FOURTEEN
The coach neared the border between Glamere and the Boneyard, but instead of heading for the Bridge of Lost Souls, it aimed straight for Phlegethon. Before we could protest, the coach had passed through the wrought iron fence at the side of the road-somehow allowing us to pass through as well-and continued through the air as if the road had never ended, bearing us easily across the river of green fire. I wonder if any Lesk, the giant serpents that plied the flaming waters of the river, were looking up, disappointed we hadn’t fallen in. But I didn’t look out the window to check. Some things are better left a mystery.
Now that we had crossed over into Edrigu’s Dominion, Talaith no longer pursued us. But that didn’t necessarily mean we were safe. Nekropolis doesn’t do safe.
As soon as we reached the other side, the Black Rig glided to a stop on the Obsidian Way.
“It wasn’t as much fun as a car,” Lazlo said, “but I have to admit it was a pretty decent ride.” He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Hey, it’s locked!” Lazlo gripped the handle tighter and shook it for all he was worth, but despite his demonic strength, the door remained closed. “What gives?”
“I believe it’s time to settle the matter of our fare,” Devona said.
I remembered the rumors about Silent Jack, about how much he liked the ladies. And from the look on Devona’s face, she was thinking the same thing.
“I’ll get this one, Jack,” I said loudly.
The door sprung open.
“Matt, no!” Devona protested. “You shouldn’t pay for all three of us!”
“She’s right,” Lazlo agreed. “We all three rode; we all should pay.”
I shook my head. “I’m the one who requested Lord Edrigu’s assistance, so I’ll be the one to settle the tab. Now go ahead and get out, both of you.”
Devona refused, so I looked to Lazlo. The demon sighed. “All right, Matt; if that’s the way you want it. Let’s go, Devona.” He took her hand and pulled her struggling from the coach. As strong as Devona was, Lazlo was stronger. As soon as they were both out, the door snicked shut once more, and Silent Jack appeared on the seat opposite me. This was the closest I’d ever been to him, but I couldn’t make out any facial features. It was as if he were formed entirely out of shadow, just like his cab and the horses that drew it.
The ghostly coachman held out a gloved hand, but I was fairly certain he wasn’t asking for darkgems.
“Name your price, Jack.”
He put his hand in his lap, held it out again, and then pointed to me. The message was clear-he wanted me to hold out my hand. I extended my left hand palm up. Jack reached out and with the sharp ebon nail of his index finger traced four lines on my palm. When he removed his finger, my flesh puckered and scar tissue formed in the shape of a letter E. E for Edrigu. What did it mean?
I started to pull back my hand, but Jack gripped my wrist, and with his other hand got hold of my pinkie and yanked. There was a snapping, tearing sound, and my finger came loose in his hand. He inserted the finger in his vest pocket, tipped his hat to me, and then vanished.
The door opened.
I climbed out and stood next to Devona and Lazlo. We watched as Silent Jack-who sat once more atop the coach-and his Black Rig faded from sight.
“What was his price?” Devona asked.
I showed them the mark on my palm.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
“I’m not certain,” Devona said. “Perhaps merely that you are in Lord Edrigu’s debt. Or perhaps that you now have a new master.”
A master. I couldn’t deal with all the implications of what that might mean. I’d always been my own man, even when I was on the force in Cleveland. And now I had a master?
Edrigu was Lord of the Dead-had he perhaps repaired the damage to my body? I took a quick inventory. No, my face was still scratched, my ear still missing, my right arm and left leg still damaged. Edrigu hadn’t bothered to fix me, which meant that I was still in the process of decomposing for the final time. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Edigru have Jack put his mark on me if he wasn’t going to bother preserving me?
And then I felt an echo of a chill run along my dead spine. What if Edrigu wasn’t interested in my undead body? What if he wanted my soul?
Well, if that was the price I had to pay to save my friends, it was worth it. But I wasn’t about to give up on Devona’s case or on trying to find a way to keep my body intact. Lord Edrigu might have a lien on my soul, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him to collect.
Devona noticed my pinkie was missing. I told her what had happened to it.
“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. “Why would Jack take your finger if you’d already paid Lord Edrigu’s price?”
“For his tip,” Lazlo said, “what else?”
Bereft of transportation, we had no choice but to hoof it. We left the Obsidian Way and began walking along the Boneyard’s cramped, narrow streets. But foot travel wasn’t a problem in this Dominion, even during the Descension celebration. With the exception of the occasional shade drifting across our path, the streets were deserted. Everything was in a state of arrested decay: the roadways buckled and bulged, bricks cracked and crumbling; the buildings covered with dead, dry ivy, shutters hanging by one hinge, roofs full of holes or collapsed entirely; the trees and bushes lining the streets twisted, gray, and barren. And, according to Devona and Lazlo, the air was still, stagnant, and stale.
We caught glimpses of movement out of the corner of our eyes, flashes of darting wraith-like shapes that disappeared when you tried to look at them directly. I seemed to be more aware of them than either Devona or Lazlo, maybe because I was dead myself. Not for the first time I wondered just how many spirits inhabited the Boneyard. If we could see them clearly, would we find the streets full of people, perhaps celebrating the Descension along with the rest of the city? Were we even now walking among-walking through-throngs of laughing, shouting merrymakers, oblivious to their presence?
The Boneyard isn’t strictly the Dominion of the dead, though. Many living beings-warm ones, as the dead refer to them-also live there. Those who for whatever reasons feel more comfortable living in the presence of death. Some simply like the quiet and solitude, while others go there only for the sake of morbid fashion. And then there are those disturbed individuals who are drawn to death like moths to a cold dark flame, such as the Suicide King and Overkill, who can only truly feel alive when they come as close to death as possible.
Me, I feel more alive around the living. Weird, huh?
Ghosts aren’t the only supernatural inhabitants of the Boneyard. Anything dead falls under the rule of Lord Edrigu: poltergeists, skeletons, liches, mummies, wights, wraiths, and others dwelled within his Dominion. Most of these creatures preferred keeping to the shadows or haunting their lairs, waiting for those curious or foolish enough to seek them out or stumble blindly across them. As the three of us walked, we caught the occasional glimpse of a shambling thing lurking in an alley or dark eyes peering through broken shutters in an abandoned building, but we made sure not to disturb them and they in turn didn’t seek to devour our souls. A good arrangement all the way around, as far as I was concerned.
Unfortunately, there was one type of dead creature more aggressive than all the others, and as we turned a corner, we saw a group of them coming down the street toward us, walking with stiff, spastic movements and groaning softly.
“Are those…zombies?” Devona asked.
There were eight of them-nine if you counted the partially decayed dog carrying a severed hand in its mouth. Three women, five men, aged anywhere from twenty to sixty at the time of their demise. Their clothes were torn and stained with patches of blood, some of it relatively fresh. Their flesh was a mottled grayish-green color, and their bodies displayed various types of damage: cuts, gouges, tears, and bite marks. A couple were missing arms-I couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy toward them-and one was missing a good portion of his scalp. It took the zombie horde, such as it was, a moment to realize we were there, but as soon as they did, they began moaning, “ Braaaaiiiinssss…” and started heading toward us as fast as their dead bodies would permit.
“Idiots,” Lazlo said. “Why are they always obsessed with brains? Don’t they know how hard it is to bite through a skull?”
