“If anyone takes note of your pallor, and the way you walk, they’ll just think you’re another Shadow.” She smiled, almost shyly. “My Shadow.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong with the way I walk?”
“Never mind.” She took my elbow, the strength of her grip surprising me even though it shouldn’t have, and led me across the cobblestone street toward the Cathedral. I tried very hard not to feel self-conscious about my slightly stiff-legged zombie gait.
A crimson carpet, appropriately enough, had been laid out for the occasion, and we walked across it, up the steps, and toward the open doorway. Above the entrance perched a clutch of snarling stone gargoyles, and as we came closer, I could have sworn that one of them moved the slightest bit. I tried to tell myself that it was my imagination, but I wasn’t very convincing.
Whether they were just statues or something else, the gargoyles remained motionless after that, and then we were in.
Before us stretched a long stone corridor with torches burning in wall sconces. The flames were green-tinted-the same fire as that which burned in Phlegethon? I didn’t know. But whatever the nature of the flame, it produced no smoke. No heat, either, as near as my dead nerves could tell. Still, I didn’t want to get too close. No sense taking a chance on becoming zombie barbecue.
“We’ll just take the corridor to the ballroom, and then keep on going,” Devona whispered.
I nodded slightly. We were on her turf; all I could do was follow her lead.
As we continued, the mingled sounds of merriment-tinkling glasses, the buzz of conversation punctuatedby an occasional burst of laughter, the soft lyrical sound of a string quartet-grew louder. The couple before us, who were garbed in Roman togas as white as their alabaster skin, were greeted enthusiastically at the ballroom entrance by a large burly vampire dressed like a Scottish highlander.
The highlander said something I didn’t catch, and the three of them broke into peals of laughter. But their merriment had a dark edge to it, and I was glad I hadn’t overheard what had sparked it.
We reached the ballroom and kept going, passing the Romans and the highlander, who were still chuckling over whatever black joke had amused them. And although I shouldn’t have done it, was risking drawing attention to ourselves-or specifically to my non-vam-piric, non-human, not-invited-to-the-party self-I couldn’t resist taking a quick look into the ballroom. What can I say? A curious nature was one of the things which led me to become a cop in the first place.
The ballroom was gigantic, four stories high at least. The floor and walls were completely covered by a smooth, mirrored surface that reflected the greenish light from the wall sconces, a scattering of people whom I took to be human, and nothing else-despite the fact that the room was packed with men and woman garbed in all manner of historical dress. Among those whose reflections were visible, however, were strolling human musicians who wandered through the room, along with equally mortal singers, comedians, jugglers, acrobats, and stage magicians. When the humans’ performances met with the Bloodborn’s approval, they received polite applause, and if the vampires were particularly amused, they might slip a performer a few darkgems as well. But when the performers didn’t quite measure up…well, the humans had more to offer than their meager talents, and the Bloodborn weren’t shy about taking their entertainment in liquid form.
I tried to catch a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror, but there was so many people milling about I couldn’t. I did, however, see a hazy ghost image of a petite blonde for just a moment. Devona was half human. It only made sense she would cast half a reflection.
But as impressive as the gathering of Bloodborn royalty was in and of itself, one thing was more impressive still. In the center of the room stood a great marble fountain, and bubbling forth from it a thick shower of reddish-black liquid. I told myself the viscous fluid couldn’t really be what it seemed; that it was either aqua sanguis, the synthetic blood substitute produced in the Sprawl, or a decorative effect of some sort achieved through Lord Galm’s dark arts. I almost believed it, too.
And then Devona and I were past the ballroom and continuing down the corridor.
“I don’t think anyone noticed us,” Devona said, relieved.
“I hope you’re right.”
After a few dozen more feet we came to a winding stone staircase. Devona removed a torch from a sconce on the wall and started up the stairs. I held back a little. Maybe the torch wasn’t lit with real fire, but zombie-flesh is dry, bloodless, and very flammable. I wasn’t about to take any chances.
Devona led the way up: two, four, seven floors. I don’t tire as I did when alive, but just to break the silence, I said, “I wonder if Lord Galm has ever considered installing an elevator.”
“Most Bloodborn don’t need to rely on stairs,” she answered. “They have their travel forms. Besides, Father won’t have anything to do with technology. He thinks it a decadence which promotes laziness of the mind and spirit.”
I wondered what Galm thought of those Bloodborn who’d arrived in limousines that night. I thought of asking Devona, but I decided to stick to business instead. “I didn’t notice Lord Galm in the ballroom.”
“He’s probably still meditating, marshaling his power for the Renewal Ceremony.”
I thought I might take the opportunity to find out more about the ceremony-it struck me as awfully coincidental that one of Lord Galm’s most powerful mystic objects should just happen to vanish so close to the Renewal Ceremony. But then we reached the ninth floor and Devona gestured that we should stop.
Devona stuck her head into the corridor, looked both ways, and then motioned for me to follow. I did, but to the right I saw a window, and I couldn’t resist stepping over to it and taking a quick peek outside.
The window was covered with thick iron bars, but that wasn’t the only protection. I could hear, or rather almost hear, a hum in the air, like the ultrasonic whine of an alarm system.
“Don’t stand too close,” Devona said. “The wardspell on the window is a particularly deadly one.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
The borders of Nekropolis form a perfect pentagram, and the points of the pentagram-connected by the flaming barrier of Phlegethon-are the strongholds of the five Darklords. This window faced outward from Nekropolis and toward the Null Plains: a flat black featureless expanse which stretched to the horizon. A whole hell of a lot of Nothing.
I’d only seen the Null Plains a couple times before, but viewing them always gave me the creeps. There was something about the blackness that the human (or zombie) eye couldn’t quite deal with, a subtle movement, nearly undetectable, like glacially slow tides of solid darkness sliding and swirling against one another.
I thought of crazy Carl and the headline of his idiotic “newspaper”-WATCHERS FROM OUTSIDE PLOT CITY’S DESTRUCTION-and I couldn’t help shuddering. Looking out at the endless darkness, I could almost believe something was out there, watching, waiting…
“Not much to see,” Devona said.
“Not much,” I agreed, turning away from the window. There was nothing out there, certainly not any Watchers. Carl was a loon, and that was the end of it.
We continued down the corridor past a series of solid-looking wooden doors, each of which appeared to be exactly like the one before it, until we came to a door which didn’t seem particularly special, but evidently was, for Devona stopped.
“This is it. The entrance to the Collection.” She unzipped her leather jacket halfway to her waist to reveal an iron key hanging on a chain between her partially exposed breasts.