Read Online The Nekropolis Archives by Tim Waggoner - Free Book Online

happen to me the next time. Being dead isn't all that much fun, but I've lived in Nekropolis long enough to know it could be worse. A lot worse."
      She cocked her head to one side and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Which Darklord was it?"
      "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind. And I don't want to talk about your problem either, not if it involves Lord Galm."
      She crossed her arms and gave me a calculating look. It didn't appear as if she were in a hurry to leave.
      "I don't know a lot about zombies, but I know they need to have preservative spells regularly applied to keep them from rotting." She smiled. "And as I've seen, they occasionally need limbs reattached. Spells like that cost money."
      "I can get darkgems somewhere else," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. And besides, I wasn't worried about mere preservative spells now. I needed to find a way to keep my body from rotting away to nothing. I imagined I could already feel the slight itch of decay – one of the few sensations I can feel.
      "One hundred? Two? Three hundred?" she countered. "Three hundred darkgems would pay for quite a lot of spells."
      "They would at that," I was forced to admit. That would be roughly the equivalent of several thousand dollars back home in Cleveland. But would even three hundred darkgems be enough to buy the kind of magic I would need to keep my body intact?
      And then it hit me. I needed the kind of power few beings in Nekropolis possessed: the power of a Darklord. If I helped Devona, perhaps she would intercede with her father on my behalf – and Lord Galm could use his magic to "cure" me.
      I cautioned myself not too get excited, that it was a long shot, that even if Devona asked, Lord Galm might not help me. But right then it looked like the best – and only – shot I had. Besides, if I did have only a few days left in my existence, I'd rather spend them working than sitting around my place staring at the walls.
      "All right, Devona, tell me about your problem."
     
    "I'm seventy-three years old," she said. "Surprised?"
      "Not really," I said. "Seventy-three is young for a vampire."
      We were sitting in the living room. Devona was on the couch, and I'd taken the chair. The sounds of the Descension celebration out in the street – blaring music, laughter, shouting, and the occasional scream – served as a muted background to our conversation.
      "Although," I added, "you're the best looking seventy-three year-old I've ever seen."
      She blushed slightly. Another sign that she was half human. A full-blooded vampire can't blush.
      "Lord Galm didn't exactly love my mother. But he came as close to it as a being like him can, and when I was born, he brought me from Earth to Nekropolis."
      "And your mother?"
      "Died delivering me," she said softly. "Human women usually do when giving birth to a half-Bloodborn child." She looked down at her lap, where the thin, fine fingers of her delicate hands played nervously with each other. "We have our teeth early, you see, and we're born hungry…"
      The resultant images in my mind might've nauseated me if I still had a working digestive system. "I understand. Go on."
      "I was raised in the Cathedral. I didn't see my father very often – he was usually busy ruling Gothtown or engaging in power struggles with the other Lords. I was cared for and taught by Father's staff, and I grew and learned."
      "I thought vampires didn't age."
      "Those that were originally human and transformed into Bloodborn do not. But those like me, who are half human, do age, only very, very slowly."
      "So you'll die one day?"
      She nodded. "And afterward, I may rise as one completely Bloodborn. Or I may not. No one can say."
      "Could your father transform you, make you a full vampire?"
      "He could try. But there's no guarantee I would survive the process and be reborn. At this point, I'd rather wait