by L. A. Banks
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 "fuck me" pumps. The red pants suit, killer. Her aura demanded respect.
Damali raised her glass to them. Her gaze surveyed what she quickly counted as eight women, all older, 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 take a sister out in style."
The one in red chuckled and sipped her martini. "So dramatic." She looked down the bar at the others. "See what man trouble will do to you? Make you simple."
Damali gave a small smile and bumped her glass, spilling the contents into the woman's lap. "Yeah. It'll do that. So, let's get this party started."
She'd expected the woman to attack and braced herself for it. Instead she just looked at the stain and the liquor running down her shapely leg, dabbed it with a finger, tasted it, made a face, and shook her head.
"Now that was just tacky," she said in an even tone. "Why don't we step into the ladies' room?"
Damali stood. "After you."
The bartender cleared the bar in one lithe leap 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 rocks glasses were calmly set down in unison as the women flanking the leader stood.
"Baby girl, do you have any idea who you're up against?"
Damali stepped back, one hand on her hip. "No, do you?"
It was the first time she saw a flicker of rage cross their faces.
The women simply turned on her heel and walked away, her head high and her shoulders back.
Damali stared after her. Was she hallucinating, or had these female vamps just marched off toward the bathroom like a bunch of offended church ladies? Something did not fit, big-time. Curiosity got the best of her and Damali cautiously followed their regal promenade.
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 entered the now tightly packed space last. She made a quick assessment. No windows. All white metal stalls and tile with pink accent borders. Who knew vamps liked pink? Then she stopped as they stood before a huge mirror, every one of them casting a reflection.
Okaaay. They weren't vamps. So then, who the hell… ? Damali opened her mouth, then slowly closed it.
"That's right, damn it!" the woman in red said. "You'd better recognize who you're talking to. I ran empires before you were even thought of, sister!"
"Chica, this is bad," another said, shaking her head. "We're gonna have to kick your behind for real now."
"Aw, ladies," a third tall beauty said. "You know that's not why we brought her here."
The bartender stepped forward. "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 jumped from one woman to the next. Did one of them just 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 you have issues. Feel me?"
Damali couldn't stop herself from gaping.
"Take a walk with us," the one named Eve said, moving toward the mirror. "You game for some insight?"
Damali nodded numbly. Eve turned and touched the mirror, melting into it as if it were water. "We had to strip your blade from you, hon, until you could learn to use it correctly. Because you can't fight what's coming for you like you just did out there. A common street fighter."
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 pushed her forward and she was suddenly alone in a vast stone enclosure, standing on the landing of a massive staircase. Towering oblong windows let in the breaking dawn.
Once she reached the top of the stairs there was a wide hallway. A glasslike wash of violet light spilled across the marble.
She focused all her senses, straining to feel vibrations, to hear, all to no avail. Where had they gone?
She began to walk forward, feeling amazingly light as each footfall lifted her slightly off the floor. Soon the glasslike purple rays covered her as she entered their full beam. Suddenly she rushed forward to an open atrium filled with swirling golden-white light and women's voices.
Damali squinted as a large, opalescent table came into view. Seated before her were the eight women. Four were sitting to either side of an empty, high Kemetian throne carved in alabaster, with a falcon-winged sun disk bearing the ankh symbol of fertility. 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 immediately dropped to one knee. Oh, dear God!
She'd been summoned to the Council of Neterus!
