Tim Waggoner: Nekropolis

“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?”

“Father is a stickler for procedure. In twenty-eight years he has never failed to inform me when he removed an item from the Collection.”

“Still, there’s always a first time,” I pointed out.

“I suppose. But I can hardly go up and ask him, can I? If he hasn’t removed the Dawnstone, my asking after it would alert him to its disappearance.”

“And buy you a world of trouble.”

“Yes.”

She definitely needed help-and I needed the aid of a Darklord if I was to survive. I stood. “I have more questions, but I can ask them on the way.”

“The way to where?”

“The Cathedral, of course. One of the first steps in any investigation is to examine the scene of the crime.”

I looked over at the spot on the wall where the bug had been, but it was gone now. Gregor’s tiny minion had probably heard enough and moved on to find something more interesting to observe.

Devona stood. She smiled, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Mr. Richter.”

I could only feel the pressure of her hand, but I could imagine how smooth and soft her skin was. “Call me Matthew.”

Detective or not, I was on the job once more-and this time, I was working not only to help my “client,” but to save my own life.

Talk about incentive.

Before leaving, I strapped on my shoulder holster and then made a few selections from the foot locker on the floor of my closet. My 9mm handgun-a souvenir from my days on the force back in Cleveland-along with a few other goodies that I’d picked up since. I slid the 9mm into the holster and hid the rest in various places about my person, mostly in the extra pockets sewn into in the inner lining of my suit jacket, and then I was ready. Or at least as ready as I was going to get.

As we walked down the front steps of my building, Devona eyed the street full of drunken revelers. “It’s going to take some time to get through this mess.”

“You could go on ahead, and I could meet you.”

“Go on? Oh, you mean shapeshift. I don’t possess the capability of assuming a travel form. Not many halfhuman Bloodborn do. Although I do have other…talents.”

Before I could think of a witty reply, a shriek went up from the festivalgoers at the far end of the street, and the crowd began to part like water before a large yellow object careening toward us.

“Oh, no,” I moaned. “It’s Lazlo.”

Sure enough, with a rattling and knocking of the engine and a roar of purplish exhaust, Lazlo’s cab carved a path through the suddenly terrified partiers, only running down one or two in the process. Lazlo pulled up to the curb in front of my building with a pitiful squeal of brakes begging to be replaced and sent on to car-part heaven.

“Heya, Matt! How’s it hanging?”

“I’m dead, Lazlo, remember? Hanging is all it does anymore.”

Lazlo guffawed violently, his laughter a combination of genuine amusement and someone in desperate need of the Heimlich maneuver. Lazlo’s a demon whose face looks something like a cross between a mandrill and a ferret, with a little carp thrown in for good measure. And although I can’t testify to this personally, I’ve heard he smells like a toxic waste dump.

Evidently the rumors were true, for Devona recoiled as if she’d just taken a sledge hammer blow to the side of the head.

Before Lazlo could say anything else, one of the festival-goers came lumbering toward us. I’d seen it around the Sprawl before, but I didn’t know its name and I’d taken to mentally referring to it as Tri-bod. The creature had one extremely large head which looked something like a half-rotted flesh-colored pumpkin with humanoid eyes, noise, and mouth. Supporting that immense dome were three bodies-the outer two male, the one in the middle female. The two male bodies wore tuxedos, while the female was garbed in a sequin-covered evening gown. The female body could’ve graced the cover of any high-profile beauty magazine back on Earth…as long as the photographer made sure to shoot her from the neck down.

Tri-bod’s mushy facial features were contorted into an angry scowl, and when it spoke, its voice was a combination of male tenor, female alto, and male bass.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dumbass? You can’t drive on the streets today! They’re closed!”

Tri-bod came up onto the sidewalk and one of its male components shoved me aside so it could lean down and look at Lazlo while it yelled at him. To help keep its balance, all six of Tri-bod’s hands grabbed hold of the cab at various points.

“You really don’t want to do that,” I warned.

Devona shot me a questioning look, but before I could answer, the hood of Lazlo’s cab sprung open, revealing a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth. A serpentine tongue whipped through the air toward Tri-bod’s middle neck and wrapped tight around the soft feminine flesh.

“I only got one rule,” Lazlo said calmly. “Hands off the cab.”