by L. A. Banks
“Anybody left is in lair or underground,” Yonnie said, not finding the humor in Carlos’s comment. “A few scattered Thirds, maybe some Fourth gens and lower. Even the weres are keeping a low profile, since y’all blew up New York and Philly. No turns have been authorized while every seat at council is vacant, especially the Chairman’s, but you can still get your ass beat down or killed.” Yonnie straightened and tossed down the remainder of his new drink. “So, on that note, I think it’s time for you to go home and sleep this night off.”
“Man, the night is young,” Carlos complained, glancing around the club. The music had become his pulse, even though it gave him a headache. Booty was everywhere, the joint was jumping, and the last place he wanted to go was back to the shack with the team.
“You’re married. That’s all I’ma say.” Yonnie rubbed his chin and folded his arms over his chest.
“Like you ain’t?” Carlos smiled.
“That’s different,” Yonnie said, reaching for his flask. “You and D are heart-to-heart; me and Tara have an arrangement.”
“You with her every night, then—”
“You got it all wrong,” Yonnie said, easing his flask next to his empty glass. “Only when necessary.” He stared at Carlos.
“C’mon, man,” Carlos said, abandoning his drink. “Be serious.”
“I am serious,” Yonnie said, his voice so low that it was hard to hear it. “She only comes to me when it gets like that, when she’s missing him real bad … you know what I mean?” Yonnie shook his head. “She can’t actually be with him anymore, since I elevated her to a strong second—it’s not like when she was a Fourth-gen. Her bite is lethal, literally, since no turns are authorized. This time he won’t even come back with fangs, and I can’t make any new friends so I can leave her alone. The broads at Gabrielle’s … hey. They ain’t her.” Yonnie looked at the dark liquid in his short rocks glass. “The more she stays away from him, the more she misses him, the more she blames me. Catch-22.”
“Damn, man …” Carlos raked his fingers through his hair and allowed his shoulders to slump. “Ain’t how I envisioned things.”
“Is it ever the way we think it’s gonna be? That’s true in life, and is so true in death. You know that.” Yonnie stared down into his drink. “Sometimes she tries to make me feel like I’m the one. But, it ain’t like that—won’t be till Rider crosses over, until he’s dead and buried. All I asked her to do was not put it in my face if she goes to see him … that’s part of the reason you ain’t seen me. Last thing I wanted to do was come on the property and pick up her trail right to that motherfucker’s door.”
“Whatchu gonna do, man?” Carlos said. Eerily, he was half intrigued, remembering the vampire code of snatching a heart out if one’s territory was breached, but the other half of him really wanted to know how his best friend planned to handle a situation that vaguely paralleled his own. Carlos shook the strange combination of thoughts and focused. He needed to understand where Yonnie was coming from to avoid having something crazy happen to Rider.
“Look,” Carlos finally admitted. “I’m in a fucked-up Catch-22, myself. Y’all are both my boyz, and I’m not trying to see either one of you iced over a woman. Seriously, man.”
“If I kill him, I lose, if I let him live, I lose,” Yonnie said without emotion. “Most times, I go stay with Gabby, until I miss Tara so much that … you understand what I’m saying.”
Carlos only nodded. The conversation was sobering.
“Tara keeps a separate lair at the edge of the canyon, sometimes when needing her gets bad, I might blow through … she might be inclined. A few times, even when she wasn’t, she cast a good enough illusion that I didn’t care. You know how it is when you’re having one of those nights when you’re over the top. You’ll lie to yourself and blow your own mind. Tara’s cool, won’t leave a brother strung all the way out. We’re friends, and friends do shit like that for friends, right? Even vanishing point.” Yonnie stared at Carlos, hurt shimmering in his eyes so clearly that Carlos looked away.
“Yeah, man,” Carlos finally said, extending his fist to Yonnie, and softly pounding his. “She’s good people.”
“Real respectful, too,” Yonnie said, as though talking to himself. “I ain’t smelled him on her yet. Not sure how I’ll react. Time will tell. As you know, women are complex.” He opened his flask and took a healthy swig directly from it. “But I knew I was walking into this situation, so that’s cool.”
“That’s fucked up, man,” Carlos said, shaking his head and going back for his drink. “I’m seriously sorry to hear this, man. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Like I said, it’s cool. I stop by Gabrielle’s from time to time; Tara don’t ask me my business, I don’t ask her hers. Everybody is respectful, discreet. Every now and then, she comes to me and offers her throat and all that goes with it—we cool like that with each other. Then, we don’t speak on it. No more, no less. It’s all good.” Yonnie stretched and glanced around the club with disdain. “That’s why I’m taking your ass home before you mess up, do some irreversible shit, and then be caught up in the madness like me.”
Carlos lifted his glass as Yonnie reached for his flask to put it back into his breast pocket. “Hit me with some color, and let’s hang. You don’t seem in the right frame of mind to be going back to Arizona right now.”
Yonnie held his flask midair. “What did you say?”
“Look, man,” Carlos said, letting his breath out hard. “This is me and you talking. If you—”
“You asked me to color your drink.” Yonnie’s eyes held fear, and he quickly put the blood flask away.
“I did not, man,” Carlos said, chuckling. “Your ass is the one who’s drunk.”
Yonnie’s eyes widened and his glance went from Carlos to the mirror behind the bar and back. “You’ve got a reflection, but you are serving a quarter inch of fang!” His whisper was so intense that the bartender briefly looked up.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Carlos said laughing nervously, but his line of vision shot straight to the mirror. Sure enough, he was sitting on the stool; Yonnie wasn’t as he studied his reflection through blurry eyes. He couldn’t see any fangs. But as his tongue slid over his teeth, a short fang nicked it, putting the distinctive, salty taste of blood into his mouth. He felt his jaw, and as casually as possible, allowed his thumb to graze his incisors. “Well, I’ll just be damned,” he murmured.
“My point exactly,” Yonnie said and stood. “You’re cut off, time for you to go home.”
Carlos spun around slowly on his stool, but didn’t stand. “Maybe I’m just going through some crazy flux …” Awed, his voice was reverent, but he couldn’t shake how secretly pleased he was.
“I don’t know what it is, man, but I ain’t being a party to a relapse. Not on my watch. The only reason I can cross into some places to avoid the Chairman, is because you elevated up and out of Hell. They ain’t got you no more. Not even the Chairman could fuck with that. Think.” Yonnie spoke through his teeth, his incisors lengthening slowly as his agitation progressed. “You can’t just throw away an opportunity like that behind some—”
“I know what I’m doing, man, and I’m not re—”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Yonnie said, leaning in close enough to Carlos that his cool breath crept along Carlos’s throat. “You are in here considering stray tail when you got D, something you didn’t even do when you was at council level, motherfucker.” He poked Carlos in the chest as he spoke in fast, nervous bursts. “You’re in here jonesing for a hit of blood like a damned crack addict. And shit, I don’t like it. Talking crazy about hanging out all night and switching your whole body clock from daylight to dawn. No, man, I’m taking you home. That’s the end of it.”
Crickets and owls created a symphony outside. The stars were stage lights, an occasional coyote howl added treble to the bullfrogs’ bass. Jackrabbits made shaker sounds as they dashed through the brush. Dama
li’s mind composed on the fly as she sat on the darkened porch, only a candle for light—the floodlights just brought mosquitoes, gnats, and moths. She wanted to sit very still without having to swat anything. But she gave up that desire the moment a dark cloud began to form on her bottom step.
Burnt ash filled her nose, Yonnie’s signature was in it, but one could never be too sure. Damali stood and picked up the Glock nine that had shared the wicker rocker with her. “Friend or foe?” she said in a mild but tight voice. “Talk to me.”
“Friend,” Yonnie said, dumping Carlos on her steps.
Damali relaxed as Carlos caught his balance and held on to the stair rail.
“You ain’t right, man,” Carlos said, disgusted as his clothing changed back to what he’d been wearing when Yonnie had picked him up earlier. “You could have at least taken me back to my place.”
“Take yourself, and talk to your woman,” Yonnie grumbled, and began walking away. “Hey, D,” he added, without turning around. “Y’all have a good night.”
She watched Yonnie vanish. “Bye, Yonnie. You have a, uh, safe night, too.” Her gaze immediately went to Carlos, who was halfway down her front path headed toward the road. “Hold up. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Carlos said, totally outdone. “I’m going home.”
“Wait,” she shouted, catching up to him. “What was all that about?”
“Nothing.” He kept walking.
“Yonnie doesn’t just make pop calls. And what’s with the attitude?” She held his arm; he snatched it away and resumed a slightly wobbly path toward his unfinished house.
She was on him and in front of him in two seconds. He rounded her. She reached to grab his arm again, but he snatched it away.
“Get off me, D, I’m not playing.”
She lowered her hand slowly and let him forge ahead of her. Was she losing her mind, or did she see a flicker of gold in his eyes, not silver?
“Yo, yo, yo—wait a minute, Carlos Rivera,” she said, running to come beside him when he refused to slow down. “What was your boy, Yonnie, talking about—talk to your woman? About what! Where did he take you? What did he do to you?”
“Aside from getting me nice, nothing,” Carlos muttered, “but you are totally blowing my nice.”
“Your eyes.”
“What about ’em?” He stopped and glared at her. “You need space, I need space. That’s how you—”
“Oh … shit …” Damali whispered and covered her mouth with her hand.
“What D? Stop trippin’ out here!”
“Baby, run your tongue over your teeth,” she said quietly, backing away.
He let out his breath hard and did as she asked, then stopped and stared at her.
“Yeah,” she said. “That.”
“It ain’t nothin’,” he said, trying to be cool. “It’s only a minor flux … a quarter inch ain’t shit to be—”
“Carlos, listen to yourself. Tonight, it’s a quarter inch. Tomorrow night—”
“Aw, girl, I’ve still got a reflection. Chill.” He resumed walking, but with less confidence in his stride. “It happened to you, a while back, and you came out of it. This Neteru shit is—”
“I had never been fully turned, never died, brother,” she said, not following him into the darkness.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “You think that could make a difference?”
“Maybe,” she said quietly. It was hard to find her voice, but she finally moved toward him. “We should tell Marlene.”
“No … I mean, not yet.” He turned to face her in the moonlight. “If it’s just a flux thing, or because I was out drinking and my system wasn’t used to that for a while, you know, it was probably just jacking with my body chemistry—like when I temporarily apexed in Philly but it didn’t hold, and …” His voice trailed off as he ruffled his fingers through his hair, annoyed. “D, you know what I’m dealing with over at the house. There’s no room to quarantine a brother, the kids in there will freak, Marjorie and Berkfield will have Glocks to my temple until daybreak, then they’ll be all in my face about some shit that’s just passing through my system. You’ve been there. So, just let me go sit on my own front steps, sleep off the buzz, and in the morning things will be fine.”
She stepped closer to him, one hand on her hip while the other held the gun down at her side. Yeah, she’d been there, all right. The team didn’t play that. But if he was on hallowed ground, only showing a few passing signs, and a vamp had brought him home to pull himself together … She immediately opened her mental radar to scan him.
“Don’t be going through my pockets without asking me! What about trust, Damali? Huh!”
“You’re standing here drunk as a damned skunk, and you’re asking me to trust you with fangs in your mouth? What did you do, ask Yonnie to nick you and—”
“Are you crazy?” he shouted. “That would be a step down. He’s a master; I’d be a second, if I didn’t go straight to ash. I was a fucking councilman, D! I was never a lieutenant! Ever! Was never second in command, you got that?” Carlos walked in a haphazard circle, stopping intermittently to point at Damali. “I had a throne, woman. Do you know what that means, how much power that was? Let my own elevated master nick me? I was made by the Chairman himself? I’m so fucking offended I don’t know what to say to you! Just because I ain’t number one on this fucked-up, so-called, Neteru team, don’t mean I don’t have no pride and would go for sloppy seconds in my old yard. I used to run that shit—so be clear!”
“I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you give it to me straight, then I won’t have any doubts in my mind,” she said carefully, pulling back her mental scan to bring the argument down a notch. “I don’t like the sentimental references to your old life. Period. Be clear about that, because that’s why I’m worried. Not to get in your business, but, like you said, I have been there.”
Carlos closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and jammed his hands in his pants pockets. “Fine. Go ’head.”
Damali circled him slowly, talking as she inspected him, her questions sounding detached and medical.
“When did you first notice this change?”
“Me and my boy was sipping Remy, talking, and suddenly they were in my mouth.”
“Be honest,” she shot back. “When you felt the change in your mouth, what was running through your mind?”
“Aw, D, I don’t—”
“What,” she said emphatically, “was on your mind?”
He sighed hard. “A lot of things, D.”
“Like?”
“Like how messed up my boy’s situation really is, for one.” He was not about to divulge Yonnie’s deepest secrets. Some things were between men, and only men.
“Okay,” she said, standing in front of him. “That’s good. Compassion is a feature of the Light. What else?”
Carlos opened his eyes and stared at her. “I was angry.”
Damali cocked her head to the side. “Somebody in the club piss you off? You pick up a trail that set you off? Bloodlust will make a new Neteru system haywire like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.
He slowly removed his hands from his pockets and folded his arms in front of him. “No. Nobody in the club pissed me off. I was mad at you.”
She swallowed a smile. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He shook his head. This was getting nowhere.
“Okay, so you were pissed off at me because we weren’t spending the weekend together, but that—”
“Is precisely what you don’t get,” he shouted, and began walking. “How fucking off-the-hook mad I am about having to endure your endless rules and regulations and family and the way it always has to be your way!” He stopped, opened his arms, and glanced around at the tumbleweeds and sparse cactus foliage. “I am not a desert dweller! I hate this place. This is not me, Damali. I ain’t trying to live here under any circumstances—but I was ready to come out here to be with you, then your ass doesn’t wanna
be with me! All of a sudden, you need your space. That’s enough to make a man drop fang!
“But you never said how much you didn’t—”
“I didn’t say all that because what was the point? We had people bleeding, banged up, had barely made it out of that Philly shit alive. I’ve never been this Neteru thing I am, my ass just got out, you were driving this thing so fast I wasn’t sure what was going on, and every time I protested, people were telling me about some three phases of seven that I had to deal with, security precautions of hallowed ground—aw, kiss my ass!” He stomped his foot and let out a primal yell. “I’m tired! I’ve been cooped up, and me and my boy was just going out for a minute.”
He was breathing hard. She smiled and allowed her gaze to slide down his abdomen.
“My bad,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I remember that first real flux. Another month and—”
“Don’t fuck with me, D. I can’t take it.”
“You’re gonna be all right,” she said, and turned and walked back toward her house.
“How you know?” he said, not moving but very concerned.
“’Cause along with fangs, you have an erection that won’t quit.” She released a sly laugh and looked over her shoulder at him.
“Something like that can make a brother crazy if left unattended too long,” she said with a wink.
He still didn’t move.
She turned around and faced him, a wide smile gracing her lush mouth. “I asked you what had been on your mind … the real underlying emotion, and you started talking all this rhetoric about everything but what was really on your mind.”
“This past coupla days … girl, it’s been real bad all of a sudden … like before—almost as bad as the old blood hunger.” That’s as much as he was willing to tell her at the moment. He could feel her attempt to lock with his mind, but blocked it, not wanting the invasion into his personal thoughts.
“I remember those days,” Damali said, smiling. “Okay, stay mad.”
“You wanted your space, sis—you got it.” He would not be moved.
