Read Online The Nekropolis Archives by Tim Waggoner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Waggoner
Tags: detective, Crime, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Zombie, undead, omnibus, Matt Richter P.I., Nekropolis Archives, 3-in-1
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spells."
"Yes."
"How do you know Lord Galm didn't just take the Dawnstone himself and forgot to tell you?"
"Father is a stickler for procedure. In twenty-eight years he has never failed to inform me when he removed an item from the Collection."
"Still, there's always a first time," I pointed out.
"I suppose. But I can hardly go up and ask him, can I? If he hasn't removed the Dawnstone, my asking after it would alert him to its disappearance."
"And buy you a world of trouble."
"Yes."
She definitely needed help – and I needed the aid of a Darklord if I was to survive. I stood. "I have more questions, but I can ask them on the way."
"The way to where?"
"The Cathedral, of course. One of the first steps in any investigation is to examine the scene of the crime."
I looked over at the spot on the wall where the bug had been, but it was gone now. Gregor's tiny minion had probably heard enough and moved on to find something more interesting to observe.
Devona stood. She smiled, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Mr. Richter."
I could only feel the pressure of her hand, but I could imagine how smooth and soft her skin was. "Call me Matthew."
Detective or not, I was on the job once more – and this time, I was working not only to help my "client," but to save my own life.
Talk about incentive.
THREE
Before leaving, I strapped on my shoulder holster and then made a few selections from the foot locker on the floor of my closet. My 9mm handgun – a souvenir from my days on the force back in Cleveland – along with a few other goodies that I'd picked up since. I slid the 9mm into the holster and hid the rest in various places about my person, mostly in the extra pockets sewn into in the inner lining of my suit jacket, and then I was ready. Or at least as ready as I was going to get.
As we walked down the front steps of my building, Devona eyed the street full of drunken revelers. "It's going to take some time to get through this mess."
"You could go on ahead, and I could meet you."
"Go on? Oh, you mean shapeshift. I don't possess the capability of assuming a travel form. Not many half-human Bloodborn do. Although I do have other… talents."
Before I could think of a witty reply, a shriek went up from the festivalgoers at the far end of the street, and the crowd began to part like water before a large yellow object careening toward us.
"Oh, no," I moaned. "It's Lazlo."
Sure enough, with a rattling and knocking of the engine and a roar of purplish exhaust, Lazlo's cab carved a path through the suddenly terrified partiers, only running down one or two in the process. Lazlo pulled up to the curb in front of my building with a pitiful squeal of brakes begging to be replaced and sent on to car-part heaven.
"Heya, Matt! How's it hanging?"
"I'm dead, Lazlo, remember? Hanging is all it does anymore."
Lazlo guffawed violently, his laughter a combination of genuine amusement and someone in desperate need of the Heimlich maneuver. Lazlo's a demon whose face looks something like a cross between a mandrill and a ferret, with a little carp thrown in for good measure. And although I can't testify to this personally, I've heard he smells like a toxic waste dump.
Evidently the rumors were true, for Devona recoiled as if she'd just taken a sledge hammer blow to the side of the head.
Before Lazlo could say anything else, one of the festival-goers came lumbering toward us. I'd seen it around the Sprawl before, but I didn't know its name and I'd taken to mentally referring to it as Tri-bod. The creature had one extremely large head which looked something like a half-rotted flesh-colored pumpkin with humanoid eyes, noise, and mouth. Supporting that immense dome were three bodies – the outer two male, the one in the middle female. The two male bodies wore tuxedos, while the female was garbed in a
"Yes."
"How do you know Lord Galm didn't just take the Dawnstone himself and forgot to tell you?"
"Father is a stickler for procedure. In twenty-eight years he has never failed to inform me when he removed an item from the Collection."
"Still, there's always a first time," I pointed out.
"I suppose. But I can hardly go up and ask him, can I? If he hasn't removed the Dawnstone, my asking after it would alert him to its disappearance."
"And buy you a world of trouble."
"Yes."
She definitely needed help – and I needed the aid of a Darklord if I was to survive. I stood. "I have more questions, but I can ask them on the way."
"The way to where?"
"The Cathedral, of course. One of the first steps in any investigation is to examine the scene of the crime."
I looked over at the spot on the wall where the bug had been, but it was gone now. Gregor's tiny minion had probably heard enough and moved on to find something more interesting to observe.
Devona stood. She smiled, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Mr. Richter."
I could only feel the pressure of her hand, but I could imagine how smooth and soft her skin was. "Call me Matthew."
Detective or not, I was on the job once more – and this time, I was working not only to help my "client," but to save my own life.
Talk about incentive.
THREE
Before leaving, I strapped on my shoulder holster and then made a few selections from the foot locker on the floor of my closet. My 9mm handgun – a souvenir from my days on the force back in Cleveland – along with a few other goodies that I'd picked up since. I slid the 9mm into the holster and hid the rest in various places about my person, mostly in the extra pockets sewn into in the inner lining of my suit jacket, and then I was ready. Or at least as ready as I was going to get.
As we walked down the front steps of my building, Devona eyed the street full of drunken revelers. "It's going to take some time to get through this mess."
"You could go on ahead, and I could meet you."
"Go on? Oh, you mean shapeshift. I don't possess the capability of assuming a travel form. Not many half-human Bloodborn do. Although I do have other… talents."
Before I could think of a witty reply, a shriek went up from the festivalgoers at the far end of the street, and the crowd began to part like water before a large yellow object careening toward us.
"Oh, no," I moaned. "It's Lazlo."
Sure enough, with a rattling and knocking of the engine and a roar of purplish exhaust, Lazlo's cab carved a path through the suddenly terrified partiers, only running down one or two in the process. Lazlo pulled up to the curb in front of my building with a pitiful squeal of brakes begging to be replaced and sent on to car-part heaven.
"Heya, Matt! How's it hanging?"
"I'm dead, Lazlo, remember? Hanging is all it does anymore."
Lazlo guffawed violently, his laughter a combination of genuine amusement and someone in desperate need of the Heimlich maneuver. Lazlo's a demon whose face looks something like a cross between a mandrill and a ferret, with a little carp thrown in for good measure. And although I can't testify to this personally, I've heard he smells like a toxic waste dump.
Evidently the rumors were true, for Devona recoiled as if she'd just taken a sledge hammer blow to the side of the head.
Before Lazlo could say anything else, one of the festival-goers came lumbering toward us. I'd seen it around the Sprawl before, but I didn't know its name and I'd taken to mentally referring to it as Tri-bod. The creature had one extremely large head which looked something like a half-rotted flesh-colored pumpkin with humanoid eyes, noise, and mouth. Supporting that immense dome were three bodies – the outer two male, the one in the middle female. The two male bodies wore tuxedos, while the female was garbed in a
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