A voice whispered in my mind then, thick with barely restrained fury. Another valiant attempt to escape me, Matthew, but you’re too late. Look up.
I did and saw a figure swiftly approaching from the western sky. Talaith sat upon an airborne throne of black marble held aloft by a pair of giant flapping raven’s wings growing from the throne’s back. Despite myself, I was impressed. Much classier than a broom or carpet. I knew we had only moments before she reached us. Once again, it was time to do something desperate.
I raised my hands to the heavens. “Lord Edrigu! Hear me! You are Master of the Dead; I am a zombie! Will you allow Talaith to insult you by attacking one of your own subjects? I ask you to help us, if for no other reason than to spite her!”
I waited, but nothing happened.
Nice try, zombie. Talaith’s thought-voice was smug. But Edrigu would never da-
And then, as if Talaith’s comment was a cue, the air near us shimmered and a shadowy coach appeared.
It was Silent Jack’s Black Rig.
We didn’t have time to think about it.
“C’mon!” I shouted, grabbing both Devona’s and Lazlo’s arms and pulling them toward Jack’s coach.
“I’m not going to ride in a ghost hack!” Lazlo protested. “I’m a real cabby! Besides, I’m not going to leave my cab. We have to go back and-”
Talaith was close enough now for us to hear her voice, and she shrieked, furious at Jack’s sudden appearance. She gestured and a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground less than three yards from where we stood.
“I’m going to shut my mouth and get inside,” Lazlo finished.
The door of the coach sprung open of its own accord, and we climbed in: Devona first, Lazlo second, me last. I pulled the door closed after us, and it shut with a muffled click. The interior of the coach was dark and the wood looked…insubstantial, somehow, as if you could put your finger through it if you pressed hard enough. But what else could you expect from a ghost coach? At least it was solid enough to keep the rain out.
I thumped on the roof to get the driver’s attention. “Let’s go, Jack!”
Silent Jack, true to his name, didn’t reply. His whip cracked soundlessly, Malice and Misery let out a pair of inaudible whinnies, and we began to move. But the horses didn’t pull us, at least not in the usual way. The entire coach, horses, slid forward as if on a conveyer belt, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. There was no bouncing or juddering; the ride was eerily smooth.
I pushed aside the curtain over the rear window and saw Talaith pursuing us, eyes flashing with mystic energy and blazing bright with anger and frustration. The Witch Queen poured on the speed, but inch by inch, we began to outdistance her.
Damn you, Richter! a furious voice thundered in my head. This isn’t over!
It is for now, I responded, and settled back in my seat. I’d survived another encounter with the mistress of Glamere.
I looked up at the ceiling and thought of Jack sitting atop the coach, driving the horses onward in silence. We’d gotten away, but, I wondered, at what price?
FOURTEEN
The coach neared the border between Glamere and the Boneyard, but instead of heading for the Bridge of Lost Souls, it aimed straight for Phlegethon. Before we could protest, the coach had passed through the wrought iron fence at the side of the road-somehow allowing us to pass through as well-and continued through the air as if the road had never ended, bearing us easily across the river of green fire. I wonder if any Lesk, the giant serpents that plied the flaming waters of the river, were looking up, disappointed we hadn’t fallen in. But I didn’t look out the window to check. Some things are better left a mystery.
Now that we had crossed over into Edrigu’s Dominion, Talaith no longer pursued us. But that didn’t necessarily mean we were safe. Nekropolis doesn’t do safe.
As soon as we reached the other side, the Black Rig glided to a stop on the Obsidian Way.
“It wasn’t as much fun as a car,” Lazlo said, “but I have to admit it was a pretty decent ride.” He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Hey, it’s locked!” Lazlo gripped the handle tighter and shook it for all he was worth, but despite his demonic strength, the door remained closed. “What gives?”
“I believe it’s time to settle the matter of our fare,” Devona said.
I remembered the rumors about Silent Jack, about how much he liked the ladies. And from the look on Devona’s face, she was thinking the same thing.
“I’ll get this one, Jack,” I said loudly.
The door sprung open.
“Matt, no!” Devona protested. “You shouldn’t pay for all three of us!”
“She’s right,” Lazlo agreed. “We all three rode; we all should pay.”
I shook my head. “I’m the one who requested Lord Edrigu’s assistance, so I’ll be the one to settle the tab. Now go ahead and get out, both of you.”
Devona refused, so I looked to Lazlo. The demon sighed. “All right, Matt; if that’s the way you want it. Let’s go, Devona.” He took her hand and pulled her struggling from the coach. As strong as Devona was, Lazlo was stronger. As soon as they were both out, the door snicked shut once more, and Silent Jack appeared on the seat opposite me. This was the closest I’d ever been to him, but I couldn’t make out any facial features. It was as if he were formed entirely out of shadow, just like his cab and the horses that drew it.
The ghostly coachman held out a gloved hand, but I was fairly certain he wasn’t asking for darkgems.
“Name your price, Jack.”
He put his hand in his lap, held it out again, and then pointed to me. The message was clear-he wanted me to hold out my hand. I extended my left hand palm up. Jack reached out and with the sharp ebon nail of his index finger traced four lines on my palm. When he removed his finger, my flesh puckered and scar tissue formed in the shape of a letter E. E for Edrigu. What did it mean?
I started to pull back my hand, but Jack gripped my wrist, and with his other hand got hold of my pinkie and yanked. There was a snapping, tearing sound, and my finger came loose in his hand. He inserted the finger in his vest pocket, tipped his hat to me, and then vanished.
The door opened.
I climbed out and stood next to Devona and Lazlo. We watched as Silent Jack-who sat once more atop the coach-and his Black Rig faded from sight.
“What was his price?” Devona asked.
I showed them the mark on my palm.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
“I’m not certain,” Devona said. “Perhaps merely that you are in Lord Edrigu’s debt. Or perhaps that you now have a new master.”
A master. I couldn’t deal with all the implications of what that might mean. I’d always been my own man, even when I was on the force in Cleveland. And now I had a master?
Edrigu was Lord of the Dead-had he perhaps repaired the damage to my body? I took a quick inventory. No, my face was still scratched, my ear still missing, my right arm and left leg still damaged. Edrigu hadn’t bothered to fix me, which meant that I was still in the process of decomposing for the final time. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Edigru have Jack put his mark on me if he wasn’t going to bother preserving me?
And then I felt an echo of a chill run along my dead spine. What if Edrigu wasn’t interested in my undead body? What if he wanted my soul?
Well, if that was the price I had to pay to save my friends, it was worth it. But I wasn’t about to give up on Devona’s case or on trying to find a way to keep my body intact. Lord Edrigu might have a lien on my soul, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him to collect.
Devona noticed my pinkie was missing. I told her what had happened to it.
“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. “Why would Jack take your finger if you’d already paid Lord Edrigu’s price?”
“For his tip,” Lazlo said, “what else?”
Bereft of transportation, we had no choice but to hoof it. We left the Obsidian Way and began walking along the Boneyard’s cramped, narrow streets. But foot travel wasn’t a problem in this Dominion, even during the Descension celebration. With the exception of the occasional shade drifting across our path, the streets were deserted. Everything was in a state of arrested decay: the roadways buckled and bulged, bricks cracked and crumbling; the buildings covered with dead, dry ivy, shutters hanging by one hinge, roofs full of holes or collapsed entirely; the trees and bushes lining the streets twisted, gray, and barren. And, according to Devona and Lazlo, the air was still, stagnant, and stale.