Dale took a second to check his weapon. “I’m out of ammo.”
“Me too.” And neither of us had reloads. We’d used up all our bullets over the last couple days just surviving long enough to get this far. I holstered my gun, and Dale did the same. “Guess we’ll just have to improvise,” I said.
“Fair enough.” Dale grabbed the door handle, but before he opened it, he said, “How much you want to bet there’s no lock on it?”
“Who needs locks when you have a pair of beefcake warlocks to guard your secret chamber of evil?” I said.
Dale laughed as he opened the door, and we rushed inside. I’d been expecting the chamber to be like the rest of Woodhome-smooth, barkless wood-but instead it was spherical and covered with glimmering metal panels. The chamber reeked of ozone and overheated circuitry, and a low thrumming filled the air, the sound of a powerful machine in the process of warming up. In the middle of the room was a huge pinkish mass the size of a bull elephant. Its wrinkled surface was slick with blood, and dozens of black cables extended from its pulpy substance out to different points on the walls and ceiling.
This was the Overmind.
Dale and I stopped to look at the obscene thing.
“I thought brains were gray,” he said.
I shook my head. “That’s only after they’ve been preserved. Inside our skulls, they look like that: all pink.”
Dale and I weren’t alone in the chamber, though. There were two others standing before the Overmind. A male warlock with long flowing blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard standing next to a handsome middle-aged woman with short black hair. The warlock wore a dark red robe-not quite black, but close enough, I supposed-while the woman was garbed in an old-fashioned Puritan dress of severe black-and-white. I didn’t recognize the warlock, but I had a pretty good idea who the woman was: the Dark Lady Talaith, ruler of Glamere and mistress of the Arcane.
Dale immediately fixed his attention on the warlock. “Let me guess. You’re the sonofabitch who’s been killing people in my town back on Earth.” We’d tracked the killer down in Cleveland, even watched as he’d disappeared back through Varvara’s mirror portal, but neither of us had gotten that good a look at him. But now, standing here gazing at the bastard, both Dale and I knew this was our man.
If the warlock was surprised to see us, he didn’t show it. He stepped toward us with a casual confidence that said he was used to having his evil rituals interrupted by a pair of out-of-town cops. Very out-of-town.
“I’m afraid I’m unacquainted with you two gentlemen, but I’m impressed that you made it this far.” He looked us over. “Though I must say that you both appear somewhat the worse for wear.”
Despite the fact his weapon was out of ammunition, Dale drew it and leveled it at the warlock’s head. “You can cut the ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond’ crap. Just tell me if you’re the person responsible for the death of seven men and women in Cleveland.”
Amusement flickered in the warlock’s eyes, and I wondered if he could somehow sense that Dale’s gun was empty. “I am. Though as you can see, they’ve been reborn.” He gestured toward the Overmind. “So technically, I suppose I’m not a killer. I’m more of a…” a slow smile spread across his face. “A recycler, I suppose you could say.”
Despite ourselves, Dale and I turned to regard the Overmind once more.
“The coroner’s report said the people you killed died without outward signs of violence,” I said. “We’ve already figured out that you used some kind of spell to stop their hearts. But the coroner also said that portions of their brains were missing, even though each of their skulls was intact.”
The warlock bowed his head in mock-humility. “I must confess to possessing a certain modicum of skill at psychic surgery.”
I ignored the arrogant bastard and went on. “So you’re telling us that you used the brain matter you stole from those people to build the Overmind?”
The warlock stepped closer to the giant brain and laid his hand on it as if stroking a beloved pet. “Precisely. Those seven people were all extremely gifted psychically, but none of them knew it. Moreover, they’d never even used their preternatural abilities, which meant their brain matter was completely unspoiled. Pristine minds-virgin minds, if you will-are almost impossible to find in Nekropolis. They need to be…imported.”
Up to this point, Talaith hadn’t said anything, but now she stepped toward the warlock, grabbed his shoulder none-too-gently, and spun him around to face her. “We don’t have time for this foolishness, Yberio. We need to finish powering up the Overmind and use it strike against Edrigu before he becomes aware of what we’re trying to do! The fool may be Lord of the Dead, but doesn’t mean he’s as slow-witted as his mindless subjects. We only have moments before he senses what we’re up to.”
She glanced past Yberio at Dale and me, and I could feel the hatred blazing in her eyes as if it were a physical force. “Kill them while I continue the ritual.”
Yberio’s jaw muscles tensed, telling me that he didn’t appreciate being spoken to as one of the help. “Yes, my love,” he answered through gritted teeth.
“Forget the ‘my love’ shit and just do it!” she snapped. She turned to face the Overmind, raising her hands over her head and chanting harsh, guttural words in a language I didn’t recognize, but which hurt to hear. It felt like someone was jamming rusty metal spikes into my ears.
Dale and I exchanged a quick look. Understanding the emotional stressors on your opponents is just as important as knowing what weapons they have-sometimes more so. It was obvious that Yberio was Talaith’s lover and that he thought that relationship made them equals. It was just as obvious to Dale and me that Talaith thought differently.
Yberio glared at Talaith for a moment, but she ignored him as she continued working whatever magic was necessary to get the Overmind to do its thing. Yberio turned back to face us, and from the dark expression on his face, it was clear he intended to take out his anger toward Talaith on us.
Dale kept his empty gun trained on the warlock, and with his free hand he gestured to me behind his back. Get ready.
My left hand still had fragments of glass in it-and still hurt like hell-but my gun-hand was free and uninjured, and I took a half-step behind Dale to cover my motion from Yberio as I reached into my jacket pocket and removed the last device we’d managed to acquire in the Sprawl. It looked like a simple pocket watch, old and badly in need of polishing, but otherwise unremarkable. Lady Varvara-who was very displeased that Talaith had made use of her dimension portal in her latest scheme to attack Lord Edrigu-had given the device to us before we left the Sprawl. She’d said it was called the Death Watch and that all we would have to do was push the switch to activate it when the right time came. After that, we’d know what to do.
I hoped like hell she was right-and that she was telling the truth. She was a demon, after all, and her kind had a reputation for being somewhat lacking in the truth-telling department.
If Yberio had seen me take hold of the Death Watch, he gave no sign. Perhaps he simply thought he was too powerful to worry about whatever meager magics Dale and I might have acquired during our brief stay in Nekropolis.
“You gentlemen were quite correct in your earlier surmise,” the warlock said. “I did use magic to kill those people. The spell is a quite simple one, really.” He smiled coldly. “Allow me to demonstrate it to you.”
That sure as hell sounded like a cue to me. I thumbed the switch atop the Death Watch, and the black hands on the clock face began spinning wildly. Dark energy spread outward from the watch, so cold that it felt as if I’d plunged my hand into ice water. I wanted to drop the damned thing, but I forced myself to hold on to it.