The Nekropolis Archives by Tim Waggoner

out of my jacket and carefully placed the hair within. I didn't bother to seal it – no saliva, you see – and tucked the envelope and tweezers away in a pocket.
      "Know anyone with red hair who might somehow gain access?"
      "Well… There's Varma, I suppose. But I don't see how he could possibly get in here."
      "Who's Varma?"
      "One of Lord Galm's bloodchildren – a human that's been fully transformed. He's one of Father's favorites, though why, I don't know. He's an irresponsible hedonist."
      "That's a fine way to talk about your own brother." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were the wrong thing to say: Devona's jaw tensed and her eyes flashed. Literally.
      "He's not my brother!" she snapped. It might have been my imagination, but her canines seemed longer, sharper. "In Bloodborn terms, we're considered the equivalent of cousins. Distant cousins at that."
      I held up my hands in what I hoped was a placating gesture. "Okay. I'm not here to untangle the roots of your family tree. I'm here to help you find out what happened to the Dawnstone."
      She glared at me for a moment longer, and then, with a sigh, relaxed. "I'm sorry. It's just that half-humans like me are looked down upon by the fully Bloodborn. To put it mildly. I'm not sure Father would ever have given me my position if I hadn't displayed a talent for magic. It's one of the few advantages of being half human: we tend to possess more aptitude for magic and psychic feats than the fully Bloodborn."
      I understood then why her position and its attendant duties meant so much to her. It was a way for her to feel important, to be something more than just a mere half-breed in the eyes of the fully Bloodborn – and most significantly, in the eyes of her father.
      I understood how she felt, at least a little. I was a zombie – not human anymore, not even alive. I'd seen the looks of disgust, heard the jokes and taunts, especially when my latest batch of preservative spells started to wear off and I didn't look my best. I knew what it was like to feel less than everyone around you.
      If she couldn't get the Dawnstone back, she'd consider herself a failure to the Bloodborn, to her father, and especially to herself.
      I was determined to do my best to see that didn't happen, whether I kept my body from crumbling to dust or not.
      "I didn't mean to snap at you like that," Devona said.
      "Forget it. We've all got something that pushes our hot button."
      "What about you?"
      "With me, it's flies who mistake me for a nursery. Now let's go see if we can find Varma. I've got a few questions to ask him."

FIVE
     
 
    Devona wasn't too thrilled with what I had in mind. Truth to tell, neither was I. But we needed to talk to Varma, and in order to do that, we had to find him. And the most likely place to look was Lord Galm's party.
      "You said yourself that Galm won't be there, that he'll be meditating to prepare himself for the Renewal Ceremony. And I can stay out in the corridor while you hunt for Varma in the ballroom. Then the three of us can go somewhere private and we'll see what your cousin has to say for himself."
      She agreed, but she didn't look happy about it.
      We went back downstairs, and I took up a position in the corridor about fifty feet from the ballroom entrance.
      "Good luck, Devona. Oh, and you, uh, might want to zip yourself up."
      She looked down at her jacket, which was still open halfway to her waist. She smiled. "I suppose I should if I don't want to attract any more attention than necessary." She pulled the zipper tab upward, and then headed for the ballroom. Considering how tight her leather outfit was, I thought she would attract attention no matter what she did.
      I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall and waited. I'd waited quite a bit during my two decades as a cop, and I was real good at it – and being dead made it even easier. I listened to the sounds of