Despite Devona's anger at Galm for sending one of his servants to guard her, she'd begun talking with him again, and while I doubted they'd ever be close – Galm wasn't exactly Father of the Year material – they were no longer quite as estranged as they'd been. I didn't trust him, and I knew Devona didn't either, but if she wanted to try to repair the rift between them, I would support her. He had come when Varney called, and without his help, we'd never have stopped Gregor. That counted for something. But I still planned to keep a close eye on the sonofabitch.
Devona hugged me tight, but there was no danger of my falling apart at the seams any more. My body was once again in good shape, thanks to Papa Chatha. After all the magic-users had been freed from Gregor's trance and the insects inside their heads removed, we'd all returned to the city. Once Papa was back in his place, he immediately saw to shoring up the cohesion spells that were keeping my body together, and he reattached my severed arm and fixed the acid-scarring on my face. All at no charge, which I thought was damn decent of him. I should rescue him more often.
Devona and I sat on the couch in our apartment, a number of cardboard boxes stacked against the wall behind us. Devona must've noticed me looking at them, for she said, "You going to miss this place? It's been your home since you first came to Nekropolis."
I looked around the living room, but the only memories of the apartment that came to my mind involved Devona.
I shook my head. "This place is just a few cramped rooms. It only became a home once you moved in."
She cuddled closer to me. "Good answer, Mr Richter."
Tomorrow Scorch, Bogdan, and a fully healed Tavi were going to show up and help us move our stuff into the Midnight Watch. I wasn't sure what it was going to be like living there, especially with the others around all the time. But if our children were going to be as magically gifted as Galm and Varvara thought they'd be, we needed a safe place to raise them, someplace where it would be harder for anyone who wanted to exploit their power to get at them. And since Devona still refused to accept her father's invitation to move into the Cathedral – a decision I wholeheartedly supported – the Midnight Watch seemed like our best alternative.
"I'm glad you approve, Mrs Richter."
Varvara had been so grateful for our part in exposing Klamm's true identity and ending the war between her and Talaith that, when she discovered Devona and I wanted to get officially married, she'd insisted on performing the ceremony herself – and more to the point, hosting the party afterward. Being a Darklord made Varvara one of the six highest authorities in this dimension, so she was as qualified to marry us as anyone else in the city. Besides, the true marriage between Devona and myself had taken place in our hearts. The ceremony was just an outward way to honor that commitment in front of friends and family. And I had to admit, Varvara threw one hell of a celebration for us afterward. It had been over a week, and I'd heard there were still people struggling to recover from their hangovers.
A small voice somewhere close by said, "I liked the movie too."
We turned and saw a roach-like insect clinging to the wall behind us. It quivered under our combined gaze as if frightened, but it didn't flee.
"Hi, Shamika," Devona said, speaking gently. "How are you doing?"
"Good," the insect said, still keeping its distance. "The two halves of my consciousness have finished merging mostly, but I'm still having trouble adjusting to my new personality. I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I mean, I've been around, of course. I just haven't been very… social. I hope you understand."
"Of course we do," Devona said. "We enjoy seeing you whenever you feel up to visiting. Isn't that right, Matt?" "Yep." A zombie of few words, that's me.
After Shamika and Gregor merged on Ulterion, they'd returned to Nekropolis as one being, and eventually their change was passed on to every component of the Watchers throughout the city and beyond. Now all the Watchers were One, and that One was a combination of Gregor and Shamika. Gregor had hated and feared Otherness, and Shamika had been fascinated by it. The new personality that resulted from their merging liked Others well enough, but was shy around them, unsure how and when to interact. As such, Shamika – for the Watchers had chosen to be known by that name from now on – remained hidden in the shadows for the most part. But she no longer wanted to destroy Nekropolis and get rid of the Darkfolk, and with every passing day she seemed to – you'll pardon the expression – be coming out of her shell more. She'd even showed up in her teenage girl guise briefly at our wedding, just long enough to have a dance with me. She'd also taken to helping out around town. She'd already helped finish the reconstruction of the two bridges the Weyward Sisters had destroyed, and she was currently aiding in the reconstruction of the top level of Demon's Roost.
Darius – at least the version of him that appeared on Ulterion – bore me no ill will for shooting one of his selves. I'd known something that Gregor, for all his skills at gathering information, hadn't: one of the things that allows Darius to traverse dimensions is because, in a sense, he's a hive mind like Shamika, one consciousness spread across the entire Omniverse. Killing one aspect of him was akin to a human losing a toe. Painful and inconvenient, but not life-altering. Darius had offered to take Shamika to another dimension where the Darkfolk had never left Earth and where no other Watchers already existed, a place where she could be completely alone if she wished. He warned that it would take him a while to transport all of her, considering that her consciousness was contained in trillions of separate bodies, but he was willing to do it if she wanted. She'd considered his offer, but in the end she'd chosen to remain in Nekropolis. I was glad. A city of monsters just wouldn't seem complete without hordes of intelligent insects crawling around in the shadows. And, truth to tell, while I was glad Gregor's personality was no more, I'd grown more than a little fond of Shamika.
"Forgive me for snooping," Shamika said, "but I was in your bedroom a minute ago, and I saw you haven't packed up your computer yet."
Our laptop computer was a prime example of Victor Baron's flesh-tech: constructed from skin, bone, muscle, and specially designed organs, it lived, breathed, and moaned in complaint whenever asked to do even moderately complex tasks. Devona spoiled the damn thing rotten, which was why it wasn't packed up with our other belongings yet. She'd said she didn't want to hurt its feelings by sealing it away in a box and letting it sit there overnight. Me? I'd have been happy to leave it out on the curb with a sign that said FREE
TO A GOOD HOME (OR EVEN A BAD ONE, JUST AS LONG AS YOU TAKE THE STUPID THING!).
Shamika continued. "Would you come into the bedroom with me? There's something I want to show you on the computer. I've been experimenting with uploading my consciousness to the Aethernet, and I think I've succeeded." She paused, and I could hear the girlish smile in her voice when she added, almost shyly, "I'm my own website!"
Devona looked at me and raised an eyebrow. In return, I shrugged. Shamika was an alien creature, and we didn't understand exactly how her hivemind consciousness worked. Maybe she didn't have to confine herself to a strictly physical existence. But it did make me wonder. Nekropolis' Aethernet is connected to Earth's Internet via some kind of interdimensional connection, and if Shamika – or at least part of her – now existed on the virtual plane… well, the folks back home on Earth might be in for a surprise the next time they logged onto their computers.
"That sounds awesome!" Devona said. "Show me!" She held out her hand toward Shamika. The insect hesitated, then hopped onto the back of Devona's hand, skittered up her arm, and perched on her shoulder.