by L. A. Banks
All four entities nodded. They blinked, the red orbs in their eye sockets disappearing.
"This is a statement of truth," the lead messenger said.
"Damn straight it's the truth. Now I have a message—"
"Wait," the entity said, holding up his hand. "How did you regenerate? They left you for dead in the desert. We tortured one of theirs and learned that much before eliminating the captured—"
"Long story," Carlos scoffed. "Suffice to say, I feared failing the Vampire Council more than the sun. So I crawled my mauled ass into a cave as far as I could. Some carrion feeders came to eat from what they thought was dead meat—and lemme just say that all I needed was for one coyote to get within my reach. You dig?"
The messengers all nodded.
"There was a pack of them," Carlos went on, knowing the messengers were blocked to his mind unless he gave them permission to see certain images. Enjoying the game, he embellished the story to make it gruesome enough to pass their test. "Desert dogs, however, only gave me enough strength to repair the basics… but later, there was this quaint little Mexican town nearby… filled with innocents. Until I fed, I didn't even have telepathy or projection capability. Had to take them down one by one the old-fashioned way. It was regrettably messy, but effective."
He could feel palpable excitement run through the eerie foursome like an electric current. "Come, smell," he offered, knowing that the donated monk blood reeked of innocence and had no adrenaline trail to it. That alone would be enough to convince the messengers that he'd fed on a school yard of children.
The leader leaned in close to Carlos, its decaying scent stinging the insides of Carlos's nostrils. But the thing came away from him with no glowing orbs showing. It hissed, and released a sigh that was the things' version of ecstasy.
"Ohhh… yeeesss… the Vampire Council will be pleased with this transmission." The entity shuddered and opened its eyes, which had gone from red to dark green then red again as it spoke. "They are pleasured beyond your scope of understanding, as am I, your messenger, Master Rivera."
Another of the entities approached the lead messenger and touched its shoulder, sending a collective shudder through the group. "It is almost as good as when he had ripening Neteru in his nose. You must tell us of this town where the blood runs so pure."
Carlos nodded, not about to send a pack of vampires to descend upon a defenseless country town. "Later. Back to the point, so we don't piss off the council with delayed info."
The messengers all nodded, apparently aware of the extent of the Vampire Council's potential wrath.
"After I recovered," Carlos said, resuming his story, "I got back on point and tracked down the Neteru. She'll let me in—she thinks I saved her and her team's lives."
"Brilliant," the leader said. He cocked his head, as if listening to some inner voice, then said, "The Vampire Council has monitored and heard this conversation, and would like a word with you—personally."
"Oh, no," Carlos said fast, putting up both hands and walking backward. Maybe the blood scent thing was over the top. "I don't do the tunnels ever again in life—or death, you know what I'm saying. Been there, seen it, and don't ever want to do it again."
"While we can appreciate your trepidation, Mr. Rivera, the Vampire Council's word is final. That is why they sent four of us to escort you to their chambers."
This was mad-crazy bullshit. A meeting below would eat up precious night. He still had to feed, and had other things he wanted to do. All he was trying to accomplish was to keep council off his ass and at bay—not go downstairs for some corporate conversation. Shit! "I'm done with subterranean meetings, man."
The lead messenger conferred with the other hooded creatures behind it for a moment, and their eyes disappeared in their hoods. Carlos waited until their transmission was sent, and when their eyes opened again, he eagerly anticipated the determination.
Shaking its head no, the lead messenger pulled out a scythe. "The Vampire Council says the conditions on all levels above six are inconsequential and they will assure your safety through the realms on your descent to chambers."
"Inconsequential?" Carlos walked in a wide circle. "Tar pits, and black maggot-covered stagnant ponds, it even fuckin' rains maggots and whatnot on the levels above ours down there—plus it stinks like the worst garbage day you can imagine, and I need to establish a lair. I have been rehabbing for a full month, trying not to burn excess energy or draw poachers from other territories to me who might be following a female's trail to me, which means I was out there solo, without—"
"They understand your delicate master vampire sensibilities, and say that passage will be brief. On level four, the Amanthras are engaged in a civil war, as their supreme council has sent legions after the rogues that dared band with Fallon Nuit's vampires to form the Minion. That side of the equation guarantees our quick passage—and topside, we have hunted down and eliminated all of Nuit's remaining lair supporters. The Minion has been broken. Even our human consultants have eradicated his dens of human helpers."
"Can't it wait till tomorrow night, man? Can't you just let them know—"
The lead messenger shook his head slowly. "The Vampire Council will not wait, and they demand a word. It is done."
The messenger lowered his scythe to the ground and violated the earth—just as he had when Carlos had been first summoned. But this time, Carlos had no fear in his heart, nor did the phenomenal speed suck the air from his lungs as the earth opened, uprooting trees, forming a giant pit that pulled him down into the blackness. He changed into something more appropriate to wear while hurtling downward. Old World conservative.
He looked on with pure disinterest as the four messengers used their blades to hack at demon hands and tentacles that grabbed for their cargo, him. He might as well have been riding the subway, watching the dark columns go by, watching the freaks come out at night. But when he passed level five, a slight shudder ran through him. It was an erotic pull, not a frightening one. Hmmm… later. Level five was the black forest where the things that could only temporarily hold their human shape lived—were-demons. He returned his focus to the matter at hand. You didn't fuck around with the Vampire Council.
"You know the procedure," the lead messenger said, pointing down the long corridor of blackened stalactites and stalagmites when they landed in a swirl of charcoal smoke.
Carlos brushed the splinters of tree branches, tiny rocks, and earth from his tailored black suit, and willed his shirt white again, then smoothed his hair. They needed to figure out a much less dramatic way to roll, he noted, stepping over rotting bodies as he made his way toward the chamber.
This time the stinging smell of bat urine in the damp cavern didn't make him wretch, it was just mildly annoying—they also needed to do something about their messenger service. He heard the titter of laughter coming from the high, vermin-covered ceiling. Bats huddled and winked at him with red, glowing eyes, and treacherous fangs.
But one could never be quite ready for crossing the moat around the Vampire Council's chambers. Carlos looked down into the orange-red lava, the inferno of the bubbling pool created translucent heat waves just above its surface. He had to cover his ears to the shrieks and cries coming from the Sea of Perpetual Agony. Poor bastards, he thought to himself, as he crossed the narrow, slippery strip of rock-bridge. Coulda been him. Hell, if he didn't play his cards right, that would be him.
Using his energy as a magnet, he hurried across to the other side and stood before the huge, black marble doors that bore golden knockers with fangs. This time, though, he knew not to grab them. They would bite. Instead, he pounded on the massive double doors with his fist and waited for the left side to eerily creak open. Shit, they had his scent and could do the security check a little smoother.
There was no period of disorientation, and the denser air didn't make his lungs struggle to absorb it. He walked through the double doors, his shiny Bali slip-on loafers echoing against the black marble as he str
ode toward the pentagram-shaped table and bowed slightly in deference to the four-seated council members. He noted that there was still an empty, tall black throne positioned at one of the table's star points. Yet, the table still held power, its red blood veins flowing through the black marble and keeping each council member's gold goblet filled with the ruby power liquid. Blood.
Carlos assessed the elderly entities, who did not bother to waste illusion energy to make themselves look more appealing. Things seemed in order. The walls still bore torches in huge iron holders, black tallow dripped from the candles mounted in heavy iron floor candelabras. Above the table still swirled the screeching, black funnel cloud of smoke that carried messengers and served as his transport out of there. But this time, he could read what had been strange hieroglyphics that covered the room's arches, graced each throne, and surrounded the huge, fanged gold crest in the middle of the table. It was the history of each of the five original vampire lines on the five continents, with the history of the empire's founder in the center of the crest. Deep.
Now if he could only read the expressionless faces that studied him. Their pale grayish-blue skin showed the black blood flowing through their veins. That it was moving slow was a good sign. When excited, he remembered, or angered, you could see their blood pulsing faster beneath their pale skins. Everybody's eyes were glowing gold. Cool. Nobody was in the red zone. Nobody's claws were growing, and all fangs were at the normal two-inch, non-hostile level. Civility was in order. Carlos bowed again. The Vampire Council nodded.
"Mr. Chairman, Mr. Counselor, members of the council, I report per your request."
"We are extremely pleased with your efforts," the chairman said, adjusting his high black hat that resembled a pontiff's cap. "We understand the difficulty you've experienced, as well as your period of incommunicado. Your plan to restore our cargo, Mr. Rivera—now that she knows you are a master vampire?"
"Since there is no need for pretense, normal seduction should work… I've held her in my arms, been inside her head, and she clung to me in the tunnels. I can get to her. I have seven years, correct?"
The council members passed a nervous glance between them.
"We would like to know that she is fully compromised of her own free will well before the next ripening window. While we appreciate your efforts, seven years is—"
"A blink in the eye of time," Carlos said fast, chancing the break in protocol by cutting off the chairman. He instantly regretted the move, but kept steady.
The chairman replied with an even glare, his tone distant, and very cool. "We have other plans for you. There is an empty throne, which you have already experienced. Its power is unparalleled. One so valuable as you should not be lost to minor topside battles. You are a general, not a foot soldier. Now that we know the slayer's whereabouts, we can most assuredly break her spirit with another, insignificant human male. One from our compromised human pool. We wouldn't send a vampire on such an easy assignment—that would be a waste. This would achieve our aim, and seven years from now, we'll send our best, nonmasters to collect her for the planting ritual."
Carlos remained very still—but that was not going to happen. He listened to the chairman but wasn't hearing him. He didn't care what the old man was talking about. Human or not, nobody but him was breaking Damali in, and after that, fuck it. They could stake him, but he wasn't letting another male near her—unless he heard her say she wanted it that way… even then… sheeit.
"As you know, the effect that a Neteru has on master vampires, when she's in cycle, is too strong a temptation… she's like a drug, Carlos. We need you clean and in a stable frame of mind," the chairman pressed on, trying to persuade Carlos of what was in his supposed own best interest. "Plus, we have already lost many of our top generals in the battle with Nuit. We cannot send a master of value for the collection—we have come to understand… only third- or fourth-level lieutenants that pose no threat to our goal can bring her in without tampering with our vessel."
"Even second levels hold aspirations. We would have to take harsh measures while you were not yourself, while you were under the influence. Too risky," the counselor said, shaking his head. "We have fortunately retrieved you, and would never dream of imperiling one of our rising stars again. You stay down here with us until your territory is realigned and cleaned out of any potential rebel forces."
This was not a part of his plan, and Carlos watched in dread as the attorney slid the eternal contract across the table toward him.
"Sign," the attorney hissed. "The last time you left our chambers without a signature. This is a policy breach. But, as men of our word, we all kept our bargains. Good faith had been demonstrated on both sides, therefore let us seal this in the appropriate manner."
Desperate for a diversion, Carlos clung to the only information he had that would make them hesitate. No vampire in his right mind would refuse a throne of all power and knowledge. To do so would blow his cover and end his game—and start a very long period of torture. Carlos glanced around. He was so far down in the pit that no sources of light would be able to evacuate him. The Vampire Council knew it; he knew it. There was only one option. Go for the jugular.
"I'm not signing shit under these circumstances. This is a bullshit deal, and you know it! First of all, Damali Richards was my hit," he said in a defensive tone, his eyes roving over the group with an expression of frustration. "I was the one who was supposed to bring her in, and I want my name going down in the history as the one who brought in the millennium slayer. Let's start my complaint there, Mr. Counselor."
The chairman smiled. "Raw, unadulterated ambition. Passion. This is why he is such wonderful new blood for our council table. He reminds me so much of myself in my younger days." The chairman sat back and watched the brewing debate, his fanged smile widening.
The attorney paused and begrudgingly nodded toward the others. "That minor amendment can be made in the documents—however, he still needs to sign the eternal contracts."
"Why?" Carlos shot back. "I thought that practice was passΘ, and did any other council member have to sign? Oh, so because I'm a young blood, right, and a brother…"
They didn't answer, but the attorney's eyes narrowed.
"By the way… where's my soul? On what level is it? One of the transport messengers said y'all were looking for it. I wanna be sure it doesn't wind up lost on level four with the Amanthras." Carlos folded his arms over his chest as the full council responded with silent, stricken expressions. "Now, I have been gone a full calendar month, putting my limbs back together and slowly restoring my power off of coyote blood, then nonadrenaline-spiked innocents and damned highway roadkill—before I sign anything, fair exchange is no robbery. Where's my damned soul? It needs to be in the right hands, or the contract is void anyway." Checkmate.
"We can assure you that our vigilant search continues, and that our alliance with the old Amanthra Supreme Council—"
"You know what," Carlos said evenly, taking the risk to show fangs for theatrical measure, "this is bullshit!" He walked to the table and slammed his fist down, causing the blood within its marble veins to spill over the edges.
"I infiltrate the Minion, alone, risk going after a rogue master with Neteru in my nose, and his, literally castrate the bastard—then I off several of his top-ranking, second-level rebel generals; single-handedly get inside the Neteru compound to keep a lock on her, then carry her while she's wearing silver, no less, through demon-infested tunnels—and you guys send my backup late! Your boys were late. I almost died on this mission. Now, you promise me the throne, but I have to sign some shit to show my good faith? And let's not forget about the matter of my lost soul. Down in your own territories? Fuck you. I finish this mission the way we agreed—I bring in the Neteru, then I sign the papers and the throne is mine. In fact, I shouldn't even have to sign that shit for the power in it to be ceded to me, since I was the one who hit Nuit! You need to give me a seat just on general principle."
The ch
airman nodded, the blood within his transparent veins not even quickening. "Hmmm… hatred, pure rage… intelligence, strategy. Absolute ruthless ambition—and balls enough to challenge a seated councilman? No fear—down here?" He suddenly laughed. "You're going to bring much to this council. So be it. We'll discuss the possibility in the near future." Without looking up, the Chairman waved his hand. "Gentlemen, on to the next item on the agenda."
Carlos stood there for a moment dumbfounded. He'd expected more of a fight. In truth, the other council members seemed shocked, especially the attorney.
"Uh… Mr. Chairman," the counselor said in a slow, cautious tone. "We do need that signature."
"Mr. Rivera has shown more loyalty than some of our current council members," the chairman snarled. "In fact, Mr. Counselor, he has also demonstrated greater effectiveness than our member responsible for corridor containment." The blood sped up in the chairman's veins under his skin as he looked down the table at a nervous council member at the far end. "Please do not provoke me to explore this discussion any further tonight. Mr. Rivera has slayer scent in his system, and asks the small favor of this council to allow him to bring her in before she ripens. It is done. This is the way we used to do business in the old days—when a man's word was his bond, his actions were his oath. I am satisfied."
"I have a question, though," Carlos pressed after a moment, testing his luck. "There have been mountain climbers killed on topside… and when I passed level five—"
"That is out of your jurisdiction," the counselor cut in.
"I only asked because I want to know everything that's going on that could endanger the Neteru while she's topside. If I'm protecting the package, hey." Carlos shrugged and began to walk away.
Again the chairman nodded and waved his hand. Another council member from a far point of the star-shaped table spoke in a hushed tone, making Carlos turn around slowly.
"There's been a breach on level five. We do not know the extentùas it is, again, in the most insidious of the demon provinces. Our fight was with the Amanthras on level four, and we can ill afford to scatter our energies to contest a breach on the formidable level five were-demon realms. If not for our civil war, we would have dealt with it swiftly."
