But you’re not the one who may die soon, I thought. “The important thing is we’ve gained some vital information about the Dawnstone.”
“Assuming what he told us was more than just an old, forgotten myth. And even if it was, I’m not sure we learned anything useful, certainly not anything worth the price you paid.”
“We learned that the Dawnstone is probably the most potent weapon Nekropolis has ever seen. For what could be more devastating in a world of shadows and darkness than a piece of the sun itself?”
SEVEN
We started walking through Gothtown, away from the Great Library, heading toward the Bridge of Nine Sorrows. Devona kept looking around nervously, as if she were expecting trouble.
“Worried that Lazlo’s going to show up and run us over?” I asked, only half-jokingly. “Don’t be. His frequency of appearances, like everything else about him, tends to be erratic. A month might go by before I see him again.” Not that I might be here-or anywhere for that matter-in a month, but I decided not to mention that particular tidbit of information.
“It’s not that,” she said, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder. “I think we’re being followed.”
On TV and in the movies, cops always sense when they’re being tailed, as if they have a sixth sense or something. It’s true that you do develop certain instincts after a while, but when you live in Nekropolis, where quite a few of the residents possess the physical capabilities to sneak up on a fly, instincts don’t do you a lot of good. Besides, Devona’s half-vampire senses were much sharper than my dulled zombie ones; I decided to trust her.
I reached into one of the homemade inner pockets of my jacket and removed another of the little surprises I’d picked up before we left my apartment. I held it down at my side, and gestured with my other hand for Devona to stop. I quickly scanned the street, looking for cover, but there was nothing. We’d just have to fight in the open.
“Hey, deader! What you doing here in Bloodsville?” The voice, a male’s, came from out in the street, but no one was in sight.
“Maybe he’s come to see how his betters live,” came a second voice, this one female.
“Or maybe he’s looking to upgrade.” Another male. “Trade in his rotten zombie teeth for a nice new pair of shiny fangs.”
Disembodied laughter echoed up and down the street.
“Who-” Devona started to ask, but I cut her off and pointed to the end of the street.
“Just watch,” I said.
Moments later a roiling wall of crimson mist came wafting around the corner. It rolled forward, gathering momentum, completely filling the street. The mist stopped when it reached us, and quickly dissipated, as if scattered by wind. But the air was still.
Standing in front us were now three young (or at least young-seeming) vampires, two male, one female. Instead of wearing clothing, their fish-belly white bodies were wrapped in tangles of multicolored wire, cables, and circuitry. The bodysuits might’ve been high-tech, but I knew they were powered by the vampires’ own dark lifeforces, making their outfits a fusion of science and magic. All three had clean-shaven skulls, and in their foreheads were embedded tiny silver crosses, the flesh around the holy objects swollen, cracked, and festering. They smiled, displaying their canines, the left incisors painted bright ruby red-the calling card of the Red Tide, one of the most vicious street gangs in Nekropolis.
“How are you two doing this fine Descension Day?” asked the girl, whose body appeared to be that of a fourteen year-old girl, fifteen tops. A pair of glowing tesseracts dangled from her lobes like earrings. The latter were a nice touch, I thought.
“Us, we’re bored bloodless,” said one of the males, who was tall, lean, and looked to be in his mid- twenties.
“Then you three ought to head to the Sprawl and live it up with the rest of the city,” I said.
The other male, short, stocky, and looking like he was in his early thirties, spat a gob of blood-colored saliva onto the cobblestones. “Fuck that noise. Bunch of lameasses running around drunk in the streets. Not our kind of fun, is it, Narda?”
The girl gave a wicked, lopsided smile. “Not at all, Enan.”
The lean male giggled, a high-pitched, crazy sound.
“What is your kind of fun?” I asked, though I had a damned good idea.
Narda answered. “Thought maybe we’d take ourselves apart a zombie.”
“See what it looks like inside,” added Enan.
The still nameless male just kept giggling.
Narda looked at Devona and frowned. “What are you doing with this corpse, honey? Can’t find yourself a real man?”
“Maybe she likes ‘em dead,” Enan said.
“Dead and limp,” added the giggler.
“Why don’t you just go on ahead and find a party somewhere, honey?” Narda said. “And leave the deader to us.”
I’d had enough of this, and was about to step into the street and confront them when Devona spoke, her voice shaky with barely contained fear.
“Do you have any idea who I am?”
Nada wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, you’re a dumb halfbreed blood-slut who ought to have better taste than to hang around with a pile of walking hamburger like him.” She nodded in my direction.
I signaled for Devona to be quiet, but she ignored me and went on.
“I am Devona Kanti, daughter of Lord Galm and guardian of his Collection,” she said haughtily, or at least as haughtily as she could while trembling.
I groaned inwardly. That was exactly the wrong thing to say.
“You’re lying, bitch,” Narda said. “And if you aren’t, you’re just plain stupid. The Red Tide doesn’t give a damn about the high-and-mighty Lord Galm.”
“Galm hates tech,” Enan put in.
The giggler raised his forearm and made a fist. The wires around his arm quivered like hungry worms. “And Red Tide is wired, man.”
As if in agreement, the holo-cubes dangling from Narda’s ears flashed red. “Wired solid,” she finished.
Screw this, I thought, and raised my surprise and leveled it at the three undead gang bangers.
“You’ll get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you,” I said in my best I’m-a-cop-and-I’m- through-taking-shit voice.
They saw what I was holding and burst out laughing.
“A squirt gun?” Narda said, incredulous. “Deadboy, your brains must have rotted away to goo!” She turned to her two companions. “C’mon, let’s each grab a limb and make a wish.”
They started forward and I aimed my plastic green squirt gun at their heads and pumped the trigger three times in rapid succession. Three streams of liquid flew out of the nozzle, one for each vamp.
When the fluid struck them, their undead flesh sizzled and popped and steam rose into the air. I imagine it didn’t smell too good, either. They screamed and fell to their knees, clutching their wounded faces in their hands.
“That’s a mixture of holy water and garlic juice,” I said. “And unless you want some more, you’ll-” Before I could finish, Narda-her burns already beginning to heal-pointed at me and a thick tentacle of braided wire and circuitry shot forth from her arm. The tentacle wrapped around my gun arm and squeezed. Sparks crackled where the wire connected with my arm, and I could hear my own flesh begin to fry. I knew I had to do something quick, before my dry zombie skin caught fire.
I dropped my gun, intending to catch it with my left hand and continue squirting, but my zombie reflexes were too slow. I missed and the plastic gun clattered to the street.
I tried to bend down to retrieve my weapon, but Enan stabbed his hand forward and a thick black cable
