The Nekropolis Archives by Tim Waggoner Page B

definitely did not like it. I had the impression her behavior was akin to that of a human woman going to a party and introducing everyone to her favorite vibrator.
      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 frock coat 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 threedimensional 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