Dark War n-3

by Tim Waggoner

  I turned to Carl, impressed despite myself. "How did you get these? We were in a another dimension, you know."

  The young woman seated on the opposite side of Carl laughed. "You should know better than to expect Carl to reveal his sources!"

  Fade is a petite woman in her early twenties with long brunette hair that hangs past her waist. She usually dresses in dance-club chic, and tonight she was wearing a ripped Sisters of Mercy T-shirt, thigh-high black boots, and a skirt so mini it was barely there. Her earrings were shaped like silver cobras, and they swayed back and forth from her earlobes, tiny tongues flicking the air, serpent eyes narrowed as they gazed upon the world with cold disinterest.

  Varney looked over my shoulder at Carl's paper.

  "Dude, when my producer sees those photos, he's going to be even madder at me for not getting to go along on that trip!"

  Now that we were in public, it seemed Varney had assumed his cover persona again.

  Carl looked at Varney with more than a little disdain. "You Mind's Eye reporters are too used to letting your technology do the work for you. You need to rely less on cybernetic implants and more on good old-fashioned journalistic know-how."

  There was something about the way he said this, though, an almost mocking tone that made me wonder if Carl knew Varney's hippy cameraman act was a lie. I wouldn't have been surprised. Back on Earth, Carl had been an investigative reporter who'd uncovered the existence of the Darkfolk and worked to expose them. His stories were ridiculed by the mainstream media, though, and eventually he found his way to Nekropolis, and he's lived here ever since, producing his own newspaper and exposing truths that more than a few rich and powerful citizens wish he would keep his damn mouth shut about.

  Carl turned to Fade. "And you, my dear, should quit wasting your time with that silly gossip column of yours and start reporting some real news for a change." He finished the last swallow of his beer and slammed the mug down on the counter as if to emphasize his point.

  Fade didn't seem the least bothered by Carl's criticism. "Not all of us are cut out to be crusaders, you know. Gossip sells papers, love, and in my case, the more readers I have, the happier I am."

  Fade isn't a shallow fame-seeker. For her, having a large readership – and being a well-known personality about town – is literally a matter of life and death. She's reality-challenged. For reasons she's never shared, her existence is so uncertain that if she doesn't constantly reinforce her own reality, she's in danger of vanishing. Hence her name. That's why she spends so much of her time club-hopping, and why she writes the gossip column for the Daily Atrocity, Nekropolis' sleaziest and therefore best-read tabloid. I myself rarely read it, and when I do, it's only in the interest of professional research – I swear.

  I introduced Varney in case Fade didn't know him, and then I introduced Shamika as Papa Chatha's niece. I saw no reason to tell Carl and Fade the truth about who Shamika was, partly because we were in a hurry and the truth was too complicated to easily explain, but also because if they knew who Shamika was, they'd learn that Gregor was back. And it was safer for Carl and Fade not to know about Gregor. If they knew, Gregor might decide they were a threat to him, and if that happened, he might get it in his head to do something painful and permanent to get rid of them. Sometimes ignorance isn't just bliss, it's also necessary to one's long-term survival, especially in this town.

  "So what are you two fine members of Nekropolis' journalistic establishment doing hanging out in a bar?" I asked. "Don't you know there's a war going on?"

  Fade frowned. "Tell me about it. Half the clubs in the Sprawl are empty. People don't feel safe to go out. Personally, I feel that wartime is the perfect opportunity for partying. The chance that the club you're in might become a bombed-out crater any second adds a little zing to the festivities, don't you think?"

  That was bad news for Fade. The more people she interacted with on a daily basis, the firmer reality's grip on her was. I hadn't noticed, but her colors seemed muted, a bit less intense and washed-out, as if she wasn't as there as she should be. If the war continued and escalated, fewer and fewer people would go out and the Sprawl's clubs, bars, and restaurants would become deserted. And if that happened, Fade wouldn't be able to find enough people to talk to, and there was a good chance she'd live up to her name.

  I saw Fade's glass was empty, and since Carl had finished off his beer, I offered to buy the two of them another round. Skully was at the other end of the bar talking to the Jade Enigma, and I motioned to catch his attention. He looked at me, and I pointed to Fade and Carl and held up two fingers. He nodded, made them another pair of drinks, and brought them over. Carl got another mug of beer, and Fade got a bubbling blue concoction called a Miasmic Overload whose chief ingredient was poison: tree frog toxin. It should have been deadly to humans, but Fade sipped it without ill effect. Who knows? Maybe the attention she received from ordering such a deadly drink shored up her reality and neutralized the poison. At any rate, she didn't instantly keel over dead, and her color did seem sharper and brighter.

  "Hey, Matt," Skully said. "I'm surprised to see you here. Word on the street is that Varvara's put out a warrant for your arrest."

  "You know what I always say: it's nice to be wanted."

  Skully laughed which, given the ways he looks, is an unsettling sight. From the neck down, Skully resembles a stocky, broad-shouldered man. But from the neck up, he's a skull. No hair, no skin, nothing but bone. Skully usually wears a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and a black leather apron designed to protect his clothes from being eaten away in case he gets a little sloppy with any of the more dangerous chemicals he uses to mix his customers' drinks. Despite his appearance, Skull comes across as a good-humored barkeep, but the enchanted silver broad axe he keeps behind the bar in case of trouble tells a different story, as does the fact that his place is a Dominari-owned establishment. For years I'd been unaware of Skully's ties to the Dominari, and when I learned about them, it put a strain on our friendship. I'm still not entirely comfortable with Skully's business dealings with the Dominari, but I try not to think about them too much. Skully's helped me with a lot of cases over the years, and in Nekropolis, a friend is defined as someone you can trust not to devour you when your back is turned or steal your soul when you're not looking. By that standard, Skully is my friend, and as for the rest, I figure in the end it'll all come out in the wash.

  Carl narrowed his eyes as he peered at my acidscarred face. "A little mortician's wax would fix that right up."

  I said, "Reptilikan hocked a loogie at me."

  "And you look a little loose in the joints," Carl added. "If you were a Frankenstein monster, I'd advise you to get your bolts tightened."

  "That sounds vaguely naughty," Fade said, grinning. She then nodded at my wrist stump.

  "Looks like you lost a hand somewhere along the way too."

  "Occupational hazard," I said.

  Fade raised an eyebrow. "You don't really expect Carl and I to let it go at that, do you? We're reporters. Do tell us the all the details, the gorier the better."

  " I'm a reporter," Carl said. "What you write is entertainment." He sipped his beer. "Not that either of us is getting to do much writing at the moment."

  "Why's that?" I asked.

  "Demon's Roost has instituted a complete information blackout," Carl answered. Then he made a sour face. "Or rather, the great General Klamm has. None of the Demonkin are allowed to talk to the media, and we're forbidden from writing or broadcasting any information related to the war. Why else do you think my charming companion and I are sitting around this dump drinking?" He looked at Skully. "No offense."

  "None taken," Skully said, but the tiny pinpricks of light that momentarily glowed within his empty sockets told a different story. If Carl noticed Skully's reaction, he ignored it.

  "You know it's sad when reporters are reduced to interviewing each other," Fade added. "That's why we're so glad to see you, Matt. You're usually in the thick o
f things. Why don't you let me pump you for information? Who knows? You might even enjoy it."

  I didn't take Fade's flirting seriously. It was just another way for her to draw attention to herself.

  "I don't have time to chat," I said, with more of an edge in my voice than I wanted. "I have a problem, and I need help."

  "Something's happened to Devona," Carl said. Before I could ask, he added, "I don't know anything. I'm merely making an educated guess based on your obviously agitated state."

  "And there's the fact that Devona's not here," Fade put in.

  "That too," Carl agreed.

  "Look, I promise that I'll sit down with both of you for an exclusive joint interview once the current situation is resolved." Varney gave me an offended look. "Oh, don't bother pretending to be upset," I snapped. I didn't care about helping Varney maintain his cover just then. "But right now I need to get in touch with the Hidden Light, and I don't have time to go through the usual channels."

  Carl raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think any of us know how to get hold of them? The location of their headquarters is the most carefully guarded secret in the city. I ought to know. I've tried for years to get an interview with their leadership."

  "Me too," Fade said wistfully. "Can you imagine how many hits my blog would get if I could? It'd be enough attention to keep me solid for an entire month!"

  At the mention of the Hidden Light, the druggedout gill man seated next to me got up and staggered away at a good clip, wobbling as he headed for the door and made his exit. Just speaking the Hidden Light's name can be enough to clear a room in Nekropolis, if you say it loudly enough.

  Carl wasn't joking about the Hidden Light's location being secret. When I'd first decided I needed the Hidden Light's help, I asked Shamika if she knew where their HQ was. But she had no idea, and she assured me that Gregor didn't either. How the Hidden Light managed to hide themselves from the Watchers, I didn't know, but I wasn't surprised. The Hidden Light is one of the most powerful organizations in the city, and the only way they survive among the Darkfolk is to keep their identities and location, like their name says, hidden.

  I knew how to get hold of Magdalene Holstrom, my contact in the Hidden Light, but the process took some time. First I leave a message for her taped beneath a specific table at the Ghost of Meals Past, a restaurant that serves ectoplasmic recreations of the best meals you've ever enjoyed. The food's emotionally satisfying, though not very filling. After dropping off the note, I wait, anywhere from a couple days to as much as a week, before I get a call on my vox. The caller is always someone different, and I never recognize the voice. I'm given instructions on where and when to meet Maggie, and if I'm so much as a minute late, she's gone when I get there. She always comes in disguise, wearing a different body each time – or at least appearing to. I'm not sure if she cloaks herself in some kind of illusion spell, if she's a shapechanger of some kind, or if she's a bodyswitcher. But her voice is always the same, which is how I recognize Maggie. She never spends longer than ten minutes with me, we conduct our business – which usually consists of her giving me a few items I can't get anywhere else, such as holy water and blessed religious tokens. After that, she leaves, and that's the last I hear from her until the next time I need to get in touch with her.

  I tapped Carl's paper with my left index finger. "You knew about my extra-dimensional exploits," I told him. "Is it such a stretch to think you might know where the Hidden Light is located?"

  "Getting information from other dimensions is easy if you know how," Carl said, a bit smugly. "But finding out anything to do with the Hidden Light? Well, that's damn near impossible."

  "Rumor has it that even the Darklords don't know how to find them," Fade said.

  Skully had been quiet since I'd first mentioned the Hidden Light, but now he said, "You think the Hidden Light will be able to help you get Devona back?"

  "That's what I'm hoping," I said.

  "She's a good woman," Skully said. Then his fleshless mouth seemed to stretch wider, as if he were grinning. "Better than you deserve."

  I smiled back. "Don't I know it."

  He thought for a moment more before, finally coming to a decision. "I can tell you what you need to know." Before Carl or Fade could say anything, Skully looked at the two reporters. "And no, I'm not going to tell you two, and if either of you ask me a single question about it, I'm going to bring out Silverado and lop both your heads off." He said this as calmly as if he were making a comment on the weather, but I knew he wasn't joking.

  Carl and Fade kept their mouths shut, but they were clearly unhappy about it.

  I'd come here hoping that Skully could give me a lead on someone who could help me track down Maggie. I hadn't expected Skully himself to have the knowledge I needed. This had turned out better than I'd hoped.

  Before he could say anything more, though, the bar's iron door opened and the two biker vampires walked back inside. The sparkly kid wasn't with them, and they were covered in copious amounts of blood – far more than one skinny teenager should've been able to contain.

  One of the vampires looked at me, and his upper lip curled in a disdainful snarl.

  "Now that we cleared that punk out, let's do Skully another favor and get rid of that stinking deader." The second vampire grinned in agreement.

  I looked at Skully and he shrugged in apology.

  "Sorry, Matt. They're new here."

  "Don't worry about it," I said.

  I rose from my seat as the biker vampires stomped across the floor over to me. One of them gave Varney a disgusted look.

  "What are you doin' hanging out with a goddamn zombie?" the vampire said. "You're Bloodborn. You're better than that."

  Varney pursed his lips and the light in his cyber-eye turned an angry red, but otherwise he didn't react.

  "This goddamn zombie has a name, you know," I said evenly.

  The first vampire grinned at me, displaying his fangs. "Look, Marlon, it talks!"

  Marlon said, "What do you know, Brando? I thought all deaders could do was walk around moaning while they look for somebody's brain to munch on."

  "This one must be like some kind of genius of the living dead!" Brando said, and laughed.

  I looked at them. "Marlon and Brando? Seriously?"

  They scowled, and now both bared their fangs at me.

  "You say you got a name, deader," Marlon asked. "What is it?"

  Using my left hand, I drew my 9mm, aimed, and squeezed off two shots. The vampires' mouths exploded in twin showers of blood and broken teeth. They staggered backward, then fell to their knees and doubled over, blood streaming out of their ruined mouths and splattering onto the concrete floor.

  "Fuck You's my name," I said. "But you can call me Mister Fuck You."

  "The way you took care of those two loud-mouthed vampires was totally awesome!" Shamika said.

  "Totally stupid, you mean," I muttered. "Given my current condition, the recoil from my gun nearly tore my hand off." As it was, I was having trouble keeping my left hand attached, no matter how hard I concentrated, and my loose limbs made me look more like a drunken scarecrow than ever. I was glad Varney had turned out not to be a real reporter, because I really would've hated for him to shoot any video of me the way I looked right then.

  We'd left Skully's via the basement trapdoor, climbed back into the hodgepodge cart, and were heading through the Underwalk once more, headlights on, electric engine humming. As near as I could tell, the tunnel we were traveling down paralleled Sybarite Street, and I wished the vermen carts came equipped with GPS so I'd know for sure. I was impatient to reach our destination, and I really didn't want to take any wrong turns and be delayed, or worse, end up lost. The longer I was separated from Devona, the more worried about her I became and the harder it was for me to control my emotions. But she needed me to keep cool if I was going to be of any help to her, so I shoved my feelings down, put a tight lid on them, and concentrated on doing what I had to do.

/>   As we drove, I wondered if I was going about this all wrong. Maybe asking the Hidden Light for help wasn't the way to go. Back at Papa Chatha's, Dis had told me that he couldn't interfere in a dispute between two Darklords, but surely the current situation had progressed beyond that. If Gregor was involved, it was no longer just a clash between Talaith and Varvara, and if that was the case, then perhaps Dis would step in and do something. I had no idea how powerful Dis was, but he'd dealt with the Watchers the last time they'd infested the city, and there was no reason to think he couldn't handle them again. And if Dis was still reluctant to help, I could try the other Darklords. Amon had no particular dislike for me, but then again the king of the shapeshifters also had no love for me, either. I'd helped Edrigu recover a mystic object that had been stolen from him – though he had rewarded me by making it possible for me to return to mortal life for twenty-four hours, giving me the chance to have children with Devona. Edrigu might figure our accounts were balanced and be disinclined to help me. Galm would wish to help, if for no other reason than to protect his future grandchildren. But I wasn't sure I could trust him. What if we found Devona only to have Galm try to take her and lock her away in the Cathedral, where she'd be safe until she delivered our babies? And once they were born, what if Galm chose to keep them so that he could exploit their magic, whatever that might be?

  The more I thought of it, the more the idea of going to any of the Darklords for help seemed like a bad idea. The more of them that got involved in this mess, the worse it would get, and the war between Talaith and Varvara could easily become a war between all five Darklords. And besides, it wasn't as if Gregor wasn't keeping all the Darklords, Dis included, under observation. Gregor might not be powerful enough to defeat the Darklords in a direct confrontation, else he would've done so long before now, but if I sought out any of their help, I'd expose myself and Gregor would have no trouble taking me out.