The twins’ hands began to glow with silver-tinted energy, and Dale and I poured on the speed.
“That damned mirror better work!” Dale shouted.
“Look on the bright side,” I yelled. “If it doesn’t, we’ll be dead before we find out!”
Before Dale could come back with a witty rejoinder, the twins thrust their hands forward, sending a pair of lightning bolts crackling down the corridor toward us. Still running, I held out the mirror in front of me, and it drew the lightning toward its glossy surface and swallowed it whole. The glass vibrated and grew hot in my hand as it struggled to absorb the mystical power of the twins’ strike.
“How many spells is that thing good for?” Dale shouted.
“Three,” I said, “so we have two-” My words cut off as the mirror exploded in my hand, glass shards piercing the soft flesh of my palm.
“Fuck!” I shouted. My hand was bleeding like crazy and hurt like a sonofabitch. I lost momentarily lost my concentration and started to stumble, but Dale caught hold of my elbow and steadied me. “Make that one,” I said through gritted teeth. Whether on Earth or in Nekropolis, it seemed you couldn’t trust a goddamned street vendor.
Dale and I had covered half the distance to the chamber at the end of the corridor, but the twins started gesturing and chanting once more, both of them grinning with dark anticipation. They had us and they knew it.
Still running, Dale and I raised our guns and started firing. One thing about spellcasters: it’s hard for them to shift gears when they’re in the middle of working an enchantment. Our aim wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough, and several 9mm slugs slammed into the warlocks, and while their black tunics might’ve been the latest in magical guard chic, the cloth didn’t do a damned thing to stop bullets. By the time Dale and I reached the wooden door, the twins had slumped to the floor, bleeding from their wounds. Dale had gotten his twin twice-once in the shoulder, once in the gut-and I’d hit mine in the chest. Both were still alive, but they were in too much pain to concentrate on working any hoodoo on us.
If we’d been on Earth, Dale and I would’ve cuffed the two warlocks and called for an ambulance. But this was Nekropolis, and even if it wasn’t we didn’t have time to do things by the book. Dale and I slammed our gun butts into the twins’ heads, and they fell onto their sides, unconscious. I knew there was a chance one or both of them might die from their injuries, but they were warlocks. There was an equally good chance they’d find a way to heal themselves soon. At least, that’s what I told myself to assuage my conscience.
Dale took a second to check his weapon. “I’m out of ammo.”
“Me too.” And neither of us had reloads. We’d used up all our bullets over the last couple days just surviving long enough to get this far. I holstered my gun, and Dale did the same. “Guess we’ll just have to improvise,” I said.
“Fair enough.” Dale grabbed the door handle, but before he opened it, he said, “How much you want to bet there’s no lock on it?”
“Who needs locks when you have a pair of beefcake warlocks to guard your secret chamber of evil?” I said.
Dale laughed as he opened the door, and we rushed inside. I’d been expecting the chamber to be like the rest of Woodhome-smooth, barkless wood-but instead it was spherical and covered with glimmering metal panels. The chamber reeked of ozone and overheated circuitry, and a low thrumming filled the air, the sound of a powerful machine in the process of warming up. In the middle of the room was a huge pinkish mass the size of a bull elephant. Its wrinkled surface was slick with blood, and dozens of black cables extended from its pulpy substance out to different points on the walls and ceiling.
This was the Overmind.
Dale and I stopped to look at the obscene thing.
“I thought brains were gray,” he said.
I shook my head. “That’s only after they’ve been preserved. Inside our skulls, they look like that: all pink.”
Dale and I weren’t alone in the chamber, though. There were two others standing before the Overmind. A male warlock with long flowing blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard standing next to a handsome middle-aged woman with short black hair. The warlock wore a dark red robe-not quite black, but close enough, I supposed-while the woman was garbed in an old-fashioned Puritan dress of severe black-and-white. I didn’t recognize the warlock, but I had a pretty good idea who the woman was: the Dark Lady Talaith, ruler of Glamere and mistress of the Arcane.
Dale immediately fixed his attention on the warlock. “Let me guess. You’re the sonofabitch who’s been killing people in my town back on Earth.” We’d tracked the killer down in Cleveland, even watched as he’d disappeared back through Varvara’s mirror portal, but neither of us had gotten that good a look at him. But now, standing here gazing at the bastard, both Dale and I knew this was our man.
If the warlock was surprised to see us, he didn’t show it. He stepped toward us with a casual confidence that said he was used to having his evil rituals interrupted by a pair of out-of-town cops. Very out-of-town.
“I’m afraid I’m unacquainted with you two gentlemen, but I’m impressed that you made it this far.” He looked us over. “Though I must say that you both appear somewhat the worse for wear.”
Despite the fact his weapon was out of ammunition, Dale drew it and leveled it at the warlock’s head. “You can cut the ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond’ crap. Just tell me if you’re the person responsible for the death of seven men and women in Cleveland.”
Amusement flickered in the warlock’s eyes, and I wondered if he could somehow sense that Dale’s gun was empty. “I am. Though as you can see, they’ve been reborn.” He gestured toward the Overmind. “So technically, I suppose I’m not a killer. I’m more of a…” a slow smile spread across his face. “A recycler, I suppose you could say.”
Despite ourselves, Dale and I turned to regard the Overmind once more.
“The coroner’s report said the people you killed died without outward signs of violence,” I said. “We’ve already figured out that you used some kind of spell to stop their hearts. But the coroner also said that portions of their brains were missing, even though each of their skulls was intact.”
The warlock bowed his head in mock-humility. “I must confess to possessing a certain modicum of skill at psychic surgery.”
I ignored the arrogant bastard and went on. “So you’re telling us that you used the brain matter you stole from those people to build the Overmind?”
The warlock stepped closer to the giant brain and laid his hand on it as if stroking a beloved pet. “Precisely. Those seven people were all extremely gifted psychically, but none of them knew it. Moreover, they’d never even used their preternatural abilities, which meant their brain matter was completely unspoiled. Pristine minds-virgin minds, if you will-are almost impossible to find in Nekropolis. They need to be…imported.”
Up to this point, Talaith hadn’t said anything, but now she stepped toward the warlock, grabbed his shoulder none-too-gently, and spun him around to face her. “We don’t have time for this foolishness, Yberio. We need to finish powering up the Overmind and use it strike against Edrigu before he becomes aware of what we’re trying to do! The fool may be Lord of the Dead, but doesn’t mean he’s as slow-witted as his mindless subjects. We only have moments before he senses what we’re up to.”
She glanced past Yberio at Dale and me, and I could feel the hatred blazing in her eyes as if it were a physical force. “Kill them while I continue the ritual.”
Yberio’s jaw muscles tensed, telling me that he didn’t appreciate being spoken to as one of the help. “Yes, my love,” he answered through gritted teeth.
“Forget the ‘my love’ shit and just do it!” she snapped. She turned to face the Overmind, raising her hands over her head and chanting harsh, guttural words in a language I didn’t recognize, but which hurt to hear. It felt like someone was jamming rusty metal spikes into my ears.
Dale and I exchanged a quick look. Understanding the emotional stressors on your opponents is just as important as knowing what weapons they have-sometimes more so. It was obvious that Yberio was Talaith’s lover and that he thought that relationship made them equals. It was just as obvious to Dale and me that Talaith thought differently.
Yberio glared at Talaith for a moment, but she ignored him as she continued working whatever magic was necessary to get the Overmind to do its thing. Yberio turned back to face us, and from the dark expression on his face, it was clear he intended to take out his anger toward Talaith on us.
