'That was mean,' she said, though she smiled. 'You should treat him more nicely. When the documentary's finished, it'll be a good publicity tool for us.'
'I'll see what I can do.'
The Emergency reception area was even more crowded than when we'd checked in, and I recognized some of the Darkfolk waiting for treatment. Legion is a human who regularly rents himself out to several dozen spirits who take turns controlling his body, and he was covered with cuts and contusions. It looked like one or more of his tenants had indulged in a little too much fun again. Unfortunately, such injuries are an occupational hazard for him, making him a regular at the Fever House. Antwerp the Psychotic Clown sat next to Legion, giggling softly to himself. At least, I think it was Antwerp. It was hard to tell since whoever it was had somehow managed to get turned inside out. I wasn't surprised at Antwerp's bizarre condition, nor was I surprised that he seemed to be in no apparent pain. I was, however, surprised that he'd come to the Fever House to seek treatment. I would've thought Antwerp liked having his insides on the outside. On the other side of Antwerp sat a were-thylacine named Jerboa. The poor thing was suffering from a nasty case of silver rot in her pouch, and from the way she was whining, I figured it must've hurt like a bitch.
I turned to Devona. 'How are you doing?'
'I feel fine.'
'I'm not talking physically. I mean emotionally. That wasn't exactly the most tender of reunions between you and Galm.'
She reached out and squeezed my hand. 'I'm all right. Angry at myself a little, I guess. I know he can't change, but I allowed myself to hope he had anyway. When someone becomes Bloodborn, they don't just stop aging. Their personalities freeze, and they stop developing mentally and emotionally. They become like living portraits that can move and talk but never change. I should've known that the only interest he'd have in our baby is in how it might increase his own power.'
'I'm not denying that Galm wants to use our child for his own purposes, but – and I can't believe I'm sticking up for him – it seemed like his offer was motivated by more than self-interest. He seemed to genuinely care about your health too.'
Devona scowled at me, and I could feel a flash of anger through our link. 'Are you going to tell me you've changed your mind and think we should move into the Cathedral?'
'Nope. As far as I'm concerned, your father can take his offer and shove it where Umbriel doesn't shine. I'm just saying that maybe it's possible that even a being who's millennia old can change, if only a little.'
Devona scrunched her face at me, but she didn't reply. A nurse summoned the patient sitting next to me – a squat little bald man in a shapeless black coat who seemed to have a glowing light bulb stuck in his mouth – and he got up and followed her to an examining room. The seat next to me didn't remain vacant for long. A tall male vampire with a pair of huge ebon wings sprouting from his shoulder blades took it. His wing feathers were made of lightweight metal, with razor-sharp edges, and I had no idea if they were technological, magical, or some combination. He wore no shirt so as not to constrain his wings, only a pair of black pants. His chest was covered with scars, but they were old and long healed – or at least as healed as they were ever going to get – and I knew they hadn't brought him to the Fever House. What had was obvious: one of his wings hung significantly lower than the other, and a good half of its feathers looked loose, as if they might fall out any moment, and they were blackened, as if they'd suffered fire damage.
'Hey, Matt. Hey, Devona. What are you guys doing here?'
'Hey, Ichorus,' Devona said. 'We just came for a routine check-up.' She patted her slightly swollen belly and smiled at him. Ichorus was an acquaintance more than a friend, and I guess that Devona didn't feel comfortable telling him about what had really brought us here. Or maybe she just figured it was too complicated to bother going into. Either way suited me. I tend to be a private person, and I'd rather ask people questions than answer them.
'Let me guess: you had a flying accident,' I said.
He grinned. 'What else?'
Ichorus lived to violate the 'no-flying' law in Nekropolis, which was why he carried so many scars. The Darklords defended their Dominions' airspace quite aggressively, and the fact that Ichorus' vampiric healing abilities hadn't been able to completely deal with all the injuries he'd received during his illegal flights was testament to how serious the Darklords were about the sanctity of their airspace.
'Still trying to see how close you can come to the Darklords' strongholds without getting killed?' I asked. 'Or were you flying low over Phlegethon and dodging the Lesk again?'
'Neither,' Ichorus said. 'I have a new passion these days. I've been searching for Ulterion.'
'Seriously? Don't tell me you fell for that fairy tale!'
Devona frowned. 'What's Ulterion?'
Devona had lived most of her life sheltered in the Cathedral, rarely venturing outside its walls. Because of this, there were lots of things she didn't know about Nekropolis, things that I – a relative newcomer – often had to fill her in about.
'The moon,' I said. 'Umbriel is the Shadowsun, and Ulterion is the Hidden Moon.' I glanced sideways at Ichorus. 'Or so the stories go. I don't know anyone who takes them seriously.'
Ichorus grinned again. 'You do now! I've been looking for Ulterion for the last couple weeks, flying as high as I can, testing the upper limits of the city's atmosphere. I figure Ulterion has to be within Nekropolis' atmospheric bubble. After all, Umbriel is.'
'Why would we need a moon?' Devona asked. 'Umbriel provides the power that keeps the city stabilized in this dimension, as well as providing the energy for Phlegethon. What would Ulterion do?'
'That's the mystery,' Ichorus said. 'When I find it, I'll figure out what its purpose is.'
'You can't find it because it doesn't exist,' I said. 'Dis and the Darklords created Nekropolis and Umbriel. Why would they create a moon only to hide it and conceal its existence?'
'I don't know,' Ichorus said. 'That's-'
'- the mystery,' I finished for him. 'I get that.'
'Besides, I have proof that Ulterion exists.' He paused. 'Well, maybe it's proof. On this last flight, I went higher than I ever had before, and I thought I saw something in the sky. No, saw is the wrong word. Even vampire eyesight can't make out anything in the starless void over the city. But I sensed something… something big, and I headed toward it. I kept on flying, getting closer and closer, and then… Well, I don't know what happened next, but something happened, because I woke up on the ground – specifically, in the middle of a fair-sized crater I made in one of the Wyldwood forests. My left wing had been damaged by some kind of blast attack, and the rest of me was extra crispy, as if I'd been severely burned. I lay there awhile, letting myself heal, until I heard a group of lykes approaching, no doubt coming to investigate what had crashed in their forest. I hadn't healed enough to fly, but I could move, so I climbed out of the crater and started running. I managed to heal the worst of the burns as I ran, but my wing didn't heal all the way. But it got good enough to allow me to leap into the air and glide for decent distances, which is how I avoided becoming lyke chow. Once I got out of the Wyldwood, I came straight here. The doctors should be able to help my wing heal the rest of the way. At least, I hope they can. The idea of being grounded…' He shuddered as he trailed off.
'So you have no memory of being attacked?' Devona asked.
'None whatsoever. I don't know if I blocked it out or if it just happened too fast. But I figure I got too close to Ulterion and triggered some sort of defense mechanism. A spell or some kind of tech. There's got to be a reason it's called the Hidden Moon, right? Maybe somebody wants to make sure it stays hidden.'
'Or maybe you just ran into another of the Darklords' air defenses,' I said. 'A kind you've never encountered before.'
Ichorus tried to shrug, but the shoulder with the damaged wing refused to move. 'Maybe.' He grinned once more. 'When my wing is healed, I'll go back and find out for sure.'
'You'll go back and get yourself incinerated if you're not careful,' I muttered.
'Maybe,' he said. 'But you know my motto: 'Fly free or die.''
Varney came over to us then. 'I finished the forms and returned them to the registration desk. Can we go do something interesting now? Please? My producer will kill me if I don't keep delivering good footage.' He paused as if reconsidering. 'Actually, since my producer is a demon, killing me is probably the least of what he'll do to me.'
'I suppose we can't have you suffering the tortures of the damned just because we're boring,' I said. 'Let's
