by Tim Waggoner
Jambha merely shrugged again, as if to say, That's war for you. The elevator arrived, the door slid open, and we entered. It was a bit of a tight fit for the five of us – it was Varvara's private elevator, after all, and not exactly designed for crowds – but we managed. The door slid shut and the elevator started to rise to the accompaniment of a Muzak version of the 1812 Overture.
"I've never met a Darklord before," Shamika said as we ascended. "How should I act?" She didn't sound particularly nervous, just curious – which was strange. Anyone else would've peed themselves at the thought of being in the same building as a Darklord, let alone in the same room. I've encountered all five Darklords on one occasion or another, but I know Varvara best, and I'm still intimidated by her, though I'd never give her the satisfaction of showing it. Anyone with half a mind should've been scared to death to meet the Demon Queen, and anyone with a whole mind should have been terrified right out of it. But not Shamika. She'd demonstrated that she could take care of herself against Magilla, but handling a single demon of middling rank was nowhere near the same as being able to defend yourself against the queen of the Demonkin herself. I wondered if Shamika was overconfident, naive, or a combination of the two. Though she'd supposedly been born and raised in Nekropolis, she didn't always act like it.
"Let Matt do the talking," Devona said. "Varvara finds him amusing."
Shamika frowned. "And that's a good thing?"
"It's an irritating thing," I said, "but useful. As long as Varvara is entertained, there's a decent chance she won't destroy us for bothering her."
Varney grinned uncertainly. "You're joking, right?"
I looked at him. "You've met Galm. You tell me if I'm joking."
His grin fell away as he considered my comment.
The elevator came to a stop as it reached Varvara's penthouse. The door slid open, and we stepped out and into a place I didn't recognize. Normally, Varvara's private quarters look like a parody of a romance writer's ideal bedroom: silk and satin everywhere, a huge canopied bed covered with overstuffed pillows, perfume-scented air… All of that was gone now, replaced by a war room with dim fluorescent lighting and gray walls. Computer stations lined the room, manned by furiously typing demons wearing communications headsets. A black flag with a crimson flame emblazoned in the middle hung on the wall, along with a number of motivational posters that showed fierce-faced demons and featured slogans like SUFFER NOT A WITCH TO LIVE and PUT THE FLAME TO THE ARCANE! In the middle of the room sat a large gleaming metal table displaying a detailed three-dimensional hologram of the entire city. A keyboard lay flush with the tabletop, along with several monitor screens and rows of buttons and dials – the setup would've done a cheesy spy movie's evil mastermind proud. Standing before the projection dressed in her stylish black uniform was Varvara, and next to her, wearing a similar uniform, was a male demon I didn't recognize.
Like her, he appeared human – tall and handsome in a lean, wolfish way, clean-shaven, but with thick black hair hanging down to his shoulders. Not exactly a military haircut, I thought, but then again, he did serve in a demon army, and their regulations were no doubt somewhat more broad than an Earthly army. The golden stars on his shoulders, along with the fact he stood at the map with Varvara, told me who he was.
"General Klamm, I presume?" I said.
He looked up at me, and I saw that his eyes were as black as his hair, and they shone in the light as if made of polished stone. It was an eerie effect, and I was surprised to discover it creeped me out a little.
"And you must be Matthew Richter. I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I don't see any point in lying." His voice was rich and cultured, with the weary, snotty edge of a food or theatre critic who'd long ago gotten used to the world constantly disappointing him.
"That's funny. I thought lying came as naturally as breathing to demons." I looked him up and down. "You know, given your name, I expected you to look somewhat more mollusk-y."
Klamm's dark eyes glittered. "And I expected you to be a loudmouth who thinks he's cleverer than he really is. At least one of us isn't disappointed."
As desperately as I wanted to hit him with a devastatingly witty comeback, nothing came to mind, so I settled for simply glaring at him.
Varvara's emerald eyes sparkled with delight at our interplay. "I'd tell you boys to behave yourselves, but where would be the fun in that?" She left the table and came walking toward us. Perhaps sauntered might be a better word. Even when she's all business, Varvara moves like a jungle cat in heat.
I expected her to ask me what information I had for her, but instead of approaching me, she walked up to Devona, bent down – Varvara's quite tall and Devona's petite – and gave her a big hug. "Congratulations, sweetie! I'm so thrilled that you and Matt are expecting!"
"Thank you," Devona said. "We're both quite excited."
"Well, of course you are!" Varvara said. "It's not every day that a zombie and a half-vampire have a child, let alone twins."
Devona and I just gaped at her.
Varvara frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"
"I'm only having one baby," Devona said. "The doctors at the Fever House-"
Varvara interrupted Devona with an imperious wave of her riding crop. "Don't know their fangs from a can opener. While I, on the other hand, am a dread and mighty Darklord." She grinned. "If I say you're going to have twins, you can count on it."
I was struggling to accept the bombshell the queen of demons had just dropped on us. Devona was right; during all our doctors' visits, no one had ever mentioned that she was carrying two babies. I had no reason to doubt Varvara. Despite what I'd said to Klamm about demons, I'd never known her to lie to me. When you're as powerful as Varvara, you don't need to resort to lying to get what you want. But I couldn't see how the Bloodborn doctors at the Fever House could've made such a mistake.
"The doctors performed ultrasounds…" I began.
"Which only picked up one heartbeat," Varvara said. "And that's because only one of your children has a beating heart. The other is… well, I'm not sure what she is, to be honest. She's alive… in a sense anyway." Varvara flashed Devona a smile. "She's moving around in there pretty good. Her brother, on the other hand, is a bit more sedate, but they're both healthy enough. I can't tell too much about them. The magic that surrounds them is too strong and too different from anything I've ever encountered before. But they're going to be very special children, that I can promise you."
Every demon in Varvara's war room broke off what they were doing and turned to look at Devona, expressions of curiosity and in some cases outright wonderment on their faces. Klamm looked at Devona too, but his gaze was focused on her mildly swollen belly, and the look on his face was one I couldn't read, but which made me uncomfortable for some reason.
"My father visited me recently," Devona said. "Why didn't he say anything?"
"He might not have sensed the truth," Varvara said. "We Darklords, while more or less equally matched in power, possess different skills. Talaith and I are both more versatile when it comes to working magic than the boys are." She paused. "Then again, Galm might've had his own reasons for not telling you. But I assure you, it's true. You are carrying twins."
I looked at Devona and she looked at me, and we both smiled. We'd once been trapped in a virtual reality in which we were a human couple living on Earth. In that dream scenario, we'd have two children, fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. Though they hadn't been real, we'd believed they were, and when we'd realized we were living in an illusion, we'd fought to free ourselves. But in doing so, the virtual reality vanished – including our two children. Even though they'd been nothing more than dreams, losing them had still hurt like hell. There was no way the babies Devona was carrying were those two dreams made flesh, I knew that. And yet… Nekropolis is a damned strange place, and the impossible happens here with almost monotonous regularity.
I decided to go back to being a loudmouth, since it's something I seem to have p
articular talent for. "I'm surprised to see you so happy for us, Varvara. I didn't know you were the maternal type."
The Demon Queen gave me a look I couldn't read. What is it with me and interpreting demonic facial expressions today? I thought.
"The Creche of the Demonkin lies in the caverns beneath Demon's Roost." Her voice was even and without emotion, and I thought that I'd never heard her sound so dangerous before. "I may not personally lay every egg incubated there, but I make damn sure they receive the very best care. And if a single egg fails to hatch due to the negligence of a caregiver, the penalty for that failure is dire indeed. Do you understand?"
Since I'm dead, I don't need to swallow, but I did so at that moment anyway. "I do."
She looked at me for a long moment, and then frowned. "Is something wrong with your head? It looks a little lopsided."
I'd been so concerned with not angering Varvara further that I'd momentarily allowed my concentration to lapse, and my neck's hold on my severed head had slackened. Luckily Varvara had said something before my head had slipped off and fallen to the floor. That would've been embarrassing, and I didn't want to think about what cutting remark Klamm might've made if it had happened. I concentrated, and my head and neck gripped each other tightly again.
"I'm all right," I said, trying to sound casual.
Varvara looked me up and down, and though I didn't feel anything, I had the impression that she was mystically scanning me. When she was finished, her grin returned.
"Just try to keep it together, Matt." She then turned to look at Varney, Shamika, and Scorch. "The demoness I know, for am I not ultimately mother to all the Demonkin?"
She walked over to Scorch and gently touched her cheek. "There's a war on, dear. Go downstairs and join the rest of your fellow soldiers."
Scorch bowed her head. "Yes, my queen." She gave Devona and me an apologetic look before heading back to the elevator and getting on. As the door slid shut, she gave a thumbs-up to wish us luck. I didn't blame Scorch for leaving. She had no choice but to obey Varvara's command – not if she wanted to continue breathing, that is.
Varvara then turned to Varney and Shamika. "And who are these two charming people?"
I introduced them, and Varvara gave Shamika a long look, scowling as if she were puzzled. But then she shook her head as if to clear it and focused her attention on Varney.
"I'm glad you're here," she told him. "You have my permission to film and broadcast anything you see. When this war is over, history will vindicate the Demonkin, and I want the citizens of Nekropolis to see what we do here this day."
"My queen," Klamm began, "Do you really think that's wise? If the Arcane should somehow tap into the Bloodborn's signal…" He gave Varney a sideways look. "Assuming he isn't an Arcane spy, that is."
Varvara turned to Klamm and this time when she smiled, her mouth was full of shark's teeth. "I'm not afraid of anyone, General. Least of all the Arcane. Please do your best to remember that."
I had to give Klamm this: he was one cool customer. Anyone else would've fainted dead away to have Varvara talk to him like that, but he not only held steady, he replied in a calm voice. "Of course, my queen. I meant no disrespect. But you made me a general because of my skill at intelligence-gathering. I would be remiss if I didn't point out the potential pitfalls of allowing a cameraman with cybernetic implants access to our war room." He paused. "Especially right now."
Varvara looked at Klamm for a moment, shark teeth still bared, but then she sighed and nodded. She closed her mouth, and when she opened it again, her teeth had returned to normal.
"I suppose you're right." She looked at Varney. "If you're not a spy, I apologize for this."
She waved her riding crop, and Varney yelped as his cybernetic eye exploded in a shower of sparks. The flesh around the eye blackened as it burned, but Varney was Bloodborn, and the injury began repairing itself almost immediately. Too bad his camera eye couldn't be fixed as easily. He looked as if he wanted to protest, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He was lucky that Varvara hadn't decided to completely incinerate him on the spot, and he doubtless knew it.
Devona stood next to Shamika, a comforting arm around the girl's shoulders. Shamika didn't seem all that intimidated by Varvara, even though the Demon Queen had just used her magic to burn out Varney's camera eye and could use her powers to do worse to us at any moment. Instead, Shamika's attention was focused on General Klamm. The girl stared at him, her gaze intense, but I couldn't tell if she was afraid of him or fascinated with him. Or both.
There was a lot about Shamika I hadn't been able to get a handle on, and it was really starting to bug me.
Klamm was aware of the girl's interest in him, and he returned her look with a knowing smirk that made her avert her gaze.
Varvara turned to me then. "You know I always enjoy catching up with you, Matt, but as you might imagine, I'm a wee bit busy at the moment, what with planning a retaliatory strike on Talaith and all. So why don't you tell me why you came to see me, and then we can both get on with the rest of our day."
I tried to decide how to begin. I couldn't tell her that Dis had asked me to investigate the disappearances of the magic-users in the hope that I might learn something that would stop this war. Dis needed to maintain the appearance of neutrality in the dispute between Varvara and Talaith, and I was determined to keep his involvement in the case quiet, more for my sake than his. The last thing I wanted to do was to make a god mad at me.
"Papa Chatha is missing," I said. I quickly filled her in on what little we knew. "That's why Shamika is with us," I finished. "She's helping us search for her uncle."
"Her uncle?" Klamm said. "Do you have any proof that she's related to Papa Chatha? Had any of you met her before today or even so much as heard Papa mention her?"
"Are you implying that Shamika's a spy?" Devona said, flashing Klamm a little fang to show what she thought of him.
"She is Arcane," Klamm said. "And by appealing to your sympathies, she's managed not only to worm her way into Demon's Roost, but into Varvara's war room."
I started to protest, but then I thought about what Klamm said. He had a point – one that I didn't want to examine too closely lest I become as paranoid as him.
"What do you want from me, Matt?" Varvara asked. "And make it fast: I'm busy planning a war, you know."
With Varvara, I've found that the direct approach works best, and the bold-as-hell approach works even better.
"I want you to release Papa – and the other magic-users while you're at it. Then you and Talaith can make nice, and the rest of us can get on with our lives, such as they are."
Varvara's green eyes blazed with baleful light, and her expression became one of cold fury. I could feel power building around her, and I knew I was a hair's breadth away from being turned into zombie fricassee.
I gave her a lopsided grin. "Come on – you knew I was going to ask."
Klamm fixed me with a disdainful glare. "My queen! You can't possibly tolerate such insolence!"
"Insolence is my middle name," I told Klamm. "Well, actually it's Stephen, but you get the idea."
The queen of the Demonkin looked at me for a moment, then she smiled and the power that had been building around her disappeared.
"Of course you were going to ask, Matt," she said, almost fondly. "It's what you do, isn't it? Ask the questions others are afraid to, go places they won't or can't, all in pursuit of an ideal called Truth that in the end may not even exist."
"I usually find answers," I said, trying not to sound defensive.
"Perhaps," Varvara said, "but they aren't always the answers you hope to find, are they?"
I didn't reply.
Varvara regarded me for a moment more before turning and walking back to the map table. Klamm joined her, but since no one had extended an invitation to me, I stayed where I was, standing with Devona, Shamika, and Varney. I figured I'd already pushed my luck with Varvara enough for the time being.
; "I had nothing to do with the disappearances of the Arcane," Varvara said. "Nor did any of my subjects." She glanced sideways at Klamm. "At least, not as far as we know. Investigations are ongoing."
Klamm smiled coldly at that, and I could imagine the excruciatingly agonizing nature of those "investigations."
Varvara continued. "For whatever reason, Talaith has chosen to blame me for the disappearances, and I've been unable to convince her otherwise."
"Not that you tried very hard," I guessed. "After all, a war with Talaith would be too much fun to pass up."
Varvara's smile held more than a hint of slyness. "It has been a long time since we've had a decent war," she admitted. "The last full-scale conflict between the Dominions was the Blood Wars, and they happened over two centuries ago. We're long overdue for another."
"And it doesn't bother you that people will die while you and Talaith play soldiers?" I asked.
Varvara gave me a look. "What part of Demon Queen don't you understand?"
Klamm chose that moment to jump in again. "Have you considered the possibility that Talaith kidnapped the missing magic-users herself and then blamed Varvara for the crime in order to create an excuse to attack the Sprawl? In fact, the disappearances may have only been a ruse. The magic-users may have hidden themselves at Varvara's command."
"Papa Chatha would never do that," I said. "He may be Arcane, but he's his own man."
Klamm shrugged. "Perhaps. Then again, you may not know him as well as you think."
Despite myself, I couldn't help considering Klamm's words. Before that day, I hadn't known Papa had a niece. What else didn't I know about him?
I glanced at Shamika. She continued to stare at Klamm oddly, but she didn't say anything in defense of her uncle. I wondered if it was because she was too intimidated at being in Varvara's presence or if it was because she had no defense to make.
I told myself to stop heading down that path. Demons are notorious for getting inside your head – sometimes literally – and messing with your mind any number of ways.