by L. A. Banks
"Well how did some whack shit like that happen?" Carlos was appalled. These old boys weren't handlin' their business.
The counselor narrowed his gaze and hissed. "Apparently, Nuit's international Raise the Dead concert opened several portals to demon energies on our five continents, but not all the portals have been re-sealed. We quickly sent forces to North America, Europe, Asia, Australia, and Africa, which includes our guarded Middle East provinces that are being held fallow for the Armageddon—places where commerce interruption would be highly visible and problematic for our financial arrangements. A few nagging elements escaped topside, but nothing to trouble oneself about. It shall be rectified."
"Why didn't you send anybody to check out South America? That's a major piece of real estate in my territory that should have been on lockdown while I was rehabbing. See, here again, y'all haven't had my back proper and—"
"South America was illegally ceded to you by Nuit. He was only to cover the US and Canada, North America, and he assassinated the South American ambassador to annex that area, and to pick up the Caribbean. It caused major alignment issues, because we must keep the Biblical city for level seven—with three of the most powerful world religions battling over it. We must have a continent to feed from, as council. We had to elevate a second-level vampire in Australia to keep the balance, so that we had five continents covered, with two to match the realms that never venture topside. Do not quibble with this council over your land distribution issues."
"Quibble? What?" Carlos was leaning forward across the table glaring at Counselor Vlak. "Motherfucker," he yelled, pointing at Vlak, "your ass may be council, but I tore North America and South America out of Nuit's ass. Matter fact, he'd ceded the Islands and South America before we even came to blows—just from a hit of Neteru." Carlos pushed away from the table; this time the rage was no act. "You keep sending me through changes about shit that is by right mine… sign this, leave the package and let some other bastard unwrap it. Now you're taking my land? Oh Hell no!"
"I will kill this young bastard with my bare hands!" The counselor said, standing quickly, about to reach for Carlos's chest, but his arm was immediately slapped away by a mere glance from the chairman.
The chairman smiled. "Vlak, sit, and do not be hasty." The chairman looked at Carlos. "Young man, have a seat in the throne and calm yourself, get a power surge from it. Your nerves are frayed to the limit. You haven't established a lair yet, nor responded to the insistent female calls in your region, given your rehabilitation… and that has made you volatile. I understand… the counselor understands, don't you, Counselor? Let's see what we can siphon from his seat. If he does well, I might be so moved to give it to him."
The chairman's smile went to a chuckle as he glanced at Counselor Vlak. "Indulge me this once, gentlemen. He delights me. He hasn't fed well for a month, hasn't sated himself with a harem… but he came to us, first, to handle his land issues." The chairman made a tent before his lips with his gnarled fingers. "This is a real businessman. You want him to sign trivial documents, when his ambition is a palpable lust?" He looked at Carlos and he dropped his voice to a seductive murmur. "Young man, sit in the chair. Please."
With trepidation, Carlos sat slowly, hoping like hell that whatever was there wasn't strong enough to break the black box Father Patrick had around his thoughts. He watched the old vampires close their eyes and touch the table gently, caressing it with the tips of their clawed fingers. A current ran through his producing a rush like he'd never felt before, along with it a power hit that made him shut his eyes and arch his back away from the chair. Damn… He gripped the throne's arms with trembling hands. He almost couldn't take it all in. The first time they let him sit there, he'd absorbed centuries of knowledge, this time absolute carnal pleasure ran through him, along with the knowledge of how to deliver it with a bite.
"Oh, shit," Carlos murmured, tears brimming beneath his lids. "It's almost as good as pure Neteru."
"You feel that?" the chairman whispered to the other seated vampires. "You feel how much he wants her… but he came here about business, first. You feel that pent-up desire… sheer aggression, but with willpower enough to resist the call of five strong females in the most seductive regions of his territories, but he came here, first." The chairman closed his eyes. "This man hasn't even been on a proper blood hunt. He was made at twenty-three years old, and the stamina in that body… the virility… but to have the presence of mind to be strategic—I'm awed."
The chairman sat back, his hand trembling slightly as he released the table, causing the others to break the trance. "Give this young man his fucking South American territory and a throne, Vlak. He won it, earned it, winner takes all. Trim back another master's continent, if necessary—but I haven't felt a power erection like that in years." The chairman dabbed at his brow and let his breath out in a slow, controlled stream. "Damn. He was practically one of us before he'd turned. All predator."
The old men chuckled, and the councilman in charge of alignments smiled. "Makes you want a cigarette afterward, doesn't it, Mr. Chairman?" He shot his gaze at Counselor Vlak. "Give the young blood his territory, cede him a throne, and stop this bullshit. You've been on his ass since he got down here. We've got other business to address tonight… and after that, I might go topside myself." He shook his head and laughed, gaining nods from the others around the table.
"His South American provinces are not safe—if he is so valuable," the counselor shot back, fury making his eyes glow red. "Our amusement with what he brings to these chambers notwithstanding."
"What are you talking about?" Carlos mumbled fast, now sitting forward and trying to get ten inches of battle-length fangs to go back up into his gums with much effort. The hard-on had left a wet spot in his pants. It was ridiculous what they'd done—embarrassing. He could hardly speak around his fangs. Shit. He hadn't even gone there while fighting Nuit, that battle only produced six to eight inches. He watched them laugh harder as he used both thumbs to send his incisors up and into his jaw. "What's not safe in my turf?"
The chairman released a weary sigh. "We closed everything we could, but one portal remains partially opened, and we can only fathom that there were human forces leveraging the event. Nuit's cursed concert. For all we know, humans at one of the concert points might have performed a ritual. But we don't know what it was, or what it was designed to release. They could have then gone behind the concert and reopened one of the places we had shut down. Simple logic dictates that the site we cannot totally close has to be the primary ritual site, because the other portals were easier for us to re-seal. Our vampire forces of topside sniffers have been erstwhile diverted to tracking down any remaining Nuit Minions. That's our issue. The civil war has been a tremendous resource drain on the empire, and we do not have enough information, at this juncture, to immediately ferret out and cope with this minor breach."
The counselor glanced at the council members and then settled his line of vision on Carlos. "It's not the Amanthras. As we said, they are embroiled in their own subterranean civil war, at present."
"Where was the first breach?" Carlos asked carefully. "I need to keep the Neteru from that region—it's in her nature to go after it, though. She's already talking about doing concerts again."
The chairman nodded. "Brazil."
"I'll try my best to persuade her not to go there," Carlos said quietly, their combined voices mentally entering his head. "But, you're right. She is stubborn."
The chairman and the council simply nodded in unison.
"Do what you have to do to protect the package," the chairman said, dismissing him.
While it felt good to be topside again, and he'd narrowly missed getting offed at the Vampire Council's meeting by Vlak, worry consumed him as he loped through the woods back to the cabin. Eyes were everywhere, watching, waiting, and he'd have to figure out a way to communicate to Father Pat… maybe just before dawn, when the dark eyes of his world couldn't see. Once he got inside the m
onk's safe house, he was cool. Their protective barriers sealed out the dark forces' sight.
But he couldn't be detected entering or exiting a fortress of monks—at least not without a good story, which even he couldn't come up with to address that unlikely match. That meant he'd have to hang out in the woods all night, and couldn't get near his blood supply after using so much energy. If he did, it wouldn't be enough anyway. Sitting in that throne had literally been a bitch.
The monks would be at risk, then his soul would be in Vlak's claw. And after experiencing those old bastards again, he definitely knew he had to protect Damali.
If he went to her like this, he'd open up their package for sureùand the council would smoke him. If he went to any of the known lairs in his regions, five strong females would instantly gravitate there, and he'd definitely do 'em… there'd be no choice about it. But they'd also be a threat to Damali. They'd smell her as soon as he fantasized about her—shit, he could smell her right now, his brain was working overtime on just the thought of it. The old clerics were crazy. He had willpower; sure he loved her, but shit… Block the shot without taking a human body? Madness. If that young blood in her compound, Jose, got in her face, or one of the human helpers was already on her trail and couldn't pull up off it, his soul was history.
This was definitely being between a rock and a damned hard place.
Fatigue and hunger clawed at his gut, yet he was also filled with a new level of strength. He was breathing hard just from walking. Slow awareness entered him. Yes. Each time he went down he got stronger, more knowledgeable, darker. A doe lifted her head and froze. The scent of fear filled his nose, lowering his fangs. Run, sweet thing, his mind whispered. Run.
The night air felt awesome against her damp body as she reveled in the freedom of standing in the open air—alone. Her crew needed to chill. After the big argument, going out for a bite to eat with Jose had been good, but she'd brought him home to try to get everyone else to understand. They all needed to go out and do what they loved. She'd tried to convince Shabazz to go check out some jazz. Tried to get Rider to go get his Jack Daniels on with a good card game—him and JL and Jose were some gambling fools. She'd even tried to coax Big Mike to find a barbecue joint and to turn Dan on to some real soul food. Marlene's crazy ass wouldn't even budge to go check out a flick, her favorite pastime. Their loss. She'd tried. And she was out again!
Perspiration damped her skin, her T-shirt clung to her, and her leather pants were now vacuum-sealed to her thighs and butt. Clubbing was da bomb. Dancing put the music back into her veins, her heart was thumping. Yeah, it was all good.
Damali looked down the street. North Hollywood was alive at night. Neon lights flashed, horns blared, people dressed as outrageously as they could, waiting and hoping to be granted access into whatever happening spot. Pullease. All the freaks were out tonight and people were looking for get-high or a drag race. Yeah, the night was alive. So was she.
Danger was all around, certain eyes flickered gold beneath brown irises but didn't approach her. They betta act like they know. Betta recognize. She laughed as third- and fourth-generation vamps steered clear of her like she was their predator. She walked to her Hummer without a care in the world. Yeah, they were gonna get back in the game, start touring, shake the fear and frustration—would kick some more vampire ass. That was all she needed to focus on.
But then she stopped and listened. The night air stirred behind her.
Something familiar caught her nose… a deep, male, sensually musty scent—then was gone. She was tripping. Probably an average, run-of-the-mill vamp trying to push up on her. Demons always left a sulfur trail. Despite the warm night, the sensation had made gooseflesh come out on her arms. The erotic pull this one left was ridiculous, almost made her wet her panties. What was that all about? Adrenaline had shot through her, not fear. Damali put her palm on the handle of Madame Isis, slowly closing her fist around it. A deep ache almost swallowed her as her hand relaxed and the sensation eased. God, she missed Carlos.
He just needed to go to the graveyard before going back in. The club was nearly a disaster. What had been on his mind? Human bodies, vamps present, and Damali glistening with sweat, just seeing her had messed him up, bad.
Yeah, he'd eaten, but not what or how he'd wanted to. But this visit was destined to bring him down, make him think, help put things into perspective. It would have the same effect as Valium, no doubt. That was important before going back to the safe house just before dawn.
He drifted like vapor over the markers, watching disembodied spirits float by, dazed. Poor bastards were locked topside and didn't have a clue, couldn't feel, were just a waste of ectoplasm.
As he neared his brother's headstone, he materialized and walked toward it, stopping to touch the name. "You were too young, hombre," he whispered. A dull ache in the center of his chest wiped away all the hungers that had been competing for his attention. He glanced over at the others that had been buried side-by-side by request.
Shit, as young men they had all told their people, "If I go down, put me on my boy's flank." And so the families had honored those requests. All of them. His entire territory stretched out in a long, military-like row of men under twenty-five. The only marker that was missing was his. His body had not been found, didn't make it to a morgue to be tagged. Even though his brothers got up and walked, they were known by humans to be dead, so a memorial service had been conducted.
He studied each headstone. They were all so young … It hit him now, finally, after going down to council again and having a seat. The throne had centuries of wisdom emanating from it. Twenty-something years on the planet was nothing. If he'd only known. And Father Pat had been right about one thing. He and his boys, as bad as they were, he seen shit that gave them pause.
Carlos closed his eyes, fully seeing how Alejandro was turned. He should have ripped Raven's heart out himself. No man deserved to go out like that. He could also remember his dead posse sitting around just kicking it. They'd watch the news together sometimes while laughing and drinking, or would read something in the paper, and despite their own proclivities to violent solutions, they'd been taken aback by some things they'd seen.
Yeah, every man had a limit. Bombs that went off and took out innocent bystanders were off limits. Molesting children was waaay off limits. Shooting up women and kids in a sloppy drive-by was off limits in his territory while alive. People's moms and elderly family had always been off limits. He and his boys would debate the craziness and become outraged that some things just weren't done. Even for them. Deep.
Shit… until he'd turned, he didn't think God gave a rat's ass about a little spec of blue planet in his universe. Before he'd seen what he had, he'd assumed that the Almighty didn't care and was too busy to be worried about things like that. But, if what everybody from both sides kept telling him was true, as above, so below, then territory was territory. If anybody moved on even the smallest bit of his, he knew he'd have that foolish individual seen… so why not the Almighty? He wouldn't brook the disrespect, neither.
Carlos slid his hands across the cool marble and spoke to his brother softly. "Damn, man, if I had known. Didn't think He put his eye on the projects, or anything going on in the barrios. Moms told us, right, though. I had no idea of how much one soul was worth to both sides—serious product, hombre, worth a lotta weight. Hope you understand why I had to dust you… was just trying put it back in the right territory."
Had he known that it wasn't all superstition, he might not have ever picked up a gun or sold product to finance himself out of Hell on earth. They'd all been deceived. Was messed up that he had to die to find out how much truth there was to the rumor about this thing called Heaven and Hell. And here he was, a lost soul trying to get his shit back together, and they wanted him to talk to Damali about hope… in a mind lock? With cold blood in his belly because the microwave would make the shit clot, they had expected him to just go in and chat with her.
Didn't
they understand? He glanced down the row of graves. They shared too much. Both had sustained heavy losses. It was beyond the physical with her. This shit between him and Damali went way back, before he'd turned and she'd ripened into mature Neteru. It was volatile. Her music was like the language of ancient Babylon, it bent wills, morphed as she gained new experiences. It was the light's secret weapon. Her voice touched millions. Was as strong as anything he could bring. Yeah, they were too much alike, just on opposite sides of the fence, and ironically, she was all that he had left from his old life, topside.
Sudden tears blurred his vision as he drew back his hand from a headstone and looked up at the sky. Dawn would chase him home soon, and he needed to go check on his mother and grandmother… Juanita, too, just to make sure his markers had held. But as he concentrated on them, he couldn't even detect them. Only a searing heat entered his brain and made him back away from the thought.
He let his breath out slowly, the tears now coming down his face. He wiped them away quickly, and blinked new ones back. All right. They were safe. At least the light had done their part to make sure his people had a solid prayer ring around them that even he couldn't cross, if he got tempted to feed from home. If that failed, he'd marked them as off limits within his zones. It was cool, he told himself. It was all good. He wasn't gonna cry like no punk just 'cause he couldn't see his moms and grandma no more. Fuck it. The DEA had taken his club, liquidated the rest of his shit, moved them to safekeeping under the Witness Protection Program. Human drug lords he'd bested probably wouldn't find them. Vamps wouldn't violate them; the Covenant had surrounded them with light. It was all good, he repeated to himself as he wiped his face hard and swallowed down a sob. He'd watch their backs at night if they ever took a vacation outside his territory—but that cop bastard Berkfield had better have given his mother a maid!
