THE FORBIDDEN
The Vampire Huntress Legend 5
By
L. A. Banks
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE FORBIDDEN. Copyright © 2005 by Leslie Esdaile Banks. All rights reserved. Printed in theUnited States of America . No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, addressSt. Martin 's Press,175 Fifth Avenue,New York ,N.Y.10010 .
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Banks, L. A.
The forbidden : a vampire huntress legend / L. A. Banks.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-33622-5
EAN 978-0-312-33622-6
1. Richards, Damali (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. African American women—Fiction. 3. Women martial artists—Fiction. 4. Vampires—Fiction. 5. Occult fiction, gsafd I. Title.
PS3602.A64F67 2005
813'.6—dc22 2004065825
First Edition: July 2005
This book in the series is dedicated to the concept of redemption—that if we simply believe, we still have a fighting chance. Much has happened in the world since this series began. There are signs everywhere that we might all need to take heed and pursue a more spiritual path. The earth even stopped in time for microseconds after a disastrous tsunami. This tells me that there is a power out there greater than my tiny human brain could ever hope to conceive of, and therefore, anything is possible. But one thing I know for sure is redemption was a promise.
May you choose wisely and pause to think about things greater than we can fathom.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my agent, Manie Barron, who continues to bring brilliance to projects; my editor, Monique Patterson, whose tireless dedication can be felt on every page; to the team at St. Martin's Press, who are like family; to Eric Battle, for his wondrously creative renderings of the characters (his art is da bomb!); to Vince Natale and Michael Storrings, who continue to blow me away with their cover art and designs; to Chris Bonelli, a saint who keeps the Web site fresh; and, of course, the Rowdee Black Giants, who always inspire—go, brothers—and to Zulma Gonzalez, an angel whom I am blessed to know.
ALL WAS still on level seven. A clawed hand held embryonic life within it. Golden green glowing eyes misted over black as they looked up to the vast expanse of nothingness that mimicked a vaulted ceiling. Trembling with anticipation, a shaky finger extended a hooked talon that prodded at the bloody mass of dormant life… life that could be molded into its own image. A hissing coo filled with gentle adoration warmed the small cluster of cells, making them glow red and begin to pulse.
"Oh, soon, my son," a passionate voice whispered. "Very, very soon."
Sydney,Australia…
Dread tightened Damali's chest as she watched Carlos's eyes. Visceral emptiness filled her, making her clutch her lower belly. His once-serene gaze now darted to her face, then to the faces of her teammates and to his surrounding environment like a man displaced and confused. The sensation was so overwhelming that it threatened to choke her heart to a standstill. Her man, once confident, suave, and smooth as black silk, had come up out of the unknown looking crazed and wild in the eye.
Suddenly she felt a strange sensation that fluttered in her womb. She pressed her hand against her abdomen.What was that ? But she had to shake off the weird feeling. Too many issues competed for her attention right now and the most immediate was Carlos.
The Light had brought him back, had actually reconstituted his form from the burnt vampire ash left by dawn, and now it seemed as though he didn't know where he was, how he'd gotten there, or whom he was with. Beyond all that they'd had to contend with, this was perhaps the most frightening experience of all: Carlos Rivera's mental state was in question—tears, screaming, ranting, fighting against the hold of friendly hands. Damali turned away for a moment and swallowed hard.
A head on a silver platter would be her bride price. Yeah. She and the chairman had unfinished business.
She reached out her hand to touch Carlos's face, and he jerked away from her, unsure if she were a mirage, a vampiric illusion, something evil and vile that would start his torture all over again. His fear rippled through her and rattled her bones. It sent a chill through her like a knife. It drew her mouth into a tight line as she fought not to scream. She saw what they had done. A head.The head of the bastard who'd done this , was the only acceptable answer to levy the debt paid in full.
Down in Hell they had a phrase: Fair exchange is no robbery. Then so be it. A head for a head, a mind for a mind… and an eye for an eye and a tooth for a fucking tooth—the chairman's fangs mounted on her wall mantel. This was war.
Damali could feel her eyes narrow to slits as her man tried to stand, and then tried to get away from her and her team. Oh, hell no. They'd raped his mind and stolen his dignity. And for that unforgivable offense, she'd blow the Vampire Council's doors off the damned hinges. In her mind's eye, she could see the pentagram-shaped table surrounded by dark thrones, and the chairman's smug expression. But Hell had no fury like a woman scorned. Her thoughts frayed and descended to the pit.
Fuck you, Mr. Chairman. This time, it's just me and you.
Carlos could feel his eyeballs roll backward beneath his lids as consciousness ebbed and flowed like a reluctant tide. One moment he had been sitting on the ground, naked, awed, and so profoundly moved that he couldn't speak, and in the next moment, he was being hurried away by many hands and clamoring voices all trying to get him into a vehicle and onto hallowed ground. Were it not for Damali's hand firmly holding his and her voice cutting through the melee, he would have tried to escape them all.
For the first time in his entire existence he truly feared he was losing his mind. Something was very wrong. He'd gone into the Light—more accurately, had been propelled into it, summoned by it, sucked toward a bright, indescribable iridescent wonder that had a pulse, a center, and held the heartbeat of the universe. Beings of unfathomable strength had hurled him forward, their silvery light sabers cutting at filaments of dark tendrils, holding him, burning him to ash. The heat was so intense that his bones had liquefied, his skin had blackened and crumbled away, his eyes had melted and had run down his cheeks like gory, oozing tears… but silver metallic wings with the texture of satin had shielded him from the furnace blast beneath him. What were they and who'd sent them?
Healing warmth had entered him, coating his burning insides with instant peace, quenching the sun's fury against his skin. One being had parted to become many with raised golden shields that seemed as though each held a living, moving orb of sunlight until he was encircled by them, each ball of molten, living, golden light fusing to become a ring around him. The ring had covered him, entered him… All he could remember now was that they came and then in a fluttering cloud they'd dispersed, shooting away so quickly they'd left only a blinding blur of white light in their wake.
But perhaps the powers-that-be had messed up somehow. Maybe they didn't catch his soul in time, and how did a man turned vampire return to the sun?
He couldn't hear. Everything was coming at him in muffled tones. People spoke in indecipherable guttural fragments. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion. It was like moving through mud. His mind was a slurry of confusion. He was nearly blind, each friendly face blurred beyond recognition until it was breath-close to his face. His skin felt thick and dull, the sensation of hands soothing his shoulders, rubbing his back, bundling him into a coat, but all of it took seconds to register. Breathing was an effort that consumed his concentration. The most troubling aspect was the heaviness he felt in his limbs, as though his muscles were too weak to lift his own body.
What had the Light done to him?
Carlos leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. The sensory overload was too much—rather, the lack of sensation and the ability to perceive his surroundings was horrifying.
"I think he's going into shock," Damali said, drawing him against her body closer as the Jeep careened through the streets. "We have to get him inside, out of the sun."
"I'm gonna fry," Carlos croaked, becoming more disoriented as the vehicle barreled through desolate streets in a town he didn't know.
"We'll be at the church in just a few minutes, kiddo."
Carlos slowly removed his hands from his face, training his attention toward what he remembered to be Rider's voice. "To a church?" Instinct made Carlos begin struggling against Damali's hold. He could hear his voice rising with panic. "No! I'll burn!"
Many strong arms held him. In a distant part of his mind he heard Father Patrick call out to him.
"You've stayed with us on hallowed ground before, Carlos. We have to keep you safe. Remember the woods, the cabin? The dark side cannot know you've come back. You won't burn."
"No!"
More hands held him down as he grabbed at the door handle… but these were human hands, hands that shouldn't have had enough power to hold him, even in his weakened state. He needed to feed and find shelter!
"Stop fighting us, baby," Damali urged. "It'll make it worse.Please , Carlos, trust me."
"We're taking you someplace safe," an old man's voice said. It was a familiar voice.
In unsteady increments memory came back to him. Father Patrick… that's right. The monks. They had a prayer barrier that only he could cross. Yeah. He remembered. The safe house. Damali trusted them. This was her squad. All right.
Carlos stopped struggling and closed his eyes. He could feel Damali's cool hand stroke his brow, wiping away the sweat. He ran his tongue over his incisors to retract his fangs, lest he frighten his benefactors, and then froze. He touched his mouth, running his fingers over his upper canines. Tears sprang to his eyes so quickly he didn't even have time to blink them back. He glanced at Damali, then away, lowering his hands from his face, staring at his palms in disbelief. He'd been neutered. He wanted to vomit.
He curled his hands into fists. He shut his eyes tightly and hung his head. He could feel Damali's hand stroke his back and he jerked away from her touch. "Don't."
"It's Jose, man. Don't you remember?" A young, soothing voice cut into his consciousness. "You burned and came back. You said you saw angels,hombre . You sat there looking at the sun. You spoke to us, looked at us, sat quietly with D and said you were free."
Carlos shook his head with his eyes closed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "No. I don't remember. Shut up, you're confusing me!"
"Ease off, Jose," the voice he knew as Rider's said in almost a whisper. "Father Pat, Marlene, either of you guys got something for dude—something to help him bite the snake that bit him?"
He felt hysteria rising in him. Carlos chuckled, but he kept his eyes closed. The sound was hollow even to his own ears. Rider. That's right.Hombre was human and had brass balls… had been chained to the ground as bait while the harpies pulled out his guts. Crazy white dude yelling at Hell's worst nightmare, talking trash with no weapon in his hand, trying to divert the predators away to give him a chance to beat the rising sun. Very cool of Rider… he wouldn't forget the debt. "You drink Jack Daniel's, right? Add a little color in it for me and I'll buy you a drink, man. After what we just went through on the docks—you buy; I'll fly. Cool?"
Silence in the vehicle surrounded him. No one but him was laughing. He could feel the vehicle slowing down.
"Get him inside, Father Pat," an older woman said from somewhere within the Jeep. "He's delirious."
A pair of strong arms threaded around his back and nearly lifted him off his feet. What seemed like a battalion of clerics wearing long black robes and white collars accosted him with phalanges of holy water, striking at him in the sign of the cross, making him cringe, as he turned his face away to protect it from the assault, to no avail. Relentless, they swung heavy brass pots filled with smoking frankincense at him as the burly brother hoisted him over his shoulder and advanced up the cathedral steps.
He could feel several hands dressing him… someone was anointing his head with oil. Then he was being moved again, up what seemed like an endless spiral of stairs. Footsteps, many, many footfalls, rushing like a military SWAT unit, followed him. The sound of choppers in the air, bright sunlight filled his eyes and touched his face, but like the incense and holy water, it didn't burn.Why ? he dimly wondered.
Confusion tore at his brain. Blurred white birds of metal with a crest on the side… blue, a crown of thorns, a sword, a bleeding heart—just like Father Pat's medallion—opened at the side, filling its belly with humans that eagerly climbed in and dragged him with them.
This was a vampire's true Hell. The chairman had indeed had the last laugh. The choppers were flying toward the sun! Carlos braced himself against the pain once again. How long would the chairman continue to torture him?
Pilots wearing dark aviator sunglasses never turned around as he begged them to release him from theSeaofPerpetual Agony . He suddenly feared Damali's touch; what beast would she turn into? An Amanthra? He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to watch her gorgeous brown eyes change into slanted, glowing orbs while her beautiful body transformed into a serpentine menace. Or maybe the chairman would be particularly cruel and she would become a were-demon. It would be a painful taunt to remind him of his brush with that entity in the Amazon; Hell always beat your ass down with past mistakes in the place where there was no such thing as forgiveness.
Carlos's thoughts scrambled, trying to figure out an escape, a way to negotiate a shorter sentence. Hell was eternal, so peace and the lack of acute pain had to be measured in milliseconds. For every minute that passed where no direct pain was being inflicted, he had a chance to rest, maybe regenerate, just enough to be able to withstand the next assault that was destined to come. If he wasn't in pain, he could think. If he could think, he could bargain. But what aces did he hold? What could he barter with at this juncture?
When the choppers touched down in a deserted section of airport runway, and the illusion of humans helped him toward a crest-bearing private jet at the end of the landing strip, he had to wonder just what the chairman had in store for him now. And could he bear it?
Carlos opened his eyes, his breathing labored as he tried to form words. He searched the impostor Damali's face as she led him by the hand with Big Mike on his flank helping him walk. "Where?" was all he could manage to get out.
"Ethiopia," she said quietly, tears shining in her eyes. "Baby, we have to get out ofSydney and go to a Christian stronghold there. It's said that is where the Ark of the Covenant is held. The clerics all agreed this is the safest route. By nightfall, the Vampire Council might send a cleanup crew to look for your ashes that don't exist, so we have to leavenow . Then, we'll take a transcontinental flight toAlgeria … the mosques there are old, but we have to avoid the site of the pending Armageddon, theMiddle East . Understand?"
None of what she was saying made any sense.
The big brother—an international courier?—was pulling him down the tarmac with the impostor of Father Pat jogging beside them to keep pace. Knowing that resistance was not an option within the inquisition chambers, which only seemed to steal his strength faster, Carlos stopped struggling against them. He had to be strategic.
"As soon as we get clearance, we have to get you behind the walls of theVatican ," the cleric said. "Until they're sure of what you are… all the Covenant can do is keep you on the move, from fortress to fortress."
Carlos cocked his head. He didn't believe that the chairman knew how the Covenant operated, not at this level of detail.
Carlos peered at the man who'd spoken, then looked at the one who was supposed to be Rider.
"Dude, the Vatican is like the Pentagon for the guys with the collar—just like Asula can't just waltz you into Mecca until you're checked out, dig?" the supposed Rider said as they walked up the jet's narrow steps. "So, they're gonna have to take you to their hideaways in the hills… sorta like being an alien and getting shuttled to Area 51 till ya spec out. Now why we all have to go along for the ride with your boy, Berkfield, is beyond me. I, for one, know I didn't get bitten, although Damali's case is a little—"
"Everybody get on the plane," a tall brother with locks said, his gaze lethal. His tone made the group stop walking as he slowly pointed to each person. "Damali has already been compromised. Jose and Damali had a twister of harpies on their asses, and came into the church bloodied and beat up. Jose, Dan, J.L., and Rider were also riding in the VIP vamp limos, alone, with what was then a council-level master vamp—Rivera. Me and Mike were on the yacht, like the others eventually were, and in unseen, dark corridors away from the group at times long enough to get nicked. Mar, Father Pat, Father Lopez, Monk Lin, and Imam Asula were all on standby, in speedboats, out in the open, in the dead of night. My point is, any one of us could have gotten nicked. You think the powers-that-be are going to let us roll up on the pope with who knows how many vamps and a potential daywalker in our midst?" He shook his head, then turned his back to the teams and strode up the jet's steps. "Our side ain't taking no chances, and I don't blame them."
"Shabazz is right," the woman named Marlene said in a weary tone. "Life as we knew it has just ceased to exist."
The names began to link with the faces as the memory of what had happened came back to him in fits and spurts. The past came back in snatches of quilted memory. Without resistance he slowly walked up the steps and entered the jet, noting the somber expressions around him as everyone took their seats. Again, he searched Damali's face for confirmation that the truth had been told, and found it.
She clasped his hand and led him to a seat, one hand touching the smallIsis dagger at her hip. "I've got your back," she said, her eyes holding his. "They've got mine. It's gonna be all right."
He nodded, slowly beginning to believe that this was all real. But as he fastened his seat belt with a click and slowly turned to stare out the window at the sun, Marlene's words rang in his ears. Her truth permeated every fiber of his being, and with that sudden knowledge, an acute sadness that he dared never share with another living soul entered his being; life as they'd known it was null and void.
Los Angeles… same night
HUNGER TORE at Yonnie's insides as he held on to the edge of the bar in the plush VIP basement section of Club Vengeance. What the hell was going on? Earlier in the evening, the contents of bottles on the shelves had turned to sludge, as though the blood within had suddenly aged.
All third-gen vampires and below had rolled. But to where? Even most second-gens were lying low. No human wannabes would come near the club tonight. If he and his squad wanted to feed, they'd have to go out hunting, old school. Where was Carlos? Concentration was impossible. The master's beacon was nonexistent. Something was very wrong. If Carlos had been exterminated, he should have immediately felt the jolt. But there was simply an eerie void, an absence of power and presence.
He looked up slowly, watching the club's top-shelf reserves begin to rattle, flames consuming the labels, peeling them away, as black bottles began exploding. His second-gen bartenders instantly collapsed into a pile of ash.
His longtime friend, Stack, stood up with effort. His squad got to their feet, their eyes taking in the horror as the building began to deconstruct, deteriorating into an old, dilapidated structure. They were so tired they could barely stand. The atmosphere felt thick, heavy, as though daylight were creeping in.
"Oh, shit," Yonnie murmured.
"Resources are drying up, man," Stack said, breathing hard. "Rivera musta fucked up, big-time. Maybe another master smoked him and the territory is realigning?"
"No," Yonnie said quickly. "A new master would be building assets, not destroying them." He held his hands out before him, feeling the vibrations, trying to search for a power pulse within the empire. He lowered his arms slowly and glanced at his five-man squad. "Feel it," he whispered. "I don't senseany master."
"Git the fuck outta here," Stack said, panic making his voice tight. "Rivera's rank just got knocked down a notch, maybe, but—"
"Feel it!" Yonnie shouted. "Lock in on the females. Where are they?"
Stack slowly opened his arms, palms facing out toward the crumbling walls, and he turned in a shaky circle. He blinked twice and balled his palms into fists. "Ash." Swallowing hard, he tried again. "The seriously old, fine ones are…" Stack's voice trailed off as he watched his hands darken and his arms fall away before his eyes.
Yonnie stepped back from his two-hundred-year-old friend in horror. Stack's expression of terror became frozen in a face that crumbled away as the others in the squad hit the ground beside him, leaving only their recently tailored suits.
For a moment, Yonnie couldn't move. He brought his hands to his face, wondering why he hadn't disintegrated along with the others. Feeding now was imperative. Yet he couldn't muster the energy for flight or transport. Breathing was more than an effort; it was nearly impossible. His hands went to his face, feeling its skeletal remains. Then he spotted a pair of golden yellow orbs low in a shadowy corner.
Yonnie immediately bulked up. His strength was severely compromised and he knew he was in trouble. The predator in the corner suddenly lunged. Huge were-demon jaws narrowly missed his face as he leapt back, but the claws of the beast opened five deep gashes in his chest. He gasped at the pain. In his weakened state, he was no match for a were-demon.
Sections of wall gave way as the were-demon slammed against support beams, pillars, missing Yonnie as he dodged with what was left of his vampire strength and leapt up to a ceiling beam and held on. However, exhaustion was rapidly slowing him down, and the were-demon seemed to sense that. It waited for a moment with a leering smile on its wolflike face—the form it had chosen to take. Its elongated fangs glistening in the full moonlight that now shone through a missing portion of the left wall, it stood on hind legs, flexing in a spectacular display of strength and power, clearly challenging Yonnie.
"Now, what's your strategy—since the Vamp Empire is mere ash?" a snarling, low voice asked.
Yonnie stared at the creature from his perch on the high fragile beam.What the hell had happened out there ? He needed to keep this dumb motherfucker talking. The portals to level five were wide open.
"Who said we ain't running shit?" Yonnie said through a snarl. "Just because you caught us on a slow night don't mean we won't have your ass seen."
The were-demon laughed and dropped to all fours and began circling beneath Yonnie. "Where's your master, bitch?"
The question taunted Yonnie. He gripped the beam tightly, his fingernails digging into the wood.
He glanced around, knowing that were-demons, especially those of the wolf persuasion, usually traveled in packs. But he couldn't detect any others. He could only assume this one was walking point for those soon to follow.
"I thought so," the stinking thing said with a sneer. "I told them your forces were vulnerable, now I know for sure. It's just like all your other vamp hidey-holes. Vulnerable throughout the empire." The beast laughed, vicious and triumphant, as he threw his head back and released a long, bloodcurdling wolf wail.
Knowing that he had only seconds to act before the place filled with were-demons Yonnie concentrated every last ounce of his strength. He felt his fingertips ignite. Every shard of broken, jagged glass behind the bar magnetized, drew together, and became an airborne blade that he sent flying into his tormentor's throat. Yonnie watched with no small measure of satisfaction as the wolf's call was abruptly cut off on a gurgle of blood and the stunned expression still remained on the were-demon's hideous, distended face when his head fell to the floor. Black demon blood spattered the walls.
Acting quickly before the beast began to smolder and combust, Yonnie leapt down to the floor. He needed to feed, and the shame of eating from the belly of a beast was beyond him. But this was about survival. In one deft move he slit the beast's abdomen, knowing that it wouldn't have attacked without feeding first.
Reaching in, he extracted a human arm and a section of torso, siphoning what undigested human blood he could from it, then cast it away in disgust, careful not to allow any remnants of the demon's foul blood to intermingle. Then he got up and ran, hearing the sound of wolf calls in the distance.
A team of hunters would be on his ass with the quickness to seek retribution for their fallen comrade. He needed someplace to lie low. If old lairs were compromised and graveyards were impenetrable due to prayer barriers, where could he go? Who was left? Why did all but him burn? If a master went down, the whole line and all its assets didn't torch.At least that was myth .
Tears stung his eyes as he kept moving. His master was dead; he had to be. Then what was the point of survival? He'd been an underling for years working for other ruthless masters. Rivera had been the only one to treat him with respect and dignity.
Yonnie stopped abruptly when he found himself in front of Carlos'sBeverly Hills lair. The night became his cloak as he pulled it around himself and remained invisible. He closed his eyes, opened his arms, and slowly dropped to his knees. His emotions crashed down on him and he wept. Carlos was missing. Stack and the squad were gone. Their assets had disintegrated. He had been reduced to a carrion feeder.
"Where you at, man?" Yonnie asked the night. "If you go down, we all go down!" His voice hitched on a bitter sob. In a short time, he'd come to love Carlos like a true blood brother. No matter what had happened, who had won, he knew he'd follow Carlos into the very sun.
"Whoever did you, I will smoke," he promised the night. "Whoever stole from you, I will rob. We go to war, man. For you."
Silence answered Yonnie, the stars above teasing him with their glittering faces. It wasn't fair. Rivera had had it all. Yonnie stared at the abandoned lair, despair filling him as he yelled his master's name. "Carlos!"
Carlos watched Marlene go to Damali's side as soon as the captain had turned the seat belt sign off. The older woman moved with a slow grace, her steps measured, her expression grave. Damali turned her head away, and Marlene stooped beside her, taking Damali's hand gently within her own.
"Why don't you come to the ladies' room and let me help sponge you off?" Marlene's voice was low, gentle, but also contained a plea, when Damali shook her head no.
"I have fresh clothes for you." Marlene's eyes met Carlos's for a moment and then she turned back to Damali. "You don't want that all over the seats."
Neither woman needed to say it. They both knew speaking of the miscarriage was off-limits right now.
Carlos watched Damali nod and close her eyes. For the first time since the surreal had begun to unfold, he saw it—her condition, her team's condition. The awareness and memory of her pregnancy slammed into his brain. She'd survived the unthinkable. Tears of heartbreak stung his eyes and nose, but he refused to let them fall. The chairman would pay. Carlos tightened his fists and stared out the window for a moment. Thiswas not over. The sight of Damali's blood-caked, tattered dress stole his breath and shredded his soul.
He turned in his seat and moved a lock off her damp brow. "I'll be all right. Go with Marlene," Carlos said quietly, ashamed that he'd been bugging so hard that the obvious had never occurred to him. Each member of the Guardian squad was dirty, bloodied, gashed, and seemed to be hanging on to fatigue like it were a life jacket. But Damali's condition made him want to weep. He kept his eyes on her grime-smudged face and allowed his gaze to travel down her disheveled clothing, stop at her blood-streaked thighs, and he was forced to look away.
He watched tears well in her eyes as she stood with effort. His abdomen clenched, and somewhere within the recesses of his mind he knew that her body was riddled with a pain he could only imagine. It was a pain that no man could know. The dark side had clawed life from her womb, and her uterus was contracting, purging the life it had once held… his baby girl was bleeding, horrible cramps making her steps unsteady while she held her head high and passed her Guardian team. Each male lowered his eyes and let out a slow, quiet breath, almost as though he could feel the sharp contraction stabs as Damali and Marlene made their way down the narrow aisle to the bathroom.
Shabazz, Lopez, and Dan, the tactical sensors in the group, were nearly ashen in complexion as Damali approached them. Rider and Jose had practically stopped breathing, the scent of blood now too much for the team's noses to absorb within the tight confines of the plane. J.L. broke down and silently wept; Big Mike allowed quiet tears to stream down his huge face and simply leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. Monk Lin and Imam Asula were hunched forward in a silent, but urgent, prayer.
A new level of respect and awe entered Carlos as he watched how Damali bore the burden like a true warrior, only a grimace giving any indication of how badly she hurt. And he also knew that the pain went beyond the physical. It was a deep gash within her psyche that might never heal. It wasn't supposed to go down like this.
He could barely stare behind her as Marlene escorted her down the narrow aisle past her team. They had murdered his baby and cut out his woman's heart in the process. Yeah, it was all coming back to him—very clearly. There wasn't a place on the planet the chairman would be able to hide, and council chambers weren't far enough under the earth to protect that old SOB.
Steadier now, Carlos breathed in slowly and let his breath out with concerted effort. Father Pat was now at his side, and Carlos almost retched when he looked at the pool of blood Damali had left in the leather seat. He could feel the team watching the elderly cleric as Father Patrick murmured a prayer and used paper towels, holy water, and an airsickness bag to clean off the place where Damali had been sitting. With reverence, the old man folded away the debris and dried the seat, constantly murmuring prayers, then sealed the top of the plastic bag with holy water.
Defeat claimed Carlos as Father Patrick walked to the trash chute, stopping at each bloody footprint Damali had left in the carpet to strike holy water in the sign of the crucifix upon them, and then made the sign of the cross over the small plastic bag he disposed of before he returned to slide into a seat beside Carlos. But Carlos didn't look at him. He couldn't. The remains of the dark side's damage had been reduced to gore and had been deposited in the jet's trash bin.
"I don't have the blood hunger," Carlos said quietly. "I thought I was supposed to go into the Light, to some kinda place of peace—at least that's the hype you gave me when I made my deal with you guys. You reneged."
From the corner of his eye, he watched Father Patrick lean forward and stare at him. Their eyes met.
"No, I didn't renege, Carlos," the old man said. "I don't know what's going on, either. This is beyond all our comprehension. We all saw you go to ash in broad daylight and then regenerate under that same sun. And, yet, now you don't bear fangs. We don't know what that means."
Carlos nodded, no longer angry at the cleric, just weary. "I can't smell, I can't taste, I can barely see. I can hardly walk. Surelythat's going to change when the sun drops."
Father Patrick nodded. "Have you ever considered that youcan see, can smell, can taste and hear—just not with a vampire's acuteness? Maybe you're just… human."
Carlos stared at Father Patrick in horror. He kept his tone low and controlled, fury nearly stealing the words forming in his mind. "Haveyou considered how fucking insane it is for me to be a Joe regular now with everything that's about to jump off? There's gonna be hell to pay for the bullshit that was done to Damali alone!" He held the cleric's gaze, a fragile part of him dangerously near the breaking point. "No, Father Patrick. If that's why I'm like this, then there was nopoint in bringing me back—'cause I'm only gonna live a very short time. Youknow I'm going after that bastard, right? Human, daywalker in rehab, whatever it is they brought back, I have one mission. To take the chairman's fucking head."
The elderly cleric's eyes burned with a quiet rage that matched Carlos's. But he kept his voice low, his expression tight, as he spoke. "No, Carlos.You need to get very clear, son. Ifthey brought you back," he said pointing upward, "then there is a higher purpose for you. Even what had been your kind can't bring back the already extinguished. The Light has interceded through the hand of Christ, who only did that once, to my knowledge, and his name was Lazarus. You think aboutthat and focus onthat while Marlene is helping Damali. You work forHim , now—just like I do. Our teams have been through enough. Damali has been through enough. You need to think about what that young woman, our Neteru, just experienced and is going through, instead of your own rage and need for revenge just so you can satisfy your own ego."
Father Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the dozing team. "I'm sick to death with all of this, too, Carlos. You have no idea how traumatized we all are."
When Carlos didn't respond, Father Patrick looked back at Carlos. "My advice is that you give a quiet prayer of thanks for being returned to her, in whatever condition. Say a resoundingthank you for being delivered from a torture chamber in Hell, and count your blessings instead of your losses." He nodded toward Jose and Father Lopez. "Be thankful that the ones left in your line were moved by instinct. That through their faith and choice to follow the Light, they gathered your ashes and prayed on your behalf—as we all did. That the Neteru cried out to Heaven for your redemption and return. That the angels heard her cries and that she gave upmuch for your salvation. And that now we are being transported to safety under the protection of theVatican ! Therefore, we follow the orders that come down from On High to the letter, from this point forward. We wait until we get a sign from On High before we act. Deviate, and I'll kill you myself."
With that, Father Patrick stood up, his tattered blue robes swishing about him as he walked back to his seat, sat down, and closed his eyes.
THE SIMULTANEOUS loss of five masters had devastated his empire. Three councilmen had been exterminated, leaving only him and two weakened councilmen at his side. Topside, second-level vampires had returned to feudal law, and were-demons were making violent inroads into all territories, which would radically reduce food supplies and block transports to chambers.
For a while, awaiting the inevitable inquiry, the remaining members of the Vampire Council had spoken in nervous whispers and intermittent hisses as they continued to discuss the empire's vulnerabilities, but soon, even their essence would begin to expire.
It had already started. Just like that. Instant evaporation of what had been. The Light was dredging them; he could feel it as day set the planet above on fire. The chairman drew from the reserves of night, wrapping it around his embattled chambers like a dark, woolen cloak to protect his dying loyalists. Somewhere on earth, it was always night, making it perpetual. But silence had replaced his remaining councilmen's hoarse, starving murmurs. Blood was slowing in their veins, making it a thick and putrid slurry that robbed their vitality. He could painfully feel the stringy clots congeal within his cold body as though gelatin set to mold.
Yes, it was inevitable. Soon, without food, they would have to ration, reduce themselves to ashen stasis and suffer, where they'd all be forced to lie prone, crumbled to near dust, waiting on the table to quicken again with resources—fresh blood. In just one night, their outer vaults had been pillaged and burned by the weres. Council chambers now were filled with dark, charcoal-hued smoke as each elderly vampire slowly wasted away.
The chairman sat quietly, plotting. To risk surfacing topside to make more masters was too risky right now. He summoned patience. Second-generations from all the regions were unstable, and three attempts to telepathically elevate second-generation lieutenants had been disastrous. They'd torched on impact. The Light had intervened. Even those he'd sent a transport cloud for had perished in the care of weak couriers that were vulnerable to upper-level demon incursion. His summons in order to elevate the weaker generations to master status in chambers had failed. And yet Yonnie remained. Why?
It made his black heart burn that even destroyed, Carlos Rivera had left behind a master who was not beholden to the empire. Carlos had made Yonnie with good intent. A council-level vampire's turn bite had been used forthe Light ? To help a man, to save him from sure extinction, to give himhis due ? Compassion and empathy were in the bite, not greed or power-lust? Horrified, the chairman sat numbly looking off into the vast caverns. Never in all his thousands of years of rule… never was there a provision in the black tome that sat beneath his crest for such sacrilege against the empire! Empathy in a bite? Never.
His councilmen glanced at him and then shut their eyes. They also had come to the same conclusion. No wonder their resources had slowed to a mere trickle. Even dead, Carlos had bested them. The Neteru was a poisonous variable and no less formidable. Maybe even more so, because it was the Light in her that had ruined a good vampire. Yes, he'd submitted Carlos Rivera to the sun, had clawed out his woman's insides and broken her spirit. He wondered if she'd died. That was a hopeful thought.
He kicked at a withered, expired bat that had dropped at his feet. The once screeching, swirling, gorgeous mass of red-eyed creatures had barely enough energy to cling to the rafters. The chairman glanced at his fellow councilmen in despair. Their onyx robes were beginning to show signs of age, the hems becoming tattered, and their crests had begun to collect particles of dust. It was wise to sleep and save their energy as much as possible during this fallow time in the empire. Yet he hated that their breaths were now foul, their skins decaying, cracking, and peering, festering with gangrene.
Substantially weakened by the civil war, the Neteru's successful attacks with Carlos Rivera against their empire, and the subsequent investigation into their failures by the level seven, forced them each to remain very still upon their marble thrones. The inquisition into their failures had been so vicious that it had barely left them enough energy to merely think, let alone move. Speaking was a waste of energy, unless absolutely necessary. Breathing had to be done in slow, measured sips of air, inhaled with great effort.
The chairman kept his expression unreadable as he and the others sat with their eyes closed. A thin veneer of calm masked his smoldering rage. There had been blood famines before. He and his kind would rise again.
The chairman made a tent in front of his mouth with his fingers and drew a ragged breath to steady himself. He peered down at the table, exhausted. His fellow councilmen were so frightened and weary that telepathy was impossible. Their minds were guarded, each sure that he would siphon them for their last reserves of strength. He briefly closed his eyes. It had come to this. Cannibalism in chambers. He never thought he'd witness that during his reign. To put their fears to rest, one last debate before stasis was in order. Council had to remain united; no assassinations at the table to further dredge the empire of power. "We must act, now."
"Rivera had been groomed for greatness," the councilman to his left said. "That loss is not replaceable in such a short time."
The chairman nodded very slowly. "But it also gives me great pleasure to know that infidel, Rivera, burned layer by layer in the sun." He let his breath out slowly, the memory of Carlos Rivera's duplicity still haunting him.
"The Neteru vessel has become beyond problematic," the councilman to the chairman's right said. "Do not underestimate this millennium Neteru's effectiveness, despite her youth. That has, to date, been our weakness."
"We may have to detain her in Hell for the next six years until she ripens again, then fill the territories after her abduction." The chairman drew a shaky breath. "The were-demons, Amanthras, and all the upper levels are slowly coming to realize that the hour of dawn is upon our empire. They do not respect nor fear us as they should."
"To take her hostage would be risky," the councilman to his right said cautiously. "With our forces weakened, warrior angels may come for her. I wouldn't put it past them to breach our borders and with the Armageddon so near…"
"Yes," the councilman to his left said quickly. "I say that we cannot afford another harpies inquisition. The response after losing three council thrones, plus our most formidable topside sources, have drawn horrendous questions about our level-six leadership capacity, to the point where—"
"I donot need to be reminded of our position," the chairman spat, rubbing his hands down his face with frustration. "We can torture Damali Richards's spirit to keep her from exacting a heavy toll on our remaining empire. Seal her body in disease, keep her womb inviolate, and make her a—"
Both councilmen shook their heads, stopping the chairman midsentence. The bolder of the two took up the argument, however his voice was frail with fear and the need to feed.
"We all know that to ensure that the Neteru conceives, she must willingly accept our seed. But if her spirit is damaged and her body is—"
"Enough!" the chairman shouted, his facade of calm shattering as he expended precious energy. "If we cannot find a seducer, she is of no use to us and I want her heart in the middle of my council table! I want her to writhe in agony as the harpies did to us in these very chambers! The fucking harpies were wrong!"
The two councilmen drew back from the table, setting their thickening goblets of blood down carefully. The chairman stood, eased away from the table, and held on to the back of his throne, knowing he'd spoken too loudly and without enough reverence when he mentioned the harpies.
Immediately, the floor just inside council chambers quaked, the marble cracking and yawning a huge fissure that shook the walls, made the few torches that were lit extinguish, rumbled furniture out of place, and made the weakened transport bats clinging to crags in the high ceiling above the pentagram table try to fly and seek cover.
The chairman held his breath as yellow sulfur smoke billowed up in a furious volcanic hiss. He waited with dread, knowing the foul little gargoylelike creatures would soon slither over the edge of the gaping cavern. He knew in seconds their vile black tongues would lacerate him and the two remaining councilmen, siphoning information from their skulls, through their ears, noses, and every orifice on their battered bodies, just as they'd done for nearly four relentless hours well into dawn and beyond it, refusing to allow them to regenerate.
The councilman to the left of him clutched the edge of the table, bracing for the small gray-green bodies to fill chambers, rushing in like a putrid wave, leathery wings flapping, spiked tails slashing everything in their wake, their razor-sharp black horns a torment to the frayed hems of their once-majestic vampire robes. His eyes filled with tears. The more junior councilman who always sat to the chairman's right put his head down on the table and wept as his bowels voided. The chairman set his jaw hard, preparing for the onslaught. Never, except once, in his entire existence had he ever experienced such personal and professional humiliation—and right after theParadise fiasco, it had not been before subordinates like this.
However, he knew he had to be hallucinating as he trained his unblinking gaze on the pit that had opened in his chamber floors. Instead of harpies rising in a swarm from it, a familiar face did.
She was gorgeous, just as she'd always been. Her smooth, olive-toned complexion looked like refined glass. Her dark, smoky eyes were mysterious and seductive, set above perfectly chiseled cheekbones. Her presence was mesmerizing, her mouth lush, begging one to taste it. Her shoulder-length wavy black hair seemed to be spun from velvet. Her body was that of a goddess. She was sheathed in an iridescent black gown, the neckline a deep plunge to reveal her ample breasts, the slit up the side showing her shapely legs as she sauntered forward. She smiled, giving them a discreet quarter inch of fang.
"Mr. Chairman," she crooned, "it has been a long time. But you should measure your words if you are going to speak so loudly."
"Lilith," he murmured, "I am so glad it was you who came."
"Actually, I haven't yet this morning, but if you can bring yourself to clear chambers…" she said in a sultry voice, her eyes now glowing red as she motioned to the other councilmen.
Without waiting for the chairman to tell them to leave, the two high-ranking officials stood, nodded at her with appreciation, and then vanished to the private inner chamber vaults. Their need to regenerate, and eagerness to get away from any potentially bad outcome at the table, left a residue of fear in the room.
"Mr. Chairman," she said, coming to the table as he slowly rounded it to meet her.
"Dante," he said, his voice dropping seductively to match hers. "There have never been any formalities between us."
He turned and filled his goblet for her, then transformed into a more youthful version of himself, and handed her the offering of blood. She was worth the energy drain, even if his two councilmen starved later for it.
She accepted the goblet he'd offered with grace, yet sniffed it with disdain, and set it down on the edge of the table. Her hand went to his long, dark brown, curly hair, and she traced his bronzed cheek, then allowed her soft caress to slide down his strong, bare shoulders and down his hard chest. She glimpsed the swath of white linen that hung low on his narrow hips.
"Dante, you know I always liked your rendition of the Sistine Chapel lovers… it's so sacrilegious. But, what has happened to your resources, darling? This isn't you at all. Frankly, I'm shocked."
Embarrassed, he clasped her hand and kissed the center of her palm, offering an apology. "Had I known you were coming, I would have sent for a body, topside," he said with false bravado, and held her gaze, searching it for an alliance. "Our resources have been extremely strained lately, but that will soon be rectified."
"That's why I'm here to help."
She walked away from him and looked at his three thrones left vacant by extinguished councilmen. "May I?" she asked, gracefully waving at them.
He nodded, his gaze raking her. "You can sit in mine, if you'd like."
She smiled. "No, darling. Business first, pleasure later, especially given the mounting tensions in level seven."
He nodded and found his seat opposite hers across the table. "How bad is it down there?"
"My dear, it's never good if they send me up after the harpies. You know I'm normally the final step before permanent detainment."
The chairman rubbed his hand across his jaw and then took an unsteady sip from another councilman's goblet. He forced a laugh after he'd swallowed hard. "Well, at least it's good to see that my father still observes the old protocols—giving a man one last indulgent sin before his reign is over." He set the goblet down, trying to keep his hand from trembling.
"My, my, my…" she said, making a little tsking sound with her tongue as she leaned back in the throne and released a long sigh. "It must be horrible, because you're not even picking up on what I said." She smiled broadly and opened her eyes, mischief glittering in them. "I saidnormally , lover."
"Speak to me, Lilith," the chairman whispered hoarsely. "In all candor, I am taxed beyond my endurance for mind games."
She sat forward and folded her hands on the table, leaning on her forearms. "Youcan't play mind games? How… impotent of you." She sat back quickly. "Do you want to get usboth exterminated?"
He held up his palm. "I'm sorry, but you can see how—"
"Listen to me," she said fast, cutting him off. "They've sent me to exterminate the Neteru, and I cannot fail, if she is still alive. The problem is, I cannot find her. Your father is truly displeased. Were it not for the coming Armageddon and his preoccupation with the creation of his new son, he would have come up himself. This is really bad, darling."
The chairman stood and put his hands behind his back, and walked a path behind his throne. "He would destroy our daywalker vessel, if she lives? Would eliminate our opportunity, which is only a mere six years away, cut off his nose to spite his face and banish my empire to complete darkness for another thousand years—simply because a few thrones were lost? Is he mad?"
She chuckled when he stopped and looked at her hard. "Absolutely out of his mind. But insanity has no bearing on genius; we both know that. You and I also both know that he has cut off his nose to spite his face when he's gotten into a real rage. But, alas, it does regenerate once he's calmed himself." She shook her head. "You've considered killing the Neteru yourself." She wagged her finger at him. "Did you already destroy her? Is our conversation moot?"
"I've only considered it. I have not acted upon the impulse."
"Good." Lilith reached for the goblet that she'd refused earlier, leaned back, and took a small sip. She wrinkled her nose with disgust, and ran her index finger around the rim of the goblet of clotted blood, then looked up. She gave him a sexy grin. "Even he won't go that far. I was just testing you. He needs daywalkers to assist in the final war. But he does want me to kill the male Neteru that they may have made. 'May' being the operative word." She sighed. "You also may not have six years to deliver, since we never know when my husband might want to begin the Armageddon."
The chairman paused and then slowly found the edge of the table to lean against. "There is no male Neteru. Only that infernal female one."
"Have you been so consumed by your own problems that you have not been watching the stars? Didn't Mars, the planet of war and male energy, recently pass the earth the closest it's come in sixty thousand years?" She took a healthy swallow from the goblet, then set it back down on the table hard and leaned back deeply into the throne.
"Yes, but with the female Neteru topside, our forces in tatters… I assumed that the forecasted war was the one waged against us already."
"There's a little ditty; toassume makes an ass out of you and me." She inhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and shuddered. "He's not at his apex yet, and I will most assuredly have to kill him before he does. The absolutely brilliant cunning this one possesses will compromise my judgment, if I don't get to him before he hits his prime. He's magnificent."
She opened her eyes slowly, her breaths coming in irregular spurts of raw desire. "Oh, Dante, how did you let him get away? I can see why the female Neteru completely lost it and got herself compromised for a bit. He would have beenso perfect for the job of impregnating her. I'm definitely going to have to fuck this one before I take his head off… I'll do it with tears of regret in my eyes, however, trust me."
"Who theHell are you talking about?" The chairman's voice thundered and bats began dropping from the rafters. "There's no topside element like that in my realms! There's not even any topside master vampires left—"
"He had a throne in your chambers, you foolish bastard!" She stood quickly, her black gown swishing as she approached the table and slapped the chairman's face so hard his nose bled. She pointed her finger at the throne she'd just abandoned, her fangs growing two inches as she railed. "Carlos Rivera was one of your masters! He was even a councilman, damn you! He was a dark Guardian, and you had him in your grasp, and you idiot, you allowed his soul to get snatched and dragged into Purgatory! Your own fucking councilmen tried to warn you, but you were blinded by ego, and if I dare blaspheme this chamber, by some misguided, twisted compassion—"
He grabbed her by both arms, halting her words, and pushed her away so hard her backside slammed against the table. "Bullshit! I did a thorough harpies inquisition on him, dredged his mind right over there on my walls," he shouted, pointing where Carlos had been tortured. "He was chained to the rocks, and demons impervious to light ate his innards until the sun came up!" The chairman came close to her in a flash, almost nose to nose as he yelled. "He burned with the sun for his betrayal. He was a dark Guardian, yes, but not a Neteru!"
Trying to wrest his dignity back from the outburst, the chairman took a deep breath. "Lilith, you tell my father that on this one, he's wrong."
She shook her head and laughed. "Oooohhhh, noooo. Inever tell your father he's wrong." Her gaze narrowed and her voice lost its amused tone. "Especially when he'sright ."
"Then how?" Unnerved, the chairman folded his arms over his chest.
"He went into the Light and came back," she said, studying her long, manicured red nails. "It's a hunch, but the Guardian team and the Covenant are rebuilding, adding more players to the game. Their behavior is peculiar. I haven't located him yet, but I can feel him somewhere very near. He's still—"
"No! Impossible!" The chairman raked his fingers through his hair and ripped his scalp.
"Love will do it every time." She smiled, but it was an evil one, as she looked up and held his stunned gaze. "The female wept for him. The angels heard that pitiful shit and responded. All they needed was a catalyst. He burned, Dante, reaching for her and calling her name—not begging for the pain to stop… not even calling The One who will remain nameless down here. He had diluted vampire lieutenants in his ranks. Some eighth- or ninth-generation near-imposter vampires that went down the side of a fucking mountain and collected a handful of his death ashes and gave them to her! He had two of them helping to collect his remains; in fact, and one was a cleric. They brought Rivera's ashes up to her and she wept into them, creating a trinity. She cast Rivera's ashes on fertile soil, took off a diamond ring that had a ten-carat stone in the shape of a heart… an engagement ring of betrothal for thehoped-for blessed union of holy matrimony one day—but prior to that, she was acouncilman's wife . Any of this frightening you, yet?"
Lilith sucked in a deep breath to keep from spontaneously combusting with rage. "And this ring—which you did not take back when you stripped his powers, because you were thinking like a man, not like a woman, because you lost focus… you wanted her to twist… didn't realize the strength of a woman's tears, so you let her keep the ring. It was a fucking crystal amulet, an ice-blue crystalline section of his actual heart that had all his hope and love for her in it when he gave it to her, you stupid sonofabitch! Normal quartz crystal is powerful enough, but a ten-carat diamond rock made from our DNA, are you insane?"
She folded her arms over her chest. "But you wanted her to keep it, because you thought you were getting even by letting her have something hurtful to remember him by. So, you left her a treasure that she could wrap warm memories around from her soul, something supercharged when he took her to the vanishing point." Lilith shook her head with disgust.
"He tooka Neteru to thevanishing point with a diamond on her hand, and didn't permanently turn her… a master vampire?" The chairman covered his face and breathed slowly.
"Well, she remembered him all right," Lilith said, ignoring his question. "Yes… she remembered down to her pure soul, crying all the way to his ash pile. Then she plunged the Isis blade into the earth to bury her dreams, and made it bleed. Our harpies saw it all and reported the whole sordid incident to me, not you. She got him right in the heart in spirit, and he was escorted back into matter form by abattalion of angels . This is what is rumored and suspected, because none of us can see that deeply into such bright light. But my job now is to substantiate the facts and tie up any potential loose ends."
She paused and looked at the chairman hard, her gaze narrowed to a withering slit. "That's why you, in your level-six stupidity couldn't see him when he came back. Only the most advanced realm got word of it, level seven, and even we just got that late-breaking information… since the male Neteru's vibrations are lowered. He's stopped behaving like a monk. He likes the things of our realm, grieves the loss of power. But when he first came back," she shook her head and whistled, "he was squeaky clean. Was off dark radar and we had no trace. If she's been trying to corrupt him and make him remember their union, to no avail, what chance do you think we have? Normal forces of darkness won't work, because this Neteru male has been to Hell and back, and knows we are real—not illusion. If he hadn't begun craving the things of the world again, we might have been blindsided, and the seventh-realm empire may have taken severe casualties. The only reason we suspect Rivera is because of the vibrations this male Neteru is casting… Power-lust, a deep desire for revenge, and a general's strategy. If I find him, his head is mine. Both of them."
When the chairman didn't respond, she leaned into him. "Are you hearing me?" She screeched. "This was all done before a clerical team from the Covenant, plus an entire Neteru Guardian team with a mother-seer present—all of whom were praying for amaster vampire to get a second chance!Never , in my whole existence have I seen such a convoluted case of familial and Eros love mixed together in such a horrifying display of pure human compassion. Oh, so help me, Dante, I'll kill you myself for allowing such an indignity to come from your level!"
When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up her hand, then pressed her wrist to her forehead and waltzed away seeming near faint. Males were so easy to manipulate. Her strategy was foolproof. Have father and son go to war against each other, while the embryo that slipped so beautifully into Hell was lodged safely within her womb, ticking away like a time bomb.
All she needed was one hit ofOblivion , the raw essence of Neteru passion and love to ignite dark life within her. Rivera's brilliant drug had practically felled an empire. Too bad he'd used the last of the substance for folly. But the drug was what could make her dead womb spill forth life again. Damn the angels that had slaughtered her children and rendered her barren. They would pay. This grudge was between her and them, and even the Devil couldn't stop her. He never cared about his children anyway. Just another deadbeat dad. Now, the key was to bait Dante into helping her locate Rivera, if he was still alive. If she could find Rivera, then she would findOblivion .
She glimpsed the chairman and fanned her face as if she was still too overwhelmed to talk. Yes, Dante was still strong enough to locate his own turn, if Rivera existed. Knowing that was critical. Her impromptu visit confirmed it when he'd transformed and was still able to cast illusion. Very good. The fact that he was rattled and his mental barriers were down was even better. It made him sloppy. A coup was so titillating.
The essence of one male and one female Neteru's union was all she needed. The Light's greatest strength would be its greatest weakness. This hadn't been done since Eve had carried Cain and Able, one demon embryo and one pure human one. Dante's fixation on revenge had eclipsed the opportunity from his mind. Stupid bastard. Her husband was also just as insane to believe that she would allow him to choose a human vessel to carry the heir apparent, the Anti-Christ, just to make a point that he could still pollute what those above had created, even at the final hour.
No. Not on her watch. Not after all she'd given her husband, the years of suffering in his lair and devotion to his cause, only to have it all snatched away from her. Never. By the time father and son figured it out,her heir would be born. In Lucifer's fury, Dante's realm would be decimated, and her biggest competitor along with it—the chairman himself. By the time her husband came to his senses, she would possess the critical link to his war… correction,her war —and when she won it,she would rule level seven—not the beast embroiled in useless politics.
Lilith finally sighed and peered at the chairman as though near tears. She almost laughed at his stricken expression and the way he'd held his breath, waiting on her to continue as she allowed her voice to tremble then slowly escalate for dramatic effect. "Oh, yes, your father is spitting crucifixion nails over this one. There hasn't been a young, fertile, male and female Neteru combination levied against us in the same era since Adam and Eve!"
"What can I do to fix this?" he whispered. "I swear, Lilith, I never meant to—"
"Silence, so I can think!" she yelled, pacing up to stand close in his face. "Do you know what your father has done?" she asked in a quieter, more lethal tone.
He shook his head no and foolishly reached to touch her cheek.
She slapped his hand away, enraged. "Do that again without my permission and you'll draw back a nub that won't regenerate." She placed her hand over her heart. "Your father," she said, her voice calm, quiet, the words seething from her lips slowly, "has called for an open-level bounty hunt. Whichever level wins becomes his favorite. That is why your blood resources dried up so quickly. Haven't you wondered why your inventory evaporated, was pillaged so easily, why vampires have been turning to ash in record numbers overnight? You should have been able to live foryears down in chambers without replenishment."
"We couldn't understand—"
"He's really pissed off and willing to let the other levels try to correct what you've botched, and they all know it. Vampires are under siege across the board. The were-demons have sent their ruling Senate up to go after your weaker generations, casually wiping them out while they hunt for the male Neteru.Your father sanctioned it all ."
"He didn't." The chairman leaned against the table to keep his knees from buckling.
"He did."
They both stared at each other.
"I'm the chosen assassin to represent the vampire nations, sent to find this new male nemesis to our way of life. He doesn't trust you to handle it, especially since you couldn't handle the female one."
The chairman pushed away from the table and began to pace, thoroughly humiliated. "I could have handled it."
"He wasn't leaving any more to chance. You didn't even have enough power to get past the chest brand the female put on Rivera to rip his heart out. Dante, that's pitiful." She sighed as he glared at her. She swallowed away an evil smile, and allowed his ego to eat him alive, further strangling his objectivity in the process. "Your father is giving the were-realm a shot at killing him. Not the big cats, even though they are stronger. He's opted for the wolfen clans. Rivera is connected to North America, which is the werewolves' primary territory, as is Europe."
She walked back to the table and hopped up on it. Dark blood soaked into her dress and she doodled in it with her finger. "The Amanthras can only send up one of their best serpents. They missed the opportunity with Nuit to make daywalkers and they've been duly chastised, but you know your father has a weakness for the serpents."
"What about the upper levels, the poltergeists and—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. They each can send up an assassin. Only one, though, because they are usually so ineffective. But the ghost gangs won the bid to participate by agreeing to partner to send up a single succubus and incubus. The concept intrigued your father."
"A succubusand incubus?"
"Don't underestimate them. A good succubus can drive a man to his death, if she knows what she's doing. We want him dead. We aren't picky about methodology."
She stared beyond him at nothing for a moment. "The Guardian team and the Covenant have been traveling without either a male or female Neteru presence in their midst. However, we think one of the teams will lead us to them. We need them as bait for the moment. After that, they're expendable."
He looked at her hard, a slow smile crossing his lips. "Lilith, I have known your wicked ways for a long time. What's thereal bounty… because if I'd offended you that badly, you wouldn't be disclosing all of this to me."
"I don't want to lose," she said in a falsely demure tone. "What else would there be, darling? I obviously cannot rule level seven—your father does not share power, and while I adore level six, he has forbidden me to reside here, as you and I well know. The other levels are interesting and I can rule all of them, which I have a fair shot of doing—if I win this little joust. So, I've made my peace with the available options."
"What's the real bounty, Lilith?" he asked again, casually coming up to her to trace her cheek. "We're too old for games."
"Winner takes all," she said, lapsing into their native mind-bending tongue of negotiation. "Why don't you trust me?"
"And my cut if I assist you in besting all your opponents?" He'd breathed the question against her throat inDananu , and let his hands trail down her arms.
"Wouldn't the satisfaction of killing Rivera be enough?"
He chuckled and kissed her neck. "Not hardly."
She leaned back and scooted away from him so that she sat on the table's center crest, then made her dress vanish. She chuckled as she opened her thighs and allowed her wetness to ooze down over the symbol of his realm's power. "Why are you determined to haggle with me tonight?"
"Impressive, but not worth half the world." He laughed with her.
"Touché. I'm getting old and must be losing my skills."
"I miss sparring with you, Lilith. You haven't lost any of your skills," he said with honest appreciation as his gaze swept her curvaceous body and settled between her legs. "And I haven't lost any of mine."
She smiled a crooked smile and let her head fall back. "Half the world? You drive a hard bargain."
"Half the world," he said, dematerializing the white linen cloth around his waist. "And I want the female Neteru delivered to me with her mind bent and willing. I have a little gift for her."
He climbed up on the table and crouching above her on all fours as he kissed the gully between her breasts, his breath warm against her cool skin. He suckled one of her nipples and looked up at her with a wry smile. "Do we have a deal?"
She shuddered. "What is this gift you have for the Neteru?"
He chuckled and shook his head no, evading her bite. "My father is old and obsessed with power. He doesn't do this to you very often, does he?"
"You know I've always had a weakness for vampires," she breathed, arching up to him, and allowing her question to fade away for the time being. They both knew she'd revisit it later, but enjoyed the game of pretending she wouldn't. "Topside has been pathetic this generation… I've been meaning to visit council for a while… but I've been so preoccupied."
"All you had to do was call me."
"You know how he gets when I come to see you. It's ridiculous, but you're the only one he gets really jealous of. You're evading my question."
"Does he know you're here now?"
"No, you know, as they say, the Devil is always busy."
"Do we have a deal?"
"Seal it over the crest," she whispered, nearly panting with anticipation, and then slapped him hard. "And act like you mean it. It's been decades." Her eyes went to near slits as she arched again, waiting.
He smiled, touched his cheek where she'd opened a gash in his face, and came away with black blood. Bringing each digit to his lips, his hand trembled as he sucked them one by one while the gash slowly sealed and disappeared. Suddenly he slammed her wrists down hard over her head, bloodying his fists in the oozing marble table as he brutally entered her. Then he dropped ten inches of fangs and ripped out her throat.
He missed the look of cunning in her eyes.
DAMALI WALKED silently before her mother-seer, swaying from the mild turbulence of the plane. She could deal with this. What choice did she have? Millions of women had known this heartbreak, and theirs was probably worse than hers. She'd only been pregnant for twenty-four hours.
That's what she told herself as she clutched her abdomen and kept moving forward. It wasn't like she had felt life move within her. Nor did she have to face the horror of disease or senseless tragedy taking her child.
But she'd been robbed, nonetheless. The sense of loss was profound. She tried to shove it to the back of her mind; she just couldn't. Her hopes for a child with Carlos had been torn away. She'd been violated—theyhad been violated.
It was a damned vampire! Mild hysteria overtook her for a moment and made Marlene put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm all right," she told Marlene as she straightened her back. "Just laughing at my own insanity." Now she knew how Carlos felt. Laughing to keep from crying. Losing his mind slowly right before her very eyes. The psyche was a fragile thing. Get to a body and you could bend a mind. Get to a mind, and you could co-opt a body. Damage a spirit, and you could take it all.
Yeah. She had work to do, the timing had been bad, and the whole situation was messed up. That's what she had to remember. Now she'd have to allow frightened men, doctors, to invade her body, and perform the barbaric act of a D&C. She wondered, if men could conceive and miscarried, would medicine have advanced beyond the scraping out of their wombs? Probably.
The murky thought made her weary. But the strained expressions on everyone's faces really wore her out. It was time for a change. She'd been a lightning rod, bringing all sorts of calamity their way. She needed space, not the group-home living arrangement. Once they got back home, she was moving out. They needed peace; she needed peace. There was nothing left to fear now. Her aging team didn't need to be put in harm's way, and she wasn't afraid of the dark.
But even a bad ass needed a mom at a time like this. God bless Marlene. Damali briefly shut her eyes as they entered the tight confines of the bathroom. Marlene hadn't said a word as she lowered the toilet lid and climbed up to stand on it, motioning for Damali to step into a small plastic food container from the jet's kitchen that had been placed on the floor.
She needed to cry so badly, but no tears would come. She was all cried out. Determination filled her. A crippling contraction almost doubled her over. She would slaughter the chairman first.
Her mother-seer filled the sink with warm water, making suds from the liquid hand soap on the wall. She placed paper towels and a new kitchen sponge on the sink. Damali carefully laid the Isis dagger on the edge of the sink as well and removed her blood-soaked clothes. Marlene took each piece from her before it hit the floor. Each woman worked silently in unison with complete comprehension.
Then as gently as though she'd just been born, Marlene dabbed cleansing water on Damali's face, her throat, her hands, and her arms, intermittently breaking the silence with a soft murmur as she rinsed off her back. The older woman's voice was a soothing balm, reinforcing with gentle whispers that this too would pass… the Father had a plan. Damali desperately needed those words, just as she needed Marlene's gentle ministrations and the light cluck of her mother-seer's tongue while older female hands passed a nasty war gash, wiped away demon gook and splattered innards, battle residue, and took away the ache from the surface of her skin.
"The next plane has a bigger bathroom. I'll wash your hair once we're on board, baby," Marlene reassured her. She paused then said into the silence, "It's gonna be all right. If this happened, then something was wrong with what you carried, and this was the most merciful outcome. If it were normal, the Light would not have allowed it to be taken."
Damali stared at Marlene for a moment. "I know," she finally said. "Make sure you burn everything when you're done."
"Don't worry. We've taken further precautions than mere fire. We've prayed over every drop. The darkness will not reclaim it, or be able to resurrect it."
Damali simply closed her eyes again as Marlene refilled the sink . with fresh water, patted her with the sponge, cleaning that only someone who has given birth to one should. Yes, God bless Marlene for serving as midwife to a miscarriage. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. What had transpired in Sydney was her miscarriage of justice as much as it was her miscarriage of flesh. With that thought came the first wave of real tears since Carlos had bubbled back to the surface in a new crimson beginning. The Light had been kind; had heard her cries… but the trade still seemed so terribly unfair.
Silent tears coursed down Damali's cheeks, and the older woman who knew healing told her to let them fall like rain to wash it all out. It was done. Soon Marlene applied creams to her skin as though that could smooth over memories… Marlene kept talc in her bag, but it smelled like what a baby would have, and knowing that made her cry harder, but more privately, as the pure scent became almost too much to bear. She knew Marlene must have seen some of this coming. Marlene was always prepared; her bag was a deep, magical chasm, like a reservoir that contained whatever was necessary to heal the fallen. Now they shared yet another female loss that bound them more tightly, the loss of a child.
And as Marlene worked on her body, and by extension her spirit and mind, she also knew that Marlene's loss of her own child was much more profound than what she was experiencing now. How did a woman cope with losing the flesh of her flesh after nurturing it in her womb, bringing it forth to the Light, suckling it at her breasts, watching it grow? That was so different than it being taken before ever feeling it stir within. But that was intellectual understanding; it was a knowing that didn't completely remove the sense of grief that quaked her with each ebbing contraction.
Damali sucked in a deep breath, allowing newfound respect and understanding to strengthen her. Even with all that she'd been through, her mother-seer had been through so much more and had kept the faith. Damali drew on that strength, watching Marlene's wise eyes. No words were necessary for the telepathic transaction; one woman's mind and eyes said,Thank you, I'm blessed, despite it all . The other's said,Ashe, I love you, dwell on it no more… pain is relative. I am your mother, and this hurts me for you more than you can know . They both nodded.
When Marlene offered her a pair of clean, white cotton panties and a pad, Damali accepted the items as the gifts they were. She kissed Marlene's temple then her hands. "Thank you," Damali said quietly. "Guess you're never too old to need a mom, huh?"
Marlene just stroked her hair as she pulled on the shield.
"I have a dress for you," Marlene said in a quiet tone, offering yet another balm to her senses.
Damali accepted the soft Egyptian linen from Marlene and donned the long sheath with bell sleeves. Marlene dried her legs and feet, dropping a towel for Damali to stand on as she dumped the red water from the food container into the toilet, said a prayer over it, and flushed it away.
"Put on these sandals," Marlene murmured as she handed Damali soft, butter-almond-hued leather, and then fetched a long, white gauze wrap from her bag. Moving methodically, Marlene wrapped Damali's hair in a regal twist of fabric. "Queen daughter," Marlene whispered, "today you wear unbleached white. It is a new day. We are about to go into lands where women wear their hair covered, their arms covered, their legs covered. We will honor the traditions of old in a very old land, where a people have been independent for two thousand years. Rest and I will guard the Isis blades until you need them again."
There was no struggle in Damali's countenance as she allowed Marlene to do what was culturally correct. There was no more fight left in her, and she didn't want to think about why women had to cover the natural gift of their bodies, why men got to do whatever they liked, and why there was so much injustice in the world, much of it aimed at the majority of the species. Women.
Battle weary and near broken, she put on the flowing gown that had replaced her torn, vampiric one, and stared at the bathroom door. She refused to contemplate the depth of her rage and heartbreak. Mending would come later and would take time; that much she'd learned from Marlene's quiet brand of strength. Right now, all she wanted was to get horizontal.
"I have to lie down," Damali admitted in a subdued voice. A slight shiver ran through her. "I feel like I'm going to pass out."
Although her movements were steady, Damali could feel a level of frantic energy just beneath the surface of Marlene's skin as the older woman ushered her from the bathroom and into a seat beside her. She didn't question Marlene's seating choice as Marlene lifted a window shade to put Damali in the sun beside her.
Clasping Damali's hand, Marlene reached around her, fastened a seat belt and reclined the chair for her.
"I'm going to bring you some special tea, an herbal mix from the motherland." Marlene stood and left Damali's side, and returned quickly with a piping hot brew.
"Sip it slowly," Marlene said, stroking her back. "Then, if you can hold that down, water, plenty of it, and then we'll clean you out with fruit."
Damali took the porcelain mug and did as she was told, her gaze never traveling toward Carlos. Her mind could only focus on one problem at a time. The sweet elixir had a hint of ginger in it, but she knew Marlene had more in the concoction than that.
When Yonnie opened his eyes, he was looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. Exhausted, he gave into his fate. Extinction was eminent, and death by hallowed earth-packed shells was far more merciful than being torn limb from limb by werewolves.
"Just do it," he murmured to the female staring at him, her finger flexing on the trigger.
To his amazement, she lifted the barrel and stepped closer to him, and then offered him her wrist.
"We have an hour till dawn. Feed quickly and then transport us to a place I'll show you. Look in my eyes to see where."
Confusion forced him to stand. True, she had silently rolled up on him as only his kind could, but how did she dare to carry hallowed earth-packed shells? Even more troubling was the thick silver-and-turquoise necklace she wore. No vampire could wear that without it burning a hole into her chest. For a moment, neither moved. Yonnie allowed his gaze to ruthlessly assess the woman who stood before him. She appeared to be in her early forties, her long black hair streaked with strands of silver-gray. Her dark eyes smoldered with the knowledge of his realms. Her body was lithe, curved, yet was sleek with muscle. The body of a soldier.
"You're a fourth-gen," Yonnie said, his gaze going from her throat to her weapon.
"Yes. And we don't have time. Feed," she commanded. "At my level, I do not have the power of transport, but when Councilman Rivera made you a lieutenant in his inner circle, you acquired that power. Take us both to safety and don't be foolish. We're the only ones left in the zone."
"How can that be?" Nervous, Yonnie stepped back. "It could be a trick sent from the new master that—"
"There are no more masters topside," she said with a too-peaceful smile. When he didn't immediately respond, she let out a hard breath of frustration. "Carlos obviously made you a master. Didn't you feel it as he was swept away into the Harpies tornado near dawn? I was the only female he trusted with his SOS beacon. My orders were to find you. Now feed."
Too stunned to move, Yonnie just stared at her. Deep sadness mixed with guilt, respect, pride, and sudden elation flowed through him. His boy, Carlos, must have known he was gonna die and sent this last quiet gift to him so he could continue the line. Tears filled Yonnie's eyes, but in front of this unknown female, he blinked them away. Suddenly he remembered the strange surge that had rippled through him just before everything in his world went to ash. He had thought it had only been a power spike from his master who was kickin' some ass. But Carlos had elevated him before he died. Carlos had loved him like that… and even sent the last female in his territory tohim ? There were no words. A quiet vow that went beyond mere revenge for Carlos's death filled Yonnie's mind. No matter what, from this point forward, he would do his boy proud, would honor all of Carlos's pacts, protect every mark, whatever foundation of Carlos's that had been destroyed, he'd resurrect. It was the least he could do.
Astonished, he held his hand out for hers, the smell of the blood within her veins too intoxicating to resist. Wary of the heavy silver near her throat, he took a submissive stance and lowered his head to her wrist. For a moment he studied the pattern of everlasting life that moved just under the surface of her honey-brown skin, then scored her flesh in one ferocious slash, greedily sucking from her veins until she struggled to break his hold. The click of the gun hammer ripped through his awareness, as did cold steel positioned in the center of his chest.
"Don't be stupid. You bleed me out and flat-line me this close to dawn, we'll both fry. Be advised, there's only one safe place for us now, and only I know how to enter it." She glanced at Carlos's abandoned Beverly Hills lair. "That's a death trap. So are all his other lairs."
Yonnie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling his body begin to regenerate. He looked at his skeletal fingers, and watched them become covered with the even, brown, tight skin of an eighteen-year-old youth.
"How can a fourth-generation carry hallowed earth, wear silver, and know of the only safe place in town? Sis, if you're a vampire wannabe, you just brought yourself a ticket to a very wild ride." Yonnie shook his head and walked around her in a circle. "If you want me to fuck you good for the rest of the night, not a problem. Done. But you need to stop drinking deer blood and soft-packs from the Red Cross, trying to front like the real thing. That shit will get you smoked one night, and even at your age, you're too fine for that with your black Cherokee self."
He watched her eyes narrow and become glowing, golden slits of fury as her fangs lowered. "Listen, you dumb bastard. I have aged in a few hours to what I would have been if I had not died at eighteen. You have aged to what you would have been, were you not Vampire. Every seal that was set by Carlos has been torched. Every member of his circle has aged to the point of progressive time. Only you and I are left standing, although I'm not sure why."
She was definitely not human. Her eyes and fangs confirmed that. However, her words inspired a slow, smoldering terror within him and left many unanswered questions. Revived from her blood, his first impulse was to make a run for it, solo. But if she knew where Carlos was, or what had happened, he needed her to tell him more.
"The silver," Yonnie said, motioning to her throat. "How?"
"My grandmother was a shaman seer," she said simply. "It was mine when I was destined to be a Guardian. The energy drain hit me… made me feel… I thought I was dying and went to her home where she's buried. The Neteru's light was gone. My grandmother must have known, seen the end of days. Her spirit had left it hanging on a tree beyond the hallowed-earth perimeter. Maybe she wanted to protect me, knowing that everyone who might have given me haven would perish. I don't know. But with nothing to lose after I felt the one Guardian I'm linked to snatched by Harpies, I began the death chant of my people and put it on… to die with honor. I didn't want to be taken under the reign of a new master. Carlos was the only one I'd serve—he allowed me at least my dignity. Any others would not. Now I'm afraid that he's gone, too."
She blinked back tears and cast her gaze toward the blackened sky. "But I didn't burn," she whispered. "Then I heard your call. Your love for him was a beacon; it may have saved your life. You seek the one I'm now supposed to guard and we have to find him before they do, if he still exists. That's all I know."
"Guardians? Are you delirious? Carlos was a councilman when he made me a master. Who's they? If you heard a master's call, then—"
"Yes. I'm something we cannot explain at the moment. Andthey are to be discovered. But you just ate from my—"
"It was venison!"
"Correct. Because never since my turn have I befouled a living human being. Blood from stolen packs, deer, but never feasting from the living… that may be the only reason I'm still standing. But I am not about to tempt the sun."
Yonnie nodded. It was the first rational thing she'd said that made sense since she'd rolled up on him. "Were-demons, the wolfen clans, have compromised every place I know."
She smiled. "My people have a long history of dealing with the clan of the wolf." She stroked her silver necklace that he now knew to be an amulet. "Look into my mind. You'll see a cabin in the woods. Even council cannot breach it. The barriers are formidable and many. There's only one way into it. The perimeter is hallowed ground, and has been littered with wolf bane. I keep silver shells packed with hallowed earth for insurance." She tossed him a Clock from her shoulder holster. "It'll heat up your hands. If you don't shoot yourself, you'll live."
The weapon felt like it was searing his palm as he caught it, but he appreciated the gesture and held it steady, the barrel pointed skyward. "Thank you," he murmured, now appraising her once again. This woman was fine, brazen, and would make a wonderful lair companion. Although a little old for his tastes, she was stunning in her tight deerskin pants and the suede halter was slaying him. Her figure was awesome, not an ounce of body fat on her petite frame. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe Carlos wasn't dead after all. "Later on, you've gotta lose the silver collar, baby, if you want to go to the vanishing point."
She smiled. "Go to Hell. I'm spoken for. Try my throat and your ass will fry."
Yonnie shrugged and chuckled. "Okay. I'll chill. Why didn't you just say you were Rivera's from the jump?"
"Because I'm not," she said, tossing her long, velvety hair over her shoulder as she retracted her fangs. "I'm Rider's."
Yonnie blinked twice and cocked his head to the side. "That Guardian dude on Rivera's 'do not touch' list?"
She glanced at the sky. "Yeah, and you're burning moonlight. I need to take you to the safe house."
"What? A Guardian compound? Are you—"
"Do you want to survive?" she asked, drawing each word out slowly. "Yes or no?"
"Yeah," he said, no longer in the mood to argue with her. "You know we could both be getting set up in a Guardian rig?"
"Or we could both see what effects dawn might have on us. You in or out?"
"I'm in, but Rider—"
"Has had my back for over twenty years."
For a moment, he just stared at her. "And Rivera was cool with that going down in his territory?"
"You and I both know that Carlos has always had a soft spot for that team."
Yonnie nodded and began to gather the transport clouds about them. He concentrated; it was taking longer to generate the swirling winds than ever before. "I don't know if I can do it," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, summoning the energy for their dematerialization. Humiliation and rage filled him. The sun would be rising soon. He redoubled his efforts to no avail.
He looked at the lower-generation female, the panic in her eyes clear. "I may need your help," he said, shame singeing his tone. "Whatever is being sucked out of the territory is weakening my powers. Has anyone ever moved you through the night? Do you know how to summon the winds? Command velocity?"
She shook her head sadly. "I've never been taken by a master, and can't tell you much more than you already know." She walked in closer to Yonnie and placed her hand in his, her eyes searching his. "But I know I was sent to find you. There is purpose in our being together. We are from the same lands, from the same stolen tribes; our human bloodlines intersect with Carlos's. My people were native to this earth, just like his… yours were brought here by force, just like mine were forced into near extinction. Draw from that. Summon the wind. Take us to the place that I showed you. I believe in you… you're all I have left to count on."
His eyes never left hers as he felt a current bind their hands. He literally felt the energy of the ground beneath his feet pulse alive within the small spot of earth where her feet were planted, issuing forth concentric circles of fluctuating power. He locked into that power and rode it, seeing the real beauty of her face for the very first time. Aware of the silver at her throat, he leaned in close to her, nearly brushing her mouth as the winds gathered and swirled, the energy connecting as their bodies began to disintegrate. "I know you're spoken for, pretty shaman," he murmured as the winds howled and picked up, "but tell me your name."
"Tara," she whispered as they disappeared.
Struggling to sit up, Berkfield scanned the room in panic. Small windows, narrow confines, medical equipment everywhere, flashes of the laboratory that began his nightmare entered his mind while he stared at two men in white lab coats. If he could just reach something to use as a weapon. Then slowly he comprehended what he was seeing. The doctors were taking blood, not injecting him. Vials were being placed in a silver box with a religious crest—a crucifix. This was not the work of vampires. Sunlight streamed through the windows. The man speaking behind him was a cleric.
Tears came to Berkfield's eyes when he saw the heavy silver cross hanging from the man's neck, his white clerical collar, as he prayed in an Australian accent.
"My wife, my children," Berkfield croaked. "I have to get off this ship before dark falls again."
The cleric kissed his crucifix and came to Berkfield's side, wrapping his shaking hand around it as both men grasped it and held onto it for dear life.
"They are in the Vatican, Richard," the cleric assured him. "Father Patrick flew them to Rome when they showed up at his safe house. You're on a plane and are going somewhere safe until you can meet them again. The Darkness no longer imprisons you."
Slowly Berkfield relaxed and nodded as his memory came back in jagged pieces… being submerged in jasmine-scented water within the cathedral font. Frankincense. Dousing. Incessant liturgical mutterings as his clothes were stripped and burned. He looked at the cleric and began to sob. Doctors joined his side.
"This man has been under a lot of stress," he heard one voice say. "Do you want us to give him a tranquilizer so he can make it through the long flight? He's near collapse."
"No," the cleric said. "Our orders are to just give him water and some clear broths, fresh fruit, something to nourish him and make him comfortable—butdo not pollute his blood."
The moment the cleric mentioned his blood, Richard Berkfield was off the table and fighting against the many arms and hands that held him. Screaming for help, he punched and kicked at his attackers. "No more blood!" he yelled. "Get the beasts away from me!" His voice rose, shrill with hysteria. "I won't let you take me to them! Get off me! Get the hell off me!"
A hard slap across his face. Dazed, it took a moment for him to respond, but it was long enough for the cleric to say quickly, "I'm sorry my hand has offended. We are men of God. We mean you no harm. We protect you and your family. You've had the Lamb's Blood within your veins and must be kept from all harm. Stop fighting us so we can help you." Two large tears rolled down the cleric's weathered cheeks and he drew a shaky breath. "No human being on the planet has ever held the honor… I've never witnessed such a miracle in all my years of faith. There are so many questions I want to ask you.Please . Trust me."
Totally stunned, Berkfield watched in awe as the cleric went down on his knees, shielding his face in his palms and began sobbing. By some odd twist of events, the doctors now assisted the elderly, white-haired man with the collar, giving a male nurse instruction to get a needle ready with a tranquilizer injection.
"No. Don't," Berkfield said, clarity coming from some unknown source despite the chaos still roaming through his mind. "The poor man is just overwhelmed, like all of us. Let him sit down and bring him some water." He bent and helped the older cleric up, but that seemed to make him sob even harder. Every place that Berkfield's hand landed in assistance, the cleric touched in awe and reverence, and began wailing anew.
It took almost ten minutes for the man to collect himself and then rise with the help of Berkfield and two doctors, and finally become calm enough to sit down in a chair facing the table that Berkfield had been lying on. For a long while, the cleric just sat, simply staring at him, holding a cup of water without drinking it. Berkfield sat on the gurney staring at him, waiting.
"When we touch down in Manila, they have military facilities with state-of-the-art equipment to give you an MRI, full set of X-rays, run a battery of tests, and—"
"Hold it right there," Berkfield said, his voice tense as he stared at the doctor who had spoken. "I don't do military nuthin'. Been there, done that. Sick militaristic SOBs sold their souls to develop new weapons, and I'm not trying to be their lab rat ever again." Fear tore through him as he stared at the cleric. "Father, don't let them take me there. Please."
"We have equipment in Rome," the cleric said, finding his voice and his strength. "Do as he asks."
To Berkfield's surprise, the doctors deferred to the older man.
"As you wish, Cardinal," one said.
"We meant no harm, just wanted to get him to the most modern facilities possible, as soon as possible, in case his body had been harmed in some way, given his ordeal. We didn't want him to have to try to get any tests done in Ethiopia, where their medical facilities are strained beyond comprehension," another doctor said quickly, trying not to further offend. "It will be such a long flight, and he cannot be left injured. What if there was internal organ damage or hemorrhaging that we didn't discover?"
Berkfield's eyes widened. "You're a cardinal?"
The cleric nodded but averted his gaze toward the floor. "Yes, Your Eminence. And these doctors are also men of the faith—clerics. No one but those of the order has touched you. That I assure you. Their concerns are real, however, and I'm no doctor."
"What did you call me?" Stunned, Berkfield stood slowly, but held on to the edge of the ambulance gurney for support.
"Your Eminence," the cardinal whispered and then bowed with the others as they stood within the tight confines of the aircraft.
"Wait, wait, wait," Berkfield said, becoming agitated as he waved his hands. "I'm not Him, by any stretch of the imagination, and you guys need to let the boys in the Vatican know that. I'm just a regular Joe that got caught up in something really bizarre."
One by one the bowed clerics peered up at Berkfield, awe still filling their expressions.
"Are you sure?" the cardinal asked, seeming so disappointed that fresh tears glittered in his eyes.
"Yeah," Berkfield whispered.
"Do you feel any pains? Soreness? Nausea? Anything that might suggest there's an injury we haven't treated?"
Berkfield looked at the frightened medical team and slowly shook his head no.
"But you've had the Living Blood within your veins. No human being has ever—"
"I'm just a regular guy who misses his wife and is scared shitless." Berkfield let out a weary sigh. "I want to go home, hug Marjorie, tell her it's gonna be all right." Tears threatened Berkfield's composure. "I wanna kiss my daughter and drop her off at the mall, and yell at my son for playing his music too loud." His voice broke. "I want to drink a beer and wave at my neighbor while I'm grilling burgers. I don't want to be on the run for the rest of my life, or have my family live in the shadows. I can't live like this!"
"The first shall be last and the last shall be first," one cleric said above Berkfield's sobs.
"When the stigmata occurred, is it possible that it all came out of him and soaked into the holy robes?" the cardinal asked, going to Berkfield to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Whatever soaked into the robes, Cardinal, evacuated itself into the challis as soon as those clerics entered the cathedral," another said. "That's been sent directly to Rome on a separate charter with a clerical army on board to protect it."
The cardinal nodded. "I was given orders to follow your lead… to grant you whatever you asked. We were told we would know from your words what to do, because the pontiff believes that a man cannot experience the Ultimate Light without being subject to profound change." He looked at Berkfield, his aged gray eyes searching for answers. "There is so much that we want to know about what it felt like to have His grace enter your cells, to fill you up with the Light. We have lived all our lives hoping to experience a small measure of that… yet a man with no particular religious zeal, no special gifts, nothing other than a good heart has been so blessed." He chuckled sadly and turned to one of the doctors and sighed. "Just as it is written, so it was done… as it has always been. The least likely is given the highest honor."
"But where are Carlos and Damali and the rest of the team?" Berkfield cried. He looked at the faces around him, fear, anger, and frustration colliding to become one emotion.
"I don't know how many of them made it," the cardinal said, fingering his cross and then taking it off, holding it out for Berkfield to accept. "If they don't turn, or weren't polluted…"
Berkfield's eyes went to the cross, but he didn't take it from the cardinal's hand. "You should have seen the way they fought! They were on the front line and got their asses kicked. Do you hear me? I've seen that same shit when I was doing my bid in 'Nam… young kids on both sides, barely out of high school, haven't even lived, but slaughtered. And for what? Same thing is going on now over in Iraq, same thing has been going on over and over again in world history. Call it Desert Storm, the Gulf War, Korea, or we can go all the way back to the beginning of caveman versus caveman, the Crusades, whatever. For what? Nobody wins. Wrongs get done on both sides. Mothers and father bury their children, blood soaks the land, the women wail, and all of humanity suffers. Don't you guys get it? People have to stop fighting each other. We have to go after the real enemy, or it never ends. And I know where he lives… about seven levels underground." Berkfield held his head in his hands as a wave of nausea suddenly overcame him.
Unable to speak, the clerics bowed. He could almost feel their shame of wanting a safe haven mingling with their misplaced reverence. He wasn't the Most High; they didn't need to bow to him. In that instant he felt it with clarity, as though someone had called him by name. These men of the cloth had been hiding behind safe walls, while the world suffered. They ate well, lived well, had been sheltered from horrors, and their deep resources had kept jets flying and spectacular cathedrals as monuments, while people begged in the streets. They lived in oasislike compounds while the common man lived in a spiritual and physical wasteland. This one sect of faith wasn't the only guilty party. Every major religion had done no less. But they all had seemingly forgotten that the battle was in the streets, their prayers necessary, that until one's body was out on the front line, it didn't mean a damn.
As soon as the thought ebbed, Berkfield felt his body slump from sudden, inexplicable fatigue. But his new awareness made him bold as he looked at the men before him.
"I can't tell you how I know, but I do. The vamps can kill me, but they can never bite me. If I die fighting for the side of good, I go into the Light. So I don't need a cross, it flows through my veins these days. Thanks, anyway."
The cardinal nodded. "Forgive us and don't judge us so harshly."
"I don't judge anymore," Berkfield said, stretching out. "I've seen too much to do that." He reclined and closed his eyes.
"Then, what would you have us do with you?" the cardinal asked, confusion slowing his response.
"If any of that Guardian team made it out alive, I'm going with them. My family is going with them. I don't know what else to do. I can't go back home and act like none of this ever happened. There's no safe place to put your head in the sand and hide. This whole thing is about to blow. So, I'll wait for a sign. Got it?"
CARLOS CONTINUED to stare out of the jet window. He needed a moment to think, put everything into perspective, and figure out his next move. In his currently weakened state, with all his most cherished powers stripped from him, what would be his strategy now?
He was glad that silence had fallen over the cabin. The only sound that punctuated the oppressive quiet was the low drone of the engine and Big Mike's snoring. Then he heard someone opening a bottle of water. The sound of deep swallows suddenly made him aware of the burning dryness of his own throat. But he'd declined the water offered by Monk Lin. He wasn't ready for the reality that he might, indeed, be able to drink it without color. He wasn't ready to face that until he was someplace private.
There was a surreal comfort in knowing the rules of the game, whatever game a man played, and he'd played Hell to the bone—literally. For whatever it was worth, at the moment he allowed himself some small measure of pride in having bested the most ruthless bastards at their own game. Problem now was, to what end? Maybe he'd played himself.
Carlos sighed and kept his eyes trained on the sun, remembering how he'd finally embraced his fate and how delicious the power had been. True, he'd been in Hell, but what a ride it had been…
He shook his head slowly, quietly admonishing himself for the perverse thought. Yeah… the Light was awesome, but on the other side, the women, the cars, the villas, walking on air, the clubs, the money, the sex… damn, it had been good, and when Damali had turned, there'd been nothing like it.
A new, frightening thought made his chest tight. He was now, possibly, just an average human being. Again, he was trapped in a situation with no money, unable to use the full range of his personal power, and probably owed a higher authority, just like before. They hadn't approached him, but he knew it had to be coming sooner or later. There was always barter, always a payoff. Nothing was free.
True, being a council-level vamp had been a rush, but he had to remember all the heartbreak that came with it. His brother, Alejandro, and his boys had all perished. His mom, grandmom, Juanita—all hidden away from him, lest he turn them in a moment of bestial lust. The torture, the blood, the insatiable hunger. He had to stop being sentimental about it. Had to stop romanticizing the past like an old man who'd done a thirty-year prison bid, thinking about the good times and laughs and not about the lack of freedom, shit food, and the destruction of one's personal dignity in the process. He remembered those old drunken fools, and how as kids they would shake their heads and laugh at their stupidity when they'd come back to the corners talking about the joint, and how they ran the yard, as though they'd been down to the Bahamas. Crazy. Had he already become like them?
Maybe the old padre was right. Father Pat was a deep old dude, and had always made him stop and think about choices and consequences. No good was going to come in the long run from the vampire life, he told himself. He had to stay focused and convince himself that this change in circumstances was for the best, that it would be cool, or else he'd go nuts. All he had to do was remember the baby that was clawed from Damali's womb.
Now, he had someone who really depended on him, but he had no income, was dead with no assets, according to the cleanup Berkfield had done before on his behalf, and the chairman had it out for Damali. How was he supposed to be the Neteru's man? How was he supposed to protect her, even if he didn't go seeking revenge? These were the types of things the clerics never dealt with or thought about.
In his human world it was still about resources, and to be turned out with nothing to his name was a position of vulnerability. He hated that predicament worse than death. At least death was sort of final, even if one did come back on the other side. But in the coming back, resources were available, either from the Light or the Darkness, whatever side one happened to find themselves on, of that he was sure. But what was an average guy supposed to do—a dead man walking, with no formally recognized education, no work history, no nothing? Go work at a convenience store for minimum wage and no health benefits? What, after having great cosmic power and the knowledge of the history of the world and all its technology within one's mind… he'd seen too much, experienced too much, and knew too much to ever go back to a normal life.
Even if he hung with the Guardians, they all had special powers, extra juice to their games. It would take him forever to learn martial arts, how to swing a blade, or find an expertise that could be of benefit to them. He wouldn't be running shit on the team; Shabazz was the male leader—position already filled. Mike was the strong man, J.L. the tech whiz, Dan the business ace, Rider the sharpshooter, Jose the master tracker, Marlene was the healer, and his baby girl was all that and then some. He definitely wasn't the religious type who could fit in with Father Pat's boys on the Covenant squad. He wasn't no cop, so he couldn't even roll with Berkfield as a partner. So, what the fuck was he? Assed out.
Carlos refused to glimpse at Damali and struggled not to turn his head to do so. It was so strangely cool between them when he was what he'd been and she was what she was—the vampire and the virgin. Again, he almost laughed to keep from crying.
What the hell was he going to do now? She had only known one man in her life—him—but as a council-level master vampire. His woman had known him at his apex of power, and he'd marked her, rewired her sexual circuitry to only respond to the most acute sensory lock with him. And what did that mean? Truth be told, what could he deliver as a regular guy? He damned sure couldn't take her to the vanishing point again. Carlos closed his eyes. They might as well have driven a stake through his chest. His woman had been turned out by the baddest motherfucker on the planet—him—and he was no longer that. She liked it rough, could take a fang drop in her jugular like a pro, and could still get up and walk on the beach at high noon. So what was a mere male supposed to do when his woman became the baddest mutha on earth without him?
No, it definitely wasn't supposed to go down like this.
Carlos opened his eyes and stared at his hands. To him, they were dead. They contained no special powers. He couldn't transform a room, gather the winds, he'd never be a panther again—not even on a whim to feel the thrill of a hunt. He'd have to use a door with a key. Carlos shuddered at the thought. He couldn't walk through a wall at will or rip out an enemy's heart with a glance. Damn, this was beyond fucked up. And his woman had a team of martial arts boyz… hell, she could fight like a demon herself, and was poetry in motion. When he really thought about it, she could probably outrun him; she had the Neteru speed and the endurance to match it. He hated to admit it, but she could probably go round for round, pound for pound, and might just be able to kickhis ass… given she knew all that fly kick shit that Shabazz had taught her. And if she'd been made a junkie for vamp bad boys, by his own hand, then sooner or later she'd want what she was missing in him… might go out one night and take a walk on the wild side. He'd never be able to live with that, if she slept with another man, especially another master vampire.
The thought was so unsettling that he jettisoned it from his mind as he stood to go get a bottle of water. Another man? A bad, smooth, fly, Hell fiend that could make her scream his name? Never. His hands were shaking as he retrieved a cold bottle from the jet's kitchen, broke the seal, and guzzled it. Somehombre that could stand in his face, laugh at him, and outright challenge him for Damali, and could beat his ass down so hard he'd die of humiliation before he died from the attack.
Carlos grabbed another bottle of water, threw his head back, and downed it quickly. As he brought his gaze level with the seated teams, he saw that everyone was staring at him. He glanced at the bottle in his hand and then hurled it at the trash chute, missing it, then sulked to his seat and flopped down. Why did they ever bring him back? This was no gift; it was a curse… pure punishment, if ever he'd witnessed it.
Damali quietly watched Carlos from her seat next to Marlene. Her mother-seer only squeezed her hand in acknowledgment of what they both now knew was true. Carlos was human. But what did that mean?
She checked the back of her dress to make sure she hadn't bled through onto the light fabric, and started to stand, but Marlene's grip tightened on her hand.
"Give him some space," Marlene said in a barely audible tone. "Brother is tripping right now, and as a man, has a lot to think about."
Damali stared at Marlene for a moment but didn't argue. "Third eye or common sense?"
"Common sense," Marlene replied in a whisper.
Damali nodded. "I'm just glad he's alive."
Marlene nodded. "But he isn't, and that may take a while. Let Rider or Shabazz talk to him until he finds his place on the team."
Damali settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. "I can't worry about that right now."
Marlene stroked her hair and followed suit, closing her eyes with a weary sigh. "I know. So, don't. Get some rest and steady your nerves. The problem will be there when you wake up."
Damali glimpsed at Marlene and yawned. "But what the—"
"It's drama as old as Adam and Eve," Marlene said in a low, gentle voice without even opening her eyes.
The plane's rapid descent once they reached Brisbane roused everyone from their slumber. Slowly, bleary-eyed passengers sat up straight, stretched, and yawned.
"I'll be glad when we get on the flight to Manila," Shabazz muttered. "Seven hours or so will do us all good."
Rider nodded through a loud yawn. "Yep, just like when we were touring. Sleep in the air, rock 'n' roll on the ground. Whatever, as long as I get some shut-eye during the day."
"You put touring in past tense, man," Big Mike said cautiously. "Any special insight you trying to deliver?"
Rider looked at Mike, dumbfounded. "Did I say it past tense?"
"Yeah,hombre , you did," Jose said, staring at Rider.
The teams looked at Marlene and Father Patrick for confirmation.
"We don't know what's going to happen," Marlene said. "Let's stay positive and not freak ourselves out."
"Mar," Dan said, glancing around the now-standing group. "All of her commercials have been taped and are done. I hadn't signed her to anything beyond Sydney, because we didn't know the situation. I also never inked any movie deals, because going into Sydney, we didn't know if Damali could cast a reflection. We don't have any upcoming concerts committed yet, but residuals from commercials and the Sydney concert, plus royalties on all the CDs should float the team for a while. However, given what could be after us, my suggestion is that we put her portfolio of income in some unmarked accounts in Swiss and Cayman Island banks."
"Yo, Dan," Shabazz said, his tone surly and flat. "Let's get our teams to a safe house, then we can sit down and start thinking about money and whatnot." Shabazz released a weary sigh and moved into the aisle.
"He's got a point, though," J.L. countered. "We used up a lot of ammo, lost a lot of gear, and we don't know what we'll face when we get back to the compound stateside. We have to be thinking about public relations and damage control, if we have to stay on the move and underground for a while."
"That's what I'm trying to say, 'Bazz," Dan added, coming into the aisle with Shabazz. "When we get on that flight, we need a team meeting about next steps—before everyone goes to sleep, before it gets dark, and before we lose another day when I can make some calls and make some wire transfers."
"Yeah," Damali said. She stretched her back and kept her eyes on Dan, fighting not to look at Carlos. "We have to handle our business. Without resources, we're sitting ducks. Until the Covenant gives us the green light to move this squad in relative safety, we need a cover story about why I've suddenly dropped from the scene."
Dan nodded. "She's at the apex of her career, man. I have to feed the media vultures something to keep them interested in what Damali will do next, and to keep her fans hungry for her next move. I can play this sudden drop out of sight as her going on a religious pilgrimage or something, mix the truth in with the fiction… which will also make the dark side think she was so torn up that she can't perform."
For a moment, no one said a word. Dan's comment was so close to the bone that it almost cut when he'd said it. Damali drew in a silent breath and spoke with a steady voice.
"Yeah, Dan is right. That is very close to what happened. Tell them that after Sydney, I'm going to… hmmm… Tibet." She smiled. "Cool?"
Dan smiled and the group relaxed.
"We'll be headed in the opposite direction toward Africa and then Europe, so if anyone checks that we flew into Manila, it will make sense. They'll be roaming over Tibet while we're getting papal clearance to enter the Vatican on the other side of the world." She smoothed the front of her gown and entered the narrow jet aisle with Shabazz and Dan. "Hopefully, by the time we get through all of this, I'll have some slammin' new cuts, inspired from wherever we go. Maybe."
Monk Lin moved to her side slowly. His expression was grim, but his eyes were gentle. "This is the right course of action, Neteru. Therefore, in Manila, my journey ends. I must go prepare my brothers for a possible attack."
"Hold it, then," Damali said quickly. "I wasn't even thinking that a mention of Tibet would send a search-and-destroy team your way! Let's pick someplace else to use as a decoy." Her gaze frantically searched the group for answers but only blank stares returned. Damn… where would she send the vamps? She didn't want any innocent blood on her hands in any country.
"There is no safe place to turn the bowels of Hell upon, Neteru," Monk Lin said calmly. "Tibet has been bloodied at the hands of human destruction, but is spiritually sound enough to take an invasion. As a member of the Covenant, we are to accompany you to points along your path, and you have made a wise choice. I will be waiting for you in Tibet when the time comes for you to journey there. For now, my remaining brethren will accompany you."
Panic seized Damali's voice as she looked at Monk Lin's resigned, peaceful expression.
"My journey ends, Neteru, in Algeria," Imam Asula said. "You have learned well. Our task is nearly done. Only the Guardians will soon be necessary. That is why we stop there."
Her gaze shot around the small cabin and landed on Father Patrick. "Tell me you're not leaving us, too? You and Father Lopez…"
"Child… our Neteru, we lead you to the Christian strongholds, then my work is most likely done. From there, Father Lopez will be your link to us, but we will never be far away."
"You sound like you're dying," Carlos said, interjecting himself into the conversation for the first time since they'd entered the aircraft. His voice hitched without censure. "Man, all of you are family. You just can't up and leave. It ain't right."
"The winds of change are upon us, son," Father Patrick said gently. "Monk Lin and Imam Asula have been sent visions instructing them where they need to go now. My impression of what I'm to do is still hazy, even though I am the father-seer for the group. But I promise you, I will not just up and leave," he said with emphasis, "without telling you. We've become too close for that."
The groups looked between Carlos and Father Patrick, and no one spoke until Carlos's shoulders relaxed and he nodded.
"All right. Cool."
Father Patrick's gaze was tender, his voice warm. "I will not abandon you. I promise."
Carlos nodded and moved into the aisle. He kept his head held high and his back very straight and faced the door. Damali watched the muscles in his jaw working, and for the first time since the hellish nightmare in Sydney concluded, she realized that she wasn't locked in on his thoughts. It wasn't that she was blocked; there was simply no connection. The awareness made her chest heavy. She wanted to reach out to him and hug him, but knew better than to do that just now.
Sensing the tension, Marlene faced the group. "Father Patrick, this is your convoy. How do we proceed?"
"We will board a knights of Templar jumbo jet. All identification as diplomats of the church have been processed and are in order. The plane has already passed security clearance. But that brings me to another very critical point."
All eyes were on the senior cleric as he paused, took a deep breath, and continued.
"No weapons."
"What!" Rider shouted. "We've got senior levels of Hell on our asses and no weapons?"
"Marlene has a sea salt and herbal compound, and we have a bottle of holy water for each of you. Before you get on the plane, we will go to a private hanger that has been outfitted for VIPs. You will shower, get the blood off of you, will scrub your bodies with Marlene's compound and rinse it off with holy water, and get out of these military fatigues. We will put on the white cotton embroidered dashikis, pantaloons, and crocheted knit caps of the faithful Ethiopian. You will travel as pilgrims led by clerics. You will be unarmed, and pose no international threat when we go through the heavy inspection in Manila and upon arrival in war-torn Ethiopia. The only weapons on board will be the Isis dagger and blades—which I will say have come from the Vatican… which, they did at one time, so technically, that is not a lie."
Rider opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. Carlos never even turned around.
"When we get to Algeria," Imam Asula said calmly, "there will be weapons stashed on the aircraft brought in on the food containers. You will be informed of where they are, as well as each given a new roll of clothes and toiletries. With the death of the Transylvanian, Europe is hot."
"Hey, ain't no friends in this game, brother," Rider said. "We smoked masters from Africa, Asia, Australia, and Europe; and our boy, Carlos, who was representing the U.S. and South America, also got smoked, so to speak. So why is Europe any hotter than Africa or Asia right now?" Rider's gaze settled on Asula after it briefly scanned the group.
"Europe had been the most recent epicenter of world power, with other forces diverted to the Middle East," Asula said in a patient tone. "That was the dark empire's most severe blow, and where they will most likely reconstitute quickly, just as they will have to redress the loss to the U.S. territory. Therefore, you may be able to travel in relative safety on the mother continent and Asia, for now, but Europe and the United States are in total chaos after this most effective strike."
"Why does that make sense, but not make me feel much better?" Rider said, although he nodded to signal that he would relent. "Makes me want to just go fishing in the Caribbean and call it a day."
SHE HAD been prepared to melt under the hot water in the shower. She nearly passed out from the relief as Marlene massaged grime out of her scalp. She had been prepared to just want to drop from exhaustion and terrible cramps. She had even been prepared to feel the lump of anxiety forming in her chest as she got her nerves ready to say good-bye to dear Monk Lin in only a few hours once they arrived in Manila.
However nothing could have prepared her to see Carlos step out of the men's room, freshly showered, wearing a stark white-on-white satin embroidered knee-length dashiki, flowing white pantaloons, his feet shod in handcrafted leather slip-on sandals, his hair wet and slicked back under a crocheted skullcap, his jaw set hard, his eyes hidden behind dark shades and staring at nothing.
It was that blank stare that did her in. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, the slight hurt so badly.
Damali let her gaze roam past her all-white-clad team, soaking in their regal beauty. They looked like a wedding party. She wanted to weep, but refused to do so. Rider made her smile, as he looked miserable in the skullcap and kept fussing under his breath about not having anywhere to stash a weapon.
So she forced her mind to cling to the mundane, the inane, anything but the fact that the person she wanted to wrap his arms around her and lie and tell her it would be all right, wasn't all right. Carlos was gone. When he'd return, she couldn't tell. All she could hope was he would soon.
And in that small sliver of grief that she allowed herself, she felt gypped, truly cheated by fate. The Light had brought him back, but hadn't brought him back whole. She wondered if other women had ever felt like she did now, hoping and sending up prayers that their man would safely come home from wherever… prison, the service, some job far, far away, only to get back his body but a very different mind. She knew the answer as soon as it had slid into her consciousness. Unfortunately, she was not alone. She just felt alone.
There was nothing to do now but wait. Wait to get on the flight to Manila. Wait to get from Manila to Addis Ababa, wait to travel from there to Dubai, and wait for the interminable flight from there to Khartoum, and from there, more waiting to skip through Cairo, Paris Orly, then Algiers, to wait some more. Then they would have to wait for time to be alone to talk, time to readjust to being in the same space, they'd have to wait for her body to heal before they could be as one, and wait to see if that was even possible any longer.
As she waited in the cool hangar, Damali studied the seed pearls and intricate white beadwork on the front of the new gown Marlene had given her. She fingered the small cowry shells that rimmed her flowing bell sleeves. She'd only briefly glimpsed herself in the mirror as Marlene had rewrapped her hair in a clean, new, starched white cotton fabric. It had been too painful to watch Marlene's attention to her, as though she were a bride getting ready for her big day. She'd never have a big day, and not with the one she'd always hoped to. It felt so impossible now, and there had been so much they'd both taken for granted. Now that was all gone.
Damali pushed herself up from the soft lounge chair and walked over to Father Patrick and his weary band of clerics. Without saying a word, she gave them each a long hug, even Monk Lin and Imam Asula, who technically weren't supposed to accept one from her. But as an adopted daughter, they seemed to make the allowance, returning her hug warmly, with deep affection embedded within the embrace.
"Thank you guys so much," she said to them quietly, "for arranging all of this, even down to the clothes, shower, and food."
Father Patrick held her more closely and stroked her back as he spoke. "The churches, mosques, synagogues, and temples are wealthy beyond your comprehension, daughter. If we couldn't provide for the one who has been sent to help us save the world, then what are we doing this for?" He held her back and smiled tenderly. "You've given up a lot and deserve much. That has always been my prayer."
The other clerics nodded as the eldest in the group released her.
"And you have lost much… the rabbi, the ninjas, the—"
Father Patrick held up his hand and placed two fingers against her lips. "They have simply transitioned to the new place of peace. We will not mourn the dead and gnash our teeth over the fallen, not while we have been gifted with life and have still much work to do."
Damali kissed his cheek and slipped away from their small circle, knowing that his words had a hidden message within it for her to heed. She soaked in his wisdom as she found her teammates sprawled on the lush furniture. "You guys ready to roll?"
He thought he had adequately braced himself for this new surreal journey, the reentry into human civilian life. But nothing could have made him ready to deal with Damali's regal presence. Only twenty-four hours ago she'd worn a white sheath for him at the vampire's Master's Cup ball. Now she was standing in a full beam of sunlight that washed her golden bronze, the light catching in pearls, creating a dazzling display of light work against her. She'd gone from vampress to Madonna in one shower change. Street urchin to light bearer. A queen of light.
She'd been his wife, too, for a very short and unsanctioned time, when he had been a master of the night. Now, she wasn't that. Just like he wasn't what he'd been. She had more important titles to bear than that of Councilman Rivera's wife. She was the Neteru. He simply had to get with that.
He couldn't look at her in all-white. Not now. The wound was still too fresh and bleeding inside erratically, irrationally, hemorrhaging him to the core. And the fact that she and her team carried enough VIP weight to have the Vatican send a jumbo jet, outfitted like Air Force One, was creating a deeper conflict within him than he cared to address.
So, he took his time climbing up the steep incline of steps behind Shabazz, Rider, and Big Mike, with Father Patrick at his back. He was cargo, potentially dangerous cargo, in their minds. Or, perhaps, it was just in his weary brain that he was any of those things. He wondered if they viewed him as a HAZMAT that might turn, or combust, or whatever. Nothing could be certain except that he wasn't a real member of their team, just their ward to be handled with care.
"Oh, my God!" Berkfield yelled, hopping off the gurney and brushing past the cardinal and doctors. "You, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes!"
Berkfield rushed Carlos and hugged him so hard that all Carlos could do was chuckle. Tears were streaming down Berkfield's face and he pulled Carlos in a circle, his gaze darting between Carlos and Damali.
"In broad freakin' daylight! Look at you! You kids made it!" Berkfield laughed and did a little jig, and then ran down the wide aisle slapping the whole team high-five.
"Yeah, in broad freaking daylight, it's good to see you, too, man," Rider said, laughing. "You cool?"
"Just get me to my wife and kids, then I'll be perfection," Berkfield said, still giddy. He shook his head, smoothing his palm over the skullcap that clung to his semibald scalp. "I hope they have a fully stocked bar on this contraption, because a man could surely use a shot of something serious after all this bullshit."
All the clerics on board blanched, but reserved comment.
"Word," Shabazz said, smiling and pounding Big Mike's fist.
"You check out the digs?" Rider said, glancing around. "Wood grains rich enough to make your eyes squint, leather seats that could accommodate an NBA player. I know they have liquor on board. I can smell it. The bar is thataway."
The members of the Guardian team laughed, releasing pent-up tension until there was not a dry eye on the plane. Finally Father Patrick corralled the group and brought order.
"We must first thank the Almighty that we are all here and whole," he said. "We must thank Cardinal Muldavey for his intercession to Rome to get us the supplies and transportation we required. We must thank the good doctors that have stood by Richard's side, and who will attend to Damali's needs… may their hands be steady, their minds keen. And we must pray for safe journeys, that our missions be accomplished without further tragedy or loss. We will pray for those who have fallen, may their souls rest in peace. And we will ask forgiveness for our own trespasses, and for the Almighty to allow these teams to rest securely, to eat well, and restore their fatigued souls. Amen."
A resounding amen rippled through the group. Rider glanced at the bar, and Shabazz and Big Mike tucked away smiles.
"I will not be on this flight, as I am stationed here. But I do understand there's been some concern about safety and the lack of weapons," the cardinal said cautiously, gripping the silver medical case he carried tighter.
"I'll be honest," Damali said, her voice filled with appreciation, but also worry. "There's a lot of heat in the system right now, and during the night while we're in the air, we need something beside the Isis to protect ourselves if we're attacked."
The cardinal nodded. "That's why we put you on this. There's a full video conference room that the pontiff uses for media relations just up that spiral staircase in the center of the plane, a dining room, full cabin staff, doctors… and this aircraft can be refueled in midair, should it be impossible to touch down until dawn. She also carries missiles and a machine-gun turret, as a precaution. The pilots, although clergy, are sharpshooters and armed—but we didn't want an accidental firefight to break out on board where a stray bullet or shoulder-propelled rocket might accidentally open a hole in the side of the aircraft and depressurize the flight at thirty thousand feet. You're carrying precious cargo, and the pontiff only had two of these in his fleet. We'd hate to lose one, and your team has a bit of a reputation for property damage."
"Well why the heck didn't you say so?" Rider said with a sigh. "NowI feel better, and amdefinitely ready for that drink."
Jose smiled, noting how Rider had intentionally checked his language for the cardinal. "I'm glad you think we're precious cargo, sir. If this is the pope's plane, then I guess we're cool."
The cardinal smiled tensely. "It is Mr. Berkfield who is our deep concern and we need to be sure he is guarded at your maximum capacity. He was insistent that he wanted to join the group, and frankly, Rome is worried. But, er, uh, we accept his decision with grace." The cardinal bowed and stood, his eyes on Richard Berkfield as the rest of the group gaped.
"Not the Neteru?" Marlene stammered.
"Not until we know that she is still the Neteru," the cardinal said carefully.
Silence filled the interior of the plane. The captain's voice over the intercom was the only thing that broke it.
"Your Excellency, we have been given permission by the tower to begin taxiing into position. I have to ask all crew members to begin preparing for takeoff, sir."
The cardinal nodded and an attendant near a stern intercom relayed the message that the senior cleric had heard the captain's warning. There were no long speeches, no explanations. The cardinal simply held out his ring for Father Patrick and Father Lopez to kiss, nodded, bid the teams a safe journey, and strode off the plane clutching the case.
Dumbfounded, the teams slowly found their seats and watched the crew engage the stair motor, seal the hatch, and prepare everyone for takeoff.
Damali heard the crew explain the emergency procedures. But she heard it with numb ears. What rang in her head were the cardinal's words, "… if she is still the Neteru." She felt a crew member check her seat belt. But she still felt the words cut to her core. "If she is still the Neteru." She felt the plane gain speed, its massive turbines whirring, then felt the huge aircraft lift off the ground, but she strangely felt like she was falling.
The moment the captain turned off the seat belt sign and told them they were free to move about the cabin, Rider was out of his chair like a shot. Big Mike was right behind him, quickly followed by Shabazz.
"Fucking-A. Team meeting," Rider said, holding up a new bottle of Jack Daniel's and four rocks glasses upside down on his fingers.
"You heard the man," Shabazz said, brandishing a bottle of Courvoisier. "This is some way serious shit."
Big Mike edged down the aisles with two armloads of glasses. "They got a conference room, let's conference."
"You're damned right," Father Patrick said, his tone strident. "Would you gentlemen happen to have found a bottle of Irish whiskey in there reserved for diplomats? If so, point me toward it. This is insane."
The team filed down the aisle, their disgruntled murmurs wafting through the cabin, and then snaked their way up the spiral staircase to the large conference room. Rider flipped on the light switch, shook his head at the opulent leather seats and highly polished oval table, while J.L. noted the communications technology with a gentle touch as he passed the elaborate, walnut-encased boards. Shabazz set the bottle he was carrying down hard, and scored the seal as the large group took their seats. Carlos touched the wood, remembering the boardroom table that had once been on his yacht.
"Okay, roll call the situation," Rider said, throwing back a shot of Jack Daniel's and making a grimace as it slid down his throat.
"Like I told y'all when we got on the small jet, Rome ain't taking no chances," Shabazz said, and handed off several glasses of dark brown liquor. "Right now, everybody seems cool and is standing in sunlight. But they don't know whether or not somebody will die in their sleep and wake up a problem. So, they're obviously sending us on this zigzag flight pattern for three days and nights as insurance. Feel me?"
Marlene took a neat sip from her glass and rolled the crystal between her palms. "Damali needs to be downstairs with the doctors. Let's keep our priorities in focus. Screw what they think. We know the deal."
"Thanks, Mar, and I'll go down there in a minute," Damali said, her tone patient as she glanced at Marlene. "But this is also a priority. What do they mean, if I'm still the Neteru?"
Father Patrick sighed. Shame and throttled rage turned his cheeks a light crimson color. He waited until Rider poured him a drink, then he took a quick jolt from his glass and set it down hard. "Berkfield has had the Blood of Christ in his veins, and I'm sure is impervious to a bite. The experience has changed him, and I'm sure they are interested in what powers he may now possess that can hold sway the battle we all wage."
"So, what's that got to do with D?" Big Mike asked, leaning forward as he polished off his drink and Rider poured him a second shot.
Father Lopez looked at Carlos. "They don't know if you'll turn." He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "They're not sure if you're a daywalker or not, and given your relationship to Damali, they know you'll take her and she'll ultimately go to Hell and back with you."
"If you haven't noticed," Carlos said evenly, anger roiling within him, "I haven't dropped fang since I got blasted by the damned Light."
"True dat," Shabazz said, no judgment in his tone, "but you haven't made it through the night, either, my brother. Daywalkers can eat regular food, right?"
Carlos nodded. The team was so still they seemed like they'd been frozen in marble.
"They can deal with the sun, right?" Shabazz pressed on. But his gaze slid to Damali as he delivered the balance of what he had to say. "And they can obviously sire with a fertile, willing, Neteru, correct?"
When Carlos didn't answer Shabazz, he nodded. "My point exactly.They don't know ." Shabazz rubbed his jaw and sipped his drink slowly, then made a face, and let his breath out hard. "Right now, all they can detect is that she's bleeding. Until she has a D&C, the clerical doctors won't know if they got it all, and I'm sure they're as concerned about that as we all are." He looked at Damali, his eyes filled with so much sadness that they glittered. "I hate to have to have said that in this room, like this, baby, but we have to just put it out there and deal."
Damali wrapped her arms around herself and pushed a tumbler to the center of the table. "Pour me a little Jack, huh, Rider? Something to take the edge off."
Rider nodded and complied. For a moment, silence again shrouded the team.
"You know, we've all been set up, right?" Carlos said, his tone calm, as he pushed his glass toward Shabazz to be filled.
Shabazz refilled Carlos's glass and the team watched him sip it. "You got knowledge, drop it."
"Shabazz is right. If anyone on this team were bitten, given the length of these nights and the crazy route they've put us on, we'll be in the air near turn time. If there's a female Neteru carrying a daywalker, and if I'm still one, the bet is I'll cancel a new male vamp's ass out. If Marlene turns, she's toast, because she'll instinctively rush my Neteru." He glanced at Berkfield. "The only one they're really worried about is you,hombre . But since you've had the sacred in you, you won't get bitten. They just wanna be sure the plane doesn't go down hard. Feel me?"
Carlos took a very slow sip of liquor, shook it off, and smiled. "Not bad, but still tastes weird without a little color."
"That's not funny, man," Rider said, pouring himself a new drink.
"If we've been sacrificed to a contained, suicide air battle," Imam Asula said, glancing at Monk Lin and then standing to reach for a glass at the center of the table, "then what harm is a drink?"
"So, you are sitting here calmly telling us that the entire clerical community expects this plane to have a last vampire outbreak on it? For Carlos to wipe out whichever of us drops fang, and then what?" J.L. shook his head and rubbed his face with both palms.
"I cannot go to Tibet now," Monk Lin said. "Not even to warn the others. I could poison the brotherhood if I am unclean."
"We sit here, as members of the Covenant, and can do nothing but wait for a fight to break out on this aircraft?" Father Lopez's voice held as much quiet rage as disbelief. "They,our church , would do that to us?"
"Yes," Father Patrick said flatly, and raised his glass. "For the cause. Haven't you attended your religious history classes, Padre?" The older man looked at Carlos and saluted him before downing his drink.
"And, in the battle, Guardians that may be slow to turn from a nick would try to separate me from her," Carlos said, not looking at Damali. "If I'm still what they think I am, without weapons on board, there is no chance in Hell any of you'd make it out alive. No weapons would fire; therefore, this plane would stay airborne while the carnage takes place. It would only be me and Damali and the pilots left standing—and Berkfield, if he didn't get in the way. Which he wouldn't. He isn't a Guardian and doesn't have that kill-vampires—or—die—trying instinct. But for me, after the crew, he might be a food source until I could find a safe place to put down a lair. I wouldn't do the pilots unless I was starving and out of fuel—unlikely given how many of you are on board. They know I wouldn't risk nicking Berkfield to fry my insides with the sacred blood that runs through his veins, no matter how hungry I was, and he'd be a good hostage, if I found myself surrounded by the Light. Besides, they must know that me getting her pregnant before council's schedule set off a civil war between me and council, so I wouldn't be anxious to jettison her in a tornado… which I'm not even sure vampires can do this high up. Never tried it."
"Sonofabitch!" Berkfield shouted and stood. "They've got my wife and kids behind the walls of the Vatican."
"Ironic, ain't it?" Carlos said without emotion. "But that's also the safest place for them."
Berkfield walked in a circle. Big Mike grabbed Rider's bottle and poured another drink.
"Logical. Chilling. With all the intrigue of old Rome," Rider said with disgust as his gaze went toward the windows. "The powerful all function the same." He looked at Carlos hard, but his tone held an air of acceptance and friendship. "Thanks for the heads-up. So, if we ain't gonna break out into a round of prayer, judging by the current mental condition of our clerical leaders here, then I vote for going out snot-slinging drunk."
"Much obliged,hombre ." Carlos tipped his drink in Rider's direction. "I have to admit that that's why I'm always a little skeptical about things that are too good to be true." He glanced around the sumptuous environs and sighed. "Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."
"Up until this moment," Rider said, studying his glass in the light, "I was a pretty ignorant and happy bastard."
"How much you wanna bet that the pilots are sealed behind a reinforced steel door?" Carlos added. "To further blow your bliss, think about this. Why would I make this plane drop by killing the pilots with my woman and child on board? Therefore, their real cargo, Berkfield, wouldn't die, either. But, then again," Carlos said with a sigh as he sipped his drink, "they've already extracted the sacred from Berkfield. One SOS transmission, and they could shoot this bitch out of the sky." He rubbed his jaw. "I don't know if I'm still a vampire or not, but I do know how people with a lot at stake think. Men of power who plan on winning would have war-gamed multiple options."
"We should be having this conversation in our own compound, back home, in our own war room," Shabazz said through his teeth. "Brotherman is too on-target, and what he's saying makes too much sense. I know they had to take precautions, but I hate being cannon fodder."
Father Patrick nodded and his angry gaze locked with Imam Asula, Monk Lin, and Father Lopez. "I hate that we're so expendable in this grand war game. Every time I lose one of my men, I ask myself, how high the cost… at what price?" He stood and began pacing. "I could take dying in the full heat of battle, getting attacked by the other side. But to know that our own set us up as cheap insurance… to know that they'd sent us down into the mines like canaries, and if we came out alive, there was no gas leak, or if we didn't, then the mine was polluted and they wouldn't drill for the natural resource Berkfield has in his veins. This is an outrage!"
Damali stood, her gaze steady on Marlene. "I'm going downstairs, so we can all be sure and then get a few hours sleep."
Carlos looked up at her but didn't move. "I wish you wouldn't go down there to let them hack on you. What if they accidentally—"
"Then nobody will die," she said bluntly. "This isn't your decision, or your body. It's mine." She looked at Shabazz. "Carlos stays in the conference room. You and Big Mike cover him. Take shifts. I'm not sacrificing the teams on a maybe. Get my Isis, use it if he drops fang."
She pushed her chair out of her way so hard that the mount in the floor creaked and the chair spun, slamming the back of it against the table. No one intervened. Marlene kept her gaze straight ahead as both women left the room. For a long time no one in the conference room spoke. No one picked up a glass, but each man stared into his drink lost in his own private thoughts.
"It wasn't supposed to go down like this," Jose finally said, his voice quiet as he looked toward the invisible wake Damali had left.
"Tell me about it," Carlos muttered.
NO ONE said a word as Shabazz slowly left the room with Father Patrick. They returned with the two Isis blades and a Bible. Both men slid their weapons toward the center of the large conference table, one shoving blades, one shoving the Word across the gleaming expanse.
"We all stay in the room together," Big Mike said. "We fought together as brothers, we go down together as brothers."
Jose nodded as he looked around the room. "If anybody turns, it'll probably be me and Lopez first." He let his breath out in resignation, his tone calm and yet still not defeated. "I coulda gotten nicked by one of the harpies in the storm while me and D was riding. I already have vamp in my DNA from way back, so hey. Whatcha gonna do?"
Padre Lopez agreed, his eyes blazing with determination. "Do what you have to do, okay? I already know that if Carlos turns, I'll stand with him."
Carlos cocked his head and studied the young priest. "Man, now is not the time to be abandoning your faith or casting idle threats—as much as I appreciate the loyalty. These old boys are seasoned vets, and they will do you if there's any question.Comprendo ?"
"Yeah," Father Lopez shot back. "I do understand. But do you?"
For the first time since he'd met the young priest, he really didn't understand. His facial expression must have shown it because Padre Lopez simply shook his head.
"School me, then," Carlos said, "since we have time."
"You're one of us," Father Patrick said in a tone so quiet and so deadly that every man at the table stood slowly and took a position of safety in the room. "I have already been down this road and I'm not going down it again."
"Steady, Father," Rider said, his voice filled with worry. "That's Irish whiskey talking, and not a good thing right through here." Rider glanced at the teams.
"Irish whiskey doesn't eclipse the truth, and you know what they say, a drunk man tells the truth, says what's really on his mind." Father Patrick stalked away, circling the room, his eyes slowly becoming wild with confusion. "The Covenant is made up of every major religion on the planet, and we have all done our share of harm." He pointed at Imam Asula. "Our so-called holy wars and jihads of the past and present have killed the innocent, am I wrong? If the rabbi were here, or the others from our team that have fallen, they would also have to hide their eyes in shame for what we all, men of faith, have done. Native people slaughtered for what they believed… men, women, and children. Tribe against tribe, nation against nation, monk against monk, army against army, since the beginning. Tell me I'm a liar."
Imam Asula lowered his eyes. "There has been much carnage worldwide in the name of the Almighty."
"Monks in Tibet have been slaughtered, just as others have," Monk Lin said in a quiet, firm voice. "Our brother speaks truth. There is no unblemished soil. The earth has been desecrated by man."
"And that was not to be!" Father Patrick bellowed. "Do you think that pleases Him, or makes Him sick enough to weep?" He snatched the Bible off the table and flipped through it, his finger landing on a passage. "How am I supposed to kill one of our brethren? If we are in the last days, and I know that we are, go to whatever book, but in this one, Revelations, chapter three, verses one through twenty-two, it says that John was instructed by the thing that had the seven spirits of God and the seven stars, it told him to write unto the angel of the church in Sardis, 'I know thy works, thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead. Be watchful and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die.'"Father Patrick looked up at the group. "It says it here! 'He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment, and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life.' There were few in Sardis who have not defiled their garments and they shall walk with Him in white." He looked up. "You need to read this and sit with it a while before you pick up a blade or weapon against another living soul."
Father Patrick began walking again, his gaze upon the team members as he spoke. "The Almighty has found egregious works withinall the churches, interpreted asall faiths, except the one of Philadelphia. Read it and weep! We have not been on our jobs. We have all built monuments, temples, created wars, killed, and colonized." He glanced around the immaculate, expensive room. "This plane cost how much? Should it not be cargoing food, supplies, refugees, the common man and woman… and what have we all done to women in the name of the Most High?"
Members of the Covenant fanned out as though bracing themselves to body slam Father Patrick if his passion escalated into a nervous breakdown. Their strategic stances made the tension in the room nearly crackle with airborne static current.
"Father," Padre Lopez said, his voice soothing and psychiatric, "please sit down. You've been under tremendous strain, as we all have. But as our group seer, your nervous system may have been impacted the most." The young cleric held out his hand. "I will pray with you, if you will just sit down and rest."
"Please summon calm and rest," Monk Lin said, his eyes sad as his voice echoed Father Lopez's plea.
"Rest! Rest? There is no rest as long as weapons to kill are before me! I can no more put a blade in the center of that young man's chest, or behead him, than I could my own son," Father Patrick said, his voice fracturing. "I have watched my own wife and son die already. I swore never again."
"You had a son, man?" Shabazz said, slowly nearing the cleric, attempting to help Father Lopez calm Father Patrick. "But you're a priest."
"I was aman , first." Father Patrick spat, going to the table and pouring another drink. He looked at Berkfield hard. "We're all men, flesh and blood,first . We all make mistakes, we all sin. That is what we have to understand and have compassion about. No one down here is God. Kiss a cardinal's ring? Dogma! If he were a man of true faith, he'd be on this plane. But he left us, taking blood that's worth gold in a silver case with him!"
"You said you had a wife and son," Berkfield said, his voice steady as his line of vision went around the group, receiving nods of quiet support as he attempted to intervene. "What happened, Father?"
Father Patrick sighed, the tears that had risen in his eyes now streaming down his cheeks in a disillusioned cascade. "My boy, probably like yours does, listened to loud music to drown out the images and voices in his head. Then he went to marijuana, then pills, then anything he could to drown out the noise until heroin killed him. The young people can see what we are blind to, hear what we refuse to listen to, know what we refuse to acknowledge," he said, pointing a finger at his temple. "Theyknow something is wrong and broken within all these systems. They sense the corruption. But we're losing them daily because we have given no direction… we've lost our own way, but they know enough not to follow us, yet the darkness swallows them whole. How can I kill a young man who lost his way, but found it?"
Father Patrick briefly closed his eyes as he tore at his hair with a clenched fist. "So talk to your son, before the other side does. An overdose of Valium and booze took my grieving wife. End of story."
"Whoa…" Berkfield said slowly. "Voices? You have to explain." He glanced around the room, gaining nods to keep the priest talking, lest the cleric trip over the edge of sanity.
"What is there to say?" Father Patrick said too calmly, tossing back a jigger of whiskey. "I was gifted, and it passed to my son. But I didn't know what it was and was afraid of it myself. So I hid in the military and jobs and ignored it, and I didn't spend the time with my child. Now he's gone. He was like Mike, an audiovoyant. That's why the music calmed him, spoke to him, made sense to him. My boy got the wrong vibrations, heard the wrong messages as he turned up his speakers. Michael here was lucky. He listened to music from an era that had not yet been lost and was led, not consumed."
Big Mike crossed the room and he gently placed a hand on the cleric's shoulder. "None of us knew what this was about, man. You've gotta let it go."
Father Patrick shrugged away and crossed the room again, making all eyes follow him. "My church has just sacrificed an entire crew of their best warriors! I fought for them, bled for them, lost family and men for them, and I am now expendable? And you say I have to let it go?" His hot gaze landed on Carlos. "And this young man who I have come to love as my own was brought back from the ashes, literally, before my very eyes, and now, because of some unknown twist of fate, I'm supposed to take his head off with the Isis? After overcoming the fact that he was a drug dealer—the same sort that put my own son in the ground from an overdose? I have to forget all that, have to now do the unthinkable after I already passed the test to love my enemy—a drug-dealing vampire, like a son?" He laughed. The sound of it was filled with a shrill hysteria. "Never happen. Not becausethe system says I should. I will only do that," he exclaimed, pointing a shaky finger upward, "if He tells me to. Not because menthink Carlos might be a threat. Never again."
Father Patrick smoothed the front of his robes, and looked down at the crest on his medallion. "It is time for the commoners to band together, to take direct instruction from On High, not middlemen strutting around in robes or professions of power. The final battle will be waged by those with nothing except faith to protect them. The meek shall inherit the earth. Our religions have been twisted by dogma, rhetoric, politics, greed, you name it." A bitter sob choked off Father Patrick's words. "I trusted them," he whispered, his eyes frantic as he looked up, holding Imam Asula's gaze. "You and I go way back, my dear brother, just like me and Lin. The triumvirate. We are the eldest living members of the Covenant, and have been friends for so long, so you know what pain is in my heart. Our religious orders have abandoned us, and have become numb to the principles of love and compassion. I cannot go on carrying their banner this way."
"We have not been abandoned," Imam Asula said, trying to restore reason to his fracturing Covenant brother. "This is simply a test. We should pray, now, I believe." He paused and began walking toward Father Patrick slowly.
"In stillness we find clarity. In friendship we find the threads of faith. My dear brother and loyal friend, please do not lose your hope," Monk Lin murmured, bowing toward Father Patrick.
"Don't kill that boy," Father Patrick whispered through a sob. "Not on my 'watch.' "
"Come my friend," Imam Asula said, opening his arms to offer an embrace as he walked toward Father Patrick. "There are times when the burden is too massive for one set of shoulders. Let me and Lin share your load. We will not raise arms unless absolutely necessary, but praying now is a must. Hold the mustard seed of faith, my friend. Come."
"That sounds like a good idea, dude," Rider said, making all eyes turn toward him as Imam Asula gathered Father Patrick in his arms and held him close. "With this turbulence kicking up, and all of us losing it, who knows what forces are at work making the teams wig. Weall need to pray."
Carlos watched the Isis blades vibrate on the table and worry wrapped itself around his spinal cord, strangling each disc in his back. Damali's was on a hospital table downstairs, and the doctors had to work with unsteady hands. That reality fought for dominance over the scene that was unfolding within the conference room.
Father Patrick's pain and disillusionment hurt him to his soul. He could identify with the old man's sense of being robbed. He'd known that violation all his life. He wanted to shore his mentor and friend up, give him something to cling to, and yet, what could he say at this moment? At the same time, turbulence was rocking the plane, making Damali's situation on the table precarious. If he didn't exist and could just die peacefully without struggle, to his way of thinking no one else would have to suffer.
"Listen," Carlos said after a long pause, his tone careful and measured. "If Damali is on the table downstairs and they are scraping the insides of her uterus out, one bad bump, one false move, and one of those doctors could puncture her womb. My baby girl could bleed to death trying to save the group from a midair nightmare. And it is fucking me up. So everybody chill, get focused, and if you know how to pray, pray for the doctor to have a steady hand."
Carlos raked his hands through his hair and began pacing. He was glad that no one drew away from him as though he had the plague. If he was still a vampire, it sure didn't feel like it. His power was gone; most of all what was missing in his arsenal was the power to make sure Damali was safe or to take away Father Patrick's anguish.
"Tell you what," Carlos said after a moment. "What if you just do me now, get her off the table, then when you touch down in Manila you can have her seen by doctors on steady ground and can incinerate my body. Fuck it. There's no more fight left in me, and in this condition of weakness, I don't want to live anyway. But more than anything, I don't want her bleeding to death up here and I don't want her made sterile for the rest of her life because of some bullshit I did to her."
Carlos snatched the short Isis blade from the table before Father Lopez could reach it, and slashed his palm. "See, red blood. It's not black. But I still don't care. I can't help you all. I don't have any special powers! I'm not a Guardian, not a vampire, notanything anymore. So it doesn't matter if you do me—I'm only slowing down the team, creating a variable that's weakening your faiths—and you're gonna need that to fight what's chasing you. So be men and just do it, and get your shit together and keep my woman safe from this till the end of time!"
Red blood bubbled from Carlos's clenched fist and splattered on the table, creating a crimson puddle. The teams looked at the growing pool, mesmerized by the strange iridescence it contained.
Berkfield went to Carlos's side, snatching off his skullcap.
"Everybody relax," Berkfield said. "We're all at the brink and need to just calm down." He took Carlos's wrist and held it firmly not allowing him to snatch it away.
"Aren't you afraid that I'll bite you?" Carlos said, his gaze hard as he stared at Berkfield.
"Cut the crap and the theatrics, Rivera," Berkfield said, wrapping the deep gash with the crocheted cap and applying pressure to it. "They said I'm immune. Who knows and who cares at this point? All I know is that if we're gonna survive, we have to all pull together. So, whatever beef we've got with the powers-that-be, we have to settle that later. We've got a young woman on the table who needs a steady hand and no turbulence." His gaze went to the seat-belt signs posted in the room, making the others note that the yellow caution lights had flicked on.
"My point, exactly," Carlos said, wincing as Berkfield squeezed the cut harder. It felt like his hand was on fire as Berkfield applied greater pressure. He could feel beads of sweat begin to form on his brow, and with his uninjured hand he wiped it, suddenly feeling so weak that he almost slumped against the man at his side.
"Steady, holmes," Jose said, hurrying to Carlos's other side and catching his weight to help him into a chair.
"He must have lost a lot of blood before," Berkfield said, huffing suddenly, his breaths coming in short pants as his face flushed and Father Patrick caught him before he went down.
"Oh, shit," Rider said, helping to sprawl both men in their chairs. "We just had a blood transfer up here, no Marlene to—"
"Look at his wound," Father Patrick said, turning Berkfield's hand over as his palm split, bubbled with blood, and then slowly sealed.
Carlos stared at his hand and removed the soaked skullcap from it, his gaze darting between his hand and Berkfield's. "I didn't do that. It came from him. I felt the current pass into my hand, not out of it."
"He's a healer," Imam Asula said in awe. "The sacred blood he carries heals."
"I don't understand," Berkfield croaked out and leaned forward as the entire group gathered around them.
Father Patrick took the Isis dagger and flipped the blade to the clean side that Carlos hadn't used. He made a small cut on the back of his hand. "Cover it," he commanded Berkfield, his gaze never leaving the oozing gash.
"Yo, hold up," Jose said. "Wash his hands first. Don't be crazy and mix Rivera's blood from the first healing with yours, Father. I ain't trying to be funny, but if you're up here experimenting, then you need to do it right and with precautions. Vampires heal themselves, too. We need to be sure that Berkfield did it, not Rivera."
Berkfield and Carlos nodded.
"No lie," Shabazz said, moving so Berkfield could stand. "Hurry up though."
With Big Mike at his side for assistance, Berkfield rushed to the bathroom and soaped and rinsed his hands, quickly returning to the conference room with Big Mike holding him up. All eyes were on Berkfield as he took Father Patrick's hand within his, closed his eyes, and waited. Soon a peaceful heat entered his palms and covered the old priest's wound.
They all watched Berkfield's hand open in a small cut just under the knuckles. The gash dripped in a slow line of blood onto the table, and then sealed. When he removed his hands from the cleric's, Father Patrick's wound also sealed.
"Well I'll just be damned," Rider whispered, staring at Berkfield. "Marlene's healings work differently… I can't explain it, but yours is… I don't know."
"Marlene's is internal, spiritual, she seals breaks in the aura and soul. Berkfield has the touch to seal broken flesh," Shabazz said, his eyes riveted to the healed wounds. "All I know is, we need this gift on our team if we're going into the Armageddon, brother. Coulda used you when we got our asses kicked in Hell, too."
"Word," Jose murmured, his line of vision going to Father Patrick.
"Like I said," Carlos murmured, still staring at his hand, "I'm no threat. I can't even heal myself or regenerate from a simple cut. Killing me oughta be easy at this point."
Father Lopez peered at the table, motioning to the pool of shimmering crimson blood that Carlos's wound had left. He poked at it with the tip of the long Isis and then set the short blade down slowly. All of them watched silently as Carlos's blood beaded up and formed small clusters of a reddish, mercury-like substance on the table.
"Then tell us why you have silver running through your veins," Father Lopez said in a reverent tone. "We don't know what your gift is yet,hombre , but you've obviously got one."
The walk through the cabin toward the sick bay felt like a death march. Each time the plane shifted from the turbulence, Damali could feel her pulse quicken. She could also feel Marlene's worried gaze boring into her back, trying to reach her, make her stop walking, and silently begging her to give up her mission to be done with it all.
"I'm not going to have a buncha drama kick off on this plane," Damali said without turning to address Marlene. "We both know this tension is about to blow, and innocent people could get hurt. There's only one way to handle this—just do the damned thing."
Although Marlene didn't verbally answer her, she knew her words had been accepted with silent, begrudging resignation. The palpable energy seal between her and Marlene receded as the older woman dropped her resistance and it became easier to move forward.
"Thank you," Damali said quietly as her hand touched the sickbay door.
"I don't agree, but I respect your decision," Marlene said as they entered the state-of-the-art medical room. Marlene stared at the doctors. "Be very careful. She's also precious cargo, if to no one else, she is to me."
The two doctors nodded and handed Damali a white hospital gown, then pulled the drape.
"Please put this on," one doctor said. "Open in the back, put the tissue sheet across your lap and place your feet in the stirrups, and then we'll begin."
"Don't worry, Ms. Stone," the lead doctor assured Marlene. "We have state-of-the-art heart equipment on board. Our pontiff and many of his ambassadors are elderly and suffer from chronic health conditions. Therefore, our medical room is well equipped to handle any emergency that should arise."
Damali and Marlene shared a glance as both women nodded, unconvinced, but prepared to do what was necessary. She stared at the head doctor. He hadn't even told her his name. His eyes were cold blue. He seemed near sixty, if a day, and the fact that he couldn't look her in the eye didn't inspire her confidence. The younger one at his side looked like an older version of Dan, and seemed just as skittish. Heaven make this quick. She already didn't like who was going to do the medical job.
"I would feel better," Marlene said with a weary sigh, "if there wasn't so much turbulence."
"We'll strap her to the table," the assisting doctor assured Marlene. "Once we apply a local anesthesia, she shouldn't experience too much discomfort."
Damali handed her clothes to Marlene and continued to talk to the doctors who'd given her privacy on the other side of the drape. She didn't care who they were or what they thought, so long as they hurried up and did what needed to be done. "I took a couple of shots of Jack Daniels, though."
Both women stopped moving as the doctors never replied.
Damali pulled the drape open and slowly pushed herself to the edge of the table, noting the sharp instruments on the tray beyond her head. Her gaze went to what appeared to be a large plastic sump pump with a clear hose attached to it, and she studied the masked men who had scrubbed their hands and covered them with a sheath of latex.
"We're hesitant to give you anesthesia with liquor in your system," the head doctor said, glancing at Marlene as his assistant secured the table harness over Damali's arms, torso, and opened thighs. He took great care to wrap her calves and ankles in nylon fabric belts to keep her legs from jerking during the procedure.
"I don't need it," Damali said, her throat suddenly dry as she continued to stare at the pump container.
"Baby, when they start working just stare at the ceiling. Don't concentrate on the sound," Marlene murmured as she stroked Damali's hair.
Tears filled her eyes and she focused on the ceiling. "Just do it."
The doctors nodded and turned on the pump.
"Oh, great Isis have mercy," Marlene whispered, turning her face away as a doctor neared Damali. "Don't let them do this to you, baby." Marlene squeezed Damali's hand. "You can change your mind—"
Damali and Marlene froze as a gun barrel suddenly dug into Marlene's temple, the distinctive click of a hammer being cocked drowning out the sound of the pump.
"We have express orders to remove the daywalker and destroy it. Please, good woman, do not interfere with the business at hand."
The gun was pressed against Marlene's temple so hard that she dared not turn.
"Put the gun away," Damali whispered. "If turbulence hits, it could accidentally go off, killing her for no reason. She won't resist. We know we have to do this."
The head doctor eased the gun away from Marlene's head, and put the safety back on. He placed it on the side counter and sighed. "I'm sorry that I had to do that. But you have to understand that we cannot allow sentiment to overshadow reason." The doctor's eyes briefly searched Marlene's for forgiveness, and then he looked down at Damali. "Maybe this would be easier for all of us if she were to wait outside?"
Damali shook her head no, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes, down the sides of her face, and into her hair as she continued to stare at the bright light in the ceiling. "If you make her leave, I won't be able to go through this… and if I start screaming, I have no idea what the father will do."
Damali looked to Marlene for reassurance and to let her know it would be all right, but Marlene's gaze was fixated on the equipment, not on her or the gun, where it should have logically been. She could feel Marlene silently dry heave as panic glittered in the older woman's eyes. The fatigue, her condition, everything must have interfered with her second sight. Damali's grip on Marlene's hand tightened as a threat slowly registered within her.
Without letting go of Damali's hand, Marlene's eyes narrowed on the doctors. "It's so clear now. You don't intend to just clean her out, you intend to render her sterile so she can never—"
A sharp slap cut off Marlene's words, making her fall backward. Damali tried to rise off the table, but the harnesses held her tight.
"Tranquilize the mother-seer now," the head doctor shouted, "before the demon comes in here and stops what must be!"
"No!" Damali yelled, but became instantly quiet when Marlene held up her hands.
"I call the goddesses of Kemet! The justice of Ma'at. The ancient ones enshrined in the purple light of protection! I call the ancestral warriors, the ones who guard the Neteru. Take your child and shelter her now from these beasts posing as men!" Before the doctors could reach her or the gun, Marlene clapped three times, and an arc of purple electricity covered Damali at the same time the plane was slammed by heavy turbulence.
The two doctors were knocked off their feet, but Marlene remained steadfast, leaning against the wall as her hands crackled and arced with blue-white current, her fingertips singeing the ceiling with the purple bolts of divine energies she summoned. As the fallen men struggled to stand, Marlene lowered one flat palm, sending a purple charge that rendered them immobile as she spoke. She closed her eyes, outstretched her other hand in Damali's direction, her concentration so focused that the invisible third eye in the center of her forehead glowed violet.
"I have never called you to open the door. This one urgent request as taught in theTemt Tchass I have guarded; please heed. From the pyramids of Menkaure, Khafre, and Khufu at Giza, to the banks of the Nile in Nubia open the portal, pave the path to the table of Eve, to the place of Light where Khepre, Re, and Amen cycle, oh great Queen Aset, mother of Kemet, take your daughter through the door!"
"Stop the witch!" the head doctor yelled, as Damali's straps broke and another thunderous crash hit the plane.
As quickly as possible Damali sat up, electricity covering her, molding to her body and making the entire surface of her skin shimmer in a wash of blue-violet light. The purple and white light in the ceiling became blinding and pulled at her, forcing her arms to open and then yield upward.
"Flee, child, to the place beyond the drinking gourd!" Marlene yelled, and clapped three times, and shouted, "Ashe!"
In an arc of light that wobbled and then opened to a wide, steady beam at the top of her head, Damali was gone.
The conference-room discussion ground to a halt as an eerie violet charge crept over the edges of the polished table, covered both Isis blades, broadened to a wide arc of light around the sword and dagger, and folded the weapons away into nothingness. Carlos yelled Damali's name.
"YOU PICK up a signal yet, baby?" Yonnie murmured, daring to stroke Tara's arm as he lay beside her.
"No," she said quietly, her eyes wide open in the darkness of the lair.
"Thanks for the feed and the save."
"Don't mention it," she said, her tone far off. "You can't pick up anything, either?"
"No. That's what worries me." He stood and stretched, even though he knew it was still daylight beyond the cement walls that surrounded them. The heat was oppressive and the hallowed-earth encasement around the basement vault made it difficult to breathe. "How much stock do we have?"
"Enough to last about a week. Then we'll have to hunt."
He walked over to the small refrigerator. "I don't think I can do a week trapped down here drinking cold deer blood."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
"I could ingest it and offer a vein transfer," Tara said quietly.
"From the jugular?"
"Be serious. From my wrist."
He smiled. The thought, either way, was appealing. "You're not afraid I'll get greedy and flat-line you?"
"Then how would you get out of here, since only I know how to get past the barriers?"
He chuckled. "True, but when we go hunting, maybe—"
"No humans," she said firmly, now standing to cross the room. "Do that, and neither you nor I will be able to get back into this lair. That's how it works."
"That's some real fucked-up rules, baby."
"I didn't make them, but for the last twenty or so years, that's how it's been."
"So, tell me, for real, you've never broken a human vein? Never made a live kill?"
She didn't immediately answer. "I've taken a vein, but never one that had after-a-hunt adrenaline coursing through it."
"Then you've never—"
"Shut up," she snapped. "I don't want to hear about it, think about it, or even consider—"
"Why? Because you might start fantasizing about it?"
"No, because it's cruel." She paced to the far side of the room. "I know you're a master, but I will not stay in here listening to your seduction crap. Either shut the hell up or get out and make it on your own."
"Okay, okay. Chill," he said, chuckling, coming nearer to her. "My bad."
"Yes. Your bad," she said, trying to ignore his hands as they gently caressed her arms.
"Since you were made, you never got with one of our kind again?"
She shook her head. "I have someone. I've told you that."
"But he's human."
"Yes, he's human and a man with a good heart."
"But he's human."
"And I love him."
Yonnie brushed her ear with the tip of his nose. "But… he's human."
"Yes."
"And, I'm a master."
"Yes."
He stroked the side of her cheek, and ran the pad of his thumb over her mouth, thoroughly pleased when her lowered fang nicked his flesh. "Damn, whoever made you made you righteous, baby."
"Shut up."
"A master ever call you to his lair before… just you, a fourth-generation female, for a one-on-one?"
"No, and it doesn't matter."
His hands trailed down her arms, again creating a slight shudder within her. "You sure?"
"Completely."
He molded his body against her rigid back. "Just a sip, one nick. What could it hurt? He'll never know. He's human and can't see the marker."
"But I'll know," she said, swallowing hard. "I wouldn't be able to live with that."
"But could you exist with that?" he murmured and waited, feeling her resistance dissolving under his hold. "Twenty-something years and never going all the way? We're vampires?" he said softly. "Masters need it every night and once you go there, you'll understand."
"I can't miss what I've never experienced." She shrugged out of his hold and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked at him hard, her eyes blazing in the darkness. "I will not desecrate his house! He built it for me. This is our home. So stop it."
"Your eyes are glowing red," Yonnie whispered, his voice like silk. "You really haven't ever been with a master, have you?"
She looked away, not able to stare at the glowing red orbs that confronted her.
"One deep plunge in the throat, and I guarantee you won't care whose house this is."
"I said stop it, or get out."
"You're trembling where you stand, girl. Why are you fighting your nature like this?"
She didn't answer. She simply went to the refrigerator.
"I thought we were supposed to be rationing." He chuckled and watched her open a bottle and slam the refrigerator door. "That is so cold." He smiled as he saw her take a shaky sip and close her eyes. He crossed the room and gently took the bottle from her hand. "Let me warm that up for you," he whispered, taking a generous swig from the bottle and opening the top button of his shirt to expose his throat. "Just lose the silver collar first."
For a moment, she stared at his jugular, then at the crimson dampness on his full, lush mouth, then looked away. "No, thank you. We'd better rest and regenerate."
"How old is he now? Almost forty-five, fifty human years?"
She nodded and walked away, leaving Yonnie the bottle. "Yes."
"And we may very well be the last of our kind in this territory, no other masters on the planet so far… and Carlos missing."
"What's your point?"
Yonnie polished off the bottle and cast it to the floor, shattering it. "He's almost fifty, I just ate, you've never been where I can take you—"
"Please stop," she said quietly, the request coming out as a plea. "You know what happened to me, and how I was made."
He nodded and went to the bed, circling her once, but finally lying down. He put an arm over his forehead and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah, I do," he said quietly. "You didn't deserve that." He felt her telepathically probe him for answers, and opened up to allow her to see how he was made.
"You didn't deserve that, either," she said. "But I'm glad Carlos tried to make it as right as he could."
"Yeah. I owe him and therefore his posse, big time, I suppose." It hadn't helped that he could sense that she had tears in her eyes. The fact that she cared was not in his original plan. "It's safe to lie down and rest," he said. "I ain't gonna bother you."
When she didn't move, he turned his head to stare at her. "For real. I'm cool. I'm not gonna keep messing with you. I know it's in my nature, but even I have—"
Her eyes had gone to a deep crimson, stopping his words.
"I should have never locked into your thoughts. I've never locked with a master before. Give me a minute."
She turned away and he could hear her stop breathing for a moment as she fingered her silver necklace.
"When's the last time you visited him?" Yonnie pushed himself up to lean on his elbow as he studied her.
"A year ago."
For a long while, neither spoke.
"I love him. So don't do that again. Please."
Yonnie reclined slowly and nodded, closing his eyes, trying to get her lavender scent out of his mind. "It works both ways, you know. And finding out how genuine you are wasn't something I expected, either. Not from a female vamp. Shit."
"I'm sorry."
"Let it go. We'll lay low until the blood runs out and the territory cools off, then we'll find Carlos and his human squad."
"Thank you," she said, but still didn't rejoin him in bed. "The burn will dissipate in a little while, right?"
He couldn't immediately answer her. "No," he finally murmured. "It'll get worse before it gets better."
"I'm not going to be unfaithful. Not after all these years."
"I'm not going to attack you, if that's what you're worried about." Yonnie let his breath out hard, summoning a master's discipline.
"That's not what I'm worried about," she said quietly, edging toward the bed.
"Baby, lie down and go to sleep. We do this one hour at a time."
She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him.
"A week in here like this will be a long time." He looked at her and stroked her arm.
For a while she didn't answer. "Yes. I know."
DAMALI FELT like she was flying, the images whirled by her so fast. Her skin crackled with electricity, and she gasped as she landed on her feet with a thud. She crouched down, instantly on guard, and glanced around herself. She patted her side. Shit. Her blade was back on the plane.
The question was, where was she and how did she get here?
It was clearly an industrial area with a river to the south. In front of her was a wide street, but no traffic. It was dark. Not a good thing without a blade. Damali glanced down at herself. At least she was dressed for the occasion. Black leather pants, black halter top, and steel-toe black boots. Perfect for kicking vamp or demon ass. Did Marlene do all of that, too? Deep.
She walked forward slowly and cautiously, staying low. Had to be the point in the night when the clubs closed and sidewalks rolled up and partygoers went home. It was the hunting hour.
Restaurant lights behind her on the long stretch of riverfront were dim. Massive buildings were black, nary a light in a window. A bridge loomed in the distance; its architecture seeming like an eerie blue dinosaur skeleton. The hair stood up on her arms. No, Marlene wouldn't have sent herhere to hide.
A neon club marquis read CLUB EGYPT. Damali stopped walking and folded her arms over her chest. She stared at the sign, noticing the hieroglyphics that had been spray-painted on the sand-colored exterior of the building.
She slowly unfolded her arms. She saw movement in the doorway of the club, and she forced her body to stay loose and ready. She narrowed her eyes. She scanned the area again quickly and noticed a street sign that read DELAWARE AVENUE. She was in Philly then.
"Fuck it," she muttered, crossing the wide boulevard and walking toward the club with purpose. Standing on a corner wringing her hands wasn't going to get her any answers.
When she got to the door, a huge bouncer stopped her. "ID?"
Damali looked him up and down. He was a big burly brother who looked like he was straight out of the motherland. His gleaming blue-black complexion blended almost seamlessly into his black muscle shirt and jeans.
Damali put a hand on his broad chest. "Now you know you need to stop playing." Then she smiled.
He stared down at her, his face blank, his eyes icy. Damali gave him a slow smile and then licked her lips. The ice cracked. He moved his mountainous girth out of the doorway and offered her a wink laced with appreciation. Damali blew him a kiss as she hurried past him.
Once inside, she squinted through the purple, hazy clouds of smoke. Such as it was, the interior seemed fairly normal. She glanced around. The place was half filled. The music was thumping. The DJ was all right. People were free-styling on the wide, polished wood dance floor. The bars were loaded. People were seated at round tables scattered throughout or lounging stylishly on purple and black minisofas. She couldn't sense anything pretenatural.
Damali carefully made her way to the bar. She slid onto a tall brass-and-leather stool as she continued to scan the club. When the female bartender came toward her, she remembered she was broke. Damali smiled. There were plenty enough brothers sipping at the rail to make that a nonissue. But if they were offering drinks with a shot of color, she wouldn't be drinking anyway.
Damali studied the tall, older woman as she walked over to her. Girlfriend looked good. She had on a metallic gold bustier that presented her double-Ds like trophies. A gold-filigreed waist chain that moved ever so slightly above her tight, gold lame pants as she walked accentuated her flat belly. Her complexion was of burnt cinnamon, but her eyes were a smoldering dark brown, matching the color of her shoulder-length braids. A gold serpent arm bracelet circled her sleekly muscular upper arm. She looked like she was in her early thirties. Her walk was so smooth, she almost looked like she was moving in slow motion Damali had to shake her head to break the hypnotic rhythm. Had to be vamp.
"What you having tonight?" the bartender asked with a smile.
Damali studied her. "What are you serving that's top shelf?"
The bartender's smile widened. "Sis, I don't roll like that. I've got a man."
Damali sat back. "Well, shit, so do I."
"Don't we all?" a deep, sexy female voice close to her ear said. Damali quickly pivoted on the stool, ready to do battle. "But if you're angling for a free drink, just name your poison."
"First you need to back up off me," Damali said slowly, watching the very tall Native American-looking woman slide onto the barstool next to her. She tossed her long French braid over her shoulder and sighed. Damali didn't like the odds, and they were getting worse. She could feel the females moving in on her quickly and quietly as the men slid away, making room for them.
One by one the chairs filled in around her. She glanced at the bartender, then the tall, older woman who was a fly-ass fifty, serving royal blue peacock and black stilettos.
"Pour this child a Jack Daniels," the woman beside her said. "My tab."
"This ain't no bargain," Damali said, accepting the drink with her eyes and not touching it. Another older sister had slid into a chair on her right. Her dark face seemed vaguely familiar, and her intense black eyes had that same knowing quality the others possessed.
She flipped her hand to dismiss Damali's open assessment. Sister was rockin' so much ice that the diamonds were practically blinding. Pure confidence radiated from her, almost like a heat wave. She was serving red stilettos that bordered on being "come fuck me" pumps. The red pants suit, killer. Everything about her aura demanded respect, even if she might have to kill her.
Damali raised her glass to them. Her gaze surveyed what she quickly counted as six or seven women. All older. All of varying hues and dressed to the nines, so confident and cocky that they hadn't even worn good battle shoes… All of them, obviously, professional assassins who could be patient and wait to do their hits. "Well, I have to hand it to you, ladies. You sure know how to try to take a sister out in style."
The one in red chuckled and sipped her martini slowly. "Too dramatic." She looked down the bar at the others. "See what man trouble will do? Make you simple."
Tension coiled around Damali's spine. Fury ate at her tender insides. She picked up her glass and poured it slowly into the woman's lap. "Yeah. It'll do that. So, let's get this party started."
She'd expected the instant lunge, and had mentally placed her reach to the bottles and barstools. She'd expected the cool sister to jump up. At least one of her girls should have flinched. But instead she just looked down at the stain and the liquor running down her shapely leg, and dabbed it with a finger, tasted it, made a face, and shook her head.
"See, that's youth," she said in an even tone. "You don't do that tacky mess in public. You take it to the ladies' room."
Damali was off her stool. "Any time."
"Now would be good," the bartender said, clearing it with one lithe move to stand before Damali with a sly smile. "Shall we?"
"It's your house," Damali said through her teeth. "You lead the way."
Martini glasses, champagne flutes, and rock glasses were set down calmly in unison as the women flanking the leader stood.
"Baby girl, do you have any idea who you're up against?"
Damali stepped back farther, one hand on her hip, the other pointing out her complaint. "No, bitch, do you?"
It was the first time she saw a flicker of rage cross their faces. The woman in red cocked her head to the side. "What did you call me?"
Damali wasn't sure if it was the tone of her voice or the level of shock held within it, but something very strange gave her pause. Within seconds the tall, older sister was up in her face.
"Take your ass to the bathroom before I embarrass you out here in public."
What? Damali looked at her like she was crazy. The dance floor had cleared. Several bouncers had come into the open area, but didn't move. The woman snapped her arm out and pointed hard in the direction of the back of the club. Damali balled up her fist, preparing to sucker-punch her. But then the woman did something Damali never expected. She simply turned on her heels and strutted forward, her head high with her shoulders back.
Curiosity was jacking with Damali's senses. Had all the female vampires just calmly walked to the ladies' room, or was she hallucinating? There was a silent dignity about them that didn't fit. Not to mention, they should have all been throwing down, right through here. Not marching toward the bathroom like offended church ladies. If they hadn't attacked, that meant one thing—they needed information. But what?
As she cautiously followed their regal promenade, Damali worked the puzzle in her head. Carlos had to be part of this. Maybe they were really worried about where their esteemed councilman had gone. Yeah… that had to be it.
The sister in red swung open the heavy door, almost yanking it from its hinges and making it slam against the wall. Bright fluorescent light greeted them, Damali entering the tight confines last. She made a quick assessment. No windows. All-white metal stalls and tile with pink accent borders. The pink was disorienting. In a vamp joint? Then she stopped as they stood before a huge mirror and cast a reflection, just like she did.
She opened her mouth and slowly closed it.
"That's right, damn it!" the woman in red said. "You'd better get a grip and know who you're talking to. I'll have you know I've run empires before you were even thought of, sister!"
"Chica, this is bad," another said, shaking her head. "We gonna have to kick your ass now, for real."
"Aw, ladies," another tall beauty said. "You know that's not why we brought her here."
The bartender stepped forward and offered her a fist pound. "We've got bigger problems."
"All right, Eve," the sister in red said, giving Damali a hard glare.
"This is your territory. School her fast before I snatch a bone out of her narrow behind."
Damali's attention went from one woman to the next. Did one of them call the sister serving drinks Eve?
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Long story, baby. But hey, you know how this goes. You find Mr. Right, fall in love, get your head twisted around by some other fine bastard, then have issues. Feel me?"
Damali couldn't stop gaping. Then she realized one by one, that each woman was marked by a symbol she hadn't noticed before. Their tattoos were made of silvery light, and she couldn't take her eyes off of them.
"Take a walk with us," the one pointed out as Eve said, moving toward the mirror. "You game for some insight?"
From some strange place in her soul, Damali found her head nodding in the affirmative. She came nearer to the woman than was probably advisable, as Eve's hands touched the mirror and melted into it like it was water. "We had to strip your blade from you, hon, until you could learn to use it right, because what's coming for you—you can't fight like you just did out there. The Sankofa burned off for the same reason."
The others nodded.
"You will get your ass beat down if you go after her like you just did, hear?" the woman in red said, obviously still salty about her dress. "Lilith will fuck you up good, if you don't watch your back, and no man is worth all that."
Damali's eyes were so wide that she couldn't blink. Then someone behind her pushed her and she was alone in a vast, stone enclosure.
Angry as a wet hen, she fell forward into a place that had sepiahued marble walls. The color surrounded her and she was on the landing of a massive staircase. Towering oblong windows allowed in the breaking dawn, and an infant's coo made her look up to the top of the next landing.
Instinct propelled her forward. Bounding up the wide, slippery steps, she took them two at a time, and then stopped as she neared the child and saw the crosscut on its finger. Immediate panic tore through her as she recognized the tiny brown infant that had big, frightened eyes. It was the baby from the Australian master's castle.
Damali began backing up as the baby slowly grew, aged, and became a weathered old man with snow-white hair. He smiled a black, toothless grin, his leathery face dotted with white paint, making her remember the circle of Aborigines. He pointed to his chest to keep her from running away, showing her the markings of the sixth seal that he guarded. The white matrix of paint on his bare chest glowed golden for a moment, and then he flung a sash of white cloth from his waist over it, making it return to normal, and a walking stick appeared in his hand.
He nodded and then bowed, motioning to her with his stick to follow him. Although he didn't wait as he proceeded, occasionally he glanced over his shoulder still smiling, almost mocking Damali for being wary and keeping her distance.
Once she reached the top of the stairs he pointed with the stick to a wide hallway. A glasslike wash of violet light spilled across the marble. Impatient, he clicked the stick on the ground three times and stomped his rusty bare feet hard, waving her forward, and then disappeared.
She keened all her senses, straining to use her third eye, to feel vibrations, to hear, all to no avail. Where were they?
She began walking forward, feeling amazingly light as each footfall lifted her slightly off the floor. Soon the glasslike purple rays covered her as she entered its full beam, and instantly the mere intent of moving forward rushed her to an open atrium filled with swirling golden-white light and women's voices.
Damali squinted as a large opalescent oval table came into view, and seated before her were the seven women. Four were sitting on one side, three on the other of an empty, high, Kemetian throne carved in alabaster, with a falcon-winged sun disc bearing the Ankh symbol of fertility within it. She recognized Nzinga instantly this time. The red siren's getup had completely thrown her off. Then she saw the Amazon sitting to her right, and dropped to one knee. She'd failed the ultimate test. Oh, dear God.
She'd been summoned to the council of Neterus! Queens of old, beyond the chamber of spirits called the holy of holies within the pyramids. Maybe she was dead and this was judgment day.
"Queen mothers," Damali murmured, without looking up. "You have summoned me? I, uh, didn't recognize you, at first, and—"
"You must approach all sisters with respect. It would have avoided any confusion. That's the problem today. Always carry yourself in a dignified manner, no matter the circumstances. No one has respect." The elder queen whom Damali had offended folded her arms over her ample breasts and thrust her chin up.
"Queen daughter, arise. Your mother-seer summoned us. We had a need to intervene," the Amazon said more calmly.
Damali slowly stood, awed at the majestic women before her. Each wore a brilliant, shimmering hue of the chakra system, from the deepest jewel ruby to striking amethyst. The Amazon, the newest addition to the council, was swathed in glowing novice white, and like the others, she bore a living, silvery Adinkra symbol on her body. Hers was an Akoben, a war horn, placed on her individualized power center—her forearm; her blade arm.
Damali was speechless as she looked at the flawless beauty of the eldest woman whom she now instantly knew to be Eve. Her hair was a tangle of thick African braids scooped up in a complex cone, her headdress a crown of woven lotus blossoms. Her dress was a glasslike sheath of glistening rubies, her dark almond-shaped eyes smoldered with patience and wisdom and truth. She turned slowly to walk around the table and be seated, allowing Damali to glimpse the backless gown so she'd understand that she was also anointed with a Sankofa tattoo, one placed just at the base of her spine like Damali's. However, Eve's mark was a scrolling heart variation of the same symbol. She offered Damali a discreet wink. Her high cheekbones and lush mouth seemed to barely conceal a wry smile as she cocked her head and folded her hands before her at the table.
"I have walked a mile in your footfalls, dear one," Eve said calmly. "But you must—"
"Not be foolish!" Nzinga said, cutting Eve off, the sleeves of her royal violet gown shimmering as her arms swept before her. "She was my protege, a warrior. This is unacceptable!" Nzinga thrust her chin upward, her proud neck stretching as the light from the wide windows behind the table glinted off her unblemished ebony skin. "We don't have time for this."
Pure panic riddled Damali as her gaze swept the powerful females before her. Their silvery symbols painted new realities in her mind; Eve had a heart Sankofa anointed over her base, primal energy chakra; it's meaning clear—you can always undo your mistakes; the Amazon had a war horn, symbolizing a call to arms. At the base of Nzinga's neck, just before her spine began, was what appeared to be a double-bladed battleaxe;Akoko nan tiaba na enkum ha … the hen treads upon its chicks but does not kill them. Damali took heart in the symbol. Maybe she'd get beat down today, but not officially killed.
"Girl, listen," Eve finally said, breaking into current vernacular to try to ease Damali's humiliation. "You know how this thing goes. She's supposed to cuss out and beat down anything that comes for her or her family. The chile is supposed to go down swinging. Now, I personally give her points for courage, because she came in that joint buck-wild and ready to just do the damned thing."
"See, that's just the thing, Eve. You always liked living on the edge." Nzinga gave her a testy smile.
Eve stroked her snake armband. "It has had its merits as well as its drawbacks, but please don't act like you can't go there, 'Zinga."
"Don't get in my business," Nzinga warned with a smile. "We can turn this table over up in here, if you start."
Eve chuckled. "I know. Your secrets are safe with me, sister."
"She fought to reclaim me," the Amazon said, attempting to come to Damali's defense and defuse the brewing quarrel amongst the queens.
"Loyalty is an asset," Nefertiti contended. "I will forgive the dress fiasco. But do understand if it happens again, I will cut out your heart, little sis. That was Egyptian linen. 'Zinga didn't deserve that." But her smile toward Damali was kind, and her gorgeous eyes contained so much mirth that no threat seemed imminent. She straightened her bronze midriff-baring gown and held Damali in a tender stare as her silvery symbol gleamed around her navel. "And you were ready to fight, while in so much physical and emotional pain. You've passed my test, baby. We just want you to be shrewd, is all."
Both women nodded, and Damali could almost hear her symbol whisper into her womb;Ntesie matemasie; I have heard it and kept it—the symbol of wisdom and knowledge linked them for a moment.
"She is young, like I was," a stunning blonde said, and her brilliant yellow gown swished as she stood. Her blue eyes held compassion as she peered at Damali. "My own people burned me at the stake for the visions I had, yet I never had the chance to live, to love, to learn to care so deeply. To love. That cannot be a crime."
Damali could only stare at the four hearts that made a floral pattern in the center of Joan's forehead where her third eye was. It all made so much sense that Damali wanted to weep. She could clearly see each of their symbols now. Yes,Nyame nwu na mawu; if God dies, then I may die, thus perpetual existence.
"Her heart is of ours," a tall Native American queen said, her jewel-green headdress sparkling as she spoke. The eagle feathers in it swayed hypnotically as Damali watched the silveryAya tattoo on the muscled part of her shoulder pulse. It was the symbol of the fern, but also the mark of defiance—simply stated, I am not afraid of you. "I remember trying to blend two worlds, standing as a bridge between conquerors and my people for the sake of peace… and for the sake of love. We shall not judge her harshly at this council. I, too, stand with our Amazon sister on this measure."
"But Nzinga is wise and has governed this council well," a queen with an elaborate Asian headdress said, the deep tangerine of her dress a startling contrast to the soft eloquence her voice held. "Before all things, she is a Neteru, and must always have the discipline as her foremost concern."
She bore the interlocking loops of two halves joined to make one, a symbol of hope, just over her heart, her symbol sending a chime resonance to Damali's ears—Birbi wo sow. Nyame birbi wo soro na ma embeka mensa;God there is something in the heavens, let it reach me. Damali almost covered her mouth to hold back a pending sob… the disrespect she'd shown, not to mention the craziness she'd gone through, and her own Sankofa had peeled away in Marlene's white bath when she'd temporarily turned into a vamp. Shame forced her to study the floor.
"Let her speak," a lean Aztec beauty said, her silver and turquoise presence so stunning that Damali almost looked away. Now Damali understood the royal peacock blue. The Aztec queen smoothed the thick rope of black braid over her shoulder. It was wrapped in a studded length of what appeared to be liquid silver and highly polished stones.
"You rule the throat chakra," Nzinga said with a smile. "Of course that would be your choice of action."
"I have led armies of men to defend my people, but never found myself…" The Asian queen's voice trailed off as she shook her head. "So compromised."
"And if you had met Ghengis Khan, in your era?" the Amazon said with a chuckle. "Ruthless bastard, but I heard very interesting rumors—"
"Enough!" Nzinga said, making a tent before her mouth with her hands. "We shall remain focused. My concern is that my protege, the one who says her prayers to me for guidance, and who leads men into battle at this tenuous hour, has not lost her way." She stood and walked behind the table, her long glowing robes cascading from the high throne adding color to the moving white opalescent light on the table. "My child. You carried his seed. A vampire…a…a…I cannot even say it. Willingly allowed yourself to take a vampiric bite. No fight, no battle—"
"Wait," Eve said, standing quickly. "I must interject on her behalf, my queen sister. As the eldest at this table, I can assure you taking his bite was from no simple lapse in judgment or discipline. Trust me when I say, I know the dilemma she faced, and if he was half as convincing as the one I dealt with, then we should allow this daughter to tell her side of it." Eve sat slowly and smiled as Nzinga begrudgingly returned to her seat. "Dear queen sister, they are very, very seductive. May you never find yourself tangling with a six-foot serpent between your legs."
"Complete truth," the Amazon said, her gaze locking with Damali's. "My mother-seer met the one that befell our daughter. Oh, man… he came as a panther. What can I say? Magnificent specimen." She glanced at Eve with a sly smile. "From what she showed me, I would have lost my sword, too, if he'd been willing."
Both women laughed and the others swallowed away knowing smiles. But all mirth dissipated as a purple haze rolled across the floor and a triangular window eclipsed the brightness of the rising sun within the other panes. Two massive white lions strolled out of the lit expansion, roared, and sat beside the empty throne. Each member of the council of Neterus glanced at Damali briefly with a solemn warning, then stood, turned to face the open pyramid, and bowed. Damali followed their lead as a stunning entity stepped across the threshold of the Light.
"Nuk ast au neheh ertai-nef tetta. Nuk pu Aset, Isis." The regal entity looked at Damali and translated. "Behold, I am the heir of eternity, everlastingness has been given to me. I am Aset, Isis." As she spoke, theMmra krado symbol, the seal of the law of supreme authority, on her throat flared deep purple. She waited until the council queens stood erect, her wise, almond-shaped eyes unreadable. On her forehead blazed a silvery sun marking ofNsoroma , a child of the heavens, the translation clear: A child of the Supreme Being, I do not depend on myself. My illumination is a reflection of The I Am. "I have been summoned, so I have come. Be seated."
"Behold, Queen Mother Aset, also known as Isis, first queen of Kemet, that had become known as Egypt. Our newest daughter has come before us with great challenges that threaten all we protect."
Aset nodded toward Nzinga and sat down, casting the Isis dagger and long blade on the table before her. Nzinga's eyes filled with alarm as she glanced at Damali and then Aset.
But the queen before her was so completely mesmerizing that for a moment, Damali forgot just how serious her predicament was. Aset's marble-smooth skin was the deepest ebony with red and copper tones beneath it, giving her skin the appearance of black porcelain fired to perfection. Her eyes literally drank Damali in. Their beauty contained so much knowledge that Damali wanted to look away, but could not. Her height was striking, yet her bone structure was as delicate as an Ibis bird's. Her hair was a glistening profusion of onyx-colored, perfectly symmetrical shoulder-length braids woven with what seemed to be living gold bands. Her throat was adorned with a wide golden collar that had an opening to allow her marking to be seen. Precious stones matching the chakra system were set in the collar, and hieroglyphics of the battles of the Neteru were etched across it. Long, kundalini golden snake bracelets covered her forearms with precious stones denoting the power points and meridians within the body energy system. Her gown was of sheer gold, showing her voluptuous nude form in relief beneath the shimmering fabric. Damali's voice became trapped in her throat.
"Queen daughter," Aset said. "I am distressed."
"Queen mother," Damali said, hoarsely. "I am so sorry." She bowed and wrapped her arms around herself. "There's so much that happened in such a short period of time. I never meant to shame you… or my mentor, Nzinga."
"You have not shamed us. You have shamed yourself." Aset let out a weary breath. "A possible daywalker?"
"Queen mother, Carlos and I… what happened was—"
"I know what happened," Aset said and closed her eyes. Every woman at the table stopped breathing. "If you had only waited until he was brought forth from Darkness into the Light. Only a few months until his resurrection. How many of the forty-two laws of Ma'at have been violated as a result of your actions? Did your mother-seer not warn you?"
"Yes," Damali said quietly. "Please don't blame Marlene. It wasn't her fault."
"We cast no blame on a mother-seer who advises an adult Neteru who chooses not to listen. Our hearts encircle the mother, for she has sleepless nights, and gnashes her teeth and wrings her hands over the headstrong nature of the daughter she's charged to instruct!"
Aset stood, making the lions on both sides also stand, circle, grumble, and then lie back down at a simple look from her. She pointed at Nzinga. "My warrior sister has not rested since you willingly offered your throat." Aset clasped Nzinga's head as she bowed it. "Do you know how many times she flew to your aid, intervened, sat with Marlene to instruct your battle strategies, and finally was the one who had to sully herself to go into the earth to bring you through the violet door—at Marlene's request?" Aset swept away from her throne and stood behind Nzinga's. "You should be prostrate on this floor before my dear queen sister with thanks that she came to retrieve you! I may not have done the same."
Damali hit the floor and covered her head, not sure what the women before her might do. Deep remorse filled her as she withstood the tongue-lashing. Still, something quietly defiant lingered within her.
"Please, Aset," Nzinga said, her voice becoming tender. "Let our daughter face you and speak. I, too, was beyond rage at this travesty. But there are many elements that we must consider."
"Call Ma'at," Aset said, her tone threatening. "If her story is lighter than the feather of our sister keeper of justice, which will weight the scales with the truth, then, and only then, will I return her sword."
"You know, Ma'at is blind, dear queen, and can be very harsh in her pronouncements. Maybe—"
"She loved him with her whole heart and soul, great queen," the Amazon said, cutting off Nzinga in her haste to help Damali's cause. "He also, even as a vampire, loved her that way."
"This is truth?" Aset asked, staring at the Amazon. "Your warriors were with them in the nether realms."
"My mother-seer and my Guardians were, and she communicated all to me."
Aset slowly walked back to her throne. She cast an even glare at Damali. "Stand. Speak. Explain yourself to this council."
Damali got up slowly, not sure where she would begin her explanation. "Queen council mother," Damali said softly, her tone reverent and paced. "I open my third eye to you to see all that has transpired. I share it freely with the entire council, as I have nothing to hide. I cannot force myself to be ashamed for loving him, even while he was steeped in Darkness. Yes, I went to Hell and back with him until he was brought back by the Light." Damali swallowed hard. "But through that experience, we also wiped out all topside-dwelling master vampires, bumped off two council-level vamps—Carlos's empty throne means they only have three seats filled now—and we were able to pull a man's soul from multiple levels of Darkness into the Light to fight for our side. Believe me, they have got to be feeling that loss." She glanced around when the faces before her remained impassive. "Did I mention we kept the biblical key that opens the sixth biblical seal from them, too?"
"I will admit that your record, for your age, is impressive—which is the only reason you are able to lean so heavily on my tolerance," Aset said, and then pushed back in her throne, her powerful gaze raking Damali.
Damali watched as the queens before her closed their eyes and the centers of their foreheads soon glowed violet in the shape of an Egyptian eye. Her forehead felt like a hot poker was being rammed into it, the intensity of their probe so comprehensive that she could barely stand.
After several minutes the heat receded, as the queens one by one opened their eyes and looked at her squarely, and then glanced at Aset.
To Damali's surprise, Aset had tears of compassion in her eyes. Aset shook her head and let her breath out slowly.
"What can I say to what I have just witnessed? It so reminds me of my husband, the first king of Kemet, Ausar. That is why I am so angry, so frustrated with you, daughter."
Multiple emotions clawed at Damali's mind, her gaze steady on Aset before it raked the group of seated queens.
"Aset's history is the foundation of your teachings, child. Tell me you have not forgotten it?" Nzinga's eyes searched Damali's with quiet panic. "Tell her,now . Recite it for her, lest she waver in her mercy."
"How could I forget?" Damali said quickly. "Ausar was the first great king, knowledgeable and righteous. He took Aset as a wife, but before they could consummate their marriage, his brother, Set, killed him." Damali held the ancient queens' line of vision. "I am so sorry, queen mother. It was horrible."
"Yes," Aset said, her gaze sliding toward the horizon. "They hacked him up into fourteen pieces, and I scavenged the land for seventy days to find each part, and bound him in fine linen to bury him as only a king should be buried. There was only one piece I could not find."
Damali nodded as the queen's eyes filled and dignity burned the sudden tears away. "But the obelisk you had carved to include with his mummy replaced—"
"You can never replacethat once severed and lost," Aset said with a sad smile. "I was a virgin when I conceived our son, Heru, to avenge Ausar's death… but my husband could only come to me that once in spirit before he was entombed, no matter how many tekhen, which the Greeks called obelisks, have been erected." She sighed a weary sigh and closed her eyes. "That is why I was so outraged," Aset said quietly. "Around this table you have women who have lost much, loved hard, but none of us forgot our primary cause. To fight evil. If you had only waited…"
"Dear Queen Aset, after seeing what we have seen, and knowing what we know, our queen daughter could no more have waited without being sure that there would be an endpoint to their need to quench their love, than any of us could—if we are honest with ourselves." Nzinga lowered her eyes. "I am sorry to have to have spoken so bluntly, my queen, but it is the truth."
"Nuk uab-k uab ka-k uab ba-k uab sekem;my mind has pure thoughts, so my soul and life forces are pure. Is that not from our teachings, Queen Sister Nzinga?"
"Her love for him was pure," Nzinga said with a cautious smile. "Although the rest of it, I cannot vouch for." The Amazon chuckled and quickly swallowed it upon Aset's hot glare.
"They were to represent the number three, the divine energies of Netcher—when a male and female Light energy blends and sires a child of Light. Together they would produce a light bender, not a daywalker, if he had not been in Darkness when she conceived. Now that Darkness has clawed possible life from her womb." Aset's eyes filled with angry tears that fell without censure. "She was to do as I did, collect her beloved's scattered parts—his ashes in this case—and bring him back in spirit through her connection to the Light. She would show him his gift to draw upon the Netcher power within to fell the empire that murdered him and warred against his beloved. Their child was to fulfill a prophecy before the Great One comes."
Aset stood as each woman followed her with their gaze, Damali coming so close to the table that she could almost touch the edges of it, but its awesome power wafted from it and kept her back. The loss was now more than pain, or even heartbreak. It was something so profound that she could barely sip in air.
"Oh, daughter," Aset said, her voice breaking as it hitched in her throat. "We did not begrudge you loving him, it was the timing. You no longer carry, and we will heal your womb. But they have drawn a part of what you carried down into the chambers of Darkness because his blood was still black when he made a son!"
Tears streamed down Damali's cheeks. It would have been a boy…
The ancient queen rounded the council table and yanked Damali toward her by both arms. The snatch happened so quickly that all Damali could do was gasp and sway as her knees buckled and Aset held her, eyes blazing violet with a fusion of emotions that Damali didn't dare consider. The current running through Aset's hands into Damali's arms felt like lightning had struck her.
All queens stood quickly, but released their collective breaths as one of Aset's hands slid from Damali's upper arms, and covered her lower belly. Near faint, Damali's head dropped forward as Aset's hand glowed hot for a moment and a golden orb of light covered where Aset's palm laid against her. Damali could feel pinpricks of energy contract her womb and sear into her lower back.
"We burned everything," Damali shrieked, unable to keep up the facade of warrior calm before the council of queens. "Everything, not a drop was—"
"Listen to me carefully," Aset said, her tone soothing as she held Damali firmly. "When the cramping started, it was because a dark force began the siphon. Ask Carlos what was spilled onto the floor in the place we do not name. He was bound to a wall, impaled by stakes, and he cried out to Heaven for mercy, which is the only way we know."
The ancient queen dropped Damali's arm and focused both hands over her lower belly, allowing Nzinga to go to her side to keep Damali from falling. "A daywalker is the least of our concerns if that bitch, Lilith, comes up. She used to be able to breed a hundred demons a day before she married Set and ultimately betrayed him." Aset removed her hands slowly from Damali's abdomen, leaving a gentle, healing warmth in their wake. "It is done."
Shocked by Aset's language, and the miracle the elder queen had just performed, Damali touched the now-calm surface of her belly, marveling at the soothing sensation that filled her. She somehow knew the ancient queen had not harmed her, but had healed the part of her that had sustained injury. But her soul was still wounded.
She stared behind Aset as she made her way back to her throne. Oh, yeah, something really bad was about to go down if the queen mother had cursed. "Lilith?" Damali murmured. "I've never heard of her." It was the truth. One of the other queens had mentioned the name in the club, but she couldn't figure out what this new threat meant.
"We do not speak of her, for she defames our gender," Aset said without turning. "Tell her, Eve."
"Yes," Eve said, looking at Damali with gentleness. "My husband's first wife. After she disgraced Adam, she ran off to a cave near the Red Sea and began birthing demon seed a hundred a day."
Damali couldn't contain herself. "Adam's first wife? But you were the first—"
Eve waved her hand, stopping Damali's words. "She shames us because it was the way she did it." Eve let out a hard sigh. "We all agreed, by rights, Lilith was made simultaneously with Adam. She was a copartner, a coruler, and should have never had to submit to him. When he tried to force the issue, she should have taken her complaint On High, and had it resolved legally in the divine courts. But then she took matters into her own hands; rage made her crazy. She turned against the Light. Unacceptable. Then in jealousy, she even turned against all women by stealing children, killing the innocent as they grew in our wombs. That bitchhas to be stopped."
Nzinga nodded. "Fact. This female knows no bounds, and has no compassion for her sisters. A woman like that who goes against all of us cannot be considered one of us. She's your kill, baby. Do her and finish it. We've been searching for her for years, but she's crafty. You may be the only one who can get to her, because now you share something in common."
Joan leaned forward. "Damali, she's coming for you, honey. Eve's transgression was nothing in comparison to what she did, and our sister Eve took the weight of most of it. Many distortions have been made in the biblical texts about Eve." She glanced at Eve with a firm but tender gaze. "That was wrong, and Lilith gave them the wherewithal to cast all blame at her feet for biting the apple. Now, from some convoluted, distorted logic, all women are blamed for the transgression of one—and they have even blamed the wrong sister! The whole world became paternalistic, and they stripped our contributions from the holy books, stopped giving women their due, and stopped seeing the importance of our energy, after that."
"I went to the tree for knowledge.That's it ," Eve said with pride. "True, I wasn't supposed to, but I had to know about Lilith and what had made my husband go into this 'the man must be in charge all the time' thing. He was never the same, after her. That much I've gathered," she added in a sad voice. "No one wanted me to know his shortcomings, and the fact that I stumbled upon an additional situation while gaining insight… well that, as they say, is old history."
For a moment, all queens remained quiet as Damali and Eve stared at each other. A deep abiding compassion bound them. Damali could feel the elder queen's pain from where she stood. "They need to let that snake thing rest," Damali said with care. "If there was something going on with my husband, I'd want to know, too."
Eve nodded and the Amazon reached across the table and held her hand.
"She knows what you've been through," the Amazon said quietly. "In Brazil she had to learn it and even feel it, just like you did."
Eve looked away. "That's why this one is so special to me, Aset," she said, addressing the queen mother without looking at her. "I don't want Damali to suffer like I did. It's a new era, a new millennium, and she's from a new generation of queens."
"I agree… reluctantly," Aset said. "Explain to her, then, what's she's up against."
"They sent three warrior angels after Lilith to find her and return her to Paradise for a serious discussion, but couldn't locate her," Eve said, her voice worn with emotion. "That's when the first big war began… Archangel Michael came down and began slaying her progeny, but he couldn't get them all. Her ability to spawn at will was revoked, and many of her offspring slaughtered, but not all of them. A fragile truce was enacted and she was forced underground. That is the only reason she submitted to marry the Dark One, for an alliance against the angels. We have been told that evenhe has difficulties with her."
Damali looked from one queen to the next. "Where did she go? How do we stop her?"
"Babylon, first, then subterranean," Eve said. "She rules over miscarriages, stillbirths, crib deaths—among other things—but you won't find her up here. She's gone into deep hiding since those times, and sleeps with the one we do not name, making demons and creating havoc when she has a chance." Unspent fury hardened Eve's gaze. "But she's sneaky, can slide into men's dreams, can come as a succubus. She breaks the treaty to remain below all the time, but no one can catch her in the act to bring her to justice."
Damali covered her mouth.
"Yes, daughter. That's why we have been so appalled," Aset said in a weary tone. She looked at Eve. "You know the Vampire Council's chairman. Well, am I wrong?"
Eve glanced away. "That was a long time ago, Aset. Donot go there."
Damali's gaze darted between the queens who were now locked in a silent standoff.The serpent in the garden was the chairman? Oh, shit …
"For this daughter's own good. Tell me. Do you think he was enraged enough to have destroyed whatever he drew from her womb?"
"I cannot be certain," Eve said, her tone cautious and thoughtful. "He was always extremely passionate… and always jealous of his father. His ambitions might have allowed him to be shrewd, with the Armageddon so near."
"A potential coup within the dark realms may be our only hope. His father would not stand for a challenger created by the Vampire Council, but Lilith could be a variable. She has always played all sides of men at war, and even started many on her own," Nzinga said, releasing Damali as she slowly returned to her throne with the others.
"Each one of us has had a turn at this same theme," Aset said. "Ausar and I created Heru who conquered Set the first time. Eve before me was with Adam, and knows the pain of two warring sons."
"Cain was implanted during my transgression and came forward as a twin when Abel was conceived. The deepest heartbreak of my existence." Eve swallowed hard and sat down. "We chastise you not from anger, but from love. We have been down that long and dusty path, and we weep for you. That is why, even above the Isis blades, your womb is sacrosanct." Eve's gaze became steady as it bored into Damali. "They have the embryo. Its light did not flicker out, but remains dormant. Lilith has to be beheaded before she can implant it and figure out how to spark it to life. Her womb is the only one down there capable of bearing what will become an atrocity against nature."
"Say it plain, Eve!" Aset shouted, holding a stunned Damali in her gaze as she addressed Eve. "The embryo is a time bomb. It's ticking as we speak. Your transgression with the chairman so many years ago was only a problem because you and Adam had joined." She spun on Damali. "You and Carlos are the only Neteru pair to grace the planet since our dear sister and her husband. That combination produces a level of energy carried in the blood that the dark realms cannot synthesize. When she had a run-in with the serpent and got bitten, it allowed her to be impregnated with something dark while she carried something from the Light. Thiscannot happen to you, and you cannot sleep with Carlos again until you destroy Lilith. If Lilith gives birth, your child will be born the Anti-Christ. She and the embryo must be destroyed. Shecannot surrogate for you and turn what came from you to the Darkness." Aset flattened her hands against the table. She stared at Damali, her gaze narrowing. "I have given you back your Sankofa. Use it wisely to keep yourself from implantation, henceforth. That can only occur with your intent. In the future, if you He with a male, make it burn bright. Control your births; this is your right as a woman."
Feeling as though her legs would give out, Damali stumbled forward. But a slow, smoldering rage held her up and sent a snap of straight fury through her spine to keep her erect. "She hasmy child? The fruit ofmy womb?Our baby?" Damali's voice was a hard whisper. "I need to know."
"A fertilized egg," Aset said as gently as she could.
"It's not yours any longer," Eve said, her voice distant. "You'd never recognize it now that they've snatched it and—"
"My baby!"
"The potential Anti-Christ," Nzinga said cautiously as two queens rounded the table to keep Damali from leaping over it, "now that we're sure of who the intended surrogate will be. You must find her and destroy her quickly. If it embeds in her womb—you have to cut that out and torch it. The chairman may or may not be involved, given Lilith's treachery. But rest assured, he's the only one that can lead you to her, unless you can bait her out of hiding in search of the catalyst."
"My egg?" Damali shrieked, struggling against the hold of the Amazon and Joan. "Oh, I will find that whore, don't worry. I will never allow her to carry what's mine and Carlos's! Ever! I will go into council chambers myself and turn thrones over, looking for that bitch. Know that!" Damali yelled, pointing at Aset as the other queens let her go. She raked her fingers through her locks and began to pace, feeling trapped, caged, and in need of weapons. Tears of rage stung her nostrils, and she sucked in hard, refusing to allow them to fall. "Get me out of here. I've got work to do. Transport me back. Give me my blade. This conversation is over."
"It is the never knowing when or if this past transgression, one that is out of our hands, will rear its ugly head to confront you both. Your beloved is now a child of the Light, as are you, so you must learn to use your Light power a different way than merely by the sword."
"But I'm not still pregnant, am I? Tell me I wasn't carrying twins." Damali's voice had escalated beyond her ability to control it. She looked at Eve dead-on for an answer. She didn't want to hear this yang about patience and strategy. It was time to kick some ass.
"No," Aset said, sitting down heavily. "You will be bound up and healed. It is what fragments of life we were not able to collect back to the Sun that concerns us."
"Where do I go, what do I do?" Damali asked, willing herself not to shriek. "How do I get down there to smoke this bitch?"
"The Isis blades remain ours until you learn to find the power of Netcher within living things and to draw the essence of Light out of them… to bend the Light."
"How?" Damali cried, tears now streaming down her face as Queen Aset stood. "You can't take the Isis blades at a time like this, please. Give me another chance!"
"Do you understand how important it is for you to remain concealed? They cannot know where either of you are. The blades are a beacon. They can taste the sacred metals in the air when they hit the earth's surface. They're not even sure that Carlos is the male Neteru, and they haven't pinpointed him yet. He's vulnerable now, and until he reaches his Neteru apex, the kings of old must shield him. No. You must learn to fight with other skills and other tools," Aset said. Without waiting for Damali to answer, she held up her hand to stop Damali from speaking. "Ask Eve. We understand your pain, but you cannot go into this battle with your heart, only your intellect can prevail over this matter.Tell her, Eve . Explain how you held Cain to your breasts, even while knowing what he was. Tell her, so she can understand and accept the ruling."
Eve hung her head and spoke in a low, calm voice. "Dear queen daughter, by rights, I am the first Neteru, the eldest of the council, the mother of all… but, due to the problem in Paradise, which I would not like to revisit, Aset rules. Her judgment and discipline were more profound, therefore, my title was stripped, albeit not my place in history or among the governing queens." She looked at Damali, her gaze unwavering as she spoke and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "This is very serious. We are so close to the Armageddon, and you two were supposed to be the new Neterus—one male, one female—to sway the balance."
"Tell her!" Aset shouted, making the lights within the table swirl across the top in small tornado-like eddies. "Did we not strip Cleopatra for taking her own life with an asp, when she could have sealed a deal and stemmed the invasion of Egypt by Rome? Suicide sent her to the Darkness, and we lost an important warrior. She allowed her intellect to be eclipsed by her heart. For what? A man? Damali cannot face Lilith like that!"
Damali opened and closed her mouth. Words failed her.
"You will travel to all the lands that your destiny requires; there is a shaman at each place that will find you," Aset said, her tone annoyed and brittle. "Thirteen places to bind yourself up, to collect the fragments of Carlos's scattered Light force. If we didn't have this problem, the process of readying the male Neteru would progress over seventy days, as it has always been. But you have perhaps seven days, at best, to do what must be done."
"Handle your business, baby," Nzinga said, wiping her hands down her face with fatigue. "Stay strong, and stay in the Light."
"Exactly," Aset said with a nod. "Once the male Neteru is gathered and his power has returned on the side of Light, your healing will also be complete. Until he heals, you cannot fully heal. Until he wields the power, you cannot wield the Isis blades. Youmarried him while he was a vampire, and now your power is one." Aset leaned across the table. "You allowed him to take you as awife , child. That is how they were able to claw away what they should havenever even seen or known existed. Some things are beyond our control. What about this do you not understand?"
"There was no ceremony," Damali sputtered, her gaze going from Aset to the others for support. "We never did a dark ritual, we never—"
"In the desert of Australia, on hallowed ground—'flesh of my flesh,' he said, as you willingly allowed him to take your throat, shared his blood, and deconstructed into nothingness with his cells fusing with yours at the vampire vanishing point!"
Aset slammed the table so hard that light sparks flew from it. "After you gave him a heartbeat from your own heart within my Amazon sister's territory! After you loved him without censure in a priest's compound. The keepers of the seal—the Aboriginal shaman—said you loved him with the intent of drawing his life force and seed into you on twenty-thousand-year-old prayer lines!" Aset picked up the small Isis dagger and rammed it into the table. "You had his ring, a blue-ice section of his heart, a white gown, shaman priests all around in spirit as witnesses, and the stars aghast. Oh, yes, there were priests there. It is done. You are his wife in spirit! The rest is an earthly formality, at this point."
Damali covered her mouth, her eyes so wide that she felt the sides burn as though they'd split. "Oh, my God…"
"Correct," Aset said, snatching the blade from the table and flinging it toward Nzinga. "And she wonders why I am beyond words."
"Therefore," Aset said, her voice returning to its previous even calm, "for your own safety, you will not bear the marker, Neteru, until you have restored your own power by your own hand. You will be hidden in plain sight. This way you will also learn from experience to never give it away to anyone, will know its true value, and will guard it the way it should always be guarded. Because he is crippled, you are also crippled, by your untimely decision. It is out of my hands." She looked at Damali with a mixture of pity and annoyance. "You bore fangs for him, my daughter. Even that I cannot make excuses for."
"I bore them, too, for a while," Eve murmured, looking at Damali with pity. "When I came back from the tree…" Eve's voice trailed off with a sad smile. "At least you have the Neteru council as your buffer. I had to stand before a husband and the Most High. That was in the Old Testament days, before the time of mercy. The conversation went very differently, I assure you—so take heart. This is not as bad as it could have been."
Nzinga nodded. "They have not taken this well in the Upper Realms… it will be the second time before a pivotal war, and the only thing that may redeem you is that unlike Eve, when she temporarily lost her mind," Nzinga said, casting a compassionate glance toward the elder queen, "you have a number of good demon kills to your honor. Significant ones, so cling to that as your hope and shield. He also has this as his shield, as well as his protection of many good men and women—like you also have. We will lobby hard, my queen daughter… but in the interim, you must help your own case."
"It is not my goal to punish her," Aset said, now seeming so tired that she could barely speak. "It is my goal to teach her and it is my fervent prayer that we can at some point return her title and blades. But she must do this on her own."
Shame burned Damali's cheeks, and she could not answer the charges as Aset stood and moved away from the table. Instead she focused on acceptance and whatever she had to do to regain favor. "I will make this right. But what lands, where am I to battle what? And there were fourteen missing parts of Ausar, not thirteen. Oh, Queen Mother Aset, please do not walk away with riddles that could take a lifetime to figure out!"
"Only you can find and heal the missing life force within the fourteenth section of him, which can only be healed once his mind is healed and his spirit is healed, and your body is healed and your focus is as pure as a beam of light. If you ever want to conceive with him again while he's flesh and blood, you must incorporate patience and gentleness… wisdom and strength, or you can suffer my fate and simply have an obelisk carved in his memory."
With that Aset turned and began walking and vanished into the violet pyramid that opened, her lions crossing behind her in a lazy, but guarded retreat.
"I will be near," Nzinga said, "as will the others. Call upon us, and we will send markers and signs to guide you."
"Beware the screech owl of the desert. That is one of the shapes Lilith assumes," Eve warned. "Remember in the last days, only the churches of one land had no sins in the eyes of the Most High. Seek that land as your final destination. But you must first collect the scattered Netcher before you do so." She sighed. "I will lobby your cause about the fang issue. I remember those days, but your case is slightly different. Carlos came back, and it was his destiny to be a Guardian… so, perhaps once emotions settle… Take heart. Look toward Philadelphia." Eve left her with a sad smile, shaking her head as she walked into the Light.
"But there are probably twenty cities in the world by that name." Damali tried to rush forward but an energy barrier held her and kept her from rounding the table.
The others had disappeared through the triangle of violet light, only the Amazon hung back, collecting the Isis blades with sadness in her eyes. "Then find the most powerful one. Start there, queen daughter. I will watch your flank."
Suddenly the room transformed into a restaurant. Dazed, Damali glanced at the white linen tablecloths and marble floor, then at the winding river beyond the tall windows. She was up high in a building in some country or city she couldn't place. She could hear movement in the hall beyond, and she glanced at a wall clock, and then ducked behind a table as a security guard passed by.
Unarmed, in a white Ethiopian gown and sandals, if she were discovered in an establishment this early in the morning, she knew she'd go to jail as a nut case for sure. She listened to the footfalls get farther away and made a run for the main hall, hugging the walls, tiptoeing like a thief, and saying a quiet prayer that she wouldn't be discovered. How was she going to get back to the plane in Manila or let the group know she was alive?
Spotting the main staircase she slipped down it, ducked low as she saw another guard cross the expansive marble entrance. She also had to keep an eye out for any surveillance cameras.
Staying out of sight, she peeped around the huge column that ended at the bottom of the first landing of the staircase and saw the shadows on the floor made from what looked like large temple pillars. From the angle where she crouched she could also see what seemed like a city-block-wide cascade of hundreds of white steps that ended with a wide circular boulevard and a mammoth fountain across the street. If she could just get outside.
A stick on her shoulder almost made her jump out of her skin. She looked up quickly expecting to see a guard shoving her with a billy club. Instead it was the old shaman, one of the keepers of the seal. He smiled a toothless grin and placed a finger to his lips, signaling her to remain quiet. He stooped down low and offered her his walking stick, prodding her to hold one end of it. The moment Damali's hand touched it a warm balm of purple light covered her hand and traveled up her arm, slowly coating and eventually rimming her body in violet light. He let go of the stick and clapped and laughed and bent over with mirth, the spectacle seemed to please him so.
Damali had to smile. It was his pure glee as he danced about and waved his arms, creating a ruckus that she was sure would draw the guards. No sooner than that reality accosted her, a guard ran down the steps, brandishing a club.
"Hey, old man! You can't come in here! No homeless on the premises! Now beat it, before we call the cops!"
Another guard hurried onto the scene. "How'd that old bum get in here? You'd better get him out before we get in trouble because the night shift guys overlooked him. I'm not losing my job over this bull."
Damali had made herself very small on the steps, practically hugging the oversized railing, but it became suddenly apparent that the two guards couldn't see her. She was being shielded.
The half-naked shaman laughed harder, his mirth becoming a wild hysteria as he danced away from the security guards and rushed down the steps. Damali stood, stared at the stick, and then the guard. They really couldn't see her… deep.
"Open the front doors for him and get him out of here," one guard shouted, huffing as he chased behind the nimble old man and almost slipping on the highly polished floors as he pursued him.
Clenching the stick, Damali stood and raced in the direction of the door. The first guard that had reached the huge, bolted entrances flipped a series of switches behind a control panel, swearing the entire time about the alarm systems, locks, writing the catastrophe up on the logs, his pension, and why couldn't the homeless just stay out of the place. The shaman danced, wagged a finger at the men, and evaded their pursuit until one of the doors had been opened. Then he gnashed his teeth and pulled at his wiry white hair as though insane.
"Man, he might have AIDS! Don't touch him, just shoo his dirty ass out the door!"
The shaman walked in a wide circle, motioning for Damali to go through the exit, drooling and spitting, making the men back away with disgust. Then he clapped his hands and dashed out the door and down the steps. Damali didn't have to be told twice, she was out.
Brilliant sun hit her face, and the crisp fall air brought tears to her eyes. She didn't know exactly where she was, but it was a cold climate. She glanced around for the old shaman. "Thank you," she yelled into the nothingness, and brought the stick to her chest.
They had taken her Isis blades, stripped her womb, brought her man back fractured and broken, separated her from her team, and only left her with a purple magic stick. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she stood on the grounds of the most spectacular temple she'd seen within a city. She stared down the broad white steps toward the grand parkway, trying to place the monuments, trying to get her bearings as her embattled brain struggled to absorb all that had just happened. She glanced back at the eight Roman columns and brass fountains that had tarnished green with age, noting how the entire relief was near a river and waterfall as though a replica of the great temples by the Nile. No wonder the queens had brought her here. But they'd also temporarily stripped her of her title, had taken her blades.
What had she done? Lord, what had she done?
RESIGNED TO her fate, there was nothing to do but move forward. Damali glanced around, already knowing that the old shaman wasn't coming back. She walked down the white steps, watching the few cars that passed as she reached the curb, straining to read the license plates but was too far away to recognize the state they were from. At just after dawn, most cities were quiet—except New York. She checked that one off as she gazed at the skyline. Definitely not New York. But it had to be on the East Coast. An art museum, but where?
Before her stretched a large boulevard lined with very old trees robed in hues of orange, gold, red, fading green, and withered brown. As she crossed the four-lane circular street, she came to the huge, dry fountain, staring at the larger-than-life bronze figurines and trying to see an inscription. She looked over her shoulder to the building she'd just left, and gaped up at the huge templelike structure that bore no inscription, but on her right a warrior on a horse fought a lion with his javelin drawn in battle. The monument offered no immediate clue. But it made her pause. Armed only with a wooden stick a warrior went against a lion. Damali gripped the stick she held more tightly and walked forward. Answers were all around her; she could feel them just beyond her immediate reach.
For a moment she just stood in front of the fountain, her eyes roving past the life-sized bronze woman entwined with a serpent. She sighed and thought of Eve, and then her own circumstances. "We messed up big time, didn't we, girlfriend?" Damali muttered as she trudged up the massive stone steps, past two huge bronze deer. At the four cardinal points, there were figures seemingly guarded by things of nature. That fleeting awareness also gave her pause. Two deer guarded the woman and serpent… Damali walked to the next cardinal point and saw an elaborately sculpted moose adjacent to a fierce bear guarding a woman with a net. As she rounded the structure there was a pair of moose, and before she could look farther she saw a Native American chief in repose, also guarded by two bison—things of nature.
Damali glanced up to the mounted general on a horse, her eyes scouring the dim inscription… she was in Pennsylvania! Excitement swept through her. A piece of the puzzle was found. At least she knew where she was now. But as suddenly as elation had hit her, so did a sense of impending doom.
If she was in Pennsylvania, then her team was God knew how many miles and a whole day away from her, enroute to Manila. How in the heck was she going to get from here to there, with no money on her, no means of transportation to an airport, no freaking identification, and no coat? She wrapped her arms around herself, instantly feeling the cold.
Soul weary, she leaned against the reclining Indian chief and willed herself not to cry. "This is beyond jacked up," she murmured. The icy metal set her teeth on edge, and she pushed off it with both hands. But the slight movements of the bronze structure before her made her freeze.
A light crackling purple haze crept along the structure, making the reclining figure slowly turn its head, stare at her with vacant eyes, and with the slightest tilt of his chin, a direction was offered.
Damali backed up until her spine collided with the adjacent figure, making her jump away from it, lest it come alive, too. The section of statue that had moved returned to its original pose and became still again. Not waiting to see what would happen next, Damali dashed down the wide steps in a flat-out run, across a small patch of grass, and down the center lane of an empty parking lot. Breathless, she quickly crossed the street and turned back to the giant fountain to see if it was pursuing her. But all was still except the erratic thuds of her heart.
She sucked in huge breaths and looked in the direction the statue had indicated. Benjamin Franklin Parkway? Something vaguely familiar stretched within her mind, but with all that had happened, the context left her wanting. Her eyes darted around, trying to figure out the message. Frustrated, she looked up and shouted, "What?"
No answer came as she slumped against a post and lowered the stick to the ground and leaned on it. She briefly closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure. "I'm sorry, okay? But I can't walk from here to Manila!"
Turning her face to the sky, she raised the stick and shook it. "I need answers! I'll do what you want, will travel and go to whatever lands, but I've gotta know where!"
Then she noticed the flags. The parkway she stood on had every flag of every nation represented down a long, tree-lined boulevard. She glanced down at the stick, and then up at the flags, then toward the trees. Nature. Art had inspired the direction, perhaps nature held the power? It was worth a try.
She touched her hand against a very old oak and pointed the stick toward the flags. "Talk to me," she whispered, her voice calmer.
Again the purple light crept from the end of the stick, but instead of crawling up her arm, it arced and then disappeared. To her total amazement, fourteen flags that blew in the fall breeze lit one by one. Her mind seized upon the order: Ethiopia, Sudan, Egypt, Italy, Algeria, Spain, France, Hungary, Austria, Poland, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, and the United Kingdom. Then oddly, the U.S. flag went neon violet, and as suddenly as they had lit, the purple light around each flag faded to a purplish tinge and then normalized.
Damali didn't take her eyes off the flags for a long time. She said the countries over and over, memorizing them like an elementary school rhyme in her head to make the information stick. It was too bizarre that it was nearly the same as their flight pattern with only a modest variation. But how could that be? The people funding their flight and travel had double-crossed them, yet it seemed as though by doing the double-cross and not allowing them direct entry to the main places of worship, they might have been unwittingly aiding the destined path. The circuitous route was possibly the path that she and the teams were supposed to be on without even realizing it.
The strange confluence of events made her banish the possibility of coincidence. Marlene had told her about there being no such thing as coincidence, and even with all that she'd seen to date, it was still a hard thing to fathom. But sure as rain, the Asian nations' flags hadn't lit, nor had world hot spots like India and Pakistan, or the roiling Middle East. Central America, South America, and Canada hadn't fired violet, just like none of the Caribbean or island nations had.
But fourteen countries did show up glowing, with the fifteenth, her own, glowing hottest. Why? What did it all mean? She knew one thing for sure, if she had to gather fourteen scattered pieces of her and Carlos's power, then so be it, she'd go to the ends of the earth to get that back.
She began walking with purpose now, not sure where she was going, but her footfalls landed with more confidence. Then she stopped. The pain was gone, the cramping was gone, and she didn't feel a thick wad of padding between her legs or the horrible warm wetness of blood oozing from her body.
This time when she glanced up at the sky, it wasn't with frustration or rage. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes scanning the horizon for a sign, which instantly reflected back to her in a flash of gold. Damali squinted, and stared toward the flash that glistened and peeked through the treetops upon a breeze, and then disappeared in the dense autumn foliage. A dome briefly appeared over the multicolored treetops as a breeze again gently moved the leaves, and standing in the full rays of the rose-orange new sunlight was a cross.
She was so close to hallowed ground that she almost ran to it. Judging from the size of the dome that she'd glimpsed, she couldn't have been more than a few blocks away. Crossing the wide street and grassy divides, she walked quickly toward the place that offered sure sanctuary.
Halfway down the double-long block, a whippoorwill's lonely call made her stop. No longer ready to ignore the subtleties around her, she looked about hoping the old shaman might be there to explain how to use the stick to rejoin her team. Instead, her gaze encountered another statue in blackened bronze. His expression was deeply contemplative as he seemingly worked a problem in his mind that was just beyond his reach, one hand under his chin.
She looked at the historical marker on the street and on the facade of the building. "Philly! The Rodin Museum'sThinker —Carlos, oh my God!" It was all now so clear. She remembered Philly, but had been at the other end of town in the Olde City section, battling on the cobblestoned streets and alleys within the darkness. Everything had come full circle. This was a place of dichotomies, just like her and Carlos's life was. Philadelphia was where freedom was founded, the Liberty Bell once rang, yet where slave ships unloaded terrible cargo to be sold in a public square. The Native American guiding her now made perfect sense. His. people had warred to protect their land, hers had been incarcerated within it, and it took bloodshed and marches to restore them with the right to be considered whole, versus three-fifths of a human being.
Damali nodded. She'd found a place where the highest of ideals tried to coexist with the most base of human nature.
She smiled at the discovery, becoming relieved that the pieces of the giant cosmic puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and she rushed up to the huge, sulking figure and tried to reach up to run her hand over his metallic jaw. However, he was too high up on a pedestal to touch. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered what Carlos's steel-packed jaw felt like against her throat. Damali laughed sadly at herself. "That's just how you look, baby, when you're scheming, trying to work your way out of a jam. I miss you so," she whispered, allowing her hand to fall away as she admired the bulging biceps and graceful, thick, sinew-sculpted thigh from afar. "I know you miss the power of who you were. Now I understand."
But as her gaze took in the structure and facade of the building behind the statue, she again became extremely still. Beyond the exterior walls she could see a courtyard with a low fountain pool. The water drew her as she entered the path, her eyes affixed to its glassy surface. But deeply disturbing presences also made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Two sets of stairs led from the pool up toward the columned entrance of the building, and her feet moved up the stone on their own volition, a need to understand propelling her forward. That's when she saw it and began to back away. In relief before the entrance to the museum was an eerie bronze cast scene entitled,The Gates of Hell . For a moment, she couldn't move. Fiendish, twisted figures almost seemed like they were fighting their way out of the metallic encasement from within the building toward her. The irony stabbed into her awareness as her gaze swept to and took in both the statue and what he sat in front of. Yes… it made so much sense. Carlos thinking his way beyond the gates of Hell.
She hurried away from the disturbing art and touched the base of the statue with her newly acquired stick and stood back a bit, waiting, just testing, wondering what all her shaman's wooden gift could do. But nothing had happened.
She sighed and turned. As she began to walk away, water hit her shoulder, making her whirl back around. A single tear rolled down the iron face and splattered on the ground. Fear didn't enter her spirit this time, only a deep sadness. She cupped the place on her shoulder where the tear had landed. The cold, hard face didn't move. She stroked her shoulder once then turned and walked away, determined to find the nearby church. Water. That was the key. The fountains, the tear, the river beside the temple where the Neteru council had just convened. So she would not ignore it.
Her stride was much slower, more measured, as she passed the few blocks of Greek and Roman architecture—inspired buildings and fountains and thought of all the things that had to be going through the minds of those she loved. She was missing, AWOL, and she knew every member of her family on the Manila-bound plane was in a panic. She also knew how deeply conflicted Carlos had to be, not unlike herself.
To be stripped naked of one's power, thrust into an untenable position of weakness, journeying to lands unknown with no way to fight the unthinkable, with Hell on one's heels, was not insignificant. An image of a slave ship flitted through her mind. To learn from the seat of original power followed the thought. Of course her journey had to go through Africa, through what had been the Nubian empire, and then to Europe. Damali nodded as she walked, nearly thinking out loud. She and Carlos had many nations within their DNA… Indian, African, European, many she might never know for sure… Just as her team represented them all.
As above, so below, especially in the end of days. But to love someone more than life itself, and not be able to provide for them, protect them… Carlos had told her once that it was a different thing for a man, their wiring was so different—their perspective, albeit somewhat irrational in her mind, required being able to do those things in order to feel like a man. In that moment as she slowly crossed another street, she realized that the fourteenth scattered piece of him would never be right until his power was right. How could it be?
He'd only loved her as a master of the universe. Now he was busted, penniless, no special abilities that had come to the fore, and was being protected by her squad when he was once the protector… the defender… the alpha and the omega with territory as vast as a king's. He didn't even have his nightclub from before he'd turned, let alone anything else, not that it mattered to her—the point wasit mattered to him .
"Oh, baby… you tried to tell me that before," she whispered and shut her eyes tightly.
The visceral truth drummed in her ears and echoed through her soul. Possibly the worst of it for him—and she knew he'd never take her word for it that it was okay with her—he'd been able to make love to her in a way she knew no man could. There would be no words that could mollify him about that. There wouldn't be enough gentle, "It's okay baby," to smooth over the fact that brotherman couldn't drop fang, whisk her away to the vanishing point in a blaze of sensual glory, to make him ever be able to deal. Carlos's pride wouldn't allow for it, and his anger would block him to even trying to suffer that level of humiliation. Anger would also block his learning to fight like a Guardian, find his gifts or any new center of power that he owned. How in the world would they make it as one?
Damali swallowed hard as she stopped before the cathedral, read the sign, and then pushed herself up the steps of St. Peter's Basilica. "Please be open," she murmured, trying the door and finding it locked. She leaned against the large, blue-and-ivory blocks that stood between her and sanctuary and closed her eyes. Why was everything so hard?
He'd been crippled, hobbled, just thoroughly torn apart, and was now on a plane with very nervous Guardians and half a band of warriors from the Covenant. One false move and the plane could erupt into total mayhem.
She slid down the huge double doors until she was a small huddle of humanity on the top step, cradling the stick, and hoping she was still invisible. But as soon as she hit the concrete, she tumbled backward through the entrance, slid, and hid another set of heavy oak doors as though the seemingly impenetrable structures were a fabric drape.
Jumping up quickly, Damali patted her body and then touched the solid wooden doors she'd just passed through. Her heart was racing so hard it made her ears ring. She backed away from the doors and glanced around the darkened, majestic cathedral. She'd fallen past the foyer and was in the middle of the sanctuary itself, the polished floors beneath her sandal-clad feet. Mercy had let her in.
Her gaze went to the high, arched, frescoed ceiling, and then toward the gilded altar surrounded by angelic figures, but her search was for the font of holy water. She crossed herself and found it near the back of the church, and watched with awe as the dry stone bowl bubbled and gurgled, creating an eerie echo as it filled. She waited until only silence reverberated off the walls and the pool became still. Damali touched her fingers to the glassy surface and brought them to her forehead.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… not because I loved, not because I cared, but because I forgot about the pain of those around me as I learned and lacked patience to wait for Your sign. Help me to do better, and not to hurt the people who love me most. I want to go home to be with them, wherever they are." She stood quietly for a long while, simply gazing into the font and trying to calm her spirit. The slight lingering smell of incense was soothing and soon she was able to move away, having made her peace with her circumstances.
Now the issue was how to get out of the church and be reunited with her family. She stared at the rows of votive candles and didn't move as one lit for her on its own.
"You heard me," she whispered, tears of relief washing her cheeks. Her attention went to the heavy doors that creaked open ever so slightly, and within moments she was through them and back out on the top step facing the wide street in bright sunlight.
Surveying the landscape for a direction, she walked down the steps with care and stood by the curb, wondering what sign would light the way next. Oddly, all resistance and defiance had seeped out of her, along with the fear. She was simply bone-weary. It felt as though the defensive, angry energy had collected in her feet and was now dripping from the soles of her sandals with every heavy step she took. It made her footfalls labored, and she walked like she had ten-pound weights on each foot. She could barely move.
With disinterest, she watched a cab drive by. But it stopped, backed up, and a young African man who looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a red, black, and green crocheted skullcap, dressed in a beat-up Army jacket, ragged yellow T-shirt, and dingy brown corduroy pants with black flip-flops on smiled and rolled down his window, hailing her.
"You need a ride, queen?"
Damali shook her head and closed her eyes. She was no longer invisible. What next? "Thanks, brother," she said in a tired voice. "My ends are short, got no cash. Thanks anyway."
"You've got money," he said, his fluorescent-white smile lighting up his dark, handsome face. "I take silver for a sister as fine as you. Come let me give you a ride and talk to me. It's lonely in the morning, yes?"
"Silver?" Damali chuckled. Men were such a trip, and she couldn't deal with some brother from around the way hitting on her right now. "Naw, I'm cool."
"Wit all dat silver in your ears, and gold in your hair, you can't part wit one little earring for a ride to Broad Street? It's only a few blocks."
She became very, very still, and then her hand gently touched her earlobes. When she'd been on the plane, she hadn't had earrings on. She looked at her wrists and almost gasped. Thick kundalini snakes with gleaming precious stones were wrapped around her wrists. She unfastened an earring, and she stared at the sterling Ankh in her palm. She glanced down at her feet and heavy silver ankle bracelets with hieroglyphics etched upon them were weighing down her legs. A large silver toe ring covered her right middle toe. Her gaze went back to the cabbie as she gently patted her head wrap feeling it bulge with hard objects within her hair. Plus, she'd never mentioned where she was headed. Even she didn't know the answer to that. "Broad Street?"
"Yes. That is where you are going, true?"
Damali warily eyed him and shrugged. "How do you know I'm going to Broad Street?"
"What is eleven and five?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a sly grin.
"Sixteen," she said, coming closer to the cab, curious.
"And one and six?" he asked, chuckling.
"Seven," she whispered.
"And your man's birthday is November fifth, correct?"
She simply stared at the man.
"He is twenty-four, which would make it six. Six plus seven is what? Thirteen," he said with a smile. "And the year of his birth would be nineteen eighty, which is one, plus nine, equals ten, reduces to one, add the eight, makes it nine. And nine is three threes, a triple trinity, a very powerful number. If you want to go home, you have to go to Egypt in Philadelphia, and stand on an axis of the pyramid the Masons built—masswithson , mason, meaning child of Light. His birthday is not far away… you ready for the full lunar eclipse that will last his number—three hours and thirty-three minutes? Nine."
This man's strange babble made her brain feel like oatmeal. The numbers and dates were coming too fast, and he knew things he shouldn't have. She remembered what she'd been promised by the queens, though. Guides and shamans would come.
"What's today's date?" Tension had made her body so rigid that she could barely talk.
"October thirtieth. A three day," he said with flourish. "The month ten reduces to the number one, which represents the Creator as symbolized by the sun. Three is the trinity, forms a triangle, and is the offspring of the union of two. Add it to get four," he said with a wink, "and you have the number four, balance."
Damali thrust her hand into the cab window and offered the earring without a word. The cabbie nodded and chuckled and popped the automatic lock so she could climb into the back of his vehicle. His jabber made her head spin, but his references totally freaked her out. Regardless of all his mystical talk, all she knew was one basic fact: If today was October thirtieth, her team was flying into the night a day ahead of her on Halloween. She closed the door to the cab without protest.
"We go to One Broad Street. That is one axis, north, a point of power. City Hall is the other, south. Invasions from the north have conquered the south, but the greatest power is in the east where Khepre is reborn each morning. What used to be called the John Wanamaker Building is the other side of the triangle. If you look at it from above and draw the invisible lines, you can see the connection." He spoke without turning and then took a small stick out of his jacket pocket and began chewing on it like it were a cigar. "This city, like Washington, D.C., was founded by Masons. All the founding fathers were Masons, and have replicated everything found in the original seat of power. Now that is hidden in plain sight within the seat of authority in the most powerful nation. Open your eyes and go through the door, just like you did at the church, and find Egypt."
"Where are you from?" Damali whispered, her voice hoarse from shock.
"Ethiopia, where else?" he said, chuckling as he drove the short distance. He turned in his seat and handed her a card. "My grandfather is waiting for you. Find him and he will give you back your earring."
The cab had stopped in front of a massive structure that looked as much like a cathedral as it did a strange museum. "Thank you," Damali said quietly, taking the card and carefully studying it before she shoved it into her robe pocket.
The man smiled, lowered his eyes, and bowed slightly in his seat. "It was my honor to courier the Neteru back to her destiny."
"You think they're gonna be cool?" Shabazz asked Father Patrick, as the teams filed down the plane's spiral staircase to the cabin's main level. He used his chin to motion toward the closed conference room that held the stunned crew.
"Who can tell?" Father Patrick said, rubbing his face with his hands while each person found an empty seat and flopped into it. "They were told, they now know, and it's up to them to believe us."
"I think the doctors are still going to be a problem," Rider said with an exhausted sigh. "Those boys were on a mission, and they saw Marlene do her thing, which in their minds is probably black magic. They could be thinking that some supernatural dark forces snatched her to save the daywalker."
"As long as they're up there, and we're down here in the cabin, and I don't have to look at those bastards for the moment, I don't care," Carlos said, his eyes on the horizon. "She's been gone a long time. We need to find out where she is."
"Yeah, man," Jose countered, "but it's not like we can just hijack this jawn. We just need to chill and hope that they believed the brothers from the Covenant."
"And if they don't?" Carlos said, looking at Jose for answers. "If they drag us into some kind of military lockup, or worse, then what? How will she find us or we find her?"
"I say we be cool, stay the course, and ride this out. All we can do is hope that the fresh pilots and crew don't trip when we refuel on the ground. If the first crew is happy to be off here with us, and feel like they got potentially set up, human nature being what it is, they are not trying to find themselves in a contamination containment situation. They are going to let the new crew get on, sign on for the leg of the journey they'd agreed to do, and their consciences won't allow them to have us dragged off by nonclerical civilians to possibly infect them." Shabazz's tone was firm, but there was a quality of trying to bring logic within it that made Carlos temporarily relax.
"I think Shabazz is right," Berkfield said. "The looks on their faces when Father Pat told 'em what was up said it all. They want off this plane, they want us on here until they know what any of us are." He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. "Try to get some rest. We've got a long way to go, still."
The younger Guardians and Covenant team slowly nodded their agreement, seeming too weary to further debate the possible variables. One by one, each person began to slowly find a comfortable position in their seats and grudgingly dozed off. They fought sleep as though it were a sign they didn't care, which was far from the case, but the constant adrenaline rushes coupled with a long battle, cuts, bruises, and emotion had begun to wear down even the most battle-seasoned warrior.
Marlene sat with her head in her hands, resisting sleep as she continued her vigil.
"Baby, you have got to relax and rest for a little while. We all prayed as a unit, Father Patrick and his squad anointed where she left, sent up intercession, even had Carlos in the mix… it's time to turn it over." Shabazz stroked her damp brow. "You always tell me, sometimes you have to let go and let God, right?"
Marlene nodded, but didn't look up. She kept her eyes closed and her low murmur blended in with the drone of the plane's engine.
"I'll pick up where you leave off, Mar," Carlos said, making her look up for the first time. "You get a few hours shut-eye like Shabazz said. I promise you, I can't sleep, and if you tell me what to say…"
"Just say what's in your heart," Marlene said, reaching past Shabazz to clasp Carlos's hand when he came near their seats. "Just ask that she come back whole and all right, and that all of us are able to be back as one family, with no one hurt." She looked up at Carlos, a silent understanding passing between them.
"I've been doing that since I've known her," he said in a quiet voice.
"Remember this," Marlene said, squeezing his hand tighter. "The Light doesn't rob. There are things we don't understand, but the tragedies don't come from that side—you've been to where they come from and should know that by now." She held his hand firmly, and looked deeply into his eyes as she spoke, boring her meaning into his understanding. "Do not be angry with our side, it will only slow your learning and new powers… I know you have something latent but very powerful within you—and it isn't evil. If you can set aside the rage, maybe you can bring it forth. We need whatever juice you've got right about through here, brother. Seriously. And so does she."
Carlos nodded as Marlene's hand fell away. "You had a vision, or is it wishful thinking?" he asked, forcing a strained smile.
She saw the fragile hope his bravado contained and stood so they could look eye to eye. She placed one hand on Shabazz's shoulder, the other on Carlos's. "Both," she said after a moment. "It has always been both. I have seen the best in you and wished the best up out of you."
Her comment seemed to satisfy him for the moment and he nodded and then looked away. "You can count on me, Mar. I'm not going to stop praying for her until you wake up and take over. I gotchure back, got hers, too."
Shabazz offered Carlos his fist, and they exchanged a pound. "You family now, bro. Marlene don't turn over a prayer vigil to just any ole body, and she passed four ironclad clerics to give it over to you. That means something real." Shabazz paused as he looked up at Carlos, both men holding respect in their lines of vision. "Thank you for spelling my woman so she doesn't collapse from exhaustion. And thank you for all those times you had our backs. I'm with Father Pat. Fuck it. If you drop fang, you're still one of us, we just have to figure out how to feed your ass so we can all stay cool."
Carlos smiled and withdrew from Marlene's hold. It was the first time since he'd been on the plane that a sense of peace and camaraderie had actually filled him. The feeling was disorienting, and was so strange at a time like this, a time when his worst nightmares were possibly being realized—losing Damali.
He looked at Shabazz and then Marlene. "Get some rest," he said, wondering when this new family had claimed and included him.
NERVOUS TENSION riddled the teams as they watched the crew and pilots hurry off the plane. All eyes stared beyond the windows, waiting, watching as a small refueling vehicle hooked the nozzle up to the huge jumbo jet in Manila. They sat silently watching the new crew come on board and begin to prep the plane for takeoff. New food and drink inventory was loaded by oblivious airport workers, who also added a fresh stash of blankets and pillows. An airport official walked through the aisle, his expression grim as he checked all passports and identification and then stopped.
"My manifest says there's a Damali Richards on board." He waited.
The team waited.
"She's had a lot of bleeding and is in the ladies' room," Marlene lied. "I have her identification, though." Marlene produced Damali's passport and visa from her bag.
The official looked at it and then toward Father Patrick.
"She should go with us," Father Patrick said, his tone calm but filled with authority. "Unless you want to be responsible for her? I can phone the Vatican—"
"That won't be necessary," the official said, and backed down the aisle.
"Thank you," Father Patrick said, feigning submission. "It is our goal to get her to sanctuary as soon as possible."
No one relaxed until the exterior door of the plane was locked and the aircraft began to turn on the runway and move into a new taxiing position. Silent glances containing hope passed between the seated groups of exhausted warriors. When the crew came out to review safety instructions, shoulders dropped two inches in relief.
They listened to the instructions and the captain's announcements with deaf ears, each knowing that the eight-hour flight to Dubai would take them hurtling into the night. As soon as the suction of taking off pushed them back into their seats, the chilling reality spread like a silent threat that connected people on the plane. Carlos could almost feel the tension in his hands like a static charge, but tried to stay focused on whatever unanswered connection he had to Damali.
The moment the plane stabilized, the cabin crew nervously stood, made weak excuses, and then went up the spiral staircase and barricaded themselves within the conference room.
"You think they're nervous?" Big Mike said without a smile.
"Ya think?" Rider shot back, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat.
"Whatever," Carlos grumbled, and then looked at Marlene. "We need a strategy to brace for nightfall."
"Why? You feelin' funny?" Shabazz asked. His tone wasn't glib. His expression was stone serious.
"No," Carlos muttered. "I just know that where I came from, they don't do variables. A search party is likely."
Shabazz nodded. "Cool."
"You went to ash and have the coverage of the Light," Father Patrick said, trying to keep panic at bay on the plane.
"Indeed," Imam Asula said. "This aircraft is anointed and covered, as is its crew."
"If you say so," Carlos said, sounding unconvinced. "I just don't like leaving anything to chance."
"Neither do I," Shabazz warned. "With no weapons on board, I ain't feeling right."
"They've got water on board," J.L. offered. "We could dump out the liquor and the clerics could bless it."
"Perish the thought," Rider said quickly. "Use the pop bottles and water bottles, son. Let's not get crazy in here."
"So be it," Imam Asula said. "We can create holy-water flasks so that each one of us has several at his or her disposal."
"Now you're thinking," Carlos said and stood. "We need to rig upsomething ." He walked down the aisle making everyone's eyes follow him. "In the conference room, the arms of the chairs are wood. Stakes. In the medical room, we've got scalpels that could be tied together with medical tape, if it comes down to hand-to-hand." He glanced at Marlene. "You've still got your walking stick, and need to keep that in reach."
"The man is on point," J.L. said, standing. "I bet they have alcohol, which I can rig a wick on using medical gauze, not to mention vodka, if I need to rig Molotov cocktails up in this tip."
"Two bottles of holy water on the ends of a long tether, like Ace bandage, would give me and Big Mike something to hurl… and with Ace bandage, I might be able to rig a slingshot—add a few hypodermics loaded with holy water and dead aim—see where I'm going?" Dan asked as he stood.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Carlos said. "I ain't trying to wait for nightfall to deal with anything that might try to breach this vessel. We need to be strapped enough to deal with an onslaught."
"Hold up," Berkfield said. "I agree and everything, and I'm all for a state of readiness, but what exactly are you laying for? What do you think is coming?"
"I don't know," Carlos said, his gaze drifting toward the window. "That's my issue. I just don't know, but I'm jittery as shit. We'll be flying over the damned Indian Ocean all night long, up in a tin can with a few prayers around it, and I know who definitely wants to be sure I didn't come back. Not to mention, with Damali gone, my greatest worry is they haven't already found her. Because if they have, they'll hold her hostage for the next six years until she goes into phase again. There'll be no negotiation, and girlfriend left outta here without her blades on her, feel me?"
"Yeah, I feel you," Shabazz said.
"Just when I thought we might be able to get some real shut-eye," Rider said, standing to come into the aisle. "But good looking out."
Berkfield held out his arm. "According to Father Patrick, I'm packing a lethal weapon."
The group stared at him.
"You've got needles in the back," he said, motioning to the medical room. "Take some blood out of my arm and lace the edges of blades and whatever projectiles you design with it. If you go hand-to-hand with a demon, a simple scalpel will make 'em laugh at you and rip your throat out, right?"
"No lie," Carlos said with a tense smile. "A scalpel cut ain't nothin' but a love nick."
"Shit," Rider said, running his palms over his jaw. "I vote for long-distance designs, J.L. You got that?"
"Yeah, I got it," J.L. said.
"And what if homeboy has a problem when the sun goes down?" Big Mike said, looking at Carlos. "Not trying to play, just being real."
"No offense taken," Carlos said. "Truth be told, I'm half hoping that I do get back to my old self. That way, at least, I could get off this potential death trap and find Damali."
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Shabazz said in a tired voice. "Like we all know, any of us mighta gotten nicked and the signs just haven't shown yet. With crossing international datelines and whatnot, I don't even know what day it is or how many nights have really passed. Do you?" When no one answered, Shabazz nodded. "The virus could jump out of any one of us once the sun goes down, so we all need to be real clear about that, and keep a personal set of artillery in reach."
"We work while we have light, then," Jose said. "Me and Monk Lin can probably break down a few of these seats to yield some long metal. Everything can't be plastic."
"Once we compile our arsenal, we should take shifts. The fatigue will rob us of strength. It will not be wise to have the entire team in that condition," Monk Lin said with a slight bow.
"Smart man," Carlos said, moving down the aisle toward the medical area. "Jose, break these stirrups off the table. There's metal rods in the gurney, too. In fact, pillage this room first."
Juanita knelt by Mrs. Rivera on the ground, her face streaked with tears as the house burned. Neighbors had gathered a block from the home, and good Samaritans tried to comfort the older woman who clutched at Juanita with shaky fingers. Ambulances could be heard in the distance and fire trucks screamed into the street along with news vans.
"El Diablo," Mrs. Rivera cried. "Momma! Oh, Momma!"
"We couldn't get to her," a neighbor said, his clean-cut hair smoldering as ash and debris clung to his jogging suit. "Lady, I tried," he said weeping. "God knows I tried, but the flames."
"It was a gas explosion," another neighbor yelled, pointing at Mrs. Rivera as an ambulance careened to the scene. "Help her! She was blown through the front window. But the grandmother…" The woman turned her face away and sobbed. "They were such a nice family. Thank God in Heaven their daughter was on her way home from work and not home, too."
"Listen to me, child," Mrs. Rivera said, her eyes glassy and disoriented as she pushed away the ambulance paramedics. "You cannot run from the devil. I tried to tell you that you must stand and fight him. Find my son, Carlos. He will make this right and will take care of you." She slapped at the helping hands that tried to roll her onto a gurney. "I saw my son! He is not dead! No,por favor , listen! My child is alive and he has come back to help us."
Juanita brushed the bloodied, thick strands of hair away from Mrs. Rivera's face. Her voice broke with sobs of anguish. "Be still and fight to live, Momma Rivera. Please. All your children are gone, but I will never leave you. Go to the hospital now and don't fight these men."
The older woman closed her eyes, and clutched Juanita's sleeve so tightly that the emergency medical team couldn't pry her fingers loose. "I have a number to give you. All that I owned, all that he left me and Momma go to you—but you must see that my son gets all but ten percent back. He will take care of you, don't rob him." She made Juanita lean in close and she spoke a number in her ear. "Write it down in your hand. Give her a pen. If she does this, then I will go."
"Get her a pen," one of the paramedics said with annoyance.
The panic of the situation and chaos of firefighters battling the blaze beyond them seemed to make the paramedic's nerves fray and snap under the duress of an old woman's unreasonable request. "Miss, do as she asks. Her pressure is dropping and she's going into shock."
Quietly, Mrs. Rivera spoke the numbers to Juanita with slow care. She watched the young woman scribble them in her palm and smiled, finally releasing her hold. "I love you, sweet one. Call the priest. Do not come to the hospital. Sleep in a church tonight. Then go to the bank—Swiss Bank,comprendo ?"
"C'mon, man. We've gotta get this lady into the ambulance. She's lost a lot of blood and is delirious." The ambulance team looked at Juanita as they covered Mrs. Rivera's face with a mask. "You can ride with us, but make a decision quick."
Juanita clasped Mrs. Rivera's hand, her eyes going from the injured elderly woman to the burning house a block away as she ran with the team beside the gurney. There was no way in the world she would abandon Carlos's mother. Not while she was on her deathbed, not when everything and everyone dear to her had been lost.
Stricken, Juanita made herself very small as the team checked Mrs. Rivera's vital signs and worked on her, everything moving in slow motion and at the same time a blur.
"Momma, please hold on, Momma Rivera," she murmured as the older woman's eyes rolled back under her lids and her jaw went slack.
"We're losing her!" a paramedic shouted. "Bring out the paddles. Gimme room to work, folks."
Juanita scrunched her body against the wall, and looked away as electric-shock paddles touched Mrs. Rivera's skin. Her body 'arched and lifted off the gurney, and then dropped, but the line on the monitors never moved. From the corner of her eye Juanita saw a strange glow within the eyes of the paramedic standing behind the one working on Mrs. Rivera. It was only a fraction of a second, like a quick flash of yellow lightning. Something was also wrong with his mouth. She watched a mist come up from the center of Mrs. Rivera's chest and hover over her lifeless body. A scream froze in Juanita's throat as she eased toward the door during the commotion. She watched the men work on the woman who should have been her mother-in-law. Her eyes went between the eerie, mesmerizing mist and the chilling flashes she glimpsed in the profile of the men's irises.
"He is not dead," a light female voice whispered so close to her ear that she almost passed out. "He is not dead. Run!"
Instantly, both paramedics looked at her. Their eyes narrowed and elongated fangs ripped through their gums. "One more, and that cleans up his territory," one said.
"You wanna do her before we do her?" the other asked, moving toward Juanita as a scream broke free from her throat and the sound bounced off the metal within the ambulance.
She was on her feet in an instant, and in two steps the beasts were on her. The ambulance swerved and hit a tree. The back door opened, jettisoning Juanita in a roll onto a church lawn.
"What the fuck!" one beast snarled.
"Run!" the ambulance driver shouted. Her voice was shrill as she materialized outside the vehicle and a large male materialized by her side.
Juanita ran and huddled against the locked doors. Her mind couldn't comprehend what her eyes were seeing. A young African-American male with massive body strength drew one of her attackers toward him, ripped out his heart, and allowed the body to combust just inches from him. The woman who had been driving the ambulance pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from someplace she couldn't see, leveled it at the other paramedic, and pulled the trigger, scattering burning embers and ash everywhere.
"I told you Carlos's territory was under siege," the female ambulance driver said, cocking back the barrel. "Those were territory sweepers."
"Yeah, baby, I know," the bulked male said, his focus now on Juanita. "Okay, you've made your point. But she has the digits to get in touch with Carlos. You heard what his momma said. Brother ain't dead."
Juanita covered her head and began screaming as the two things she couldn't describe walked toward her, but stopped just short of the lawn.
"We didn't come to harm you," the woman said, her mouth filled with long, white teeth. "But we do need information."
Papers and pens from the ambulance swirled and flew at Juanita.
"Stop screaming!" the male ordered. "Write the digits down before you sweat that shit away."
Trembling, Juanita looked at them and grabbed the papers and a pen that had landed at her feet. She'd do anything to live. "Please don't kill me," she whispered, her eyes darting between the man and woman, a new scream forming as she watched them normalize into what would appear to be an ordinary man and woman.
"Write and we won't," the woman said in a gentle voice. "Stay inside the church tonight, or at least on the steps if it's locked."
Juanita nodded and quickly complied. "Is he really still alive?" she asked, flinging the paper at them but staying affixed to the door.
"You can see spirits," the male said. "The one that was going toward the Light, we couldn't see her because of that. What did she say?"
Juanita swallowed hard, willing herself not to pass out. "Momma Rivera said, 'He is not dead.' She told me to run."
The male nodded. "My boy, yeah… You go!" He began walking away into the night, chuckling.
"Tell no one about this," the woman warned. "Get in touch with him and seek his shelter. He needs his resources. When you do find him by day, tell him two of his own that were supposed to be Guardians are on the run in his zones." She began walking into the nothingness of the night in the direction the disappearing male had come from. "You're one, too,chica . If you can see Light spirits, they need you. Time to wake up and face your destiny."
It was just too quiet. Carlos fidgeted in his seat, unable to sleep. Two men on full guard for two hours, then the shift would change. Whatever. He wasn't about to go to sleep. The most he would allow himself was to close his eyes so the burning itch would stop. It felt like sandpaper was scoring the insides of his lids each time he blinked. Hehated being human. The night was supposed to be his, not drug him making him sleepy and possibly sloppy if Hell came to call.
He watched Jose fighting it, too, twitching and turning in what seemed near agony, trying to stay awake but unable to. Dan's head was bobbing up and down so hard that Carlos was sure the young gun would ultimately snap his own neck if the plane hit a turbulence bump. Big Mike was sprawled out, head back, snoring so hard he almost drowned out the plane engines. But he liked how Marlene slept, just like Monk Lin—like cats. Their third eyes open, the other- two closed in a light but steady doze. He knew in an instant those two would be on their feet. Rider was also good, slept like a soldier, practically standing up. All he needed was a ten-gallon cowboy hat to put over his eyes.
Carlos nearly smiled as he looked over at Shabazz. His Guardian brother had made a tent with his fingers, his breaths slow and controlled, asleep but not really. Of them all, he slept most like a vampire—always ready. Marlene slept like that, too. Quiet repose, almost as though she was dead. But he knew sister could bring lightning in an instant. Serene ambush. Very cool, very wise. Unshakable. All of it gave him a new level of respect for Damali's squad and those that had schooled her. If these were her teachers, then his woman was more awesome than he'd come to know.
Lopez's sleep was fitful, just like Jose's, though. That concerned him. Both those guys had a thin line of vamp in their DNA, and their not being able to rest truly made Carlos worry. Asula was stretched out, like Big Mike, but Father Patrick's breathing would hitch, stop as though impacted by sleep apnea, and then resume, making Carlos wonder if the old man's heart would give out one night from it all.
His gaze intermittently roved the cabin, every now and then connecting to J.L.'s bleary-eyed expression, then they'd nod and acknowledge the clean sweep, and start the process all over again. It would have been so much easier if he could just read minds, sense things again, and could get a lock on his baby girl. Carlos gave up the foolish wish. It was what it was. He settled back in his seat and stared out at the gorgeous full moon. She was flossing tonight, strutting herself over the wide Indian Ocean, and had things been different, he might have gone out to dance under her on the wind.
His gaze went to Jose as he arched in his chair. Something was wrong. Carlos trained his eyes on his fellow Guardian brother and listened intently. Jose's breathing wasn't right; it was coming in short, uneven pants. When Jose groaned, Carlos relaxed and shook his head.You thinkin' about that, at a time like this, hombre ? he thought, becoming annoyed and not sure why. But when Jose murmured Damali's name, he froze. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair as he fought not to rush Jose and start beating the shit out of him.
True, a man couldn't be held accountable for his dreams, but if they were going to be teammates, some shit was just unacceptable—even in one's sleep. Carlos forced his gaze back out the window. But what could he expect? He'd actually told Jose to step in for him, to be with Damali, should anything happen to him. And Jose had had his back, with Lopez, had collected his ashes and had joined in prayer with Damali for his return. Plus, somethinghad happened to him. He wasn't right. Without his powers he was crippled. He and Jose were now equals. But if homeboy didn't stop dry humping the arm of the chair with his woman's name in his throat, he was fairly certain that he could still rip out his heart.
In all his life he never thought she'd come to him like this. It had been a dream, a fantasy, but now that she was so close, Jose held his hand out to Damali. Her eyes were sad as she dabbed at his mouth with a damp finger.
"You've got some sauce from dinner on your chin," she said with a smile.
He leaned against his bike and glanced out the garage door toward the waning sunlight. "You wanna get out of the compound go down to the beach?"
She nodded and kissed the offending stain off his chin, licking it as she drew away, but she stayed so close that he could smell the sweetness of her deepening breaths. "Or, we can go to your room?"
"You sure?" he asked, his hands trailing down her arms and back up again. He watched her nod, her nipples hardening beneath her favorite peach tank top as his hands gently caressed her arms.
"He's been gone a long time, and it's time for me to move on. I miss him, but…"
"I miss him, too," Jose said. "But I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it. I care about you too much, if—"
"Shush," she said, placing her fingers over his lips. "We've both wanted this for a long time."
She covered his mouth with her own, deepening the kiss, her tongue finding his, stroking it until he groaned. She pulled back, and he moved with her until he was crushing his mouth against hers. His hands slid down her back to cup her behind.
She pulled away again. "Tell me you don't want this," she murmured thickly in his ear. "We can always stop."
"No," Jose hissed into her ear. "You know how long I've wanted you."
"Then don't stop," she murmured against his throat, licking a trail down it, then nipping her way back up. Her body moved against him, causing his hips to match the same rhythm as hers. "Let's go to your room."
"Okay," he said, unable to breathe. "We shouldn't let the house see us, though, you think?"
"Why do I care? You're my man, aren't you?"
He stared at her, tears filling his eyes. "I don't know. Am I?"
"Yes, ever since you saved me. Jose, you risked your life for me, went against harpies. How could you not be?"
He kissed her so hard he thought he'd chip one of her teeth. His bedroom was so far away that he wasn't sure if he could walk the distance—desire weighed on him so heavily. The garage was just fine… But he wanted all night with her, no interruptions. Wanted it to be right, so she'd never say no again.
Her palm flattened against his hard length, making him shudder.
"I can't wait, either," she whispered. "I want you now." She looked at him hard and pulled her top over her head, allowing her bare breasts to fill his hands. "Take off your pants."
He couldn't stop touching her even to unzip his pants. "You sure?" he panted, nipping her throat, working at the fastening, stroking her hair, kissing her as he tried to strip the jeans from his body, and cried out when she melted against him like hot wax.
He'd only imagined what she'd feel like against him, but the sensation sent a hard shiver through his body down to his bones. The sudden burn of skin against skin brought tears of pleasure to his eyes. "Take off your pants, baby," he rasped against her throat, his face damp as her skin seared him.
"Remember when Carlos died?" she said, opening her zipper slowly.
He nodded and swallowed hard, she felt so good it was ridiculous. He couldn't even speak. His focus was singular; she had to get her pants down.
"What did the Guardian team ever do with his ashes?"
Jose blinked. She knew what they had done with his ashes. Something wasn't right. He watched her slide down his body to kneel on the cement floor.
"Tell me, baby," she murmured. Then she drew him into her mouth slowly, his eyes rolled back in his head, and everything began to feel right again. "Jose, you know, don't you?"
When she drew her mouth away, his stomach clenched. He looked at her lush mouth, the cold air kissing his ass and his wet, throbbing member. He knew he had to be out of his mind. But something was telling him she wasn't herself. She didn't really want this as much as he did. It took everything in him to reach down and hold her by both arms. She smiled as he held her, staring into her beautiful hypnotic eyes, breathing hard, wanting to cum inside her in that moment more than he wanted to live.
"All you have to do is tell me," she said, her hot breath flowing over his hard shaft.
"Damali, baby, I love you, you know that… but you're scaring me." He sucked in a long, shaky breath, and caressed the side of her face. "I don't want to talk about that right now while I'm loving you. Let's go back to my room and—"
"No," she said, standing suddenly. Her gaze narrowed on him as she folded her arms over her bare breasts. "I'm going to my room. If you decide you want to communicate with me, then knock on my door. You have ten minutes. Otherwise, you can forget it."
He watched her walk away, his pants down around his ankles. Conflict tore at his conscience. How many nights had he been so hot for her that he'd used his hand to relieve the ache? How many nights had he awakened alone in his bedroom just down the hall from her, twisted in his sheets, sweating and dying for her? Now she had come to him, stripped him down, offered her mouth, her body,everything , if he'd just talk about a situation they both knew.
Jose pulled up his jeans with a wince. He was only human… then he remembered, yeah, but girlfriend had also once dropped fangs. What if she had gone dark again? What if that's why she could no longer sense where Carlos was, now that he wasn't a vamp? Then it hit him.They were supposed to be on a plane . Carlos hadn't died. He was alive and sitting a few rows behind him when he'd fallen asleep!
Sudden terror jolted him awake. Jose glanced around hoping he hadn't given himself or his dream away. The erection was killing him. What had been on his mind? Dreaming about Damali, like that, now? All he could do was take deep breaths and try to will the tremors away. He glanced at Carlos, who turned slowly, his eyes glowing silver. Jose froze, the sweat on his brow chilling beneath that gaze.
"We need to talk, man," Jose said quietly.
Carlos nodded. "Yeah, motherfucker. We do."
"THIS IS one of only three like it in the world," the cabbie said as he left Damali on the curb.
Damali marched up the stone steps and peered at the wide, wooden door. She touched it with her hand and glanced around. Nothing happened. Becoming more confident she touched the door again, this time with both her hand and the stick simultaneously. She closed her eyes and walked forward the moment her hands began to tingle, thoroughly expecting to bump her nose.
Giddiness entered her as she realized she'd done it again. Her mind continued to hammer away at the possibilities while her eyes swept the interior. Everything was land-of-the-giants scale. A huge oak reception desk protected the Mason Temple guard that greeted her. The fact that he was calmly sitting behind the desk gave her a start. He smiled as though expecting her, which she definitely wasn't ready for.
He was a merry little man, with a kind, round face, pudgy build, and unkempt fawn-brown hair that was thinning in spots. His gray eyes twinkled as though he knew a secret. Behind him, on the wall, was a massive lithograph of the architectural layout for King Solomon's Temple. Damali stared at the wall and then at the man, so many questions running through her mind that she didn't know where to begin.
"You're very early for the eleven-o'clock tour," he said in the tone of a very well-mannered gentleman. He stood and hitched the pants of his blue uniform over his round belly as she approached the desk. "Or, are you just here for the museum and library?"
They both stared at each other. The outer door was locked; she'd just walked through it like it had been wide open. This guy had to have seen her do it, but he acted as if walking through doors was a normal occurrence. Her heart beat a little faster.
"Just the tour," Damali responded pleasantly, "and perhaps a peek at the library later."
Motioning for her to follow him, he rounded the desk and smiled. Damali's line of vision swept every facet of the rooms they passed. She could feel electric excitement pass through her.
"I'm Druid, you know."
She smiled politely, not sure how to respond. "That's very nice. I'm just in from L.A."
He laughed, his voice creating a joyful echo within the large room. "We go way back, and have suffered much, too. We've heard you've taken one of our own in under your wing." He stopped and gave her a little bow. "So, for that kindness, you receive thegrand tour."
Damali smiled and nodded, while her mind scrambled to figure out which team member he was talking about. They'd had a lot of additions. Dan? Berkfield? She hurried behind him, amazed at how fast the chubby little man could walk.
"Did you know that George Washington was a Mason, as well as most, if not all of the founding fathers of this country?" The guide winked at her as he whispered the information like a schoolboy telling a secret. "They have his Masonic apron right here in the museum."
"Yeah, the guy in the cab was telling me," Damali murmured, her eyes darting around the glass cases that lined the room. What else could she say? Each case held emblems, shields, swords, rings, coins, and other artifacts that seemed to go as far back as the Middle Ages. Okay, so who was this guide and how did this building get her to Egypt?
Scanning the room, she noted the fine woods and Italian marbles that supported what appeared to her to be fifty-foot ceilings. Nothing Egyptian leapt out at her and the exterior of the building looked like hand-sculpted granite from Westminster Abbey.
"Right you are." The tour guide chimed in with a proud smile in response to her thoughts, "Actually, fashioned after St. Mark's Cathedral in Venice."
Damali didn't say a word. This old guy had read her mind, something only Marlene and Carlos had ever been able to do. It was unnerving.
Her guide nodded and smiled. "Correct again. It would appear that you are now ready for the real tour, now that you've loosened up a bit."
A hundred questions tripped over themselves in her brain as she followed the blue-uniformed gent into the next room and waited. Her mind was on fire, trying to make critical links between the spectacular show of power and wealth that surrounded her, and her own paltry existence as a disinherited Neteru with a magic stick. The fact that her guide reminded her of a leprechaun made her smirk. Now sheknew she had to be losing her mind.
"Ah, I am not one of the wee folks," he said merrily. "Actually it was a coven back then—a good one," he added quickly. "People get semantics all confused and get weird about it, so I detest the word. We learned most of the mystical arts from the Egyptians. They were the true masters." He smiled broadly and clasped his hands. "I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to have a master in my midst, dear young queen. Oh, let us resume the tour!"
She almost ran in the other direction. In her mind, coven was synonymous with witches and black magic. He was right; the word coven had nearly stopped her heart. She planned to ask Marlene about this later, if she could ever get to her. For now, Damali held her peace and just allowed the man to babble on as she followed behind him at an appreciable distance.
"Each of the presently alive grand masters are represented in the life-sized portraits of this room," the guide said with a sweep of his hand, "and behind these two-ton brass doors, you will find portraits of our past, and now deceased, grand masters. These eighty-foot, vaulted ceilings have been lowered to fifty-two feet to accommodate the advent of electricity, but later during the tour, we'll see how the original structure was kept intact, and its grandeur preserved by the skillful use of skylighting. These ceiling frescos are gilded in actual twenty-three-karat gold leaf," he added, motioning for her to pass through the doors to stand before an impressive rear staircase.
"These doors have been hung with such exactness, that they open with the push of a finger, and haven't been rehung since they were originally installed well over a hundred years ago." He leaned in toward her. "Did I tell you how impressive the mathematics were that came from Egypt?" He laughed at his own gushing. "Oh, but I don't have to tell you what you already know in your bones."
Losing patience, Damali edged near the strange tour guide. "Really awesome, but I don't see the point. I was told that if I came here—"
"Patience," he said calmly. "Remember these points. If I take you through sections too quickly you'll experience vertigo."
"Vertigo?"
"Yes," he said, his voice becoming mildly strained with annoyance. "Now pay attention. The lights can interrupt one's depth perception."
"I'm sorry," Damali said. "Thank you for taking your time with me. I've just been very worried about my family."
He smiled and bowed slightly. "We understand, and are not offended."
Damali glanced around to see who thewe he was referring to might be. But the vast hall appeared empty except for the two of them.
"May I go on?" he asked in a recovered, eloquent tone.
"Yes, thank you. I'd be honored," Damali said, feeling very much like Alice through the looking glass. She was almost sure that she saw a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision. A strange white blur, and then it was gone.
"There are seven lodge halls within this temple that we will see during the tour. We are now going to enter the Oriental Room." Her guide motioned for her to follow him through a wide door and he waved his arms as he made a slow circle, pride clear in his expression. "This room is an exact replica of the many impressive rooms within the Moorish empire's architectural palatial achievement known as the Alhambra."
Damali's line of vision fastened to the magnificent hand-cut mosaics and thick burgundy velvets that covered luxurious ornamental benches. "I'm home. And, I remember when it all fell… Granada, Cordoba, Seville… This was the Hall of Dames, and, parts from the Hall of the Ambassadors…"
"Yes," the tour guide remarked with obvious delight, "I see that we have a historian in our midst."
Damali was speechless as her mind drank in the splendor. It was as though she knew this place from firsthand knowledge and the impact of the rushing impressions made her have to sit down on a long, polished bench. She didn't need the guide to explain that each layer of mosaic work had been reproduced from various sections of the palace and brought together into one spectacular fusion of riches.She knew it .
"See," he said triumphantly, "the vertigo happens when it hits you quickly. Memory is one thing, accessing the Akashic Records for the history of empires is quite another."
"Much respect," Damali said, swaying slightly and then stabilizing herself with the stick.
"The first time you pull down the knowledge can literally be mind blowing."
She nodded and tried to stand.
"Patience," he warned with a warm smile, "we have time. Wait until you see the knights of Templar and the Scottish Room… we have each section of the known world to cover before we go to the most impressive one of all."
Damali shook her head and this time when she attempted to stand, her legs held her weight. "No, sir, I really don't have as much time as you think. I have to go home. Soon." But the Templars… yeah. Maybe there was something here she needed to see.
He sighed and bid her to follow him with a simple wave of his hand. As they approached the enormous staircase again, she was forced to hold on to the rail. Her grip seemed precarious, at best, as the tour guide happily went on about how the forty-ton, five-story, spiral monolith was actually welded together in the building. Her vision blurred again, and that white glimpse haunted her. It floated lazily between the spirals. But it didn't frighten her. A place this old would be replete with ghosts.
"If you look down at the blue rug at the bottom of this impressive masterpiece," the guide lilted, causing her to peer over the rim of the railings despite her better judgment, "you will feel like you are spiraling into the Nile River. The Bailey statue at the bottom of the first landing guards the foyer. She is a masterpiece, and represents the virtue of silence—worth between three to five million," the tour guide added with obvious pride.
"And, the Bohemian stained-glass window, which has a depiction of Moses approaching the Burning Bush, also represents the four cardinal virtues of temperance, fortitude, prudence, and justice, at the bottom. We have other statues of near value, angels, carved by William Rush—brother of the famous Mount Rushmore sculptor, and all the murals that we've passed have been created by Herzog."
"It'll pass, soon," she heard the guide murmur as a thin sheen of cool perspiration beaded on her brow. "Don't look down," he advised.
"I'll be fine," she wheezed while images and information from thousands of years of history poured into her brain. Snapshots like freeze-frame still video flitted in her mind's eye, giving her understanding, making her know why certain wars had been fought, what was at stake, and the battle strategies employed to shift power, realign empires, and redistribute wealth. "I just need to go home."
"Since you are so impatient and determined to push yourself to the limit, if you will follow me, next we shall enter one of our most impressive rooms, the Egyptian Room." He stopped and sighed. "It's a shame you won't let me take the time to show you the other rooms, but I guess you'll see what you must along the way."
The guide paced ahead of her and then waited as she slowly followed, a throbbing headache strumming in her temples. The floating white mist was back, wafting near her. The hair on her arms and neck was standing up. What did this presence want? She could detect curiosity in it. But also deep sadness.
"This room is so architecturally and historically accurate, that Egyptologists can even transcribe the hieroglyphics on these walls," he said, smiling broadly now as he ushered her through the door. "It is so perfect in replication that scholars from around the world come here to study the mystic symbols and designs. It took three years of Mason-brethren study to do the research abroad, followed by twelve years to build and complete the room. Each segment of the hand-carved pieces of furniture is of the highest-quality ebony wood, with twenty-three-karat gold leaf."
Immediately she felt like the only proper thing to do would be to go down on one knee, not due to the involuntary effect of the vertigo, but as a salute or gesture of respect. However, the guide's presence seemed to prevent her from doing that just yet. That was something she needed to do in private. She knew it, although wasn't exactly sure why, but she was prone to follow her gut at this point.
Growing deeply concerned as his gaze fixed just above the Lesser of Three Lights Altar toward the ceiling, she was overcome by a nuance in the odd sensations she was experiencing.
A distant buzzing in her ears began to increase in tempo and volume, making her dizzy. As the tour guide spoke, she half-collapsed, half-sat down on one of the side benches to regain her bearings.
"This is Hathor, above the main grand master's throne. She was considered goddess of wisdom and fertility, often represented with a cow's head and a woman's body. Note the ceiling fresco of twenty-three-karat gold rays emanating from the sun and holding the sacred Ankh fertility symbol out before her. Here she has been depicted—as in only one of the main Egyptian temples—with a woman's face, but cow ears to represent her considerable ability to hear that which is not being said—a foundation trait of wisdom."
It was like looking in a time-distorted mirror. The rounded, heart-shaped face, skin coloring, eyes… coiled hair. Damali's vision momentarily blurred from tears of distant recognition. Indecipherable memories began to slam into her brain in spontaneous flashes, and soon the buzzing sounds evolved into what she perceived to be the low resonance of old men's voices chanting. Unnerved, she stood and slipped outside of the room away from the vibrations, unable to listen to the tour guide and the voices in her head at the same time.
"You should see it all, and then come back to this room," the guide said, offering her his elbow.
She was slow to touch his arm, not sure why, but she wasn't too sure of a lot of things. He seemed to understand her hesitation, however, and took it in gracious stride as they walked in silence. What she'd just experienced defied words or explanation. Yet, she had no vocabulary to quickly pose a question. Too much was running through her mind just now. The silence suited her better.
When they approached the grand foyer, the tour guide described the architectural feat of the skylighting eighty-feet above them, and she watched with tears in her eyes as the man shut off the power to let the sun filter through. Tiny stars in the man-made constellation had been cut into the granite surface, which allowed one to walk among the stars on a Carrara marble floor.
"Concluding our tour," her guide quipped enthusiastically, "is our main entrance, which remains closed by day to the general public. Between five o'clock and five-thirty P.M., we open the doors to Mason brethren and their guests only, and throw the main power switch to ignite approximately fifty-one-hundred lights."
Something in Damali's brain also ignited with the mention of the lights, and she glanced in the guide's direction and made eye contact. His expression seemed to say,not now, but later .
"The interior of the main doors are guarded by two hand-cast, brass Sphinxes, and as you will look up to the center arch, there are symbols of the zodiac, and symbols from all major world religions. But," her guide continued, "we want to draw your attention to the cornerstone of the building, which was laid around the same time as that of City Hall's, and the old John Wanamaker Building, forming a powerful architectural triangulation of spectacular construction. In addition, the cornerstone in this building seals off our Masonic time capsule, buried in a vault under this structure. Unfortunately, some years ago the original one was cracked and damaged when the subway lines were installed under Broad Street."
"And the seal was broken. They put a thirty-one-foot concrete wall in front of it, for the subway, but the original cornerstone seal was broken," Damali murmured, finishing the man's sentence and drawing his undivided attention.
"Absolutely correct!" the blue uniformed man shouted merrily, his voice echoing in the vast marble halls. "In that day, they tried to use X-ray technology to avoid hitting our cornerstone, but, alas, there's nothing like those old artisans. I must implore you to visit our library one day, and most assuredly, our museum—if you have not already availed yourself. Did you know that there are more Masonic symbols hidden within the alcoves of City Hall, than even in this building? After all, the seat of this city was the unparalleled seat of world power for the burgeoning New World—and Philadelphia was the founding city of the newest, soon to be most powerful, nation on the globe, that also hosted the wealthiest, most influential families of the day. It was the new Rome, so to speak. Oh, you must try out our library and see for yourself."
"Thank you, I will try to come back here with my family," Damali said quietly, looking at the refurbished stone and shaking her head. "That was a crime. A true shame what happened. The seal wasn't supposed to be broken, especially not underground near the vents."
"Indeed," her guide quipped, concluding their tour with a glance at his watch. "We invite anyone with interest to visit, tour as many times as you'd like, and to stop by our gift shop on the way out."
"May I just walk through the Egyptian Room one more time?" she asked quietly. She gazed at him with a plea in her expression. "Alone?"
"It's not policy," he said, but smiled and glanced at his watch. "But if you are quick and absorb much before the dayshift changes, I can see no harm."
He motioned for her to follow him, and she had to almost run to keep pace with him. The moment he opened the door for her, he bowed, and then quickly shut it behind her. She didn't look back as she advanced to the highly polished ebony throne, knowing that he was already gone. During the long walk across the room, she stopped at the Lesser of Three Lights Altar and went down on one knee, then pointed the stick in each cardinal direction.
A lonely, disembodied female voice whispered in the room as a cool breeze washed across her shoulder. "I want to go home," it moaned. "Please. Help me."
Damali's head jerked up and she scanned the room as she stood quickly, stopped, and listened. "Who are you?"
"Oh… take me home," the voice wailed. "The portals are open. She'll never trust me."
Damali stood very still, allowing time to catch up to her mind. Everything the guide had shown her was connected. The broken subway seal was a metaphor for the broken portals. Each room, one of the thirteen flags. The Templars were involved, so were the Druids. Now this eerie, ghostly voice that was almost childlike was begging for her help. "How can I help you? What do you want?"
"I want to go into the Light," the voice said, and the wafting white mist that had been following Damali moved across the floor like morning fog. "I'm trapped."
Damali shook her head. She wasn't about to help some unknown entity by releasing it from wherever it was, especially if it wasn't already in the Light. "Can't help you, sis," she said firmly. "Not my job. Got things to do. Don't even know your name."
"If I help you," it whispered, "will you help me?"
Damali tilted her head. She'd taken a short walk on the dark side and knew a negotiation ploy when she heard one. Everything she'd ever experienced in that realm might also be to her benefit. She forced a chuckle. "Maybe," she hedged. "About the only thing I want now is the chairman's head on a silver platter."
"That can be arranged," the mist said, gaining in energy and swirling up to the ceiling. "But he never leaves council chambers."
Damali froze. Okay, this was a ghost, but how did it have intimate knowledge of the vamp empire? Something wasn't right. Her gaze followed the floating vapors. "Then, get me down there to blow the fucking hinges off his doors."
She watched as the vapor formed into a tight ball and ricocheted around the room.
"I don't know the way," the voice murmured, sounding agitated. "Only masters know. You used to be one, you should know." Then it let out a long, lonely moan and the sound of sobs echoed through the large room. "Oh, you're like the others and won't help me!"
Feeling an opportunity about to slip from her grasp, Damali peered up at the ball that was now in the corner of the ceiling. "I've fluxed back to my old self," Damali said, trying to keep contact with the dissolving vapor. "I have basic info, but not the route. I was never taken to chambers."
"Ask Carlos!"
The voice became angry and aggressive. Damali stared at the mist that was growing dark like a gray storm cloud, covering frescos and almost sucking the light out of the room. "Councilman Rivera torched in the sun."
The vapor lightened to a pale gray. "Oh… nooooo… then how can you help me?" More sobs echoed through the chamber. "The only one left hides where I can't go!"
Damali tilted her head. "There's one left?" Terror raced through her veins, making her do a quick calculation. They'd made another one that quickly?
"Yes…"
"Where is he?"
"I can't... I'm no longer a vampire since our fight. I'm just a disembodied—"
For a second Damali was speechless, but she worked with her gut hunch. This was either Dee Dee or Raven.
"I can't help you, if you won't help me." Damali put one hand on her hip. "You're a ghost! Can't you invade his dreams; suck his mind dry? You used to be one of the hottest female vamps in L.A. Find out how to get down to the Vampire Council, and I'll gladly send your pathetic, wailing ass into the Light."
The moment she'd leveled the challenge, the vapors rushed down from the ceiling and began taking shape in the far corner of the room. A svelte, gaseous female body began to form. Damali took a fighter's stance and held the stick in readiness for attack. But she blinked twice as the facial features of the transparent entity filled in. "Raven?"
Raven covered her face. "I want to go home. They opened the portals. I never knew what I was getting into." She looked up at Damali, tears streaming down her face. "Help our mother, Marlene. She was right."
It took Damali a moment to answer. There were no words.
"I messed up my life," Raven wailed, becoming vapors again, her voice reverberating off the walls. "I made hers a living Hell. I cannot rest. I am so tired. There is chaos. They don't know I'm missing, because the leaders are hunting for you."
The voice moved around the room so quickly that Damali almost fell as she moved in a circle, keeping it in front of her.
"What's coming will kill my mother. She'll die trying to protect you. I want to be in the Light when she comes. Tell her I am so sorry!"
"Okay, okay," Damali said quickly as the voice began to fade. "I have to get to Marlene first. But you and I could work together to get what we both want—Marlene alive, you in the Light, and me down at Vamp Chambers to go one-on-one with the chairman."
Raven immediately materialized, but stood back from Damali. "You would do that?"
"I want him, bad, girl." Damali stared at her. "I want Mar safe at all costs."
Raven nodded. Then she glimpsed the slow filter of light streaming through the window. "I cannot come to you on hallowed ground. But I'll lure the master from hiding and dredge his mind." She smiled. "He's new. I was Fallon's best lair companion. I'll know what he likes… what he needs." She gave Damali a wistful glance. "You've been one. You know what they like. Just don't renege on me, or I'll haunt you forever."
"You keep Marlene safe, and get me in front of the chairman, sis, and my word is good."
Raven nodded. "It always was. For what it's worth, I respected that… envied it. I've got a little Amanthra in me, too… but more succubae." She slowly dissolved, leaving Damali rattled. "Go home and wait for me to bring you information soon. I must work while he regenerates."
Raven vanished. Damali held on to the stick so tightly she felt like her hands would bleed. Several emotions crowded into her mind at once. When this was all over, she was moving out. It was settled. Marlene had served her time, had mothered so long till it didn't make sense. It was time for her to be given some peace, and not because death claimed her. The rest of the fellas needed that, too. The young bucks needed to have a life and experience—what she and Carlos once had, the full spectrum of love. Her man needed his powers back and some space to get his head together. Shit, she needed that, too. It was time for a change. Big change. To her way of thinking, the only way any of them would have a life is if she handled her business and addressed a very old debt. The chairman was going down. Lilith's head would roll. Then she was gonna chill. It didn't get any simpler than that. Win or die trying.
Damali let out a hard breath, stretched out her arms, and closed her eyes as she lifted her chin toward the ceiling, resolute. "Aset, I want to go home and to know where I am to be in this world. I open myself as a positive vessel to be used for the good, and only that. Please help me."
"Come child," she heard a female voice say. "Sit and learn."
When she opened her eyes, the face of Hathor was speaking.
Fear rose gooseflesh on her arms, but she advanced up the carpeted steps and sat down on the throne that was modeled after the ones that had once held great queens. The buzzing returned to her ears and the stick in her hand became a scepter that stretched into a golden rod. The head of it became a cobra that swayed to life as purple light enveloped her hand.
A sudden power rush filled her, making her arch her back and perspiration roll down her spine. It was so swift-moving and intense that she cried out, almost unable to bear the sweet heat. In dagger-sharp images she was connected to what Carlos had seen on his throne, a mirror opposite of hers. Worlds collided, armies warred, math and science and technology stretched her mind, languages bombarded her, and chunks of history flooded into her consciousness while scrolls of secrets wrapped in papyrus swam against the spiral of truths. She saw portals opened beneath the ground, lights in major cities going out, leaving a blackened landscape. The moon was eclipsed, a man with silver glowing eyes stretched out his hand toward her, his body rimmed in pulsing silver-lit energy. She called out his name and he came to her with opened arms. Then she was in a subway, running with her team, vermin squeaking and fleeing, tumbling over her feet to escape something horrible. A child wailed, and so did she. Then it all became so still in the bright tunnel.
Two entities approached her, the light behind them so bright that she couldn't make out their faces.
"Daughter," a soft female voice said. "I should have never left you, and won't now."
"My baby girl," a deep, familiar male voice said, holding out his hand. "We watch over you day and night. The Cradle of Humanity awaits you."
The moment they embraced her, she knew who they were. "Mom… Dad?"
"Yes," they said in unison. "Let us take you home. You have learned what you need to know. Let the guides help you make sense of it along the path."
Warmth radiated around her, lifting her closer to the light that cloaked them. A violet pyramid opened just beyond her reach, and her parents let her go. She could feel her body being sucked into the triangular vortex as they dropped their hold on her.
"No! Mommy! Daddy!"
But it was too late. They were gone.
Damali landed hard and cracked her head against a stone step. The thick emotion of parental loss still covered her and hurt as much as, if not more than, bumping her head. The dusty streets, colorful and chaotic, surrounded her and made her head spin. She tried using her stick to help her stand, but it was gone. She peered up at the brilliant blue sky and the dazzling sunlight made her squint. The warm temperature didn't stave off the chills that wracked her body. She shaded her eyes and tried to read the marker on the building, but could not. Yet she knew the language was Amharic. "Addis Ababa." The capital of Ethiopia.
Father Patrick nestled deeper into his seat as a fitful sleep claimed him. It had been so long since he'd seen his wife's smiling face, that when she came to him and hugged him, he openly wept.
He touched her soft cheek, remembering how much joy they once shared. Her large hazel eyes drank him in, and he filled his hands with her beautiful auburn hair, lifting it off her shoulders, the silken strands falling between his fingers. He stared at her heart-shaped face, remembering her mouth, the gentle swell of her breasts, and the curves of her petite frame. He knew he had to be dreaming as she kissed his lips gently and her body molded to his, still as svelte as she'd been when they'd first met. She had been so pretty…
"I have missed you so," he whispered against her cheek.
"It has been so horrible here without you."
He stroked her hair, watching the shimmering highlights in it while still allowing his fingers to luxuriate in the silken texture of it. "It cannot be so terrible in Heaven, my angel. I always prayed that you'd go there, no matter how you died. Our son, how is he?"
"Fine," she murmured, and kissed his neck. "But you seem to have been doing well for yourself," she said, pulling back with a gentle smile. "You have a new young man to care after. He's kept you busy."
He nodded and chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Yes, my wayward one, Carlos. He does keep me busy."
She gently brushed his mouth with a kiss, making his body stir in a way it hadn't in years. "Tell me about him. How did you bring him back?"
He sighed. "I didn't," he murmured. "Have you come to finally take me home, darling? Tell me my days are over, and that I can be with you and our son again."
Tears filled his eyes, making her form blur.
She stroked his face. "I'll take you into the Light. But first, tell me, whatever became of Carlos?"
He paused and held her back. "What? I didn't think death was conditional." The hair raised on the back of his neck. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you?"
In that instant she was gone, but he could not wake up.
Father Lopez stirred at the muffled cries he heard coming from Father Patrick, but a deep, paralyzing sleep kept him from fully rousing. A young woman ran toward him, naked and dripping wet, her eyes wild and beautiful as she opened her arms.
"Save me," she said.
Juanita's warm, young nakedness filled his arms. How could he forget her? Carlos had used her as a taunt, but he could never forget the sensation of lying with her. She was the only woman he'd ever known, even if it had been a vision, an illusion. She peered up at him.
"The vampires have surrounded my home and I cannot go back. Please let me spend the night with you."
She began crying and he held her more closely, trying to calm her as he stroked her bare back.
"I won't let them harm you. Where are your clothes?"
"I escaped through the bathroom window when I heard them enter the house. I have nothing but you… I am so ashamed." She looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. "The other clerics are all asleep. They won't know that I'm in your bed."
He glanced away. "But… I shouldn't. You can take the bed and I'll guard the door."
Her hand traveled down his chest. "But we've already been lovers."
He stared at her.
"Carlos gave me to you as a gift. I felt it that night and have wanted to be with you ever since. That's why I ran to you. But if you don't want me…" Her wide brown eyes searched his face and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Tell me you don't want me and I'll leave," she whispered, bringing her mouth close to his.
It was against everything he stood for, every vow he'd taken, and everything he'd been trained to do, but he was still a man. His mouth found hers, and the sweetness of her tongue twining with his produced near-delirium. "Don't leave," he murmured against her hair as she pulled away. "I'll protect you with my very life."
She removed his collar. "Did you feel it when he joined us?"
He swallowed hard and nodded.
"It was your first time?"
He nodded again and closed his eyes as her hand slid down his belly.
"I can show you more," she whispered.
"I really… I shouldn't, not here, not in the safe house with my brethren."
"We can go down into Carlos's old lair and be quiet as mice."
He looked around the safe-house living room at his sleeping Covenant brothers.
"Just like they went down there. Do you want me?"
"Yes," he said, closing his eyes as her touch produced a shudder.
"You are so much like Carlos… I loved him once. He was good to me, to us," she whispered. "He never really wanted me, and always loved Damali… so he gave me away to you that night in the illusion. It was a taunt, but also a gift for both of us."
"It was a gift," he said, stroking her cheek. He stared into her eyes, hypnotized by the urgency he saw within them. Just staring into them made him burn. Then every sensation he'd felt that night concentrated in his groin. He couldn't breathe.
"You have a little vampire in you, true?"
He nodded and took her mouth hard, rewarded by her hard rake down his back.
"Since he did so much for you, tell me, what did you do for him? Did you save him?"
"Oh, God…" he murmured as her hand slid beneath his pants and held him tight.
She stiffened, but relaxed when his head dropped to her shoulder. "Tell me, did you save him?"
He was breathing so hard he couldn't get out the words. "No… we… weren't…"
Suddenly a hard shake snapped Father Lopez awake. Men bearing weapons surrounded him.
A huge screech owl exited Father Lopez's chest in an eerie black mist and then materialized and careened across the room, as everyone ducked for cover.
"What did you tell her, man?" Carlos said, his eyes gleaming as he took aim at the creature.
Father Patrick slapped Padre Lopez's face. "Wake up, man. Talk to us! She's visited every man in here who has fallen asleep!"
Marlene brandished her stick as the owl dove at her, deadly talons extended. Shabazz hurled a holy-water bottle at it and sent shards of glass and water spraying against the far side of the cabin. Jose ducked as the owl screamed and flew up the spiral staircase. Dan and Big Mike rushed to the foot of the stairs and took aim with homemade slingshots, missed, and then were forced to take cover behind seats as the angry creature turned on them.
Berkfield threw a blood-tipped scalpel toward Jose, who caught it and flung it at the creature. His aim nicked the edge of the creature's wing, and billowing sulfuric smoke poured out of the wound as the owl dropped to the floor and began to elongate, a knotty spine sending feathers flying. Its beak became a razor's edge, talons lengthened, and a swishing, leathery, spaded tail stretched out of where its tail feathers had been. The creature now sported a six-foot wingspan within the cabin, its tail an instrument of death, and massive hooked talons strong enough to open a man's chest.
Rider hurled a holy-water bottle that splashed the wing, creating more smoke. "She can't fly in here—her wings are too big to get airborne," he hollered. "Open fire!"
Shabazz sent water bombs toward the beast two at a time as it snapped and screeched. Marlene and Berkfield kept its tail busy, stabbing it, drawing black blood, and dueling with the prehensile limb. Dan and Big Mike backed it up toward Rider, Jose, J.L., and Carlos, while the Covenant assaulted the beast from both flanks as it screeched in the wide center aisle from atop seats.
But its measures seemed defensive, not offensive, as though it were looking for something. Its gaze met Carlos's, raked him, then it let out an eerie scream that dropped Big Mike to his knees. Its blazing green eyes swept the airplane cabin again as if still searching for someone.
"She's not here!" Marlene yelled. "He's not here! You killed them!"
As soon as Marlene said that, the twisted creature flapped its wings, and rushed headlong into a row of windows along the wall, and vanished through them. The plane rocked, and then righted itself. The captain was yelling for everyone to take their seats. The terrified crew never came down the steps, but remained locked behind the conference-room doors.
"Sonofabitch!" Rider shouted. He looked at the clerics with disdain. "I thought you said this plane was sealed shut and impervious to a breach?"
The Covenant members shared stricken and confused expressions.
"I don't know how it got in here," Father Patrick said, his gaze sweeping the group. "It was strong enough to withstand a holy water assault."
"Well, a succubus got in here," Shabazz said flatly. "She messed with everybody, fishing for info."
Carlos nodded. "They go for your vulnerable spot, and every man has one." He looked at Jose, no longer furious at him. "She came to you as Damali." When Jose looked away, Carlos looked at Berkfield. "You saw your wife, didn't you?"
Berkfield nodded. "Sure as shit I was sitting in my living room, back home, my kids safe and sound in the house. Yeah, she got me good, but I didn't tell her nothin' because when she started asking about you, I know my wife well enough to know, that's the last thing Marj would wanna know about. But this thing showed me my deepest desire—to be home like none of this ever happened."
"That's exactly how I knew, too," Father Patrick said. "My wife is dead, and while I miss her dearly, I knew she wouldn't condition my entrance into the Light. She wanted me to tell her about Carlos."
"Right, like I'd tell some stray vamp tail from New Orleans about my brother here," Big Mike scoffed. "Never happen."
Rider began picking up weapons.
"Yo, man, every one of us who was asleep has to give it up to the group to be sure there were no leaks," J.L. said, his voice easy as he looked at Rider. "She got me with the images from Brazil."
"Me, too," Dan said. "But I didn't know her well enough to tell her team secrets."
"She came as Tara, all right," Rider said, his tone brittle. "She threatened to leave me for some punk vampire named Yonnie who's supposedly a master vamp sleeping inmy damned house and…" Rider kicked a chair as he passed it. "I know it was all an illusion, but that shit still vibrates so real I'm pissed off. Can you believe it? Tara has some vampire in my house? Wait till we get fucking home."
The team stared at Rider.
"Thought that was twenty years ago, brother," Shabazz said evenly. "You need to grip up and get your head right."
Big Mike looked out the window. "If you're telling us something we need to know as a team, man, you know that's some dangerous shit. Even I only did Mardi Grasonce —and it ain't nothing to wrap a love jones around. That's a sure way to get fucked up."
Carlos watched the team dynamics in the aircraft unravel. Stunned clerics took a very cautious position, and he could almost feel their muscles go to readiness. But Rider had had his back on the cliffs. His secret wasn't a dangerous one, to his way of thinking. He knew for a fact that Rider hadn't been nicked in a year. This was his boy, and it was time to cover his man and take the weight.
"He's cool," Carlos assured the team. "Every man has a woman he can't forget. Tara was his, so squash it."
"I don't want to fucking discuss it," Rider snapped. "Obviously, what we had was history. All she was talking about was Yonnie and Carlos! Who the hell is Yonnie?"
Marlene studied Rider, her gaze gentle, but her voice was firm. "No judgment. We all have some dark corners in our minds that we don't want anyone, even God, to know about. That's what makes us human. All I'ma say is, you need to letme know if you need something out of my black bag, on any given night."
Carlos just stared at Rider's back.Yonnie …
Jose went to Rider and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yo, man, it was a succubus. They're supposed to jack with your mind. What did you tell her, man?"
"Nothing," Rider said, shrugging Jose's hand off him as the group continued to stare. "Why do you think I'm so pissed off?"
Shabazz swallowed away a smile. "Yeah, you cool."
"Yonnie made it?" Carlos said carefully, staying out of Rider's swing range. "I really need to understand what she showed you, man."
Both men stared at each other for a moment.
"Who the fuck is Yonnie?" Rider said, slowly approaching Carlos.
"A good brother. He had my back when I was in the empire. I gave him master status while me and Damali had to do the thing in Australia so he could keep my territory cool."
"What?"
Before Carlos could react, Rider hauled off and hit Carlos, knocking spit and blood from his mouth. Carlos went down hard in a seat. Rider was coming over the seat before him with four team members pulling him back.
"You made a master, and let that sonofabitch run loose in my backyard with my woman out there? She's a fourth! You fucking know that, Rivera! I thought we were cool and had an understanding. If he finds her and calls her, she has to go to him! If your territory is disintegrating out there and there are no vamp females left but mine, what the fuck do you think is going to happen?" Veins were standing up in Rider's throat as his team brothers tried to restrain him. He pulled back and shrugged off his stunned Guardian team's hold. "For more than twenty goddamned years I've kept her from whatever master was running the Los Angeles yard. That house is a fucking shrine to that woman—and a succubus waltzes onto a supposedly prayer-guarded plane and throws that bullshit in my face?" He walked away from the team. "I'm done."
"Oh, shit…" Shabazz walked in a circle, raking his locks as his eyes scanned the group.
Stunned expressions stared back at him. Marlene closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
"Over twenty years?" Big Mike said, shaking his head. He looked at Imam Asula who was about to move on Rider. "He's my brother, man. I got him, if there's a problem. Chill."
Father Patrick nodded, and the clerics stood down. Jose, Dan, and J.L. sat down slowly, frozen in shock.
Carlos rubbed his jaw as he stood slowly, amazed when he tasted his own blood. He'd never even seen the punch coming.
"Clearly, he's no longer vamp," Big Mike said, glancing at Carlos and then Shabazz.
"No. Not at all," Shabazz said, shaking his head. "Okay, one problem solved."
Carlos watched the team from a remote place in his mind. Rider, a forty-five-year-old guy had caught him blind and tagged him. Shit. He wasn't sure if he was stunned more from the fact that Rider actually laid hands on him, or from the punch itself.
"Next problem," Shabazz said, looking at Rider, "is how long have you had a relationship with this female vampire?"
Father Patrick cast a nervous glance at his brothers. "Maybe we should all calm down before we try to dissect—"
"To answer your accusation, Rider, if the Covenant hadn't been double-crossed," Carlos said, spitting blood, "there wouldn't have been a breach in the prayer line."
"Tell me about Yonnie," Rider said, breathing hard. "He exists?"
"He does," Carlos said. "But that also means so does Tara. If they're the only two left standing from my old territory, then they're also on the run. But if they're holed up in your safe house, and your lines around the safe house are solid, they can't be gotten to."
"That isnot a safe house for vamps! It is a sanctuary for my lady!"
"Let's get back to the part about you seeing her repeatedly over the years—"
"Her grandmother is a shaman and took care of Rider's cleansings," Marlene said with a weary tone. "It's only once a year, anyway. Let it rest. This is a fresh wound and we don't need this in here. If Rider hasn't dropped fang in all these years, then he won't."
Shabazz stared at her in shock. "You know her grandmother? Baby how long you been—"
"Not now, Shabazz!" Marlene stormed past him and went to Rider. "Have faith. Tara needs a master to help her fight against something that we've just experienced. He needs her to get to a lair that hasn't been compromised. He won't violate her. He needs her."
After long, tension-filled seconds, Rider finally nodded.
Marlene kissed Rider's cheek. "If Yonnie was made by Carlos, then he had to have something going on that was cool." She glanced over at Carlos.
"The man is like a brother to me. He got played, like me, back in the day. The other territory masters dogged him. I gave him a chance and a little juice. He knows the teams and anybody that's attached to them are off limits. Vamps do have a code, you know."
Carlos skulked away and flopped down on a nearby seat.
After a while, Shabazz sat down, too. "Bottom line is, the succubus came in here looking for Councilman Rivera and didn't find him—or Damali."
"No, she didn't," Carlos said flatly. "She saw a guy that had similar energy, but then passed me over. I could feel the probe, but she was confused because I'm not a vampire. Not even a fucking second-gen." He looked out the window.
"The question is, how do we kill it, though?" Shabazz said. "We used up a lotta ammo on one invasion."
"You can either set up barriers and prayer circles under where you sleep to keep them out as a defensive measure, or on offense, you have to wait for them to manifest and then behead them. On the astral plane where they suck out your dreams, they're too strong," Marlene said in a weary voice. "The double-cross from the people who anointed this vessel allowed foul intent to make the lines weak.That's why we got breached."
"I hear you, Mar," Shabazz said in a sullen tone. "But fact is, it did materialize, and we did hit it with everything we had, and the bitch walked."
"Didn't behead it," Marlene said quietly. "Every entity has a weakness. Succubae mess with the mind, that's why you have to take their heads."
The group nodded, but Big Mike seemed unsure. "But what's a succuba doing looking for Rivera? I thought the realms didn't deal with each other? And why Rivera?" He glanced at Carlos. "What if it was a strong vamp coming for him, like the Brazilian job? With almost all topside masters gone but one, maybe one of 'em is doing a power grab?"
Carlos nodded. "Mike's got a point. The realms don't mingle. A regular succubus wouldn't have the audacity to try to take a vamp territory, and couldn't hold it if she did. Could've been topside sweepers from level six using the power of female persuasion to locate me for council, just to be sure I was ash," Carlos said, half wishing the creature would have killed him. "They're going through my zones, apparently, trashing everything I had my seal on before rebuilding clean. When I can get to Yonnie, I'll know more. I need to find out what's—"
"That was a whole different lifetime ago," Father Patrick said carefully.
"That might have been a different lifetime ago to you, but my mother and grandmother, and my boy's sister, Juanita, were also under my seal, just like Berkfield was. Don't tell me not to worry or not to talk to my boy, Yonnie. Hell yeah, I hope his ass is strong as shit and remembers who made him!"
The cabin went still at the mention of the other innocent humans dear to Carlos.
"We'll get to Yonnie, man," Shabazz said. "And Tara." He looked at Rider. "Right now, we could use help from several quarters, as long as they've got good hearts."
Big Mike nodded. "Yo, brother, we gonna check on your momma and grandmom as soon as we can figure out how to get back. Any way you can call your boy, like you used to, when we get on the ground at night?"
Carlos shook his head. "I ran North America, South America, and the Caribbean. I'm way out of my old zones. They've probably got a communications block on my transmissions, if I could, and if I were able to open a channel in a hostile zone, we'd all get jacked. I need to get back to L.A., man." He looked at Shabazz, Big Mike, and then Rider. "I need to find Damali, first."
Shabazz let out a breath hard. "It's a messed-up situation, but right now, we have three serious problems that we have to deal with. One, we need to find our Neteru. Two, our plane has been breached, and we could be attacked again. Three, it was a succubus that attacked us, in all likelihood. I heard what Carlos said, but I didn't feel vamp. It took on demon form to fight us, instead of coming as a strong female vamp. But, check it out—succubae can't just materialize as demons, they come in the form of the human body they've inhabited." He glanced at Marlene, who nodded.
Carlos closed his eyes. His worst fears had been realized, and Shabazz had picked up on it. He hadn't wanted to go there with the team to create additional panic, but the cat was out of the bag. "It wasn't sweepers."
Father Patrick nodded and glanced around the silent group. "We just got a visit from level seven."
TARA'S BREATH stopped as she stood motionless at the edge of the cabin. It was not from fear, but pure awe, as she watched the majestic creature lope toward her from between the trees. Trees Rider had planted. She lowered her weapon as her pulse quickened. He moved in long, fluid strides toward her.
Of course she recognized him instantly and it was the most spectacular transformation she'd ever witnessed. He'd used his power to take from the realms above theirs to transform into something that he knew would mesmerize her. His form was the wolf. Standing three feet at the shoulders, his coat shimmered pitch-black in the moonlight. His eyes were such a deep dark gold that they were almost bronze. Thick ropes of muscles moved beneath his coat as he silently came closer. He looked at her with longing, threw his head back, and howled.
The sound of his call swept through her as the night sounds around them went still. In a slow, sultry shape-shift, he gave up his wolf form and stood before her. He motioned with his chin toward a fallen elk strewn in the brush nearby.
"I had to eat after the fight," he murmured, coming closer to her and unbuttoning the top onyx stud in his crimson silk shirt. "You should, too, baby."
She stared at him, willing herself not to drool.
"You did good tonight. Fought like a second," he said with appreciation in his voice.
"Thanks, Yonnie," she said, finding it hard to speak. His body was still damp beneath his shirt, making the lightweight fabric cling to his broad chest and every well-defined ripple in his abdomen. His black leather pants clung to his narrow hips and long, lean legs. She looked away. "I was afraid, though," she admitted. "If we had only gotten there sooner."
"We did what we could," Yonnie said, his tone comforting. "I wish we could have gotten there sooner, too. But we did what we could."
He studied her solemn expression under the Halloween moon. She was absolutely gorgeous. She looked like she'd been made from the fabric of the universe to roam free and wild as a huntress of the night. Her hair shone like Stardust was in it, her motions were liquid and effortless, as though she were a stream. Even dead, the color of her skin looked like the sun had kissed it. Her voice a mere murmur, like the whispering night breeze. But her eyes definitely rivaled the moon. Everything about her seemed more natural than supernatural; then again, the fact that she was one of his kind suited him just fine.
He'd chosen to wear the wolfen form for her, knowing how much her people held the creature in esteem. He was glad that his choice had pleased her, because her courage in battle had more than pleased him. He allowed his gaze to scan her again. He loved the way her fawn-colored pants and skin-toned tank gave the illusion that she was nude. She should have been naked right now, her dark eyes smoldering, her thick velvety hair flowing over his pillow. "You smoked that second like a pro," he finally said, wanting her to know how much respect he had for her.
"It was sloppy," she countered, not taking her eyes off him.
"No," he murmured, coming closer and caressing her jaw with the pad of his thumb. "We got there late. The old woman was already dead. Your maneuver saved at least one of Carlos's marks. I sent the ambulance with his mother's body in it to the hospital, convinced the medics she died from smoke inhalation. I couldn't do much about the grandmother. But at least she died instantly and didn't suffer. It was better that way. They could have tortured them for information instead."
She stared up at him, her eyes searching his, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of control. He shouldn't have touched her.
She was practically trembling where she stood. She'd never taken down another vampire in her life. A second? It had been exhilarating and she'd done it with a master at her side, worked in tandem with him, following his lead in an invisible dance. She'd been in hiding, spent most of her immortal life avoiding all confrontation. Her only encounter with another vampire had been when she'd been turned. But Yonnie had shown her another side of her life.
She drew away. "I must feed," she said.
"I know," he murmured, and unbuttoned another onyx stud on his shirt. "After the hunt… the things one's body needs after a battle—"
"Please," she whispered, and tried to back away, but couldn't seem to force herself to do it. "I've never—"
"Felt like this," he whispered. He trapped her gaze with his. "Take off the silver collar."
She shook her head no.
"Take off the collar." He made a small cut in his neck with the edge of his thumbnail, and watched her stare at the thin line of blood that trickled down his throat and pooled in his collarbone. When her fangs lowered, he closed his eyes.
"I'm not going to make love with you tonight, no matter what," she told him.
He nodded, keeping his eyes closed. He heard her unfasten the collar. How odd that she called what he wanted to do making love. He had always thought of it as fucking. "You don't trust me?"
She hesitated so long that he opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't trust myself."
"I won't make you do anything you don't want to," he said. "But after a battle, you need to feed." He stepped closer. "Please, let me feed you, Tara."
She took the paper that Juanita had given her from her pocket and held it out to Yonnie. "We should get in touch with Carlos."
Yonnie nodded, but his gaze was locked on her throat. "Yeah, we should," he murmured. "As soon as you feed so you'll be strong enough to do it." He hesitated. "We need our combined energy to reach him undetected, since he's obviously out of our zone. You send. I'll mask your call. But you have to feed first."
Against her better judgment, Tara stepped closer to him. She half expected him to snatch her to him, but he didn't. Instead he folded her in and she crumpled the piece of paper in her fist. She held her other fist away from him so that the heavy silver collar wouldn't touch him. Then she leaned in tentatively and gently licked the trickle of blood, crossing his collarbone with her tongue, following the delicious trail up his throat, until she was standing on her tiptoes to reach the open wound.
He drew a sharp hiss of air through his teeth as she lapped at his flesh, and she felt the erotic connection to him quake her torso the moment the sound carried on the wind. She'd never been with a master, never dreamed that one would offer her, a fourth-gen, his throat. And this one was not just handsome and kind, but also had a deep sense of honor. He'd gone on a risky mission to save three humans. He had put aside his own personal safety, to protect Carlos's people—just because it was right. There had been a debt of friendship acknowledged that went deeper than his first lieutenant rank.
Tara stared up into a pair of warm brown eyes, her gaze accepting his rugged cinnamon beauty. Her hands ached to touch his thick, springy twists of hair and she wondered what the kinky texture would feel like, wondered what the fullness of his mouth would feel like against hers. His earthy male scent filled her nostrils. It clung to his glistening, dark skin and wrapped itself around her.
"Take it," he said quietly, no force in his tone. "What I've got will make you stronger."
She nestled in against him. He shuddered when her pelvis slid against the hard length of him. She studied his vein with care, needing just a sip to satisfy her. He leaned down to give her full access to his throat.
Before she could change her mind, his hands slid around her back and yanked her to his body in a tight seal. She was lost. She seized upon his throat, breaking the vein in one swift strike.
He moaned and it made her pull harder. Her skin was on fire, her body throbbing to the rhythm of each hard suckle, forcing her hips to match until they both shivered.
He cupped the back of her head, holding her against his throat, luxuriating in the feel of her thick tresses. No female had ever scored him, taken his jugular like this. His hands spread over her delicate back, holding her closer, wanting to pull her inside him. The paper she held torched in cold, blue flames. She dropped the amulet to the ground as their minds touched.
"You should be a second," he said on a ragged breath, when she lifted her head. "If it's just you and I left to rebuild, youhave to know certain things."
"Carlos, the numbers—"
"I've got 'em." Ash fell from her unburned hand. He took her hand and kissed the center of it. "You never commit important things to paper. They can be discovered," he said. "His mother didn't have much to leave him after the government did their thing. Besides, I have an account number." He tapped his temple with one finger.
"He wouldn't want you to steal from—"
"What? Other drug dealers, Mafia, the government?" He dragged his fang along the edge of her shoulder and swept it up her throat. "Let me show you how it's done."
His arms encircled her, one palm flattening against her back, the other against the swell of her buttocks. The strike was so swift that it made colors dance beneath her lids. Knowledge, power, and desire filled her, arching her back, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Her cry fractured the night, and instinct clawed its way up and out of her. She bit him so hard they both stumbled backward. It was all building inside her, almost a painful, overwhelming tide. All she had to do was release her resistance and say yes.
"Be mine," he whispered. "Share my strength, fight with me, side by side as a mate."
Conflict tore at her. She couldn't answer him, nor could she pull away.
"Baby, all you have to do is stop fighting the inevitable."
A slow shudder started in the pit of her womb, and it climbed up her abdomen, ripped through her torso, and entered her lungs. He siphoned it up through her veins, into her throat until tears wet her eyes, the shudder becoming his name in her mind as the orgasm crested. "Yolando!"
His knees buckled and he caught her and took them both to the ground. She'd called him by name. The sound of her voice reverberated through him, a dark echo. He held her in a firm grip, her legs wrapped around him, his hand cupped beneath her head, keeping it from touching the ground. Her long, dark hair spilled across the grass and into a section of the white prayer line. Light danced along the strands of her hair, making it glow. Heat rose and warmed his face. But it wasn't comparable to the heat she'd stoked in him.
She began to cry. He could literally feel the depth of love that she had for the man who'd built her this sanctuary. It flowed through her veins, poisoned her tears with the agony of her decision. Her commitment was so deep for this human that he could almost feel it connected to her soul, actually giving her one of those, its pure essence oozing through her skin into his and coating him with a desire beyond raw lust that he'd never known.
The conflict broke through the steel cage of his conscience; as much as he wanted her at the moment, he didn't want her like this. Vampiric instinct compelled him to simply take her throat; willing or not, she had no defense. Everything vampire within him knew that the pleasure he could give her, even while she wept for the human, would be incomparable to anything she'd ever experienced before. But he also knew that she'd never forgive him… eternity was a long time. With Tara he could do forever, as long as she was his in her heart. Right now, she wasn't. She didn't want this to happen, even though her body did.
Yonnie forced himself up, bracing his weight on his arm as he stared down at her. He'd vowed that he'd never violate a woman against her will; he'd seen his own mother raped and destroyed by men as she tried to hold onto her dignity while her pride was stripped naked on a plantation-barn floor.
"Has he been faithful to you?" Yonnie asked her, the frustration making his arm around Tara's waist tremble.Please, baby, I know what he's done to you. Carlos transferred everything in our line to me! Every tear you've cried, I know of, because you're in my line —we share the connection. Talk to me.
When she only sobbed harder, he pulled out of the intoxicating mind lock with her. She had to say it, tell him it was all right to love her like they both needed it now. The words had to come out of her own mouth. No illusions, no games, no trickery involved. He wanted her straight. Her heart his. No forgery to accept at this point. He kissed her temple. "While he's on the road, rolling with the band, moving country to country, has he ever taken another knowing he had you… an incredible, gorgeous woman waiting for him?" He kissed her throat, scored it, and drew his mouth away, pure fury lacerating him as she clutched her misplaced loyalty. "When he was in Brazil, didn't he take another woman to bed who looked like you?"
The desire to violate her and satisfy himself battled with his urge to just drop her on the grass and leave her. This human, the Guardian named Rider, didn't deserve her. How could a man simply walk away from a woman like this? "Why didn't you just turn him? Make him like you, so you could be with him forever, since you can't seem to leave him? I don't understand. Then you allow him to dog you… why? You don't have to exist like this."
His questions only made her cry a new torrent of tears. His voice was hoarse as he nuzzled her temple. "Baby, why do you allow him to do that to you? Hold his ass accountable," Yonnie said, his voice tender but firm. He kissed her temple hard, unable to draw himself away. "I'll take care of you, baby… I'll give you whatever you want, whatever you need. Just be with me."
"He's done so much for me," she whispered. "I can't leave Rider."
Yonnie dropped her and stood.
"Has he?" Yonnie stared at the cabin. "A house is the least you deserved. Has he sacrificed for you, the way you have for him?" He stared at her hard. She sat up, wiped her face, avoiding his gaze.
"But you sacrificed for him." Yonnie waited. "Too much, I think. Even human blood."
"That's different," she said, still not looking at him.
"How? He's even made you close yourself off from real pleasure. Has you living like a nun." Yonnie spat out the remnants of her blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You've even accepted not cuming. He can't take a bite or deliver one to release you—and you died in your damned prime!" He rubbed his palms down his face, so thoroughly outraged at the concept that he could barely stabilize his breathing. "You're emotionally and physically starved," he said, his glare becoming tender as tears ran down her cheeks. "And you make excuses for him because he's human… yet, whenever the urge hits him, he can go for a drink, watch the girls dance the poles, jack off if he has to or take one of them to bed. And you choose to live like that?"
"He's human, and it's different—"
"How? In what way? Don't you have needs? Only his matters because of a cabin? When you met him, you saved his life as much as he saved yours. Fair exchange. Your debt was paid. What do you owe him now, Tara? You think you're not worthy of loving on your own merit alone? Ask yourself: Did he give up his friends, interacting with his own kind, screwing his own kind, anything that makes his life easier to live?"
When she didn't answer him he stared at her until their eyes met. "You gave up everything for him.Everything . After more than twenty years of existing like this, don't you deserve to do more than survive?"
She only swallowed hard and turned her face away from his. Humiliation and defeat caused her shoulders to hunch. Yonnie came to her, knelt, and touched her face. He wanted to claim her. Not as a trophy but as a part of him. He'd never experienced the kind of love she had for this Rider, and if she could ever give a fraction of that to him, his lonely existence would be worth it. Her struggle to remain faithful to a human who hadn't plundered him.
"I envy him," Yonnie whispered. "You tell that bastard that if he ever messes up, you've got someone waiting to give you the world. I can wait. I've got time on my side." Yonnie drew his hand away from her face. "Make sure you also tell him that the only thin thread standing between you and me is your decision, and the fact that my boy Carlos doesn't need dissention in his ranks while he's rebuilding right now."
He stood, turned, and began to walk away.
She scrambled to her feet. A mild current of panic washed through her. "Where are you going?"
He stopped but didn't turn around. He couldn't bear to be alone with her another minute, any more than he had it in him to tell her about the coven brothel that was his destination. It was Halloween, and there were willing witches that he could use to purge her from his mind—for the night, at least. He glanced at Tara over his shoulder.
"I'm going to see what the witches can divine for me," he muttered, walking farther away from her. Why he'd felt it necessary to cover his whereabouts truly disturbed him.
"Where?"
"Don't worry about it."
"But if you get trapped out there, alone," she said quickly, the urgency in her voice making him shudder and know she cared.
"Go in the house!" he yelled, pointing at the front door without looking at her. The sweet sound of her voice was making him crazy. The melody of it laced with concern rippled through him. "Don't argue with me. You've made your decision and I'll take care of me."
She didn't move, and he turned to look at her, eyes blazing solid red.
"I said," he repeated, more gently, "go in the house. I'll be back before dawn."
"Be careful," she murmured, backing into the barrier light.
There was nothing to discuss. The team gathered up the remaining weapons. Carlos took up a position by himself in the rear of the cabin, while others fanned out strategically in seats throughout. That suited him just fine. He needed space to think and to nurse his wounded jaw and pride.
They had been rerouted just before midnight, so their flight never touched down in Dubai as originally planned. He thought about the attack and knew he was missing something. Numbers kept jumping into his mind for some reason. So did locations. Strategy and figuring out connections had always been his strong suit, living or dead. He toyed with the logistics, knowing there was a clue within them, becoming agitated that his loss of additional insight and powers of discernment that he would have had if he were still a vampire, blinded him to the root cause of the attack. Daybreak couldn't come fast enough for him, especially now that they were over land. Once they'd neared the Red Sea, all Hell had broken loose on their thirteen-hour flight. There was a connection; thirteen had to be a bad number; he could feel it in his bones.
He glanced up and saw Rider stand up and noted the time. Four A.M. In an hour they'd touch down. It would be dawn. If they could just get to the ground in Addis Ababa without any more drama, that would be enough for him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to fight.
All of a sudden, he felt a presence standing over him and he opened his eyes.
"Can we talk?" Rider said, looking down at Carlos.
Carlos shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."
Rider sat down next to him. "I'm sorry about the jaw."
"It's cool," Carlos said, and stared out the window.
Rider held out his hand to Carlos.
Carlos turned his head, looked at Rider, then at his outstretched hand. After a few long seconds, he accepted the handshake. His pride still stung. A forty-five-year-old guy had flattened him.
"Listen," Rider said carefully, when he went back to talking to Carlos's profile. "We're all a little touchy right now. Everybody's senses are off, except maybe Marlene's. So we may not be making the best decisions." He rubbed his jaw. "I know while you were a vamp, you had to do what you had to do to survive," Rider finally said through a weary sigh.
"Yeah, I did," Carlos muttered. "You have no idea what kinda shit I had to contend with, man. Having people who could watch my back was imperative."
Rider nodded. "Your boy, Yonnie, is cool… he'll honor your marks?"
"Yeah. He's cool, man," Carlos said, looking at Rider for the first time.
He saw real fear in Rider's eyes.
"Look, man," Rider said. "I've done a lot of shit that I'm sure she knows about, and, by rights, she could…" He glanced away, finding that same vacant space on the horizon that Carlos had been staring at. "We've been together a long time, dude, and she means the world to me."
Carlos nodded. "He won't hurt her. I never rolled like that and neither does he."
Rider looked Carlos in the eyes. "That's not what I was worried about, dude."
For a moment, neither man said a word.
"I'm forty-five, and I'm the only one she's even… you know what I'm saying?"
Carlos nodded, this time understanding fully. Wasn't he plagued by the same fear? That Damali might stay with him because she just didn't know what else the world had to offer her yet. The word "yet" burned in his mind.
The older Guardian drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly.
"If you made him, dude, he's strong," Rider said quietly. "But him being a good guy is what could get under her skin." Rider's voice became distant as he spoke, telling Carlos what haunted his soul in halting sentences. "And he's in my house with my woman who I see maybe once a year." Rider shook his head. "My baby's never taken a throat nick from a master, done a mind lock, or…" His voice trailed off. "I'm human. I'm getting older. I'm not what I used to be when we met."
"She loves you, man. She'll be cool," Carlos said quietly, becoming lost in his own thoughts. His statement was as much for his Guardian brother as it was for himself.
"The two of them together, on the run," Rider said softly. "Relying on each other to survive, under siege. You know what kind of bond that forms." He chuckled sadly and closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat. "Been there. That's how I met her."
Carlos glanced down at his knees. "Yeah."
"But it's even more than that. They're both vampires, first. I'm just a human on the outside looking in."
Carlos rubbed his face with both palms. What else was there to say? That Rider was wrong? That there was nothing to worry about? That Tara wouldn't leave him? He'd been there, too. Teetering on the edge, the not knowing how it would all work out kicking his ass. He had met Damali the same way, while she was on the run so many years ago, and what they had even death couldn't stop.
Compassion filled him. The irony was severe.
Carlos closed his eyes and mind against the painful possibilities. "I know, man. I know."
For what felt like a long time, Carlos and Rider sat quietly side-by-side in the aft section of the plane, unable to sleep, unable to turn the worry off in their minds, exhaustion and defeat a blanket over them.
But the entire team looked up as a nervous crew member crept down the steps, brandishing a large silver cross.
"There's a call from the Vatican for you, Father Patrick," the thin, frightened man said, his blond hair plastered to his scalp as he leaned over the rail and called out.
"The Vatican?" Father Patrick said, standing quickly and hurrying to the steps that led to the conference room. "At this hour?"
"Please, Father," the clerical crewman said, his voice filled with fear. "It's urgent."
All eyes were on the priest as he rushed up the spiral staircase and entered the conference room. A thud followed him, as did the certain click of the door being safely latched behind him by the crew.
Within moments Father Patrick was at the top of the stairs. "Carlos," he said, his voice anxious. "It's for you. Bring Rider."
Both men stood and ran down the wide cabin aisle, the teams tensing for another possible incident.
Carlos entered the conference room and grabbed the phone. Before he put it to his ear, he asked Father Patrick, "Who is it?"
"A woman, but she won't identify herself," Father Patrick said. He glanced at Rider. "I thought that it might be Juanita, but there was something in her voice that troubled me."
Carlos put the phone to his ear. "Yeah. Talk to me."
"Councilman," the unidentified woman said with a rush of relief. "So much has happened. Open a secure lock so I can transfer quickly."
He instantly remembered Tara's voice. It made him aware that he hadn't forgotten everything he'd learned and every imprint he'd carried from his old line. He nearly stared at the phone, but for Rider's sake, didn't. He also didn't repeat the name. "I don't go by that title any longer," he said, hesitating. "And I can't lock with you."
"Tara," Rider whispered, instantly knowing a female vampire was on the line based on Carlos's response and the fact that Father Patrick had said there was a woman on the phone. He also knew it could only be one that he'd trust with Father Patrick's number. "How did she get through Vatican phones? I need to talk to her."
"She didn't," Father Patrick said quickly. "My safe-house number was routed to another safe house that's tracking us, and the Covenant must have put it through using their code to link. Time is short. If she's in L.A., she's ten hours behind us. But once the sun rises here, we will lose the link."
"Are you somewhere safe? It's six P.M. here, but I sense dawn near you… have you fed?" Tara hesitated. Her voice held true concern and honest compassion.
"I'm fine," Carlos said, ignoring all her references to his old way of life. "Where's Yonnie?"
Rider stared at Carlos.
"Safe. Trying to get some answers. I don't have much time, and I can't hold the link much longer. I'm supposed to give you a number. I'm sending it now."
"No," Carlos said, knowing she was trying to send it telepathically. He looked at Father Patrick. "I need to write it down." But the fact that she was now strong enough to send an airborne transmission this far had to mean one thing. Yonnie had elevated her from a fourth-gen to second lieutenant. Elevating a vampire was a very sensual act. Carlos couldn't look at Rider as guilt stabbed at him.
The elder cleric quickly provided the instruments Carlos needed, and he heard Tara's instant gasp. Her horror rattled his skeleton. A councilman needed paper and pen. She swallowed hard, as though crying inside.
"Watch the numbers as you write them. Yonnie did this for you and still stands with you, as do I."
Carlos nodded and jotted down the ten-digit alphanumeric code, then watched several of the numbers reverse and transform on the paper. The nines became sixes. The threes became eights. The sevens melted into fives. He then wrote down the new code, too. The numbers didn't change.
"Ten thousand," she said. "From the account established by Berkfield."
He wrote it down and stared at it.
"That's all they left you."
He stared at the number in disbelief. But then he watched the zeros continually affix themselves behind zeros until a hundred million dollars graced the legal pad.
Carlos let his breath out slowly. He closed his eyes and sat down with a wobbly thud and shoved the paper into the side pocket of his African robe.
"Your family will not forsake you as long as we exist. We love you, and you need resources," she said, her voice filled with panic. "Carlos,it's all gone . The demon wolfen clans overran the L.A. club. Council sweepers have compromised all the lairs. All lower gens have been assassinated. Blood Music had its ownership transferred to council-compromised humans in a hostile takeover on Wall Street, just to keep you from receiving the monies from it. From Yonnie's sensing, all of North America, South America, and your Caribbean lairs and holdings have either been destroyed, transferred to council loyalists, or pillaged by roaming were-demon clans and lower gens from other zones not on the Vampire Council's hit list. But even those have fractured into feudal law. Even the Guardian compound burned to the ground."
Carlos had known that the chairman would go to extreme lengths to blot him and everything he'd built from the face of the earth, but he was still stunned. He was glad he was still sitting down. "Everything, even the Guardian compound?" he asked numbly.
"The compound?" Father Patrick held onto the edge of the table for support.
"What?" Rider said, stepping closer to him.
But Carlos waved him away and listened intently.
"Mr. Councilman, vampires couldn't have acted alone," Tara said, answering Carlos's unspoken question. "Power to breach protection lines had to come from level seven," she said, terror evident in her voice.
Carlos nodded, unable to speak. It had been confirmed. No further guesswork needed. If level seven was on his ass, and could get through compound barriers, then what fucking chance did Damali have out there on her own without even her blade? As soon as he thought it, his mother and grandmother's faces flashed in his mind.
"My mother and—"
"I'm sorry, sir," Tara said, a sob breaking her voice. "We got there only in time to save the girl."
"How?" he said, his voice a low rumble filled with rage.
"A gas line exploded beneath the house."
"Tell me," he said, hot tears stinging his eyes and choking his voice.
"It was fast. Mercifully so, sir."
Carlos nodded and drew in a ragged breath. "Tell Yonnie I said thank you," he whispered. "I'll let you know where to send resource transfers. For this, I need an army."
"Done," she said, the sound of her voice weakening as the gray filter of near-dawn began to peek over the horizon. "We stand ready for your orders."
Carlos reached out to hang up the phone, but Rider grabbed his wrist.
"I need to talk to her."
Carlos thrust the receiver at him and turned away to walk out the door. But a sudden crash against the side of the plane sent the phone sliding across the table, and all men standing to the floor.
"Mayday, Mayday," the captain's voice shouted over the intercom. "We're under attack! Brace for an aerial assault!"
The lights went out, the emergency lights on the floor of the aircraft summarily lit and then went black. The engine sputtered as the plane rocked again. Guardians and Covenant team voices shouted in the cabin mayhem below. Machine-gun fire from the aircraft's turrets echoed within the plane as Rider, Carlos, and Father Patrick struggled to get to their feet and down the spiral steps.
The whoosh of a missile leaving its housing sent the plane into a dangerous list. Battering sounds clamored at the skin of the aircraft generating high-pitched scrabbling screeches like claws going down a blackboard. The sky lit with multiple red and orange target strikes, splattering green and black gook against the windows as the pilots maneuvered the plane into a hard semiroll. The team clung to seats as they were thrown side-to-side, and thrashed to right themselves while futilely grabbing at weapons as the air battle commenced.
Carlos looked on in horror as the swirling black cloud of harpies approached again, passed the bank of side windows, and dove beneath the plane's belly. Their impact slammed into the hull, taking out the landing gear. Their feral grimaces mocked the living inside the plane as their faces pressed to every window, bearing fangs. Smoke was billowing from a fractured wing. Flames had erupted in the other. Something tore at the skin of the plane, opening a vacuum suction through the conference-room wall.
Before anyone could draw a breath, weapons, debris, food carts, and furniture were instantly sucked up through the rip, hurling human-crew bodies into the void as oxygen masks dropped. Guardians linked arms and weighted themselves to teammates and seats that were straining against their anchors, making the Covenant a part of their lifting human chain.
Flashes of light immediately entered the cabin, and suddenly three large entities unfurled massive white wings, staying the suction and sealing the rip with light. The light emanating from them was so bright that the teams could not stare at them. Only Carlos could lift his head to see his reflection in their raised golden shields and glowing, polished broadswords, his eyes blazing silver against the metallic surfaces.
"Fear not," one entity said.
"We guard the dawn," another said.
"An army will be raised," the third said, as the plane began a dangerous spiral to the ground.
The light snapped back, receding like the passing sun and swallowing away the entities that had stepped out of it. But the seal on the aircraft's torn exterior held.
"We're going down!" the captain shouted, his voice laden with hysteria as his words broke up over the intercom and the engines went dead.
DAMALI STOOD and brushed herself off and looked around. The emotional pain of seeing and being separated so abruptly from her parents still lingered, but she had to do what she had to do and just suck it up. She'd fallen against the steps of what seemed to be a beautiful wooden house, but upon further inspection of the multilingual signage, she learned it was the Addis Ababa Museum.
Unsure of which way to go, she tried to get her bearings and organize the jumble of experiences in her battered brain. Museums kept popping up—there was a reason. As soon as she thought it, an inner knowing replied: Old history. Draw power from it. Lilith was old history, too.
Feeling steadier, she began walking away from the building, using her senses to guide her.
Unlike the other structures, nothing in this one particularly called out to her or jettisoned her through its doors. She stopped walking. Her sensory awareness was slowly coming back. The sensation that washed through her created as much joy as recognizing an old friend. It gave her energy, made her want to laugh, and she continued along an unknown street with a satisfied smile on her face. Perhaps something was starting to go right in her life. She could only hope that her team had stayed the course and would be on their way to Ethiopia soon.
A certain confidence filled her, even though her stick was gone. If she could manage to barter using the silver in her ears and whatever gold was tucked in her hair under the fabric wrap to eat and hang out at the local holy shrines, she'd last through a few nights until she could search for her team. Meanwhile, if she could only get to a phone… Then it dawned upon her—none of them had a cell phone on them since they'd been in the battle at Sydney. Very strange.
It was as though all normal means of communication and resources had been cut off. But she took heart in the fact that she knew there had to be a reason. She stopped walking. The gifts and the number thirteen slammed into her brain. Yeah. She rattled the abilities off in her mind like a laundry list, taking none of what she'd originally been given for granted.
Five senses. As a Neteru, she had heightened awareness in all areas, and that had been severely damaged. If it was coming back now, the added bonuses might also. All Neterus had bodies designed to take a blow, plus preternatural endurance. They had the ability to withstand a bite in battle and not turn. Immunity. Visions, extrasensory awareness. Excellent battle tactics, gleaned from the Akashic Records of all generals before them. Ability to be a healer… yes, she remembered how she'd helped Marlene in Brazil. And how could she forget the twelfth gift that had almost been her ruination—the ability to lure master vampires to a state of frenzy from her scent.
The Isis blade was a tool, not a gift, when put in context with all the others. She was clear about that now, and knew the queens wouldn't have taken it away if it were. Not with what she was facing. Although she sure wished she still had it on her, regardless. But what was the thirteenth gift she was supposed to be looking for? If she couldn't figure it out as a more seasoned Neteru, then how was she going to help Carlos find it? She was missing a critical piece of the puzzle.
Damali shrugged away her doubt as she began to aimlessly walk down the streets. She refused to allow the question to lacerate her. She tried to get a sense of time and date. Was it October thirty-first, November first? Going through the purple light left her unsure. But one thing she did know for a fact, all this went down and had started seven days before Carlos's birthday—something she hadn't even entered into the equation until the strange cabbie had approached her in the streets of Philly.
There was a link. Dates, numbers, locations all had meaning. She knew that like she knew her name. So what was the deal with being thrust into Ethiopia? Questions swirled in her mind as she walked, and she took pleasure in what she now could tell was the early morning beginnings of a sprawling, dusty city of vibrant colors coming to life. The air was cool, temperate, for what she'd believed Africa to be. As she continued onward the huge market she'd stumbled upon awed her. She people-watched and enjoyed the early vendors creating a clamor of chaotic activity as she strolled past their stands while they set up for business.
The hubbub of activity was fascinating. Incense and vegetables, meats and jewelry, everything was there that one could imagine. She stopped at several jewelry stands, marveling at how the earrings she wore so resembled what many of the shopkeepers offered. Once again, it gave her pause. The old queens had adorned her to be able to barter in a place without cash. Damali smiled.
A table with a tent and an elaborate array of finely carved walking sticks made her stop and gape. One cane reminded her of Marlene's, and in the row of beautiful ebony woods, she saw a very plain stick gnarled in the same spots as the one she'd lost. She reached out to touch it, and a man came from behind his truck bearing boxes, which made her draw back her hand.
"Tenanastellen. Dehna Neh?" he said with a wide smile that broadened the one on Damali's face.
She shook her head and gave him a shy shrug to try to tell him that she didn't understand a word he'd said. She stared at his dark, long, handsome face, judging him to be near forty. He wore a plain, dingy, khaki pants, woven straw sandals, but a brilliant turquoise African-cut shirt with elaborate satin embroidery of the same hue that added magnificent color accents and intensity to his chiseled features. His shoulders were held back straight, his carriage impeccable, and his head held high and proud, but there was a very accessible warmth about his attitude as he came nearer to her.
"Hello, how are you?" he said, restating his greeting. "You are not from here, I can tell."
Damali chuckled. "No, and thank you so much for speaking to me in English. I wish I knew your language, though."
"To say thank you, in Amharic, it is,amesegenallo ." He offered a slight bow and then rounded the table. "So beautiful and no one to escort you?"
Damali laughed harder and shook her head no. African men were such a trip, persistent. In an oddly sentimental way, although she was not sure why, he reminded her of the African master when he took her hand, swept the back of it with a respectful kiss, and glanced up.
Maybe it was the regal flourish in which he did it, or the ever-present magnetic sexuality that seemed to just ooze from men from the region. There was an "it" factor that they seemed to possess, and she studied him as he looked up and smiled, asking a mischievous question about her availability with his eyes. She wondered if she'd become so accustomed to battling dark forces that she'd lost her ability to see the basic nature within regular people. Given what she'd experienced, the vendor's slight gesture and his resemblance to something she'd just fought should have sent off alarm bells within her. But she knew this man wasn't anything to fear. It was simply his way, and it tickled her no end to realize that the refinement of approaching females hadn't changed in several thousand years.
"It would take many,many years to teach you our languages," he said with pride. "There are as many as the people, and the script of Ge'ez, the one used in the churches, has two hundred and thirty-one letters. But many of us have learned English in school." He gave her a wink and waved his hand before his table of wares. "So, you have seen something here you like?"
Damali nodded and affixed her gaze to his table as she considered what he'd said. She did the math, the language used in churches… with as many peoples as the languages… and he was fluent in hers, thus they could communicate. But he was also letting her know he'd received some formal education, a point of pride. Damali offered his comment a gracious nod that seemed to please him. She also knew why she'd instantly recognized his language to be Amharic. It was used in the old liturgical services. Yeah… Marlene had told her that.
"I noticed you had a plain one on the table," Damali said, her thoughts leap-frogging as she stared down. "Why is this one so plain, when all the others have designs on them?"
He laughed. "It is often the plain that are the most powerful."
Now she looked at him.
He smiled and nodded. "Thank you for returning it."
She didn't move.
He reached into his pocket and made a fist, chuckling as he slowly withdrew it and opened his hand. She stared down at her silver earring as he held it out to her.
"Now, I have returned what you loaned me." He walked away and began unloading items from his small Toyota pickup truck.
Damali was on his heels. "We need to talk, and I have to ask you alot of questions."
He wagged his finger at her. "No, you must ask my father. Did my son not give you his address?"
Instant memory snapped back as Damali shoved her hand into the pocket of her robe. "Yes," she said, pleased. "But how do I find him?"
"He is a long way away, in Askum," the man said. "But I have people who can get us there. This is why I must unload my truck so we can go to the north."
"I'll help you," Damali offered, wanting to hurry and get the show on the road.
"No," he said with a deep chuckle. "Be still, then we will go and eat someinjera, alicha wat , andshiro , withambo . No meat in what we eat now, for we are on a pilgrimage, yes. So look about and learn to have patience. Enjoy this place that is called Thirteen Months of Sunshine."
That number associated with the sun as a country slogan made her simply stare at him.
Carlos managed to drag himself into a seat, as had all the others, bracing for the sure impact. There was no way to survive a crash from this altitude as mountains whirled by; it was futile. They all knew it. Perhaps that's why no one, except the pilots, was screaming. An eerie calm had befallen the cabin. Everyone's head was tucked down to their knees with their seat belts secured. What was the point, though? Oxygen masks dangled, but no one had reached for them to cover their faces. Whatever the entities had done, breathing within the compromised aircraft was possible. The Light had a very strange sense of putting things right. Let them breathe, then let them crash. Carlos wasn't sure if he was more angry or afraid; perhaps it was a mixture of both.
The sound of rapid descent was creating a horrible whine of impending doom. Then a gunshot made Carlos lift his head and simply look out the window. He could see it in his mind just as clear as day. One of the pilots had opted out of the anxiety of watching oneself crash and burn. The other was already dead—skull cracked from being flung against hard metal during the battle. The copilot's brains added to the gore against the windows. Now was a fine time for his inner vision to be coming back. But what had triggered it? Sure death?
Carlos affixed his gaze to the layers of thick white clouds set within a flawless blue sky. The ground was becoming larger, its green carpet and small dots of buildings now becoming recognizable. But peace filled him. It would soon be over. It just hurt him to know that people he'd come to know and love like family were going to perish, all because they'd tried to cheat fate.
He looked at the teams, each man and one woman, bravely bracing themselves for the end. No one cried out, no one screamed. Marlene's low murmur of prayers had blended in with those of the Covenant. Their faith and acceptance of what was to come was truly amazing to him. Humbling, is what it was. Because all along they had been right. There was another side. A dark side and a light side in dimensions he could have never fathomed while he was simply alive. And he wondered where they would all go; if he'd ever meet up with them again. He wondered if the Light would have mercy on them for trying so desperately to spare his lowly soul and smuggle his resurrected body to a safe haven.
"Whatever you do," Carlos murmured, as he stared at the team, "don't blame them, and especially, don't blame her."
Empathy dulled the fear even more. He'd been tortured already, knew what it felt like to be broken, gutted, his insides twisted, skin shredded, bones shattered, body parts amputated, and to be burned alive. But these people were human, had never experienced the twisted knife of pain to that degree. All he could hope for would be that the plane would explode on impact, that his family wouldn't be left half alive, semiconscious, and torn to butchered bits. "Make it fast," he whispered. "That's the least you can do."
His prayer became more urgent as the treetops came into view.
Carlos stared at the bent backs before him as a wing collided with a cliff side and was shorn off. His head slammed into the seat in front of him and bounced off it, nearly snapping his neck—but he refused to cover his head or his face. He'd stared death down before in the dark, and in the brightness of dawn would do no less.
The horrible turbine sound against the wind seemed to become muted as his hands clutched the arms of his seat. Flickers of fast-moving light darted between the aisles and swirled around each of the people he watched. Maybe he had snapped his neck? All the better. Maybe the strike against his head had him seeing stars and had deafened him? Mercy was measured in increments and during moments when time seemed to have slowed down, it was indeed a blessing.
He watched the dancing white lights, dazed and fascinated, despite his pending death. He had to be hallucinating, that was the only rational answer that came to him as he watched the oblique forms become people he knew but should have never known.
Parents had come to their children. Aged spirits touched faces gently, put loving arms around each passenger, and made their peace. He could hear them all at once as well as individually as they hugged their deathborne children to them.
He saw Marlene become encircled first by what seemed to be a tribe of elderly people that he instantly knew were from the Gullah Islands. Why he knew that, he wasn't sure, but he watched her mother and father gently touch her face, tell her she'd done her job, it was good, she had struggled long and it was time to come home. Rider and Father Patrick, Jose… Big Mike—each of them were touched until every Guardian and member of the Covenant was attended by Light beings that placed their silvery orbs around each person, leaving no space between the seats, the windows… like padded clouds they wrapped around them.
Dan wept and held his grandfather's hand. Jose was sobbing and hugging his grandmother to him tightly. Berkfield laid his head in his mother's lap. Father Patrick stroked his wife's hair as his son hugged his back. Monk Lin was encircled by a bastion of Tibetan brothers, and Imam Asula had elders around him that were so old and wise that Carlos could not make out their faces.
A sense of lonely abandonment made him weep. No one had come for him in the last moments, and he simply covered his face with his hands. Had he been so bad that even his own brother… or his mother… or his grandmom wouldn't come to say goodbye? He hadn't been able to say good-bye, that's all he'd wanted, if he couldn't protect them! And where was his father? Where had he ever been? A gentle breeze blew against his face as the plane jolted again.
Carlos looked up as a male hand touched his hair. "Papi?" He couldn't breathe as he saw his father standing tall and strong and whole beside his mother. She looked so young and was smiling; his grandmother was beside them both.
"I was wrong… I'm proud of you and love you," his father said. "You have suffered so much, now come home.Por favor , Carlos… my most troublesome, but favorite, son."
His father embraced him and a sob tore up and out of his throat as the plane hit the ground hard, bounced, and the tail section broke away.
"We love you," Alejandro said, holding his head firm as another devastating smack waffled the plane's underbelly.
Smoke had begun filling the cabin and the stench of gasoline filled the air as the aircraft skipped against the ground like a pebble skeeting across the surface of a pond. Carlos squinted, refusing to allow the thick black plumes to eclipse the faces he'd loved and missed so dearly. Hands touched him, held him, caressed him, his sister, his cousins, his boys, they had all come. "I want to go home," he croaked, clutching his mother's hand so tightly that her silvery essence oozed between his fingers. "I'm so sorry…"
Water lapped at his feet, a hard rocking collision threw his body forward, and something soft braced his neck and spine as the slam lifted him and set him back down hard, jarring his teeth to near chipping. Then everything went silent and black within the cabin.
He could hear people coughing; the aircraft wasn't moving. He heard someone vomit, someone was sobbing. Carlos quickly felt his torso, his neck, and his legs with his hands. He seemed to be in one piece. His seat belt was mysteriously unfastened. He instantly stood, and covered his nose and mouth against the smoke.
It was blinding, but he could somehow see through it. Gasoline fumes made him bend and hurl as he moved forward, ignoring the chunks of vomit that now covered his sandaled feet. They'd made it. Some of them had. He began calling out names as he blindly rushed forward. Then his sight became like laser, cutting through the smoke in a silver wash. He picked Dan up and flung him over his shoulder, then yanked at Big Mike's uninjured arm, shoving at Shabazz and Rider as he went for the door. "We have to get out of here before she explodes!"
Damali looked down at the food with disinterest and tried to summon grace. Her stomach was in jumpy knots. But in order to proceed she'd have to feign patience for her gracious host. Something was so wrong she could barely sit in her seat. She could feel it as her newfound friend prattled on about his homeland.
"You eat it like this," he said, tearing off a piece of the spongy, foam rubber—like bread from the common bowl they shared. "The bread is calledinjera , and you dip it this way to get thealicha wat up and into your mouth." He extended his hand for her to take a small taste, his eyes holding expected excitement.
Damali leaned forward and took in the mildly spiced concoction of vegetables and forced a smile. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the tasty dish, even though she wasn't ready for the Ethiopian way of sharing a communal bowl. The custom was just a tad too familiar for her liking, and not using utensils to share the dish was somewhat disturbing—she had no idea where this man's hands had been, but at least she'd blessed the food first. Besides, for all her powers, she couldn't tell if this was just an Ethiopian patience endurance test, or if this man was stalling because he was subtlety hitting on her.
She took a swig of sparkling bottled water, which she'd learned was calledambo . "This is very good," she said, truly meaning it, but needing to get going more than she needed to eat. However, she was quickly learning that in African culture, if you wanted to get anything done, one had to employ patience—eat with people, break bread, and pass a quiet vibe test—thenyou could handle business.
"But you cannot eat like a bird," the man said laughing. "Have someshin . You must be strong for the journey."
Her nerves were about to snap, but she leaned forward and accepted a taste of the spicy lentil and chickpea mush with a smile. It slowly dawned upon her that the sooner she just ate the dag-gone food without picking at it with resistance in her soul, the quicker they'd be on their way. Damali took a deep breath and sighed, and then tore off a large section of bread to begin scarfing down the communal meal.
"That's more like it," he said, clapping his hands in triumph. "Try themesser —it's black lentils, andye som megeb —that's a medley of vegetable dishes we traditionally serve during fasting."
Damali nodded, mumbling her assent to try whatever, as long as they got going soon. "Tell me about this area, Askum," she said through a gooey mouthful of food. She had to understand what the link was here.
"Ah… Askum…" her guide said. "First, to discuss Askum, we must understand the history of this country."
Damali groaned, but when he gave her a fishy look, she passed the sound off as her enjoyment of the food.
That seemed to mollify him. He perked up, widened his smile, and leaned forward with great pride in his expression.
"Our country is known as the Cradle of Humanity. It all startedhere , they even have the bones of Lucy in the National Museum for proof. But we do not need the bones to tell us what we know," he quipped, sitting up taller in his chair. He glanced around the outdoor cafe and waved his arm toward the diversely colorful moving throng of people that milled about. "We were the only ones, theonly country, that was never colonized."
Just as his long, winding history lesson was about to bore her to tears, she got part of the answer she was searching for.It all started here . In the Cradle of Humanity. The first Eden. Lilith's origin in the garden before she banished herself. And these people had been fighting everything she'd wrought since the beginning of time.
"Tell me about Lilith," Damali said, her eyes never leaving the man's face.
He brought his attention back to Damali and stared at her with a firm gaze. "We are about the size of Texas on your country's map. But we withstood the greatest powers of the eras, and were never conquered to be made slaves. With all we had against us, we used our natural environment—the Simien Mountains, and those to the north, where they call it Eritrea now, but they are the same as us, Ethiopians. All one family, same people, but split by wars and misunderstandings too much to discuss now. However, when we were one, evil could not come down from the Red Sea and take us; we stood our ground. You follow?"
Damali stopped breathing for a second and watched this man's eyes, nodding yes slowly. Although he hadn't answered her question directly, the words, "Red Sea," echoed in her mind like a train-crossing warning. Although she didn't understand it all, she understood enough. She also understood his need to be cagey about delivering the information. Level seven ruled the airwaves and could pick up a message in an instant. She'd been foolish to mention Lilith's name openly and admonished herself to not do that again.
But the fact remained, a tiny country that sat like a spec within the huge continent had withstood an invading power that had ransacked and razed nations ten times its size, but these humble folks with no arms to speak of had never succumbed. And that was possible because for all their diversity, they had all come together to fight as one and take a stand. Yeah, she definitely got it. Her skin itched to get reunited with her team. She almost stood and dragged the man by his arm, but decided that would be rude and too rash.
She leaned forward instead. "How did you do it?" Her voice came out an awed whisper.
"We are God's people," he said with a wave of his hand. "We are part of old Kemet, which stretched to the Nubian Empire." He leaned in close over the food and peered at her. "Askum will show you. We know our ancestors back to five thousand years. Even the queen of Sheba visited King Solomon joining nations, and her son became the first emperor here, this we know for a fact. We had the Nile, water, a source of power and commerce. We predate biblical history of Christ—we were Jews, first, and then we converted… some became Muslims. Fifty-fifty," he said, offhandedly.
Again, the whole issue of water. The clue was said so obtusely that if she hadn't been listening carefully, she would have missed it… just like the Druid told her—listen.
"I got it," Damali said, looking into his eyes without blinking. "I'm home, back in the last frontier of people who were never taken." As she said it, she could feel the earth's energy beneath her feet soaking into her. "They were outgunned, outmanned, but were not conquered—and they came from a complex blend of the Nubian and Kemetian empires."
He smiled and clasped her hands like a pleased schoolteacher. "Be inspired. Have faith and hope. Famines, droughts, wars, disease… plagues, but we never bowed to greater powers. Remember from your teachings that the meek shall inherit the earth. But we are not meek, the word was mistranslated—we believe it is the small, the downtrodden, andwe have the original Bible." He stopped as though allowing that last point to sink in. "The original one, the orthodox one, and our people, although small, have held their ground." He drew back and nodded. "Hold yours against that which comes against you."
"Always been my plan," Damali said, her voice strong. "I just need a good blade."
"We will travel by air," he said, dismissing her request for a weapon.
Damali let her breath out slowly. "Do we have to get on a plane?"
"No," he said in a casual tone.
"Good." She let out an audible breath and took a swig of water. Air travel had not been good to her lately.
"It will be by helicopter. My brother works at the airport."
Damali almost choked on her sparkling water.
"That is the only solution. Many of the Ethiopian Christian priests became monks and hermits in order to keep the religion alive during the ongoing attempts at invasion," he said without missing a beat. "We will pass Lake Tana, which sits as a basin beyond the thunderous Tis Isat Falls… we will see this from the air along the way. This is where some of the holy men held up on the many islands—some of them just small rocky places in the lake where they built monasteries." His eyes became sad. "You can only see from the air because many of the islands do not allow women."
Made sense. If they were up against Lilith, any female crossing a threshold would be suspect, and would make identifying her easier.
"That's cool," Damali finally said, hoping they could travel by rickety Jeep instead. Whatever, so long as they got moving.
"It is' my apologies to you, though," he said, seeming to fret about the dilemma.
She really didn't care. A lot of monasteries had strict policies against women setting foot on their grounds. What concerned her more was getting to where they had to go in one piece. She wasn't feeling air travel at all.
"No," he said, actually cutting off her thought. "To go by Jeep is too long a journey to get there before nightfall… and too dangerous, as there are still many unfound land mines along the back roads and in riverbeds. Foreigners aren't even allowed to really enter Askum freely—but that is no matter, we can provide papers to say you are here as my wife… we shall work that out."
His sense of agitation made her wary. Why was this brother intent on getting her into some chopper, and more specifically, why was it necessary that she go to this crazy lake that had monasteries around it? But she could definitely go with his aversion to nightfall and unseen land mines. For now, she'd let some of her questions rest. But he was so suddenly nervous that it was making her edgy, too. She followed his gaze as it traveled toward the horizon.
"You weren't supposed to be a woman," he said quietly, now picking at his discarded bread, then reaching for his water.
"Excuse me?" she said, not offended, but curious as a knot unfurled in her stomach.
"Heaven has imparted a riddle. I was told that the Neteru would first go to the monks, and then to my father in Askum." He studied her hard. "Without violating what is sacred, how can that be?"
Damali smiled, thinking of Carlos. "Have faith."
PANIC MADE him forget what he could no longer do. It was impossible to open the plane door alone with Dan slung over his shoulder and the junior Guardian's heavy backpack still strapped to his body creating deadweight. There was no way to judge what was beneath them—ground, a steep drop off the side of a cliff, treetops—they were blinded so badly by smoke and choking on gasoline fumes. Carlos handed off Dan's limp body to Monk Lin, and worked with Imam Asula's raw strength to force open the door. Were it not for Asula, Carlos would have tumbled out of it as the heavy metal creaked open and swung wide.
To his amazement, there was no need to scrabble at the inflatable slide. The flat surface of the ground was only a three-foot drop to safety, as the plane listed to the side, billowing clouds of noxious fumes. No discussion was necessary. Coughing and hacking the polluted air from his lungs, Carlos jumped down, turned, and accepted Dan's body as Asula lowered it to him. Marlene was still clutching her satchel and fighting stick in shock as Shabazz pushed her forward next, and in less than a minute, everyone was out and half jogging, half limping away from the potential inferno.
They all knew the deal. The plane was gonna blow. Father Patrick and the other clerics turned back once. Marlene shook her head no to signify that the pilots were already lost. The team put more than a hundred yards between them and the aircraft, scrambling over the rocky terrain around the rim of the lake, coughing, running while vomiting, trying to find shelter around the bend of a small crag. The moment they rounded the bend came the sound of thunder and the resounding shock wave that knocked them off their feet.
They hit the ground with a simultaneous thud, covered their heads and held stiff and shuddering waiting for airplane parts and fuselage to come back to the ground with fiery conviction. No one moved, no one turned to stare, no one breathed as the sound of heavy objects returning to earth and metal colliding with rocks rang out. The sky rained fire and death for nearly five minutes, and then all became still.
Shabazz was the first to lift his head and peer around. His movements made the others slowly begin to lift their heads, but it was a long while before anyone could speak.
"We've gotta move," Shabazz finally said, his voice a raw whisper.
Father Patrick pushed himself to sit up and crossed himself. His eyes met Padre Lopez's, and then Monk Lin's, and finally settled on Imam Asula. "Heaven help them," he murmured, his gaze toward the plume of black smoke in the distance.
There was no need for him to say more as everyone bowed their heads and said a silent prayer for the crew that was lost. Slowly the teams stood, the unharmed helping the injured, every person still wobbly as they tried to get their balance.
Dan roused to semiconsciousness and rubbed the back of his head, his backpack causing added inertia. He winced as he looked around, tears streaming down his face. Berkfield stood, but then slowly plopped back down, his legs unable to hold him. Jose seemed like he was about to pass out while Big Mike steadied him with one good arm.
Rider touched Big Mike's flaccid biceps. "Can you move it?"
Big Mike shook his head no. "Broke, clean through, I think." Sweat poured off Mike's face and he was shivering.
" 'Bazz, this man's going into shock," Rider said, making Shabazz hustle to Big Mike's side just before the gentle giant went down.
They caught Mike while Carlos steadied Jose. Marlene dropped her satchel and stick and was at their side as they stretched Big Mike out on the ground while she ran her hands over the known wound then his entire body.
Marlene began to examine each team member quickly and efficiently. With the exception of Mike, injuries appeared to be surface wounds and smoke inhalation.
"I'll be all right," Mike protested, as she examined him. "It's just an arm."
"Lie your big, lurchy ass down," Rider said, "and let Mar see what she can do."
The group had gathered in a small, ragged circle. Carlos squatted down and peered at Mike.
"I ain't never been hurt before," Big Mike said. "I hate this shit."
Carlos nodded. "Let her work on it. We need your strength, man. Mar's good. That's what she does."
Marlene glanced at Carlos, thanking him with her eyes. But the team stared at Berkfield as he stood and staggered toward them.
"Maybe I can help?" Berkfield said, glancing around the team. "I worked in the conference room on Carlos's cut."
"Wait," Father Patrick warned. "I've seen the laying on of hands before." He looked at Marlene. "Many times healers take on the wounds, just like what happened on the plane. When you healed Carlos's hand, it was a minor cut, This is a major break, and the pain from it can be staggering. I've seen healers go into shock themselves, and require medical attention."
"I can try to dull the pain in Mike," Marlene said quietly, "but I don't think I can shield his psyche from it all."
"I don't need her to take the pain," Mike said, closing his eyes tightly as agony swept through him. "I'm cool."
"Yeah," Berkfield muttered. "But I do."
The comment made the group look at him. Even Big Mike opened his eyes and squinted at Berkfield.
"Listen, I don't know if this will work, or if I can even do it. But I had an idea… like if we work as a team, Marlene. If you can stop some of the pain so I can lay hands on him, maybe I can help the injury. Like I said, we tried an experiment up in the conference room. I sealed Carlos's cut." Berkfield studied his hands as he spoke. "But it hurt like hell. If I try to heal him and have to pull that from him, Father is right, my ticker could give out." He glanced at the group, and then down at Mike. "I'm a lot older and not as strong as your big, burly ass… so I'm being honest about my limitations—but I'm willing to give it a shot." When Marlene nodded, Berkfield knelt beside Mike.
"No, he don't have to do that for me," Mike said through a pant.
"Yo, man, we family," Jose said, glancing at Berkfield. "Mar took a lot of the agony out of that near-turn I went through. She pulled the poison up and out and kept me going for days until y'all could get to Nuit, right? So, at least let her try, Mike."
"That was a spirit wound, brother," Shabazz said carefully. "Only time I seen a body injury healed was when Damali covered Marlene's chest. We need a Neteru, and this one ain't ready yet."
Jose's gaze went to Carlos. "No time like the present to learn some new shit,hombre . Our brother here is in agony. See if you can go in with Mar and draw some of the pain, or with Berkfield in a three-way, and draw it to you. Berkfield can't hang by himself. None of the rest of us has the ability like that. Plus, from your old life, you know how to seal a body blow, right?"
"I'm down," Carlos said, stepping forward.
"Your ass is strong as shit," Jose said. "I've seen it myself, and if you can't deal with it, it ain't to be dealt with."
"I don't want Mar on this detail alone, feel me?" Shabazz said, staring at Carlos. He motioned toward Berkfield. "This man could be in jeopardy of a heart attack. If you're down…"
"I said I was," Carlos said evenly, stooping beside Big Mike. He looked up at the others. "Y'all wanna debate it, or do this before this man passes out?"
Marlene clasped Carlos's hand. They each covered Mike's forehead with a palm and sat quietly, her lips moving, her shut eyelids fluttering, Carlos taking deep breaths. Marlene's eyes abruptly opened as Carlos cried out and a loud snap sounded. Two Guardians were at his side.
"Don't break the connection," Shabazz said. "If you pull out now, the injury could transfer."
"Oh, shit…" Carlos said, panting. His head dropped forward, sweat stung his eyes, and his body flashed cold then hot. Pain shot through his arm, up his shoulder, and pierced his brain. He struggled to tuck it beneath the layers of pain he'd remembered from Hell before he blacked out. This was bad, but not the worst he'd felt.
Slowly, calmness started to enter him. He could hear people asking him if he was all right, and could feel Marlene's gentle squeeze. It was almost as though he could mentally see the pain seek him, radiating in a jagged red line toward Marlene's hand, then stop and find his. Memories of the past collided with the present. He knew the art of healing, but then it had been supernatural, not a gift. But the human body worked the same way, nonetheless. Meridians, energy fields, all he had to do was stay focused on the damaged field and draw that energy to him, away from Marlene, away from Big Mike, and trap it until Berkfield could do his thing.
Another searing pulse ran up his arm. He let go of Mike. Pain slammed him to the ground. He was shuddering so hard his teeth chattered. He tried to send his mind elsewhere, think of anything but the broken bones. But his brain worried it like the tongue hunts for a missing tooth, pushing into the soft, tender spots, making him holler.
Marlene didn't let go of his hand, her grip tightening until the grimace on Mike's face was gone. And as slowly as the agony left Mike's face, Carlos could soon feel the pain abating to a dull ache.
"How do you feel, big man?" Rider asked Mike, as Marlene withdrew her hand.
"Way better. Thanks, Ma. You always got da juice," Mike admitted as he stared up at Marlene and looked over to Carlos. "Thanks, man—you cool?"
Rider knelt beside Carlos, who had only nodded with his eyes closed. "That was some cowboy shit, brother. You okay?"
Again, Carlos only nodded and continued to breathe deeply.
"This man went down hard," Shabazz said, stooping beside Rider with concern. "He went above and beyond, and I don't think—"
"I'm holding it," Carlos whispered through his teeth. "Let Berkfield fix that break fast, 'Bazz… this shit hurts like a motherfucker."
Berkfield moved quickly to Mike's side, glancing back toward Carlos once.
Marlene focused on Berkfield, her eyes intense. "Give it your best shot, partner. I don't know if it'll transfer, or how long the pain block will last."
Berkfield nodded, his gaze concentrated along Mike's arm as his palms slid down it. He winced and stopped, then held the place that brought tears to his eyes. But he didn't cry out, just made a face as though uncomfortable. After a moment, they all watched as the bone in Berkfield's upper arm began to move beneath his skin, and they all turned away as a sudden hard snap made them cringe.
Panting, Berkfield kept his hold on Mike's arm; cold sweat leaked down his forehead as shivers consumed him. Then suddenly he let go and vomited. Carlos curled up in a ball and shuddered.
"Test your arm," Berkfield wheezed. "That's the best I can do. I couldn't hold on anymore."
Mike flexed his fist and slowly lifted the tender limb. "Y'all got skillz. Thank you." He sat up with assistance from Shabazz and Rider, and then glanced at Carlos and Berkfield who'd both begun to relax.
Jose looked at Dan. "A head injury ain't no joke, though."
Carlos rolled over on his back and kept his eyes closed.
Berkfield stretched out beside him. "So, what are we now," he chuckled as he slung an arm over his eyes and breathed deeply, "the team's doctors?"
"Hired," Rider said, helping Dan to lie back.
"Seems we are gonna be in the ER a lot, Dr. Berkfield and Dr. Rivera," Marlene said with a smile, though still winded. "This mangy group is always getting themselves busted up."
"This is my cousin, Dori," her guide said as they quickly greeted the man who possessed a wide, infectious smile.
Damali extended her hand and shook Dori's, totally amazed at how the two men shared such a striking likeness. Dori was a little younger than the man who'd introduced him, a head shorter, a bit leaner and browner than her guide, but the family resemblance was undeniable.
Dori assessed her from head to toe and then bowed. "You're the famous one—the singer of truths!"
Damali tried her best to smile. That was all she needed—a fan to recognize her and to alert the media hounds. For once, things needed to be easy, go smoothly, and with no added drama.
"I have all your CDs," Dori said in awe. "I am honored to be your pilot. My cousin, Telek, tells me you are quite nice and have an invitation to our family elder's home in Askum."
"But you know we must be discreet," Telek warned. "Grandfather will—"
"No, no, no. I have told no one," Dori assured him. "This mission I will take to my grave as a secret."
"Thank you for taking us, and for keeping everything cool," Damali said, simply relieved to have finally arrived at the airport. The harrowing drive through Addis Ababa was enough to make her think it was safer to be in the clouds. However, the man's comment about taking the mission to the grave worried her no end.
"My pleasure," Dori said as they began to walk along the tarmac toward the helicopters. "You heard about the terrorists?" He had spoken to his cousin and had not even turned to glimpse Damali.
"No," Telek said, making the small threesome stop progressing toward the craft. "We were at the market, and we ate, but were engrossed in conversation. What has happened now?"
A sinking feeling crept into Damali's abdomen as she listened hard.
"A rocket-propelled missile, it is rumored, hit a passenger plane over Somalia this morning at dawn. But the aircraft returned fire, so it couldn't have been a passenger plane—probably military spies versus rebel forces," Dori said with uncertain authority. "It was smoking badly, went right past the airport in a Mayday landing, swept down, and went boom!" he exclaimed, talking with both hands and waving to show the force of the explosion. "They say it crashed out by Lake Tana. No one knows for certain, but it has made it difficult to get tower clearance."
Before he'd finished his vivid description, Damali knew it was her team. She willed herself not to scream. She needed answers and information. The one thing she'd learned was that things were not always what they seemed. She bit her lips to keep from speaking.
"But I trust that your government connections…" his cousin said, obviously unsure if they'd be allowed to fly today.
Dori smiled. "A chopper can go," he said with flourish and began walking. "I have friends who know me well. It's just the commercial jets that must wait." He walked taller and put more emphasis in his stride. "Let us go see Grandfather."
As Damali entered the helicopter and strapped herself into a seat, the hair remained raised on her arms. Something was so terribly wrong. She'd arrived in this strange land well after dawn. Could it have been possible that she was out of time-sync with her team? Why hadn't she seen a smoking jet cross the clear blue sky? And if that were the case, why wouldn't Telek have seen it—unless he hadn't been here until she'd arrived.
She prayed with all her might that the downed plane wasn't the one that kept flashing through her mind, yanking at the fibers of hair pushing through her skin.Please, God, not them. Please, God, not anybody, for that matter . Damali closed her eyes.
With only an hour left before sunrise, Yonnie stared down at the witch's red hair—spread across the pillow, looking like blood—and considered his options. She was all right. Might make a decent lair queen, as lair queens went. But in truth, he just wasn't feeling her. The succubus that he'd tried first had offered so much more of a mental diversion. Crazy hoe wanted to know how to get to council chambers.
He chuckled to himself, remembering how she almost came on herself from just the mental picture of the descent through the caverns he offered while doing her. Succubae were too easy of a conquest, though. Their bites, phantom. However, he had to admit, girlfriend was awesome, knew exactly what a master liked… this chick was just okay. He sighed. The coven was cool, and they had plenty of playthings to sample, but they just weren't what he really wanted tonight. Tara.
He withdrew from the witch's curvaceous body, studying the two punctures in her throat that he hadn't bothered to seal, and glanced at the sated expression on her face.
"Will I turn?" she asked, her eyes filled with excitement. "We never get masters through here, only second- or third-gens." She sighed and closed her eyes. "A master's bite. My sisters will be green with envy."
"It wasn't a turn bite," Yonnie said, materializing his clothes and dressing himself. He glanced at the changing light. It was time to go, and fast.
"What!" She sat up, indignant. "You promised to—"
"I said I'd give you an evening you wouldn't forget in exchange for info on why my territory was being overrun by were-demons." Yonnie looked out the window. This bitch was truly getting on his nerves. He didn't have to explain anything to her. After being denied Tara, he was still in a truly foul mood. "And given the way you were just hollering in here, I'd say I lived up to my end of the bargain."
She stood, snatching up the sheets to cover herself. "You arrogant vampire bastards are all alike."
"Correction," Yonnie replied, bored. "There's nothing like a master—so you need to get with that."
"Why won't you turn me?" she asked, coming to stand in front of him. She thrust her chin up and narrowed her gaze.
He sighed. "I haven't been sanctioned to, that's why, and I don't know if I'd feel like it, anyway."
She folded her arms over her ample, silicon-created breasts. "If you're a master and coming here to get your rocks off, then obviously the lair queens at your disposal aren't worth a damn," she taunted, glowering at him. "And if you have to wait for permission, then some mast—"
He reached out and held her jaw between his forefinger and thumb, stopping her argument while critically studying the now-bulging vein in her neck. It would be so easy to simply rip her throat out, to tear into the paper-thin flesh that was already devoid of color from his earlier bites. "Then I'd have to listen to your bullshit all night long, sis." He let her go and prepared to make a hasty exit before he committed himself to flat-lining her just because she'd gotten on his nerves.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, looking disappointed. "Don't go. It's just that I was hoping."
"You'd have to die. What about this don't you get?" Yonnie shook his head and gazed at the prosthetic fangs in her lovely mouth. True, she'd used them like the pro she was, but damn. This chick had a death wish that wasn't healthy.
"My sisters will come in here and join us in bed, if that's why you're displeased, Master." Tears filled her green eyes and she tried to blink them away without success. "All you had to do was say you needed all of us at your disposal."
He closed his eyes. This had definitely been a bad idea, but her concept had merit. Yonnie glanced at the window. "Five of y'all, and a brother's only got an hour."
"We've got a lair in the basement—concrete, reinforced metal door, and an hour with a real master would—"
"Nah. You crazy? I don't know your asses, and you think I'd allow myself to get set up to get smoked like that? Fuck it, I'm out. The info you gave me was weak, anyway. How you gonna tell me a succubus wreaked all this havoc in my camp and try to let that bullshit stand as info? Shoulda known." He shook his head and smoothed the front of his suit. "I did one in here tonight, and trust me, she wasn't strong enough to do much more than get a good nut. Probably blew your minds and got you all confused. I'm out."
"No. Seriously. My eldest sister, Gabrielle, has been doing the divinations. Let me call her, okay?" she pleaded, hurrying toward the door. "We didn't authorize a succubus to come in here. If one got in and…" Her words trailed off as she stared at him. "Something's not right."
Yonnie waited, feigning disinterest, studying his manicure as a shrill female voice sliced into his senses. Her voice alone was reason enough not to want her in his lair each night, but information was information—so he waited while worry formed a small knot in his stomach. He'd just fucked a succubus, and fucked her good, but girlfriend had gotten the path to council chambers, too.
Within minutes, three of the unoccupied sisters rushed through the door, the eldest one stepping forward with appreciation in her eyes.
"I'm Gabrielle," she said on a sexy breath. "When you picked Susan over the rest of us, we cannot begin to tell you how envious we were. Tell us you're going to make amends and heal this little family riff."
Man… he didn't have time for this shit. Yonnie appraised the three sisters, each owning the same dazzling green eyes and waiflike figures plumped by silicon and a little black magic, but they'd hard-dyed their long hair to unnatural black, blond, and copper, which gave them each a ghostly appearance. The stark contrast of the black thong lingerie made them seem as though they might disappear right before his very eyes. They practically looked like skeletons with tits. He could count each rib bone as Gabrielle sauntered toward him, donning glistening, red, spiked heels, thigh-high black silk stockings, a thong, and push-up bra. Her hipbones jutted out at glaring angles. If he was gonna get his turn-on, he would have preferred a coupla babes with thick thighs and bootylicious behinds and a little color—but hey, he did have almost an hour to kill.
"I don't mind turning you out," he said with unfiltered disdain, "but a man needs to know what's going on in his zones before all that. Feel me?"
Gabrielle leaned against him, stroking him with one palm. "Yeah… I feel you, lover. It's simple. They're opening the gates."
"An unsanctioned succubus got in here, too," Susan said, glancing nervously between Yonnie and her sister.
"That concerns me," Gabrielle said evenly. "Especially since there's a disruption in the gates."
Yonnie stepped back a bit and stared at her hard. Witches had been known to lie almost as well as vampires. They both smiled. Her sisters began to tremble as he exuded a slow seduction trance.
"It's true," she pressed on, glancing at her forlorn sisters. "We're getting all sorts of traffic that we normally don't get, and our regulars from your lower gens haven't been aroundat all . Someone is obviously hunting your energy trail very hard through your linesmen, Yonnie." She offered him a triumphant smile. "And nowyou're here? You do the math."
"You do the math," he said, sweeping his nose along her jugular. "I have about forty-five minutes, and there's how many of y'all in the room?" Yonnie glanced past Gabrielle toward her sisters. "Very tacky. Not my style. I could turn one of y'all tonight, if you can tell me who sanctioned the openings… but tomorrow night, I could come back to do this right."
"You've already bitten me," Susan said, coming forward quickly and yanking Gabrielle's arm. "Finish it."
"I'm the eldest—"
"Ladies. Please," Yonnie said, chuckling. "Susan did come with a good attempt," he said, moving toward the redhead and running the pad of his thumb over her mouth and fake fangs. "I guess I could give her a real pair." He watched the eldest sister move back with a scowl as the youngest one filled his arms. But he kept his eye on Gabrielle. That was the smart one, the one who had information, the one who had to live to explain what he needed to know before daylight.
"Can we at least watch you turn her?" Gabrielle whispered with a quaky voice as her hand slid down her abdomen.
Yonnie filled his fist with Susan's hair and jerked her head back to expose her throat, his eyes never leaving the eldest sister's as a moan escaped her lips. "Just talk to me while I do it," he murmured. "Nice and slow—you stop talking, I'll stop in the middle of the turn and flat-line this hoe without blinking."
The blonde and the coppertop were practically holding each other up as Gabrielle swooned against them. Susan had become a panting rag in his arms, waiting for the strike. He took mild pride in the showmanship of it all—if they talked, he'd give them pure theater. He almost laughed out loud as he allowed his fangs to drop to battle length and one of the sisters nearly fainted. Yeah… a brother was packing. "So," he murmured, lowering his mouth to Susan's jugular and adjusting his fangs for realistic turn length.
"Word is on the street," Gabrielle whispered, "that there's a bounty on Rivera's head." She gasped as Yonnie broke Susan's skin and began the slow siphon, their gazes locked while the youngest witch writhed within his arms. "The were-wolfen clans are making a territory grab, and I've heard the Amanthras have unleashed a few of their own to get in on the available assets, just border testers at this point… incubi and succubae are also trying to materialize themselves for the onslaught." She stopped, swallowed hard as her sister went limp, and whispered, "Yolando!"
He lifted his head. "Tell me something I don't know," he said, momentarily glancing at Susan as her nails dug into his arms. "I already know a council bounty is on my brother's head." But he didn't tell her that he didn't know the other legions could cash in on it. That bit of info was worth something. Council had never done a hit that involved the other levels. The chairman had to want Carlos real bad to go there. Unless…
"Don't stop," Susan wheezed, her gaze furtive and weakly going toward Gabrielle. "Tell him what he wants to know!"
"Appreciated," Yonnie said, lowering his mouth to her throat again, teasing her with a nick. "You all were saying?"
"We did a pentagram ritual to level seven," Gabrielle said quickly.
Yonnie bit down hard and closed his eyes, the women's gasps passing through his skeleton as he sucked hard.Yeah… and the Dark Lord said what ?
Instantly, he could tell something had gone wrong. The sweet blood in his mouth became acidic, forcing him to pull out and spit. Stunned, he stared at Susan's stricken expression. Screams from her sisters surrounded him. Their screeches intensified as Susan's body temperature heated up. They covered their faces and screamed louder as her flesh began to smolder. He dropped her and stepped back.
"You murderer! Ingrate!" Gabrielle yelled, rushing to Susan's fallen body as she began to quiver and her eyes liquefied.
"What did you do to our sister?" another yelled, going to her knees and crawling beside the slowly charring remains.
Susan was making guttural sounds deep in her throat. Her skin blackened at her throat where she had been bitten and then fanned out to cover her neck, shoulders, and face, running down her arms and torso until she was totally consumed. An internal blaze could be seen through her empty eye sockets.
"No!" the third sister screamed, walking in a circle around the ghastly carnage that was taking place in the center of the floor.
"We will have your head!" Gabrielle shouted, her finger pointing at Yonnie as she sent a black electrical current toward him.
He deflected it with ease, but went to Susan's body. Shoving her sisters away from her as she instantly turned to ash, he tried to reach out to her but couldn't. "I didn't do that!" he shouted, now pacing. "What purpose would torching her serve? Think!"
The three remaining witches huddled together, sobbing.
"Use your skills," Yonnie demanded. "I was in the middle of a legitimate turn, and she flamed. What the fuck?" He wasn't sure if he was more outraged than shaken. Never in all his years had he witnessed anything so foul.
Gabrielle wiped at her eyes hard and went to the dresser on the far side of the room. Extracting a small black velvet bag, she murmured quietly as she dumped stone runes over her sister's ashes. "We'll get to the bottom of this, vampire!"
"You do that, sis. I need to know who's jacking my turns. Blocking a turn, if you've lost council favor, is one thing. Torching them is another. Level six doesn't have that power. This is bullshit!"
The other teary-eyed sisters nodded as Gabrielle looked up, her expression confused.
"But this came from your own council," she said in a barely audible voice. "You're neutered," she said, her voice holding disbelief. "Your turn bite isn't just blocked, it's lethal."
"I'm what?" Yonnie stepped toward her and held both her arms, yanking her forward. Only hours ago he'd elevated Tara, and nothing like this had happened.
"You can't turn anyone. You cannot replenish your territory."
It didn't make sense. Yes, they would assassinate him. Yes, they would keep him from making more of his own, but the torch bite? Never done on six. Maybe they hadn't been lying. Level seven was definitely involved. Panic swept through him as he began to assess all the territorial damage.
He dropped her arms and walked away from her. "I don't understand. That is not our way. Cast the runes again!" Yonnie looked at her hard and then stared at the divination on the floor. "We always replace territory, immediately. You're wrong." The sweepers made sense. Level seven didn't have to come up for a basic vamp dispute. A new master would be made to bump him off. What the fuck did Rivera do?
Gabrielle carefully gathered up the stones while everyone in the room remained silent, waiting for her to get a second opinion. Again, she flung the stones against the pile of ash. "Your own chairman did this," she said in a faraway voice. "You were made by Rivera, and he's purging the entire zone of all he made, of all that could ever be made by his line."
"I know that!" Yonnie shouted. "Tell me about level seven and this damned succubus you claim—"
"You mean Lilith?" Gabrielle said coolly, her eyes studying him as he began to pace.
"That's bullshit," Yonnie whispered. The mention of that name chilled him. He backed up, studied the sky, his focus divided between the facts before him and Tara. "I have to go," he said, sure now that the transmission cover that he'd provided Tara hadn't held.
"We are now sworn enemies of the vampire nations, and level seven," Gabrielle said, picking up each rune stone one by one and kissing away her sister's ashes as she replaced them in the velvet pouch. She clutched it in her soot-covered palm.
"Good," Yonnie said, holding her gaze, "because, now, so am I."
"She's his lover."
Yonnie stared at Gabrielle. "She's the devil's wife? Get serious. Him, you don't fuck with."
"Your chairman."
Again, Yonnie just stared at her for a moment. "Now Iknow you're crazy."
"Am I?" she asked coolly, looking him dead in the eyes.
It was so treacherous that he couldn't speak. What could Carlos have done to make the chairman risk sure extinction? There had to be more to the puzzle than blowing a shot at the Neteru. "If you're lying, I'll kill your ass. If you're right, I owe you."
Gabrielle cocked her head to the side, wrestling with the proposed alliance.
"Obviously, my chairman hasn't been able to take all my powers back—for some reason. But if he did this hit with her…"
Gabrielle nodded, joining hands with her remaining sisters as the fourth platinum-haired sister entered the room and covered her mouth. "You'll swear allegiance to help us avenge Susan's death?"
"If you'll swear allegiance to help me avenge my councilman, Carlos Rivera's abuse."
The four sisters spoke in unison. "Done."
"My transmission was compromised!" Tara yelled as Yonnie entered the basement lair. "Where were you?"
"You got through?" Yonnie spun on her as he sealed the door against approaching daylight.
"Yes, and—"
"Save the drama about where I might have been. Talk to me!"
She stared at him. "Yonnie, what happened?"
"They torched a turn of mine—while she was in my arms, Tara!" He walked a hot path across the concrete floor. "Sonofabitch just—"
"You were actually going to turn an innocent? Get out!" Tara shrieked. "Get out before you—"
He waved his hand and knocked the wind out of her, making her fall to the bed. "Shut up and listen!" He raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes wild. "It was a willing witch, not an innocent. A barter; so these barriers aren't compromised. The only thing keeping us alive is whatever your people laid down here." He walked over to the walls, feeling them for the approaching heat of dawn. "I don't know if they'll hold, though. The Guardian compound had to have a better seal than this hovel, and black lightning struck it and the heat from that caused the brush fire. You saw that with your own eyes."
Tara swallowed hard and stood, going to the walls, testing with Yonnie for heat. "He's so weak," she whispered. "I tried to give him the code, and he had to write it down."
Yonnie froze. "What do you mean he had towrite it down' ? Stop playing, woman! I had to form an alliance with a weak-assed coven in order to watch our flanks. That's what we're dealing with, and now isn't the time to let some jealousy corrupt your logic. We have a major crisis to—"
"It was himand he had to use pen and paperlike a human ," she said slowly, succinctly, cutting off Yonnie's question while her even tone stoked his horror. "While you were out getting your swerve on, dawn fractured my ability to hold onto the connection." Tara locked and trapped Yonnie's line of vision within hers. "He was so weak I was ashamed for him."
Yonnie shook his head and backed away from Tara, tears rising in his eyes as he pointed at her. "You He!"
"I wish I were," she said quietly, finding the edge of the bed before she collapsed.
"Nothing!" Lilith said, blue-black smoke billowing from beneath her gown as she walked before the council table. "No Neteru! No Rivera! I personally looked in every man's face on that plane, and not one of them even resembled him." She stared at the chairman through red glowing slits. "Do you know what this means?"
"No," he said evenly. "Tell me, darling. Your fangs are showing." Pointed, leathery wings ripped through her shoulder blades casting a twelve-foot shadow over the table as bats above took shelter.
Her scaled, serpentine tail emerged, altering her spine and tearing through her gown to bear a spaded razor that sliced his cheek before he could pull away. As her rage mounted, her shapely legs transformed into gargoyle gray granite, the varicose veins in them thick and corded by stagnant black blood. Her once sexy spike heels became yellowed, clawed talons that now dug into the marble floor. Only her arms, torso, and head remained the sultry female she'd just been, although her lush mouth was brutally distended by a hideous set of jagged, demon fangs.
"Ipersonally intercepted the transmission from his lieutenants! They put a weak Guardian on the phone, and everything he said was garbled—damn their barriers. But it wasn't Rivera." Lilith's voice rumbled in a deep, threatening baritone, her breaths a ragged gasp between each word as fury overtook her reason. "All that's left of him is two last holdout vampires that aren't worth the bother to pursue beyond troublesome Native American shaman barriers. The master Rivera made was so weak he's taken to beddinghuman witches instead of real vampire lair mates!"
"That's because there aren't any left in his territory, except one, darling. A man has to do what a man has to do, especially if he's about to be exterminated. Have a goblet and relax."
She stormed away from the chairman and pointed at him. "I was so infuriated that I torched that little redheaded bitch while he was turning her. I should have incinerated him, too, and would have, if I didn't think he might still have access to Rivera. He only lives as bait." Her eyes flickered darker. "But that did send him a very serious message to call his maker, ASAP. So we wait."
"I know," the chairman said in an amused tone to stoke her ire. He glanced around unconcerned as the torches in the chamber went out and bats screeched in fear at her thundering. "I've also blocked his turns so he can twist for a century or so without a lair mate. The female is so weak that she barely took the elevation he attempted. I'll dust her when I have time—maybe while he's on top of her, who knows? But do not waste your precious time micromanaging this minor detail; it will be excruciating for both of them when I'm done amusing myself with their panic,that I assure you. I'm a patient man." He smiled. "Why didn't you just abduct and torture the information out of him?"
"Because Rivera would never come out in the open then, once he heard Yolando's howls. Are you insane? You saw how Rivera resisted my harpies! Neteru information about the female was locked inside his mind like one of our best vaults! It's clear those two loser vampires don't know where he is any more than you or I do!"
He allowed Lilith to seethe. He ignored her blinding wrath and concentrated on the tiny questions nagging his mind. Why wasn't he able to torch the two lower-generation vampires, when he'd been able to ash all the others? She didn't need to know that his attempts had failed, or contemplate how two vampires had been able to hide behind a shaman's prayer line… why was a small cabin impervious to his black lightning strikes when the Guardian compound and the Covenant's safe house had so easily burned to the ground? They were missing something crucial. He could feel it in his skin, but he kept chuckling with haughty disdain in his countenance and avoided glancing at the small compartment hidden in the center of the table beneath the fanged crest that only he could open, allowing Lilith's ego to make her twist.Oh, darling, I have such a prize in there .
"Dante, I dredged every man's dreams trying to wrest out Rivera's location. Nothing!" she shouted, oblivious to the chairman's mood shift as she railed on. "They were only able to try to sendten thousand measly dollars toa human that had to write it down. That'sall Rivera has left. My harpies ripped open the belly of that aircraft, searching in vain for his coffin, in case he was still one of us! Nothing! And if a Neteru had been on board, we would have known the moment he or she launched into battle."
She swished away, leaving the chairman to seal the deep gash in his face, his black blood splattering the front of his robe and blending into it. "The female Neteru did not come for her Guardians, even when I sent the plane to crash and burn. No male Neteru rose to the challenge to come to their rescue, either. The last remnants of the Covenant were even on that aircraft, and no Neterus came… no Isis blade or disc of Heru was ever raised."
Lilith shuddered and gave Dante her back to consider, knowing she was running out of options. If she didn't find the Neterus quickly, she'd have to destroy the embryo, lest it ever be discovered. Or, worse, turn it over to her husband and try to claim that in her search for the dead Neterus, she'd discovered it. Either way, she refused to concede total defeat. If there was no bounty to be won to take over all the weaker realms, shecould not lose favor on level seven. Her mind raced for a back-door solution.
She'd blame it on Dante, if she had to give up the egg. The egg had passed through his chambers, and this had been a Vampire Council matter, originally. But that bitter black pill was something very special that she was saving for when she'd exhausted every measure. To prematurely unveil that it even existed meant potentially tipping her hand, if the Neterus were somehow still alive. Dante was holding something back from her; she could sense it. So she skillfully changed the subject and allowed herself to appear totally spent. He could never know her ultimate aim. Men were foolish. There were no friends in this game.
"Warrior angels made it necessary to back off… but the plane went down. There was no way anyone on board could have survived. Damnable daylight interfered, but they're history." Lilith covered her face with her hands and breathed in deeply, causing her wings, tail, and talons to recede as she regained her composure.
"Hmmm… are you quite sure? The same way I was so sure that Rivera had been burned alive by the sun?" The chairman shook his head. "Very sloppy—or did you say that to me not long ago?"
"I looked themeach in the eye before we decimated their aircraft at dawn, and all I saw was frightened humans. No Neterus. The plane went down over a holy region that even I cannot penetrate without my husband's assistance. I'm officially banned from that area, except the Red Sea, by truce," she wailed, suddenly becoming so distraught that she waltzed back to the table and took a shaky sip of clotted blood from the chairman's goblet and set it down hard.
"Perhaps, if warrior angels showed up, they're masked. Did you ever consider that? It has been done before." He studied his goblet and circled the rim of it with his finger.
She stared at him without blinking.
"You seem awfully impatient, my dear. That is not like you. Maybe you should call my father to help you—"
"Don't fuck with me, Dante," she screeched, growing fangs again. "This is a catastrophe!"
"I thought our goal was to kill them, anyway?" He risked another sly smile, baiting her further as he took a slow sip from her abandoned goblet. "Calm yourself. My remaining councilmen are in stasis repose in their vaults, and we must conserve our energy for the future—"
"What future, Dante? If we don't deliver them, there is no bounty," she said flatly, leaning into him. "Our Dark Lord deals in absolutes. I will not suffer his wrath for failing!"
He stood and chuckled. "Or, if I did indeed kill them both, first, then what you mean is, I've won the challenge—and didn't fuck up so badly after all." He caught her hand before she could strike him and caressed her face with his free palm. "Come, come now, dearest Lilith," he whispered, his fangs growing to battle length as his form bulked to shadow hers. He squeezed her wrist until the bones within it snapped and she winced. "Is that any way to treat the possible ruler of theentire dark realm?"