The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  “Yeah, like that,” he murmured and licked his lips with an after tremor. “Salt water. Beach. A gorgeous afternoon. You. Your hair. Your skin. Almond oil and shea butter … and you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then began walking away from her. “I won’t ever forget.”

  Carlos landed on his feet, naked, wet, and shivering. Messengers bowed and parted. The cavern went still. He walked forward on a mission, and clothed himself in jeans with one snap. The ground wasn’t even hot beneath his feet.

  The doors to the great Chamber swung open before he’d even reached them. Carlos crossed the marble floor and glimpsed the newly refurbished inner sanctum, no longer in ruin. His throne shuddered and gurgled with new blood. He ignored it and headed straight for the pentagram-shaped table. He was on a mission. To get the book.

  He touched the crest with a flat palm, and then removed his hand. It opened without hesitation, its emptiness glinting torch lights off the bottom.

  “Reveal,” Carlos said quietly.

  The vault obliged and produced the book. He reached down and picked it up, his gaze fastened upon it.

  Carlos looked up to the ceiling, watching the newly energized swirl of black smoke that had red eyes. “Topside, same location,” he commanded the transport bats, but they suddenly scattered and took cover behind the crags.

  Something gurgled within his stomach, sending a pain through his intestines, searing his flesh, making him nearly drop his hold on the precious artifact. His howl elongated with the rip that began in his abdomen. Blood spewed from his body, covering the table, the book, and forced him to stagger backward until the dreaded Chairman’s throne broke his fall.

  His lungs tore inside his chest and filled with blood, suffocating him. He could hear his ribs snapping and groaning as the unknown pushed against his burn scar over his heart, retreated, and then clawed a huge gash in his stomach.

  Blood filled his nose, dribbled out of his mouth, burned his eyes as something black, and winged, and massive, climbed out of the gaping hole, snapping his entrails and ripping his liver, pulling his spleen away from tissue anchors as it birthed from his open wound. Bits of him lay on the floor quivering in a jellied mass as the thing that had exited him spread its blood-wet wings, turned to stare at him with glowing black slits, flicked out a serpent’s tongue, and laughed.

  It walked around him in a circle, sending the clatter of cloven hoofs to bounce off the walls. An amused expression was on its hideous face, and it politely extracted the book from Carlos’s grasp, breaking his fingers backward.

  “Thank you,” it murmured. “I believe this belongs to me.” It sighed, petted the book, and returned a lethal gaze to Carlos. “You don’t have the guts to use it properly. Such a waste, when the two of us could have been a united force to be reckoned with.”

  Paralyzed, Carlos watched, dying, as the thing came for him, grasped him by a broken, protruding rib bone, and flung him out of the throne. Then it sat down, put the book in its lap, crossed its thick, muscular, granite legs, and gripped the hand rests.

  Shivering on the floor, Carlos stared at it, semiconscious, and watched the demon throw its head back, groan and shudder, and then open its eyes, sated. Humanlike skin crept over its charred body. The wings retracted, as did its fangs and talons. Its feet normalized, and it sheathed itself in a black designer suit as the transformation process rippled up its hulking frame. But it saved its face for last.

  It leaned forward, studying Carlos like he was a bug under a microscope, and laughed a deep, thunderous chuckle of victory as he took on Carlos’s face. It summarily sent a bolt of black lightning across the room to scorch him. But rather than exterminate him, Carlos felt his body reconstruct and become amazingly whole again.

  “Get off the floor, punk,” it said, shaking its head.

  Carlos slowly rose, touching his face as he gaped at the image of himself in the dark throne.

  “This is what you could have been,” it said in a disgusted tone. It blew out a long breath. “Woulda, coulda, shoulda, I suppose.”

  Carlos couldn’t answer. Stupefied by what he was seeing, he stood in the middle of the floor and only stared.

  “Check it out, hombre. You know, we’re one and the same. I’m the other side of who you are … the side even you don’t want to fuck with.” It laughed and stood and strode over to Carlos, taunting him with the book raised above his head. “But you had to keep talking to angels. Had to keep praying. Had to keep making me fucking sick inside you.” It shook its head. “Wouldn’t even get me laid with the baddest sister on the planet—now you know I don’t take no bullshit, right?” It bitch-slapped Carlos when he didn’t answer and walked away from him laughing, then whirled on Carlos and pointed at him. “You brought this shit on yourself, man. We could have coexisted, if you’da acted right. But your dumb ass was about to really mess things up for both of us.”

  “Fuck you,” Carlos finally yelled.

  “Thanks, already did. Was so good, you even nutted on yourself, too, which really tripped her out. I thought you’d already turned her into a freak, but—”

  Carlos lunged at the entity, instant fury replacing common sense and fear. The entity grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

  “See, that’s what I so love about, you, man. You got heart. You’re almost as crazy as I am.”

  It body-slammed Carlos to the marble floor and folded its arms over its chest as the book hovered inches within his grasp. “We would have made an excellent team, but you kept fucking with the Light. Now you’ll have to go your way, and I’ll have to go mine.”

  Carlos glared at the entity, the pain that wracked his body and mind only stoking his hatred for it. As soon as a silver laser cut across the room, the entity jumped back and laughed.

  “Whoa, hombre! Not down here. You gonna make me smoke a motherfucker.”

  Carlos scrabbled to his feet. “I’m not leaving without the book!”

  A sucker punch traveled at the speed of thought, connected with Carlos’s jaw, shattering it, and leaving him fifty feet away, sprawled on the floor. What felt like razor-sharp claws held both sides of Carlos’s head, even though the entity was far across the room. He could feel the bones in his skull separating as the black-glowing eyes in his body double flickered.

  “To kill you would not be strategic,” the entity said. “You have work to do. I need a Neteru to take off the Chairman’s head. That bitch you live with is more seasoned than you, and can deliver. Your punk ass, however, can lead her to him.” It flicked out its long, black tongue and blew a kiss at Carlos across the room.

  The kiss turned to dark vapor and wafted toward Carlos’s opened mind, burning as it touched exposed gray matter and making him yell.

  “Forget,” the entity whispered. “Shame we couldn’t have come to a meeting in the middle.” Then it snapped its fingers.

  Carlos stood in the shower with his hands splayed against the tiles. His head hung beneath the pummel of water, and it felt as though the water was slamming into his skull, each drop a sledgehammer.

  Oddly, he felt lighter, cleaner, more at peace as he stepped out of the harsh spray and grabbed a towel. He was so thirsty, too, and he opened and downed the liter bottle of water that sat on the sink in one endless guzzle. He was hungry. A burger was calling his name.

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm, he went into the bedroom and began to hunt for clothes. When did Damali go? He was seriously hungry, ready to bust a grub, and girlfriend was AWOL. Plus, it was almost sunset and she needed to let him know where she was.

  Carlos glanced at the windows and the position of the lowering sun as he pulled on a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt. Didn’t she know he worried about her? Then he smiled and relaxed. What was he worried about? Everything was gonna be all right.

  She’d walked along the beach and had found a quiet place of meditation, where she’d hidden within her own thoughts for hours until the sun dipped down beyond the horizon. She watched t
he waves, hoping their timeless constancy would unravel the mysteries of the universe … the mysteries of this erratically behaving man she loved. Damali stood and gave up her search, walking to her vehicle, her spirit in pure chaos.

  Tonight she wouldn’t say a mumblin’ word when she saw him. She’d be on her most effervescent behavior as they all ate dinner together. She’d put on the best performance of her life. She’d act like everything was all right and smile.

  But she still had hot tears in her eyes that wouldn’t recede like the tide. The mission is first, she told herself, and looked up at the sky.

  Tears, a distant female voice whispered in her mind.

  Damali froze. She knew that angel’s voice anywhere. “Mom?”

  Tell no one, child.

  Damali nodded as her own tears fell. “I know, Mom. This was horrible. I can’t stop crying. I just hate that you saw it.”

  The angels weep, the voice murmured. We hear you. Find the tears.

  “They’re inside of me,” Damali whispered, and kept her gaze to the sunset. “Believe that.”

  No, the trinity, child, the voice whispered gently. The tears of angels at the roof of the world … those that never touched the ground when the Lamb was slaughtered. Find the temple that holds those tears yet still. Ignite that heavenly compassion with the energy of the Creator. Then remember the blood … and cure the world.

  “The antidote?” Damali almost shouted. “Mom?”

  Yes. Angelic tears have dried to salt and never hit the ground. The Creator’s hand parted that sea, Red, and is in the salt. Salt is in the blood and walks beside you, but living. The Father, the Son, and the Spirit; Red Sea salt, for the Father, the living blood for the Son, and then spiritual tears for the sacrifice. In that order, as it was done.

  “That’s why the salt was killing them…. The Covenant needs—”

  Tell no one, not even your mate or mother-seer. You have two of the missing elements at hand. The last element could be at risk, and only your mind is strong enough to hold the secret.

  Damali ran her fingers through her locks. “The Red Sea salt is no problem, we have that.” She nodded, instantly knowing. “Berkfield has the blood in his veins.”

  Yes. Be swift.

  “The roof of the world is where?”

  The Himalayas. Tibet is called the Roof of the World. Seek those who have sheltered these tears for centuries in the greatest temple of all. Only once in history have the angels wept so hard that their tears left Heaven to nearly reach the ground—when the Lamb was slaughtered.

  “Mom,” Damali whispered with renewed panic. “The Chairman is in the Himalayas. He’s got a lair there!”

  Yes. Dante knows to seek this missing element. The Chairman would offer a trade for it—you or Eve or both for the world antidote … and Heaven might have to indeed comply for the good of the whole. The Light might sacrifice a Neteru in the flesh and one in the spirit for all of humankind, and how would we angels argue such a decision, since the Creator has already sacrificed His Son?

  “They would do that,” Damali stated, but with a question in the flat response.

  I don’t know. But you’re my daughter. I’m not as evolved as the Most High, and I don’t care about the current raging debate about your possible compromise … or your soul mate’s potential compromise. My love for my child is stronger than warrior angels’ admonishments, even at my lower ring. I will always give you insight, living or dead. This is why Dante established his lair in the Himalayas. It was not coincidence.

  Damali could hear her mother’s voice becoming farther away, as the last thing she said became strident with conflict. “Mom,” she whispered. “I love you. Thank you. Just tell me which temple, and I’m there with the quickness. Don’t leave, yet.”

  I have told you all I can without being seriously reprimanded. It is the greatest temple of all. Heal yourselves, Neterus, then the team, first; then heal the world. In that order. Anoint each forehead with the antidote, that minds become clear and spirits unclouded. You, him, then the team, first. The trinity, always. Ohhhh … sugar … Mommy misses you so …

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble, Mom,” Damali said, her voice catching in her throat. “I won’t fail. I promise. I won’t let what you told me go to waste. I love you, I love you, I miss you and Dad so. Don’t get yourself involved anymore. Not even for me, hear, or risk—”

  But you are my daughter. You are my daughter. You are my blessed daughter, my gift. My life. I saw them take your baby. I was there through it all. I wept. This is why I challenge the warrior ranks and have secretly brought this to you, out of pure mother’s love. They cannot argue with that, or stop it, even in Heaven. Enough has happened, and you held the line. I trust you, even if the other angels are wary. Know that I hold my first grandchild’s light in my arms. They didn’t get it. I will love you till the end of time. I will give you an edge, but do not forsake this information. This is why you tell no one. Not even Carlos, until you are both synced up. Just go and find it to heal the world. Ohhhh … child of mine … I love you. I must go.

  Damali sat down hard on the beach as her mother’s voice trailed off and disappeared. It was all too much, and she did what was human—just put her face in her hands and wailed.

  Yonnie instantly lifted his head from the bed, sending dozens of silken pillows to the floor. Tara sat up quickly and touched his arm.

  “Get dressed,” Yonnie said. “Carlos is outside.”

  “In New Orleans?” Tara said, moving quickly to dress and follow Yonnie out of the suite Gabrielle had provided.

  “Que pasa, muthafucker!” Yonnie said laughing as he stopped, appraised Carlos in the new suit, then walked up to him for their familiar embrace. “I’ll just be damned. Look at you, man!”

  Carlos smirked and pushed off the gleaming black finish of his new Lamborghini and accepted Yonnie’s embrace. “You’re in a real good mood, man. You musta finally got straight.”

  Yonnie shrugged. “Hey … what can I say? You feel that surge that bubbled up to the surface? Has topspin on it like—”

  “A real motherfucker,” Carlos said laughing, and cutting Yonnie off. He pounded Yonnie’s fist. But he noticed that Tara hung back, her eyes cautious. “I hear you.”

  “Hey, baby, what’s the matter?” Carlos said, his tone warm and oozing with sensuality.

  Yonnie discreetly stepped back from Carlos and stopped laughing. He glanced at Tara. “I know you are not trying to get new with our boy? What’s your problem?”

  “Does Damali know you’re here, in that?” Tara asked, her tone cool, civil, and so distant that ice could form around her words. She appraised the car with open disdain.

  “Excuse me?” Carlos said, tilting his head to one side, and then returning a hard glare to Yonnie. “You don’t have this bitch in order?”

  Stunned, Yonnie stepped back further, his eyes holding confusion and hurt. “Yo, man. C’mon. It’s Tara. You know she’s always got beef about some principle, but—”

  “Then you clearly don’t have her ass in order,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “I figured after the surge and you laid serious pipe, you’d have this bitch eating out of your hand, glad to get a wrist vein.”

  Carlos narrowed his gaze on Yonnie’s jugular when he didn’t answer, just bristled. “She throat marked you, and you allow her to dis you in fronta me like that?” He glanced at Tara hard and quickly studied her throat. “Man, you let her have you so out of control that you gave her a permanent mate bite, and she’s not humble? And you’re my lieutenant?” He sighed and opened the car door, allowing his palm to slide across the exquisite bloodred leather interior. “Can’t blame you, though. You weren’t schooled right from the jump. My bad.”

  Yonnie backed away farther and pulled Tara close to him. “Apologize to him, baby. He ain’t in the mood tonight, okay? Don’t take him there.”

  Carlos looked up with a sly smile. “Let’s go for a ride, y’all. The new wheels are off da meter
.” He chuckled as he saw the couple draw together in fear. “Maybe we can go back to my lair and play, or go eat some real New Orleans, for a change, and listen to some live music?”

  Neither Yonnie nor Tara spoke.

  “Okay, maybe not. Yeah, there’s a matter of protocol that I have to address, first. Again, my bad.” Carlos laughed and closed his car door.

  “She’s sorry, man, and didn’t mean to offend,” Yonnie said, subtly pushing Tara farther behind his back. “Besides, there’s this whack shit going down with the portal energy … that’s probably affecting her. Got a coven divination on it. Seems that something’s turned subterranean upside down. Levels Five on up are scrambling to the surface through broken portals, can’t survive underground, and are scared to be—”

  “Didn’t you give her a direct order?” Carlos said, cutting off Yonnie’s frantic babbling as he stared at his manicure.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara whispered in a tight voice strangled with rage.

  “I am, too, bitch,” Carlos said looking up, his eyes beginning to flicker black. “I didn’t like your tone. You took so long to respond to my boy—and you ain’t fucking him the way you should be on a regular basis, anyway. I shouldn’t have had to send a power surge up here to rectify that shit. Shoulda been automatic, just ’cause he said so. Fuck Rider. He’s human, and can’t do nothing for you, like my boy.”

  “Yo, man,” Yonnie said, his glare beginning to glow red. “That was between me and you, as boyz. As men.”

  “It is what it is, man.” Carlos folded his arms. “Why be a punk, crying in your blood, worrying about—”

  “We’re friends,” Tara shouted. “I cannot believe you are treating us this way. What’s wrong with you!”

  Yonnie froze. Carlos stepped forward. His voice dropped to a threat level that only vampire hearing could detect.