by Tim Waggoner
"At least she's out of action for the time being," I said. "With any luck, she'll stay unconscious until it's all over."
"We can't just leave her here," Devona said. "If one of the others finds her like this, she'll be easy prey."
"We don't have time to move her," I pointed out. "The longer we stand here talking, the greater the chance that another of the Hydes will discover us. And even if we did have time, where could we take her? The moment we leave the alley, we'll be spotted."
"I suppose you're right," Devona said, but she didn't sound happy about it. I didn't blame her. I didn't like the idea of leaving the unconscious Glassine behind either, even if she was currently a Hyde. But we really didn't have a choice, not if we wanted to do what we'd come here for – and survive long enough to go home. It was possible that Glassine might fall victim to one or more of the other Hydes before we could fix things, and after seeing the savage creatures rioting out in the street, I had a pretty good idea of the unpleasant things that would happen to her if she were discovered. But there was nothing we could do about that except work as fast as we could and hope it would be enough. Leaving Glassine like this would be hard, but I had a bad feeling it would only be the first of a number of tough choices we'd be forced to make before this was over.
I tucked away my gas gun and withdrew several plastic-coated yellow spheres the size of ping-pong balls from my jacket pocket. Devona and Darius also took out handfuls of spheres, though where Devona had been keeping hers, given how tight her leather outfit was, remained a mystery to me. The three of us walked to the mouth of the alley, a single sphere held in each of our right hands, ready to throw, the rest clasped tight in our left hands.
We then stepped onto the sidewalk and into Hell.
TWO
We tossed the first grenades underarm into the street, aiming at the Hydes closest to us. As soon as the spheres struck, they burst open, releasing yellow clouds of antidote gas, and every creature within range sucked in lungfuls of the stuff and began hacking. We didn't wait for the gas to take effect. As soon as the first wave of grenades detonated, we ran into the street and threw the next batch ahead of us to clear the way. We continued hurling grenades as we went, and within moments the homicidal chaos that had reigned in Sybarite Street gave way to mass confusion as clouds of yellow gas filled the air and dozens of the Hydes began to revert to their original forms. It wouldn't last – witness how long it had taken Glassine to become re-infected – but our goal wasn't to effect a permanent cure, at least not yet. Our goal was to create enough of a distraction so that we could cross the street and reach the House of Dark Delights, preferably without getting any limbs torn out of their sockets.
I've done a lot of difficult things during my time in Nekropolis, but crossing that dimension's version of Sybarite Street was one of the hardest. As soon as one of the Hydes reverted to his or her natural form, any unchanged creature close to them attacked, and the air was filled with the sounds of their screaming as they tried to escape and failed. It took everything I had to ignore their cries of agony and terror and force myself to keep running, and from the pained look on Devona's face, I knew she felt the same. I told myself that we were doing what we had to do, and maybe that was true, but it sure as hell didn't make it any easier.
We were two-thirds of the way across the street when a Hyde behind the wheel of an Agony DeLite aimed his vehicle at us and tromped on the accelerator. Agony DeLites are flesh-tech, formed from the bodies of a dozen sadomasochists. The vehicles run on pain, and the harder their drivers abuse them, the faster they go. I don't know what the Hyde inside the vehicle was doing to motivate his car, but it screamed in pleasure as it came toward us, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the asphalt. A glance showed me that the driver had the windows up, not that it mattered. Even if he got a dose of antidote and began to change back to normal, it wouldn't be in time for him to stop the car. I wasn't worried about Devona; I knew she could leap out of the way in time, but Darius and I were a good deal slower. Darius might be able to avoid being hit, but I'd end up zombie roadkill for sure. I'd survive the impact, but I'd sustain so many broken bones, I'd end up as little more than a rattling skin bag – zombie maracas. I figured I'd better do something to avoid that, seeing as how it would make saving this dimension's Nekropolis a bit harder.
I still had a couple gas grenades in my left hand, so I reached into my pants pocket with my right and pulled out an ancient coin. This was one of Charon's coins, paid to the ferryman as a fee for passage to the Land of the Dead. In my case, its magic had allowed me to purchase twenty-four hours as a living man. I'd used it, so its magic was gone, or at least that one aspect of its magic was gone. But that didn't mean the coin was without power. Magic items are funny. Some work like batteries: once their juice is used up, they're worthless. Others – especially objects of significant power – are more complicated. If you follow the instructions carefully and take the proper precautions, they'll work for you. But if you screw anything up, or if you get greedy and try to use them one more time than you should, they'll turn around and bite you on the ass in spectacularly awful ways. I was counting on the coin being the latter type of object. If I was wrong… well, I hoped Devona and Darius wouldn't mind carting around an undead bag of bone shards for a while.
I flipped the coin at the Agony DeLite. It spun end over end through the air, struck the vehicle on its fleshy hood, and bounced off. But that brief contact was enough for the coin's magic to take effect. The vehicle's nearly orgasmic shrieks became pained gasps, and its skin went from a healthy pink to a sickly gray-green. It lost speed and began wobbling back and forth, its discolored flesh growing hard and leathery, its windshield clouding over, as if it were a huge cyclopean eye covered by a thick, milky cataract. The car wheezed, veered off to the right, and stumbled by without hitting any of us. It struck a street lamp made from a large spinal column and curving rib bones, shattering it. The impact brought the vehicle to a sudden halt, and with a rattling cough the engine – hell, the whole damned car – died.
The driver's door flew open and the operator of the vehicle climbed out, looking mad as hell and no worse for the collision with the street lamp. The Hyde started toward us, fangs bared, claws outstretched, ready to inflict some serious damage on the person responsible for spoiling his fun. But he didn't get five steps from the dead Agony DeLite – which was suffering from an advanced state of decay, its flesh liquefying and beginning to slide off its skeletal chassis – when his own flesh began to take on a gray cast and his breathing became labored. He made it two more steps before his face contorted in a grimace and he clutched his chest. A second later he collapsed to the ground, as dead as his vehicle.
I'd hope that the coin's death energy would affect the vehicle, though I hadn't expected the effect to be quite so dramatic. But I hadn't realized the coin's magic might also affect the driver, whose bare hands had no doubt been gripping the steering wheel when the coin struck the Agony DeLite. As we watched, the creature returned to his natural form in death, revealing his true self to be a youthful-appearing vampire that I didn't recognize. I knew the vampire hadn't exactly been an innocent bystander – I'd lived in Nekropolis too long to believe any of its citizens are completely innocent – but he'd attacked us only because the Hyde plague had transformed him into a maniacally murderous beast. And without meaning to, I'd killed him. I half-expected him to open his eyes and sit up – after all, he was a vampire – but he remained motionless. I guess a coin imbued with powerful death magic is just as effective as a wooden stake for his kind.
I glanced at Devona to see if she recognized him, but she shook her head. Whoever I'd killed, it hadn't been someone either of us knew, but that didn't make me feel any better about it. I hoped he'd be the last casualty before this day was over, but somehow I doubted it.
The three of us continued on, throwing gas grenades and doing our best to avoid the slashing claws of the rioting Hydes. At one point, I ran out of grenades a
nd switched to my gas gun.
I swiveled my weapon to the right, intending to fire a burst of antidote at a group of Hydes. But before I could squeeze the trigger, a Hyde lunged toward me from the side, a glowing blade clutched in his oversized paw. He wore the white uniform of a Bonegetter, one of Victor Baron's employees who scour Nekropolis in search of lost and discarded body parts, or better yet, entire bodies, of which there are quite an abundance, given the all-toooften violent nature of the Darkfolk. I recognized the instrument he held as a laser scalpel, a device that cuts through flesh and bone as if they were water – an exceptionally useful tool for performing vivisections on the go. Before I could react, the Bonegetter-Hyde slashed down with his laser scalpel and cut through my right wrist. My hand, still holding onto the gas gun, fell to the ground.
I felt no pain since my nerve-endings are as dead as the rest of me, and even if the laser scalpel hadn't automatically cauterized my wound, no blood would've spurted forth from my wrist stump. But that didn't mean I wasn't irritated to lose the hand, or more importantly right then, the gas gun that it held.
The Bonegetter-Hyde looked at me and grinned.
"So what are you going to do now, deader?" he growled.
"This," I said, and concentrated.
My hand flexed its muscles, managed to aim the gas gun's muzzle in the general direction of the Bonegetter-Hyde, and then pulled the trigger. A burst of yellowish gas shot up out of the Hyde's face, and he staggered back, coughing. He dropped the laser scalpel as he moved away from me, and I was halftempted to retrieve the device and bury it in the Bonegetter's eye for what he'd done. But I didn't. For one thing, he was already in the process of changing back into his true form, and for another, I needed to get my right hand back ASAP.
I knelt down and held my wrist stump out toward my severed hand. Small tendrils of grayish-green flesh extended from both the stump and my hand, and within seconds my hand had reattached itself to my body. I stood up, and since my hand still held onto the gun, I tightened my grip on the weapon to test how successful the rejoining had been. The hand flexed just fine, and I turned and fired a fresh burst of gas at another group of Hydes that were determined to finish what their Bonegetter brother had started.
I was thrilled – and to be honest, more than a bit surprised – that the spell had worked. Over the years I've developed an unfortunate habit of losing pieces of myself in the line of duty, and I'd always relied on Papa Chatha to put me back together. But not long ago I'd literally lost my head… well, technically it had been my body that I had lost, but you get the idea. That injury had been beyond Papa's ability to repair, and I had to go to Victor Baron, the original Frankenstein monster, to get my head put back on my body. Papa's professional pride had been wounded, and he'd devoted himself to developing a spell that would allow me to reattach body parts in the field, at least temporarily. And what was even cooler, I could still exert control over any part of my body, whether it was attached to me or not. This was the first time I'd had the opportunity to try out the spell, and I was impressed by the results. Papa had been quick to caution me that the spell didn't make permanent fixes, though. The severed parts didn't literally rejoin with my body. They were held in place with strips of flesh, almost like bandages, and they would still function since my will animated them, but if I didn't get a more permanent repair done within twenty-four hours, any severed parts would fall off and stay off, and I'd no longer be able to control them. Still, as a temporary fix, the spell was more than adequate, as demonstrated by the fact that it had just saved my undead ass from getting sliced and diced by a homicidal Hyde wielding a high-tech surgical tool.
Devona, Darius, and I continued fighting, and though we finally made it to the other side of the street, we didn't get there entirely intact. I had several deep slashes on my arms and chest, as did Devona. My wounds were nothing to worry about; they didn't bleed and none of them were serious enough to slow me down, but the sight of Devona's injuries made me feel sick. They bled a lot, and even though they were healing rapidly, I couldn't help fearing damage had been done to the baby inside her. Sensing my worry, Devona gave me a smile, but it didn't do much to reassure me. Even though I knew rationally that she was all right, I also knew I wouldn't feel better until we'd done what we'd come to this dimension for and returned home safe and sound.
Though Darius had a few scratches, he'd fared better than either of us in the injury department, no doubt having picked up more than a few survival skills during the course of his interdimensional travels. While the three of us had made it across Sybarite Street relatively intact, there was no guarantee we'd remain that way. The clouds of yellow gas we'd released into the street were beginning to dissipate, and the Hydes who'd been returned to their true forms were rapidly becoming re-infected by the plague. We'd managed to create the confusion we'd needed, but I knew it wouldn't last much longer. A few more moments, and the Hydes in the street would begin turning their attention to us, and once that happened, they'd come for us en masse, and no amount of strategy or trickery would save us then. We needed to get inside the House of Dark Delights, and we needed to do it fast.
In my Nekropolis, the House of Dark Delights is flanked by two businesses, a soul-modification parlor called Spiritus Mutatio and a casino called You Bet Your Life (a name which patrons often learn to their dismay should be taken literally). In this world, it had a Flensecrafters on one side, and a talent agency called Pickman's Models on the other. Otherwise, it looked much the same: a simple three-story white building with green shingles and matching shutters, no fence around the property, no bars on the windows, no obvious signs of any security precautions at all. But I knew the House was almost as well protected a Darklord's stronghold. Testament to this was the fact that despite the wild, savage nature of the creatures that had taken over this Nekropolis, not one of the Hydes had set foot upon the property. The yard was intact, and the House 's facade unmarred. We needed to get into the House, but attempting a break-in would be a fast, unpleasant, and extremely messy way of committing suicide.
Good thing I had a key.
We hurried up the front walk and stepped onto the porch. Nothing happened: no wardspells activated, no alarm sounded, and the front door didn't fly open to disgorge someone intent on killing us. So far, so good. We were out of gas grenades by this point, so we'd drawn our gas guns. Devona and Darius watched our backs while I shifted my gas gun to my left hand and removed a key from my shirt pocket. There was nothing special about it – it looked like any ordinary house key – but when I inserted it into the front lock and turned, I was rewarded with a rapid series of clicking sounds. And while we could hear the physical locks deactivating, we couldn't hear the door's wardspells powering down, but I knew they were. Or at least, I hoped they were. When the clicking noises ended, I waited for a count of five, as I'd been instructed, then I withdrew the key from the lock and tucked it back into my shirt pocket. I returned my gas gun to my right hand, and then – even though I didn't need to breathe – I took a deep breath before gripping the door knob and turning it.
The key had been given to us by Bennie, the owner of the House of Dark Delights in our world. And though according to Darius this dimension had its own version of Bennie who owned this House, that didn't mean our Bennie's key would successfully open this Bennie's lock, if you know what I mean. So as I pushed the door open, I steeled myself for any number of nasty physical and mystical surprises to go off in our faces, but the door swung open easily and quietly, without blasting us into nonexistence.
I turned to tell Devona and Darius that everything was all right, only to see a mass of Hydes running across the lawn toward us. Evidently their fear of Bennie had been overridden by their desire to get their claws on some fresh meat. Devona saw the look on my face, and without turning to glance over her shoulder, she grabbed hold of Darius and me by the arm, shoved us inside, and then leaped in after us. I scrambled to slam the door shut, and flipped the deadbolt switch just as the first
Hyde slammed into the door. The one switch activated all the locks, both physical and mystical, and despite the furious pounding on the other side of the door, there was no way the creatures could get inside now. We were safe, in an out-of-the-frying-pan, into-the-fire kind of way.
I looked around, but aside from the three of us, the foyer was empty. Bennie usually has at least one bouncer working the door, more when business is especially good, but we were alone. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not, but since it meant no one was currently trying to kill us, I decided to take it as a positive development.
The House of Dark Delights is the premier bordello in Nekropolis. Whatever your sexual proclivities, capabilities, desires, fantasies, or fetishes, the House of Dark Delights can provide what you're looking for – if you have the darkgems to pay for it, that is. The hallways and rooms are perfumed with a variety of exotic-smelling aphrodisiacs – not that I can smell any of them or that they'd have any effect on my dead flesh if I could. And it's noisy: conversation from customers waiting for their "appointments" to begin, background music playing, laughter, sighs, moans, and cries of ecstasy or pain – often both at the same time – from behind closed doors. It was noisy, all right, but all the sound seemed to be coming from a single direction: the lounge. And instead of the usual good-natured buzz of conversation and laughter, the air was filled with guttural animalistic noises more suited to a zoo.
I turned to Devona. "Remind me how much we're getting paid for this job."
"Nothing," she said.
I sighed. "Right."
We headed slowly down the foyer and toward the lounge, gas guns held at the ready. Devona and me in front, Darius behind us, covering our rear. We did our best to move silently, though given how much noise was coming from the lounge, we really didn't need to bother. We could've skipped down the hallway singing "We're Off to See the Wizard," at the top of our lungs, and I doubt anyone would've heard us. When we reached the end of the hallway, we flattened our backs against the wall and peered into the lounge.