been nothing but my imagination after all. I held my wrist stump near my hand, and it obligingly backed up like a tiny vehicle in reverse and reattached itself. I flexed my fingers to make sure everything was working, and then I stood once more.
"You really should have someone sew that back on while we're here," Devona said.
"Sorry," Dr Servia said, sounding anything but, "we don't perform medical procedures on your kind."
The subtle added stress on those last two words got my hackles up, but I kept myself from responding – one more step on my way to becoming a paragon of self-restraint. Devona's scowl told me she was going to say something, but I reached out to her through our link and projected a wave of calm to let her know that I didn't think the doctor's comment was worth commenting on. Devona gave me a look that said, All right, if you say so, but I could feel that she wasn't happy about it. As a half-vampire she'd spent her whole life dealing with the racism and classism of fullblooded vampires, and she had little tolerance for it.
Servia continued with her examination with brisk professionalism. When she was finished, she stepped back and regarded Devona with unblinking eyes. Vampires don't need to blink, but the younger ones still do, either to appear more lifelike or simply out of habit. Older vampires like Servia didn't bother with such mundane trivialities – if they even remembered them at all.
"Everything appears…" Her full red lips parted in a cold approximation of a smile. "Well, I can't say normal. But it seems that neither you nor your baby suffered any permanent ill effects from your interdimensional trip. But I advise you to refrain from any unnecessary exposure to magic during the remainder of your pregnancy. Half-vampires like you are typically sterile, and zombies…" she trailed off. "As I understand it, a significant amount of magical assistance was required in order for the two of you to conceive. While the spells were no doubt powerful ones, such magic is, in its own way, quite delicate. Other magic – especially the kind required for a dimensional crossing – may have a deleterious effect on the spells associated with your pregnancy. My advice is that you avoid both magic use and exposure until after your baby is born."
Though the doctor had just given us good news, you couldn't have told it from Devona's crestfallen expression.
"But Doctor, I'm a specialist in wardspells! I use magic in my business all the time!"
"Yes, the Midnight Watch. I've seen your commercials on Mind's Eye. Given your current situation, I suggest you take a leave of absence from work," Servia said. "And if that's not possible, then I advise you at least take a step back and assume a more supervisory role." She paused, and then added in a businesslike tone, "That is, if you wish to carry your child to term. Please see the receptionist at Admitting on your way out to schedule a follow-up appointment for next week."
And then without waiting for more questions – and without giving me another glance – Servia started toward the door. Varney hadn't said a word the entire time the doctor had been present, but he watched her go, his camera eye tracking her progress, and I wondered if despite his earlier pledge not to do any filming in here he'd been recording the entire time. I was just about to say something to him when the door opened and a male Bloodborn stepped into the room.
Both Servia and Varney immediately dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.
The newcomer was a huge, well-muscled barbarian of a man, wearing only a loincloth, boots, and a black fur cape. His skin was bone white, and his flesh appeared hard as marble. He had long brown hair, and a thick full beard which spilled down to his chest. His eyes were cold as arctic ice, and they gazed upon the world with the merciless calculation of an apex predator. This was Galm, Darklord and ruler of the Bloodborn, one of the most powerful and fearsome monsters that had ever existed. And he was one thing more…
Devona's father.
FOUR
Like all the Darklords, Galm projected an aura of power, and his presence filled the room with a charged atmosphere like the air right before a thunderstorm. He moved with the liquid grace of a jungle predator, seemingly at ease but ready to strike at any moment.
Servia and Varney kept their heads bowed and didn't move a muscle as their lord and master glided past. Devona didn't react to Galm with the same sort of subservience as the other two – he was her father, after all – but she looked shocked to see him, which was understandable, since the last time they'd spoken Galm had cast her out of the Bloodborn, told her that she wasn't welcome in his home, and – most hurtful of all – that as far as he was concerned, she was no longer his daughter.
I wasn't a vampire – at least not in this dimension – but I still felt the psychic impact of Galm's presence. I refused to let myself be intimidated, though. I'd dealt with Darklords before, Galm included, and while I respected the fact they were on top of the supernatural food chain, I'd be damned if I'd allow any of them to think they cowed me.
"Hello, Galm. I'd say it's nice to see you again, but my mother taught me never to lie to bloodsucking monsters."
Galm looked at me, his eyes flashing a dangerous crimson, but all he said was, "Richter," before turning his attention to Devona. He crossed to her bed and stood beside it, on the opposite side from where I was. He didn't smile, didn't reach out to take her hand. His eyes – cold blue once more – looked at her without even a glimmer of affection.
"When you were admitted, the hospital staff contacted the Cathedral and told my people. I came as soon as I was informed." Galm's tone was reserved, each of his words precisely enunciated, almost as if it required extra concentration for him to speak. He was thousands of years old, and I wondered if he was so ancient and powerful that he sometimes had difficulty remembering simple things, like how to use language. As inhuman as vampires can be by their very nature, the older they get, the more alien they become – and no vampire is older than Lord Galm.
Devona's initial surprise gave way to anger, and she struggled to control her voice as she spoke. "I didn't know you cared, Father."
Galm opened his mouth to reply, then stopped as if reconsidering his words. He looked at Servia and Varney, who remained kneeling, and said, "You two may rise."
Servia and Varney did as they were commanded. Neither spoke and they stood very still, as if afraid to draw the vampire king's attention. Unfortunately for them, Galm did not take his gaze off them.
He pointed to Varney. "What is your purpose here?"
Varney quickly – and without stuttering too badly – told Galm about the documentary he was filming. Galm looked at him a moment, and then said, "You may wait in the hall."
Varney, looking very relieved to be dismissed, bowed his head once, and got the hell out of there. I half-expected him to leave one of his little bug-cameras behind, but I didn't see him launch one. As much as Varney wanted to get good footage for the documentary, it seemed he wanted to risk angering Galm even less. I can't say I was sorry to see Varney kicked out.
Galm then looked at Servia. "You are her doctor, I assume?"
"Yes, my lord," Servia answered in a docile tone that contained no hint of her former haughtiness.
"Tell me about my daughter's condition."
Servia did so, clearly and concisely, and then Galm dismissed her. She left with more dignity than Varney, but it was still obvious from her expression that she was just as relieved to go. When the doctor was gone, Galm turned back to Devona.
"I am glad to hear that you and your baby suffered no permanent ill effects from your journey."
"Let's skip the pleasantries, Father," Devona said. "Why are you here? It's not out of concern for me, so there must be someth
ing you want."
Galm's features were as composed as any statue's, but as I looked across Devona's bed at him, I thought I detected a slight softening of his gaze. If he had been human, I might have thought her comment had hurt him. But this was Galm; mere words could never harm a being like him. Could they?
"Devona… as you know, live births are rare events among our kind."
That was putting it mildly. Vampires' primary method of reproduction was to exchange blood with a human who they'd drained near to death, hence the term Bloodborn. Vampires considered these converts to be their true children, normally carefully chosen and groomed to enter the realm of the undead. Sometimes, however, vampires mated with humans because their crossbreed progeny often possessed powerful psychic abilities that fully undead vampires didn't. That was the reason Galm had impregnated Devona's human mother, who had died during childbirth, as is often the case when human women bear halfvampire children, even with the help of the doctors at the Fever House. Galm had never demonstrated any love for Devona. He'd viewed her as nothing more than a useful tool, and when she was old enough, he'd put her to work in the Cathedral. In time, she had demonstrated an aptitude for understanding magic, if not casting spells herself, and Galm had made her the caretaker of his collection of rare and powerful artifacts. It had been her task to maintain the wardspells protecting the collection, and she had done so successfully for over fifty years before one of the objects was stolen and she'd hired me to find it.