So much for my keeping a low profile. I could only hope that Devona would eventually find me and come to my rescue, or that Calandre would tire of me and let me go.
Calandre licked her lips. “I’m dreadfully thirsty, Matthew.” She smiled, displaying her incisors. “Dreadfully.”
This was bad. If she bit into my flesh, she’d realize I wasn’t alive. My blood had long ago turned to dust in my veins. It’d be like someone expecting a nice, refreshing drink of water suddenly getting a mouthful of chalk instead.
I returned to contemplating spending the rest of my unlife as a one-armed zombie, when a statuesque woman in an Edwardian frockcoat walked up, her features scrunched into an expression of supreme distaste.
“Really, Calandre, this is too much, even for you!”
Calandre drew herself up haughtily, which wasn’t easy since her wig looked as if it would topple off her head any moment. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Naraka, nor do I care. Now why don’t you take your little penis-envy pageant elsewhere?”
Naraka made a sound deep in her throat, and I realized she was growling. This did not look good, especially since Calandre still had hold of me; I didn’t relish the prospect of being caught in the middle of a catfight between two vampires.
“Ladies, please, there’s no need for-”
“Silence, Shadow!” Naraka’s hand flashed out and her nails, which had suddenly become claws, raked my left cheek.
“Really, Naraka, you didn’t…” Calandre’s voice trailed off, and I had a pretty good idea why. She had noticed that the deep scratches Naraka had inflicted on my face weren’t bleeding.
“Father Dis!” Naraka swore in disgust. “It’s one thing to drag a human around as if he were one of us. But a zombie!”
“But I…He…I didn’t…” In her surprise and confusion, Calandre released my arm, and I decided that, zombie-slow or not, I was going to make a run for it.
And then the torches along the ballroom walls dimmed, and the noise and music ceased as if a switch had been thrown. Everyone looked upward, even Calandre and Naraka, who seemed to have forgotten all about me. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t care. I was just grateful for the distraction.
I started to edge away from the two vampire women, but then I stopped. The atmosphere of the ballroom felt charged with energy, like before a violent storm breaks loose. It had to be a psychic and not physical sensation, or else I probably couldn’t have perceived it, but whichever, it stopped me in my tracks and made me look up along with everyone else.
Darkness gathered along the mirrored surface of the ballroom walls, thickening and growing. And then the darkness exploded into a thousand shards which darted and whirled through the air, a cyclone of shadow. One of the black fragments dipped near my head, and I could see that what had been formless pieces of darkness had assumed the shape of large bats. Not actual three-dimensional animals, but instead shadowy silhouettes circling madly about the room.
And then the flock of shadow-bats drew close together directly above the gushing fountain of red, and coalesced into the form of a huge, well muscled man, who wore only a loincloth, boots, and a cape made out of black fur. His skin was white as bone, and his body looked hard as marble. He had long brown hair, and an equally brown beard which spilled onto his chest. His eyes were frost-white and cold as glaciers.
I didn’t need a formal introduction to tell me this was Lord Galm, progenitor of the Bloodborn and ruler of Gothtown-and, if I was lucky and Devona managed to persuade him to help me, my eventual savior.
“My children.” Though Galm spoke softly, his low rumbling voice echoed through the ballroom in tones as cold as an arctic plain at midnight.
As one, the assembled vampires fell to their knees and bowed their heads. “Our Lord,” they chanted in unison.
I was about to kneel myself to keep from drawing the Darklord’s attention, when I felt someone grab my arm and start dragging me backward. It was Devona-and she looked scared.
I didn’t know what to do: stay and risk being exposed as a zombie and a party-crasher-thus earning Galm’s wrath-or go with Devona and risk drawing the vampire lord’s ire for not displaying the proper obeisance. In the end, simple fear won out and I turned and we both ran like hell for the exit.
I felt a freezing-cold sensation on the back of my neck, as if it were suddenly coated in ice. I didn’t have to turn and look to know the Darklord was watching us. But for whatever reason, he did nothing, and we reached the corridor, turned left, and kept going.
As we ran, I thought it was a good thing I was dead. If I’d been alive, I would surely have needed a change of underwear at that point.
We didn’t stop running until we were a couple blocks from the Cathedral. Devona put her hands on her knees and gulped air-another sign that she was half human; a full-fledged vampire wouldn’t have needed to breathe, let alone catch her breath. I just stood and waited for her to recover, not fatigued in the slightest myself, although I thought my left arm was a trifle looser than it had been.
“Will Galm send someone after us?” I asked Devona when her breathing had returned to normal.
She shook her head. “He’s going to be too busy receiving guests for the next few hours. But I’m sure he’ll tend to us later.” She slumped back against the wall of a building and rubbed her forehead, clearly upset.
I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe Galm will be more forgiving of our disrupting his entrance if we can recover the Dawnstone, or at least discover what happened to it.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Perhaps. It’s something to hope for anyway.” She stood straight, took a deep breath, and did her best to regain her composure. And then she noticed the cuts on my face. “Oh, you’re hurt!”
She reached a hand toward my wounds, but I took a step back. I didn’t want her smooth, half-living hands touching my dead flesh, didn’t want to see her possibly pull away in disgust.
“I’m a zombie; I can’t be hurt. Don’t worry, Papa Chatha will just take care of it the next time I see him.” Or in a couple days I’d be gone, and a few scratches wouldn’t matter anymore. I changed the subject. “Did you locate Varma?”
“No one had seen him. He’s probably off celebrating in the Sprawl somewhere.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be? Any favorite hangouts?”
“I know a couple places that he frequents. So we’re off to the Sprawl, then?”
“Not just yet. First, we need to find out as much about the Dawnstone as we can.”
“How are we supposed to do that? We can hardly ask Father, can we?”
“Maybe not. But I know someone else we can ask.”
“Who?”
I smiled. “Do you have your library card on you?”
SIX
“You can’t be serious,” Devona said.
We were on the Avenue of Dread Wonders, where museums housing the rarest and strangest artifacts in all Nekropolis were located. The neighborhood here was deserted and blessedly free of Descension Day chaos. I guess a museum district isn’t exactly high on anyone’s list of party destinations. Before us, nestled between the Pavilion of Nightmares Incarnate and the Hemesphere, stood the Great Library. I’d never visited the Pavilion, and from the way its shadowy architecture continually shifts and reforms itself into ever more sinister configurations, I’m not sure I ever will, but I had poked my head into the Hemesphere once. Inside the large round building is a museum that exhibits blood samples from famous people-both Darkfolk and human-acquired throughout history. The place doesn’t do much for me, but then I don’t have a sense of smell, let alone the enhanced sensory apparatus necessary to tell the difference between one blood sample and another. From what I’ve been told, you need to be a vampire or shapeshifter to fully appreciate the experience.