go.' I stood and began pushing Devona's wheelchair toward the exit. 'Good luck with the wing,' I said to Ichorus as we left.
Ichorus grinned one last time and gave me a thumbs-up.
As we walked, I turned to Varney. 'You know, if it's exciting footage you want, maybe you should forget about filming us and do a documentary on Ichorus. Think about it: an intrepid explorer, a rebel who defies authority, on a perilous quest to discover the truth about one of Nekropolis' oldest legends…'
Varney gave me a look.
I shrugged. 'Can't blame a guy for trying.'
FIVE
'Make sure to get my good side, OK?'
I wanted to point out to Lazlo that he didn't have a good side, but Varney was the cameraman, not me, and I decided to let him break the news. He decided, however, to duck the issue. 'I'll, uh, do my best.'
Lazlo's a demon, and to put it mildly, not a particularly attractive one. He's a mix of mammal and insect and looks as if a good portion of his insides are on the outside. Clothing might help – especially if he wore a full-body hazmat suit with a darkened visor – but Lazlo prefers to go au naturel, which is most unfortunate for everyone in Nekropolis with functioning eyesight. He exudes a horrendous stench that I thankfully can't smell, but I didn't like to think about how bad it was for Devona and Varney, considering their enhanced vampire senses. Devona at least had the advantage of having been around Lazlo enough times over the last few months to get somewhat used to his stink. Varney, who had been relegated to sitting up front with Lazlo, hadn't had that dubious pleasure, and his face was paler than usual and he kept swallowing, as if he were fighting to keep from throwing up.
We'd left the Fever House and were driving through Gothtown's major cultural district. We'd just passed the theaters and concert halls on Mummer's Row and were now heading down the Avenue of Dread Wonders. Given their long lives, vampires have a strong appreciation of history and the arts, and the Avenue of Dread Wonders was where the greatest museums in the city were located. We passed the Pavilion of Nightmares Incarnate, the Great Library, and the Hemesphere, among others. I was tempted to ask Lazlo to stop at the Great Library, as it had been a while since I'd talked with Waldemar, and I thought the ancient vampire might be able to shed some light on Devona's condition. There was no limit to Waldemar's knowledge, and he could answer any question – for a price. It was a price I was willing to pay and had before, but I knew Devona wouldn't approve, and so I let Lazlo drive on by without saying a word. I told myself that maybe I could come back later, when Devona was otherwise occupied. I didn't like the idea of sneaking around behind her back, but I liked the idea of gambling with her health and the health of our baby even less. As far as I was concerned, the more knowledge we could get, the better. And if the price I had to pay for that knowledge was a bit steep, so what? It would be worth it to me.
Devona had been mostly quiet since we'd left the Fever House, gazing out the back passenger window as we traveled, and I knew that she was brooding over her less-than-warm reunion with her father. I wanted to talk to her about it, but it wasn't the sort of subject I felt comfortable bringing up in front of either Lazlo or Varney, and so I left Devona to her silence and contented myself with holding her hand. Eventually she spoke.
'Do you really think Papa Chatha will be able to give us any advice?' she asked. 'He's not a doctor, and he's not even exactly a magician. He's a voodoo priest.'
'True, but he has one thing that no other doctor or magic-user in the city has,' I said. 'My trust. Not only does he know enough about magic to keep me from rotting away to nothing, he's provided magical assistance to me on numerous cases over the years.' I paused. 'Besides that, he's my friend.'
'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion,' Devona said, managing to give me a smile. It wasn't very big and it didn't last very long, but I appreciated the effort.
And while we were there, I'd see if Papa could take a look at my right hand. It remained attached to my wrist and continued to work just fine, but that condition was merely temporary. I needed Papa's magic to effect a more permanent repair job. But what was foremost on my mind was the revelation Galm had given us about our child. Could it really be possible that our baby would be as powerful as Galm claimed? That he or she would possess a kind of magic unlike any that the Darkfolk had ever known before? The thought scared the hell out of me. I was already afraid of being a father – afraid that I wouldn't be smart enough, patient enough, loving enough – but to be a father to a being of immense power? There was no way I was up to that kind of challenge.
Varney turned around in his seat to look at me. 'Sounds like Papa Chatha's been a real help to you over the years. Can you tell me how the two of you met?' His camera eye whirred softly as it focused on me, and I felt a now-familiar urge to draw my 9mm and smash the gun butt into the lens. Instead I sighed.
'I'm not sure it's that interesting a story, but all right. I'd only been in Nekropolis for a couple weeks when Baron Samedi got wind that there was a new kind of zombie in town – one who was not only intelligent but wasn't under the control of a sorcerer. Samedi decided he wanted to examine this undead novelty, and he sent one of his servants to collect me.'
I continued relating the tale, only half paying attention to myself as I talked. I saw a greenish flickering light ahead, and I knew we were approaching the edge of Gothtown. Nekropolis is shaped like a gigantic pentagram and split into five separate Dominions, each ruled by a separate Darklord. At the center of the city is the Nightspire, home to Father Dis, the ultimate ruler of Nekropolis, and floating in the starless sky directly above the Nightspire is Umbriel the Shadowsun, the dark celestial orb which provides the city with the shadowy gloom that serves in place of light. A river of mystical green fire called Phlegethon forms the city's outer border and also the divisions between Dominions. Phlegethon's flames are deadly to all creatures living, dead, or undead, with the exception of the monstrous serpents called Lesk which swim its waters. While it's possible to fly over the flames – assuming one possesses the capability – it's illegal to do so. Not to mention dangerous as hell since the Lesk will try to leap out of the water and snatch you out of the air. The only legal and safe way to travel between the Dominions is across one of the five bridges that connect the Dominions, and we were nearing the Bridge of Nine Sorrows, the passage between Gothtown and the Sprawl.
Papa Chatha's place was located in the Sprawl not far from the bridge, and I knew we'd be there soon, which suited me just fine. I was more nervous about the complications with Devona's pregnancy than I wanted to admit, even to myself, and even though I knew Papa wasn't a physician, he had a calming way about him, and I figured I could use all the reassurance I could get.
The greenish glow increased in intensity as we drew closer to the bridge, its light standing out dramatically against the black void that serves in place of a sky in Nekropolis. When the Darkfolk decided to emigrate from Earth long ago, they chose to relocate to a distant uninhabited dimension called the Null Plains, a place of utter darkness and desolation. But the Null Plains aren't, as it turned out, entirely uninhabited, as I'd learned during the last Descension Day, and as I looked at the empty dark sky, I wondered if it too was truly empty or merely seemed that way.
By this time Lazlo had pulled onto the Obsidian Way, the glossy black road which passes through all five Dominions, and joined the line of traffic leaving Gothtown and heading for the Sprawl. There was the usual mix of Earthly vehicles – limousines and high-performance sports cars being favorite choices – traveling alongside stranger conveyances: ghostly coaches, riders on hell-mounts, and Agony DeLites. There were also a fair amount of scuttling Carapacers, hollowed-out giant insect husks reanimated to serve as vehicles, and Meatrunners, leprous obscenities constructed (if that's the right word) from sinew, muscle and bone. Both of these vehicles had sprung from the diseased imagination of Victor Baron, the original Frankenstein monster and the city's leading inventor and industrialist. He's responsible for all the flesh-tech in Nekropolis. All the 'repurposed dead,' as they're called, bear his tattooed label: 'Another Victor Baron creation.' Baron had reattached my head to my body for me once, and though my left hand still didn't work quite right, he'd gotten most of the major connections hooked back up properly, so I figured I couldn't complain. I wouldn't let him slap a tattoo on me when he'd finished, though.
We pulled onto the bridge and were about a third of the way across when a bright light flashed overhead. Both Lazlo and Varney cried out in alarm – light in any form is at best frightening to Darkfolk and at worst deadly – and our demon cabbie slammed a misshapen foot onto the brake pedal. The vehicle swerved and sideswiped a were-panther motorcyclist. The catman veered off, struck the bridge railing, flew over his handlebars of his bike, and plummeted over the edge and into the fiery river below. Lykes can heal almost any injury, but I wasn't sure he
