by L. A. Banks
“You want me to go down to Hell, bring you the book, and then what?” Carlos said with his arms outstretched. Panic kept his body rigid, but his tone was filled with awe and respect.
Only one entity remained. “We will send you a sign when the time is right to go to the chamber. Only then retrieve the book, and deliver it to us—but do not sit in the Chairman’s throne. If you do not heed our warning, you could be lost to us forever. You must journey far by earthly measures to find what you have lost—a part of yourself. Integrate that first, and then collect the book. Your mission is thus, do not question more.”
“But what sign!” Carlos yelled, confusion and frustration adding to his panic.
“She will know. Listen to the signs uncovered by her Neteru visions. Work in tandem, never alone.”
The Angel lowered a sword in Carlos’s direction; the powerful gleam of silvery blue light emanating from it hurt Carlos’s eyes. “Come to terms with your fate,” he warned. “You, like she, are our Neteru. Never forget. Never surrender. Know and choose your side for the battle yet to come. Their trickery and guile have returned your demon abomination of fangs and all that comes with it. Use the trial wisely against the darkness … always remember the greater good.”
And just like that, the last entity was gone, taking the others within a splinter of light that closed in upon itself on the blue black horizon.
Carlos stood still, listening to the wind howl around him. “But what about daylight, the blood hunger, all of the crap that comes with the fangs? How am I gonna live with my squad, with Damali? Wait!”
A too-bright star began to strobe above him. He knew it was they, but for a moment, there was no answer. Lightning blazoned the sky again in a quick flash, and the answer entered his mind in the same thunderous voice that had previously battered his ears.
You are a fusion of Level Seven; all dark levels within the nether realms fear what you could be…. This thing draws terror from even their kind. It walks by day, has control over its hungers and lusts; it is a slave to nothing, except absolute power.
“What is this thing that even you as warrior angels are scared to name?” Carlos whispered, staring at the sky where lightning had scorched it.
The response that entered his mind made him back away from the lonely spot in the canyon-side where he stood and begin a flat-out run back to Damali’s house. He ran as though he were the wind itself. Tears flew from his eyes as his velocity increased to make the shadowed landscape a blur. No, no no, they had to be wrong. Please God, no, not after all he’d been through and showed of his real heart. His body went hot and then cold, nausea riddled him, but he ran, trying to run away from his very self.
He saw her driveway, barreled up her steps, and pounded on the door. Her Hummer wasn’t there; he collapsed against her screen, sobbing out loud. It could not be true. No, not in his body, not in his mind—Por Dios, protect his spirit. His woman’s instinct was correct; her Neteru alarms had been going haywire since the Hell-smoke had possessed him. She was correct to keep her distance, but he needed her to tell him it was going to be all right. If no one else in the universe believed him, she must. “Baby, please come home!” he pleaded between sobs.
He banged futilely, knowing that there was only one place to go, the family house. But that was impossible now, not like this, not until he talked to her. Marlene didn’t have a cure; Heaven didn’t have a cure. No one could help him—only another Neteru would understand—only his woman, someone who loved him to the bone, no matter what, would go down to the depths with him, and had enough light and faith and hope and love …
“Oh, my God,” he wailed, scrabbling in vain at her locked door. “I cannot be on the brink of turning into the Antichrist! Help me, D … Don’t leave me like this!”
CHAPTER NINE
During the drive over to the family house, Damali prayed out loud, and prayed hard. Her panic-laden entreaties ricocheted between the Almighty, any available guardian angel listening, and her Neteru Queen Council. She put out her quiet-hysteria all-points bulletin with tears brimming in her eyes while she clutched the steering wheel.
With portals open and demons running rampant, who knows what could have happened to her man? Was she crazy, not going after him and arguing that he stay until daylight? What had been on her mind! Marlene, AWOL? And that hadn’t shaken her to her knees? The rest of the older team members hadn’t responded to a significant crisis—and that hadn’t jolted her brain to wake up from its self-indulgent haze? Oh, yeah, she was definitely infected. Carlos had to be, too. Just let him be alive and uninjured.
Damali jumped out of her vehicle, ran up the front steps, and barreled through the front door. Her heart was pounding so hard that she almost couldn’t hear the sheriff and the tribal leader’s quick footfalls behind her. Every member of the team was on their feet, and Damali almost fell from relief when she saw that Marlene, Shabazz, Berkfield, and Marjorie had returned.
“Chief Quiet Eagle had a vision,” Damali said, out of breath as her gaze swept everyone in the living room of the family house. “He brought his grandson out to our road, and sure enough, the sheriff saw Carlos’s Jeep totaled with a doe on the hood.”
“We set up orange barriers and flare markers so no other vehicle will plow into the back of the wreckage. But it’s pretty much in a ditch off the road anyway, so in the morning, the tow truck can come to flatbed it.”
“Am I missing something?” Marlene said, her gaze locked with the sheriff’s for a moment and then with Damali’s. “Search party? Paramedics!” Marlene swept away from the sofa and went to stand by Damali.
The elderly man, who had been silent until now, shook his head no and began speaking slowly in Navajo so that his grandson could interpret.
“In the morning, like the Jeep wreck,” the sheriff said with an apology in his eyes. “There was nobody in the vehicle, and I scanned the area with floodlights from my cruiser. He wasn’t there. My grandfather advises—”
“Damn all that,” Shabazz said, pounding Mike’s and Dan’s fists. “Our brother could have been injured, limped away from the crash, and passed out. We don’t roll like that.”
Rider and Jose looked at the old man and then the Sheriff.
“Wanna give our brother Shabazz the unedited version of what Pop said, Sheriff?” Rider walked over to the breakfront and gathered up ammunition. “I can’t speak it, but I can pick up a few key words and phrases, even though I’m rusty, and that ain’t all the old man said.”
“We ride,” Jose said bluntly. “Tonight.”
The old man began speaking again; this time he withdrew a shaker and a small, leather medicine bag with an eagle feather attached to it, and began gesturing wildly with his hands.
Jose and Rider watched him intently, as did the rest of the group.
“The doe had two puncture wounds in its throat,” Jose said in a quiet, defeated tone. “Local nearby ranchers outside the sacred barriers have been losing livestock recently. Carcasses drained, mutilated. People behaving strangely, too.”
Knowing glances passed around the team.
“He says we should watch the news and read the papers, not just from this town, but from other cities as well. Crime is up, like people are possessed. Strange types of senseless acts of violence are taking place. There have been bizarre sightings of things that cannot be explained. Not just here, but in many areas, many cities.” Jose rubbed his palms down his face and briefly closed his eyes.
The old shaman nodded and folded his arms with satisfaction in his unwavering stare.
Damali closed her eyes. It was spreading.
“Grandfather says there’s a bad spirit afoot. Whatever’s been making bad things happen in the world is trying to infiltrate sacred lands. He has called a meeting of the elders at the sweat lodge tonight. The elders are reconsidering your building permit, and will refund any monies you have given them.” The sheriff looked away as though ashamed.
“That is bullshit!” Dan shouted.
“Not to mention illegal! We’ve already poured the foundation, have construction crews out there, and contractors, not to mention the fees to the architects—”
The old man held up his hand and spoke in a calm, determined tone.
“Grandfather says that the nation is well aware of the expenses, and will reimburse you from the nation’s casino funds, but there is not enough money in the world to pay for the devil to lodge here.” The sheriff looked around with a pained expression. “The ways of my people are … different. Perhaps in the morning, when heads are cooled, we can thoroughly inspect the doe and come to a reasonable compromise.” He glanced at his grandfather and the group, and then sighed.
Kristen and Bobby drew in close to their mother. Berkfield’s arm went over Marjorie’s shoulders. J.L. closed ranks with Dan and Jose, their chins held high and their eyes burning with determined intensity to defend the house, or die trying. Nobody cared who touched whom; they were one team and would go out as one. Jose nodded to Mike, and accepted Mike’s handoff of Inez, as Jose’s other hand pulled Juanita in closer to his side. Marlene picked up her stick and took a position in front of those who would undoubtedly remain at the house.
Damali looked at Marlene. “When we get back, I need to fill you in more. You and I have to talk.”
“For sure,” Marlene replied, her intense gaze boring into Damali’s.
“Like Jose said,” Big Mike repeated, gaining a nod from Berkfield. “We ride.”
“Old squad,” Shabazz said, motioning to Rider, Big Mike, and Berkfield. “We take our lead tracker, audio sensor, and a healer, along with Damali, our lead seer. I’ve got your backs as lead tactical sensor. J.L., Jose, you two stay here on monitors and as a nose to be sure nothing untoward blows through this door. Dan, you’re on ammo with Jose. Mar and Marjorie will be in here as senior and junior seers to pick up anything before it even shows up on the radar. The rest of y’all chill and stay strapped with a weapon until we get back.”
The lights of the family house were like a beacon. All that he cared about, all that he loved was at risk. He wanted this nightmare to be over. Tonight. Waiting was out of the question. Damali hadn’t answered her door, and he knew where she was—home, with the others. A place that he could no longer go in his condition.
Carlos wiped his face with both hands and walked down the steps into the front yard. He paused as he passed a blackened section of grass that had not been there before. He stood still and sniffed, and a rank metallic smell entered his nose. He rounded the small patch of pure darkness and then stooped to further inspect it. Something magnetic drew his arm away from his body, made his fist open, and invited his fingers near the patch of sullied earth. He immediately knew what it was; the place where he’d vomited, where his clothes had been deposited in a trash bag in the yard … where the earth had swallowed his dark essence back down into the pit.
And she’d seen it. Had anointed him. Damali had witnessed all of this and still came back into the house to allow him to lie in her bed, trying to heal him, purge him? He owed her more than an apology.
“Oh … baby …” he whispered into the night. “You still had my back. I should have never doubted you.” He stood and walked around the dark patch, closing his eyes as he considered the enormity of her love. She’d kept his secret, always had, and had tried on her own to bring him back before alerting the team. She knew he was turning back and had something else too horrible to name within him. She’d felt it, but never disclosed it. She had also held him in her arms, but simply couldn’t get past her inner alarm barriers. Nothing was wrong with her; it was him. Now he understood it all.
Renewed panic entered him as he opened his eyes and glanced back at the lit house in the distance. If all he needed to do to put this to rest and keep the team safe was to deliver the book to angels, then that was a small thing, at least compared to what could result if he didn’t.
The pull to the black circle became stronger, almost a lure, and with Damali on his mind, he stepped into the center of it. Instantly the ground gave way, yawned, and sucked him down, burped, and then closed over him.
Rider stood in front of Carlos’s wrecked Jeep, sending a UV halogen flashlight beam onto the doe, and then neared the dead animal. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Wasn’t Rivera,” he said, disgusted.
Damali touched the animal’s throat, peering at the gaping puncture wounds. She measured the bite marks with her forefinger and thumb. “Too small. This isn’t Carlos’s jaw range. It’s—”
“Female,” Rider said, flatly. “Goes with a tracer of lavender that I’ll never forget.”
“Tara?” Shabazz said, nearing the carcass. He spread out his hands and then pulled them away from the animal as though it had burned him. “Definitely female vamp vibration.”
Mike cocked his head to the side. “Incoming,” he muttered, and spun in the direction of the bramble a few feet away.
Tara walked out of the darkness. Her shadowed form remained partially hidden until Rider killed the lights. This time, without Yonnie there to immediately observe, she allowed her gaze to appreciate Rider fully.
Old memories died so hard, as did one’s soul. Every facet of him took her back to a lost oasis in her mind. He still had that sinewy, lanky build, and gorgeous hazel eyes, even when they flashed in her direction with anger. There was a quiet passion beneath his hard gaze, just as the way the muscle flexed in his jaw told her all she needed to know. He felt it; she felt it. Maybe one night; but not tonight. She breathed in his earthy scent, picking up his adrenaline-laced blood, and watching his nostrils slightly flare to breathe her in, too.
She wanted to whisper to him that it had been a long time, but thought better of it. She allowed her mind to scavenge sensations from memory … his rough, guitar-calloused hands, and how wonderful they felt gently caressing her skin. The warmth of his body, the exacting rhythms of his deep breaths when he was in her arms … and the impassioned sound of it when it hitched just behind her ear. His hair, his laugh, his wit, his touch … his good heart. A thousand years would never replace the loss. She loved him so, but had hurt him so badly that tears rose to her eyes in the dark. Yet, there had been no other way. One more kiss, one more night, and she’d turn him. That couldn’t happen. He deserved better, and she loved him enough to set him free.
“I’m sorry that you all had to see that,” she said quietly, her eyes on Rider, meaning more than the bleeding deer. “It was my intention to remove the animal before you did, but the trooper and the old man arrived before I could.”
For a moment, he just stared at her and then sent his line of vision toward the dead doe. “Nice to see you again, too, Tara,” Rider said in a tight voice. “How’ve you been since last night? Guess you can tell we’ve been just peachy.”
“Rider, listen,” she said gently. “I—”
“What’s to listen to, darlin’?” Rider snapped, cutting off her statement. “You had to eat, jacked up our boy in the process, but he’s only a human. You got our near-apex male Net stashed in a love lair, or did you have him for a light appetizer, maybe the main course? Or did you save the big game for Yon—”
“I don’t know where Carlos is. I didn’t send the deer into his windshield, either. It was running from my hunt and froze in Carlos’s path. Before I could help him, a bright light sent me back and away. I was temporarily blinded, and I don’t know what happened. I needed to feed once the light receded, because I’d been rendered blind. I was injured! Do you understand?” she said, her voice as brittle as Rider’s. “I didn’t call Yonnie to help me—out of respect for this land, and for you.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Damali said, giving Rider a look to tell him to chill. Hummer headlights made everyone’s faces seem elongated and eerie, but she shook the dread. If lights came from the sky and chased a female vampire away, then it stood to reason that Carlos was still in good graces. She hoped. Damali turned her attention to Tara. “Can you track C
arlos now? Are you all right?”
“Thanks, Damali,” Tara said in a huff. “Yes. I am fine. I’ve healed.” She scowled at Rider, and then addressed Damali again. “But I could not locate Carlos, even after the light receded. I fed as quickly as possible to regain my sight, and then began to search for him. I was frantic. That’s why I left the carcass, hoping he might home back to it, if he was experiencing a relapse. Then the sheriff came before I could dispose of it and I had to conceal myself. When I saw your Hummer approach, I was hoping we could search for him as a team.” Tara had let the offer dangle, placing extra emphasis on the word team.
Damali nodded. “Let’s do that, then.” She looked at Tara, then at Rider, before glancing at Shabazz and Mike. “We all have to pull together on this. If one of our team is out there and down, time is of the essence—given what else might be out there.” She stared at Rider hard. “Tara just confirmed that Carlos didn’t relapse. This was her kill. However, she and another member of our team have superior night radar and range.”
“Rider, man, we ain’t trying to rub your nose in the situation,” Shabazz said carefully, “but Carlos’s boy can cover more ground in the air with Tara than we can on foot or even in a vehicle—plus he can pick up a human blood tracer faster.”
“Word,” Mike said, adjusting his semiautomatic. “But it’s up to you, brother. Respect.”
