“I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind. And I don’t want to talk about your problem either, not if it involves Lord Galm.”
She crossed her arms and gave me a calculating look. It didn’t appear as if she were in a hurry to leave.
“I don’t know a lot about zombies, but I know they need to have preservative spells regularly applied to keep them from rotting.” She smiled. “And as I’ve seen, they occasionally need limbs reattached. Spells like that cost money.”
“I can get darkgems somewhere else,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. And besides, I wasn’t worried about mere preservative spells now. I needed to find a way to keep my body from rotting away to nothing. I imagined I could already feel the slight itch of decay-one of the few sensations I can feel.
“One hundred? Two? Three hundred?” she countered. “Three hundred darkgems would pay for quite a lot of spells.”
“They would at that,” I was forced to admit. That would be roughly the equivalent of several thousand dollars back home in Cleveland. But would even three hundred darkgems be enough to buy the kind of magic I would need to keep my body intact?
And then it hit me. I needed the kind of power few beings in Nekropolis possessed: the power of a Darklord. If I helped Devona, perhaps she would intercede with her father on my behalf-and Lord Galm could use his magic to “cure” me.
I cautioned myself not too get excited, that it was a long shot, that even if Devona asked, Lord Galm might not help me. But right then it looked like the best-and only-shot I had. Besides, if I did have only a few days left in my existence, I’d rather spend them working than sitting around my place staring at the walls.
“All right, Devona, tell me about your problem.”
“I’m seventy-three years old,” she said. “Surprised?”
“Not really,” I said. “Seventy-three is young for a vampire.”
We were sitting in the living room. Devona was on the couch, and I’d taken the chair. The sounds of the Descension celebration out in the street-blaring music, laughter, shouting, and the occasional scream-served as a muted background to our conversation.
“Although,” I added, “you’re the best looking seventy-three year-old I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed slightly. Another sign that she was half human. A full-blooded vampire can’t blush.
“Lord Galm didn’t exactly love my mother. But he came as close to it as a being like him can, and when I was born, he brought me from Earth to Nekropolis.”
“And your mother?”
“Died delivering me,” she said softly. “Human women usually do when giving birth to a half-Bloodborn child.” She looked down at her lap, where the thin, fine fingers of her delicate hands played nervously with each other. “We have our teeth early, you see, and we’re born hungry…”
The resultant images in my mind might’ve nauseated me if I still had a working digestive system. “I understand. Go on.”
“I was raised in the Cathedral. I didn’t see my father very often-he was usually busy ruling Gothtown or engaging in power struggles with the other Lords. I was cared for and taught by Father’s staff, and I grew and learned.”
“I thought vampires didn’t age.”
“Those that were originally human and transformed into Bloodborn do not. But those like me, who are half human, do age, only very, very slowly.”
“So you’ll die one day?”
She nodded. “And afterward, I may rise as one completely Bloodborn. Or I may not. No one can say.”
“Could your father transform you, make you a full vampire?”
“He could try. But there’s no guarantee I would survive the process and be reborn. At this point, I’d rather wait and take my chances.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“When I reached my forty-fifth birthday, Father called me in to his study and told me that he wished me to join the staff of the Cathedral and serve him. It was a great honor, and I accepted thankfully.”
“What did he want you to do?”
“I was given charge of his Collection, and I have taken care of it for the last twenty-eight years.”
I noticed a black spot on the far wall-a spot which hadn’t been there when we’d started talking. It was a roach-like insect. Gregor, or rather one of his little informants. I nearly waved hello, but I didn’t want Devona to think I wasn’t listening to her. Besides, the bug didn’t care if I acknowledged its presence or not. All it wanted to do was observe.
“His…Collection?” I said, returning to the conversation.
“Father is incredibly ancient; how old, even he isn’t certain. Thousands and thousands of years, at least. And in all that time, he has acquired quite a number of items. Some are merely mementos of lives lived, countries and cities long dead; others are trophies: of triumphs, conquests, battles won, enemies defeated. Still others are tokens of magic, mystical objects of great power-any of which the other Darklords would dearly love to get their hands on in order to increase their own strength.
“As I said, I have watched over, cared for, and guarded the Collection for nearly three decades. And I have never had any problems,” she said proudly. But then she lowered her head. “Until yesterday.”
“Let me guess. You went to check on the Collection and found something missing.”
“How did-of course, you’re a detective.”
I almost protested that I wasn’t, that I was just an ex-cop-and ex-human-who did favors for people, but I decided to let it lie.
“Yes, something was missing. And I want you to help me get it back.”
I thought for a moment. “Why come to me? Why not go to Lord Galm? He’s a Darklord. With the powers at his command, I should think he’d be able to locate the object easily.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot go to my father. Lord Galm is not especially…understanding of failure. Or forgiving. My only hope is to recover the object on my own, or at least discover what has happened to it. If I am unable to do either…” she trailed off, shuddering.
“But you’re his daughter.”
“Yes, but the Bloodborn have a different set of values when it comes to determining family relationships. Those who are chosen for transformation are considered true children, and are closest to their sires’ hearts. Half- human get like me…well, I suppose the closest human equivalent would be children born out of wedlock. Our sires still care for us, just not as deeply.
“Most of Lord Galm’s staff are children of his, whether fully Bloodborn or partially. And there is a great deal of competition among us for our father’s favor.”
“And so you can’t turn to any of them, either.”
She nodded. “That’s why I need your help. You have a reputation for not only getting the job done, but for keeping quiet about it as well.”
“I didn’t know I had a reputation. I don’t suppose you heard anything about my sparkling personality or my dazzling wit?”
She smiled. “Unfortunately not.”
She had a beautiful smile, the effect spoiled only slightly by her revealed canine teeth.
“Tell me about the object.”
“It’s a crystal a little larger than my fist called the Dawnstone. What it does precisely, I’m not certain. While I tend his Collection, Father doesn’t entrust me with complete knowledge of it. The Dawnstone is one of those items whose secrets he wishes to keep to himself.”
I thought it ironic a vampire would own an artifact called a “Dawnstone.”
“But you know it’s powerful,” I said.
“Of course. Why else would Father be so secretive about it? And the wardspells which protect it are among the most potent in the Cathedral.”
“Yet someone got past those spells.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know Lord Galm didn’t just take the Dawnstone himself and forgot to tell you?”
