"Don't be so modest," Devona said. "The security spells Papa has placed on his shack are top-notch, if a little… idiosyncratic. You have to know more than a 'few tricks' to get past them."
Shamika looked suddenly uncomfortable. She gazed down at the floor and shrugged. "I suppose."
I pulled out my hand vox, flipped open the lid, and pressed Papa's number. I hated using the damned thing – the tiny ear you speak into is weird enough, but the small mouth you press your own ear against is just plain gross, especially when it gets a little sloppy with its tongue. I listened to Papa's phone ring several times, and then I got his voicemail. The voxmouth spoke in a perfect imitation of Papa's voice, and the effect was eerie as always, like Papa was whispering in my ear.
"If you called my number, you know who I am, and you know what to do."
The vox-mouth made a tiny beep sound, and I started talking.
"Hey, Papa, it's Matt. Devona and I are at your place, sitting and talking with Shamika. She's worried about you and wonders why you haven't been returning her messages. Give her a call ASAP, and call me back too, while you're at it."
I disconnected and put my vox away.
"So Papa's been gone for three days, and he's not answering his vox or returning messages." I didn't like the way this was looking. Like most magicusers, Papa was highly disciplined – you need to be when working with chaotic and potentially lethal forces – and he lived by a regular routine. It simply wasn't like him to deviate from it. I'd never known him to leave his home for so long, and I had a hard time believing he would ignore his niece's messages. He was too considerate.
Devona looked at me, and though she didn't speak aloud, I heard her voice in my mind.
Do you think Papa's disappeared like those other magic-users who've vanished?
I understood why Devona was speaking telepathically. She didn't want to alarm Shamika unnecessarily.
It's possible, I answered. It's also possible that any number of awful things have happened to him. This is Nekropolis, you know. But Papa's a highly skilled magicuser and, more importantly, a smart man. He can protect himself well enough from the city's usual dangers.
It's the unusual ones I'm worried about, Devona said.
I agree. I think we should ask around a bit and see if we can find out what Papa's gotten himself into. Don't you?
I waited for Devona to respond, but all I heard in my mind was silence. I looked at her, but she was staring off into space, not moving, not even blinking.
"Devona? Honey?"
No response. I leaned over and nudged her, but she didn't budge. She felt as solid and immobile as a statue.
I looked over at Varney and Shamika, and saw both of them were similarly frozen. What the hell was going on here? Had we accidentally activated one of the magic objects lying around in Papa's workroom, and if so, why hadn't its power affected me?
"Because if I froze you too, it would be awfully difficult for us to hold a conversation, wouldn't it?"
The voice was a rich, mellow tenor, and it seemed to issue from the empty air. An instant later the shadows in the room all flowed toward a corner, merged and expanded, shaping themselves until they finally resolved into the form of a man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, stood over six feet, and wore a purple toga. He was movie-star handsome, with short curly black hair, a large but distinguished-looking nose, and the kind of smile that when you saw it made you want to smile back. But appearances are all too often deceiving in Nekropolis, and not only was he not a man, he was far, far older than he seemed. This was Father Dis, once worshipped as a god of death by the Romans, the absolute ruler of the Darkfolk and the single most powerful being in the city – which also made him the most dangerous.
He walked toward me with an easy, relaxed stride, but the aura of power that surrounded him put Galm's to shame. If being in Galm's presence was like sensing an oncoming thunderstorm, being close to Dis was like sensing the approach of a Category 5 hurricane, with an earthquake or two tossed in for good measure.
"Hello, Matthew."
Dis stopped when he reached me and held out his hand, but I hesitated to shake it. As far as I knew, Dis had no ill feelings toward me, but I still found him intimidating as hell. After all, he could reduce me to a pile of dust with a mere thought, and he could do far worse if he felt like exerting himself. But in the end I shook his hand, and it felt like any other. I didn't look too deeply into his eyes, though. I was afraid of what I might see there.
Dis frowned as we shook. "Had a little accident, did you?"
I was startled by a sudden warmth in my wrist. I don't experience physical sensation on a regular basis, and when I do, it usually means there's some serious magic at work.
"There," Dis said as he released my hand. "Good as new! Well… as new as a zombie can get, I suppose."
I flexed my fingers, then rotated my wrist. Everything felt solid and properly connected once more, and I realized Dis had reattached my hand to my body. I'm sure it was child's play for him, considering that he'd once reconstructed my entire undead body.
"Thanks," I said, because when a god does a favor for you – even when that god scares the crap out you – it's a good idea to be suitably grateful.
"You're welcome. You don't have to worry about Devona and the others. I'll return them to normal when we're finished talking, and they'll be none the worse for wear. And there will be no ill effects for Devona's pregnancy either. Congratulations on that, by the way."
"Thank you. I'm a little confused about why you felt a need to freeze them at all, though."
Dis walked around Papa's workroom as he talked, looking over the items on the tables and shelves, occasionally lifting one to examine it, before putting it back down and moving on to another. "The balance of power in Nekropolis is a tenuous thing at best. The laws that govern the city apply not just to its citizens, but also to the Darklords – and myself. But there is one law that applies to me alone: I may not directly interfere in a dispute between the Darklords."
"By 'dispute,' I assume you're talking about Talaith sending a strike force to destroy the bridges that link the Sprawl to its neighboring Dominions."
"Yes. The Weyward Sisters, often mistakenly referred to as the 'Weird Sisters.' A trio of sorceresses almost as powerful as Talaith herself. The ancient Greeks called them the three Fates, and the Vikings knew them as the three Norns. Dispatching them to destroy the bridges was Talaith's way of telling Varvara that she is deadly serious about her ultimatum."
"Talaith believes Varvara is responsible for the missing magic-users. Is she?" I asked.
Dis stood before Shamika now, and he paused to regard the girl, reaching out to gently brush her cheek with his fingers. He then turned to face me.
"If I knew, I couldn't tell you, as passing along such information would constitute interference."
"Not to point out the obvious, but you're Dis. You're more powerful than all five Darklords put together. If you really want to interfere, who can stop you?"
"I'm not as strong as you might imagine, Matthew, and as I've told you before, most of my strength goes toward maintaining both Phlegethon and the city's stability in this dimension. I don't have much power left over for settling arguments between squabbling Darklords. But even if I did, I wouldn't try. The cooperation of all six of us is needed to recharge Umbriel each year, and while I donate the lion's share of mystic energy to that process, I couldn't accomplish it without the others. When the Darkfolk first moved to Nekropolis, I tried to impose my will upon the Darklords in order to keep the peace, and not only did it not work out, it nearly resulted in the destruction of the city on more than one occasion. It took a while, but I finally learned my lesson. The less I interfere, the better. My Sentinels patrol the Dominions, and my Adjudicators deal with any criminal investigations or legal disputes that the Darklords either don't wish to or cannot handle on their own, but that's the extent of my interference."