"Ashe," Inez said. "But I have to get to my momma and my baby."
"First order of business, as soon as we can get to the States, suga," Big Mike assured her. "But we can't be bringing Mom and boo through no crazy energy distortions."
Inez nodded and leaned against his huge, six-foot-eight, tree-trunk frame, which made her seem even shorter.
"I just wanna know how all this happened at the same time?" Berkfield said, wiping the perspiration away from his bald scalp.
Shabazz smiled. "C'mon, man. It ain't been that long since you got some—you know how the birds and the bees work."
"That's not what I mean!" Berkfield yelled, growing peevish. "I mean the timing."
"Communal living," Marlene said in a cheerful voice, un-fazed by Berkfield's tone.
"Fertile women who live in the same home, same tribe, all cycle around the same time ... all the children born within a community like that are normally conceived and born around the same time. Lots of cousins. This is life still happening, even in the darkest moments in history. The human spirit will prevail, no matter what. These children will all need one another." Her tone sobered as she looked around the room. "And in a family like this, if one or both parents don't make it—which is a reality we have to be at the ready to always deal with—that child will not goparentless. We will raise all of them like the village we are. Ashe." Murmurs of Ashe filled the room as each Guardian couple fell quiet to contemplate Marlene's and Shabazz's words.
Rider went to the mini-bar, opened the door, and just stared at the selections. Yonnie followed him, and then materialized a pack of red Marlboros in his hand, pulled out a cigarette for himself, and offered one to Rider without lighting either one. Both men simply stood shoulder to shoulder dragging on their unlit butts, smelling the tobacco while lost in their own thoughts.
"Uriel told me, too," Tara murmured thickly, finally breaking the silence in the room as she drew in deep breaths looking out the glass doors toward the unending blue sea.
She pushed a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear and turned her face toward a shaft of sunlight that bathed her beautiful Native American features in tones of gold.
"My womb was dead for four decades, but was needed ... I am needed and what grows within me is needed. I'm not dead anymore. I'm alive." Tara looked at Yonnie. "You might be alive, too . . . when's the last time you cut yourself to see if you bled red blood? The Light works quietly, subtly, and when we least expect it."
"I ain't been cut since D.C. . . . everything healed the moment we came through the Light and we got dropped here."
Yonnie stared at Tara for what felt like a long time and then opened his palm. Guardians gathered around him, craning to see the results of his test. With a shaking forefinger he willed forward a razor-sharp vampire fingernail and sliced into his palm. Thick, red blood oozed to the surface, painting his palm crimson. Yonnie clutched his chest like a man having a heart attack and staggered backward until he crashed into the dining-room table. Val caught him under an arm before he fell, and then pressed her fingers against his jugular.
"You're warm," Val murmured in awe. "For the last couple of days and nights you've been burning up ... and I just thought it was your body trying to regenerate from internal injuries." Then suddenly she snatched her hand back and pressed it to her heart, beginning to sob. "You have a pulse."
"Oh, shit. . . ." Yonnie wheezed, tightly closing his eyes. "When? I didn't even feel it."
"You had a better transition from the darkside to the Light than I did, bro," Carlos said, going up to Yonnie to pull him into a warrior's embrace. "Welcome to the Light, man. And congrats on the kid."
Yonnie opened his eyes and then burst out laughing, hugging Carlos back hard.
"Damn, man! Like ... we did it! We gonna be dads? Oh, shit! Me, too?"
"So, what in God's name do we do now?" Rider said quietly, still staring at the bar. Tara wrenched her gaze away from the ocean and stared at Rider. "We take the path the Neterus have set."
"It's always the little things. The devil is in the details." A deep thunderous voice rang out followed by an evil laugh, unsettling transporter bats and dislodging rubble from the vaulted ceiling above.
The massive, black double doors leading into the Vampire Council Chambers eerily creaked open. Both of the large, golden-fanged door knockers that normally struck for blood authenticity cowered with their slit eyes shut tightly. The sound of hooves in the distance kept all eyes trained on the gaping maw of total darkness just beyond the doors. Wall torches began to flare in agitation to the new screams and moans renting the air from the Sea of Perpetual Agony just outside the grand chamber.
Every vampire went still as they sat in nervous repose awaiting the next set of orders to be given by their Dark Lord. Tiny gargoyle-bodied Harpies scampered to hide in the crags behind each of the huge, onyx-hued marble thrones, avoiding their normal sanctuary beneath Lilith's hemline like the plague—just in case she'd somehow lost favor with the master. They seemed to sense his foul mood before he arrived, as did the fanged crest in the center of the pentagram-shaped black bargaining table that had stopped spewing black blood. Even the veins within the black marble floor had stopped pulsing with the elixir of life, as though every inanimate object was also trying to avoid being the object of Lucifer's wrath. Lilith sat deadly still on her throne. As Chairwoman, she knew that if a mistake had been made by one of her council members, she would be instantly targeted to take the weight. . . unless she could skillfully deflect whatever charge was being levied. Self-preservation, at all costs, was necessary.
Her three-hundred-and-sixty-degree peripheral bat vision studied each council member with care. If Lu needed a blood sacrifice to abate his fury about some yet unknown offense, who would she offer? Which member of her council was most expendable? The pale, devious Elizabeth, with the porcelain skin—wife of Count Dracula?
The fact that Elizabeth Bathory was a ruthless, sadistic bitch was reason enough to give her up; those character traits weren't unique in Hell. What did Liz really bring to the table, other than the very crafty reanimation of Dracula at Sebastian's expense . . . which was priceless. But the question was, however, would she be enough to sate Lu? The aquiline brunette with smoky, dark, exotic eyes was reed thin, tall, and handsome, but no stunner. Lilith released a very slow exhalation, considering. No.
But then, what about Liz's husband, Dracula—Vlad the Im-paler himself, perhaps?
She glimpsed his strong, warrior jawline that held massive fangs when provoked and studied his athletic carriage, watching torchlight make strands of gold and red glisten in his dark brown hair. No, he was too valuable to the empire. Like Nuit, he was a master strategist, but had the added asset of owning the prowess and loyalty of a full demon army.
Maybe the sallow-skinned spell-caster and regular pain in her ass, Sebastian . . . but an expert necromancer during these times was also an asset. Lucrezia, then?
Lilith studied Lucrezia Borgia's delicate features, startling green eyes, and beautiful thicket of auburn curls, and then discreetly dragged her gaze down the councilwoman's shapely body. But Lucrezia's expertise in poisons had served her well, not to mention, she had an evil pope in her line that was a strategic chess piece in the game that could be used later. Besides, to sacrifice Nuit's wife would cause an indelible rift between her and Fallen, and he was truly the closest reminder of Machiavelli that she had left. Decisions, decisions . . . Glimpsing Fallen from a sidelong glance, she wistfully considered the tall handsome rogue from New Orleans, knowing that she'd throw the whole lot of them at her husband, if necessary, to buy herself more time.
Sulfuric ash spewed into the entranceway, making Lilith wrinkle her nose and halt her endless musing. Messengers had been killed . . . lovely. She made a tent with her fingers in front of her mouth and waited. She'd clearly heard hooves, but to her surprise, upon his arrival, her husband entered chambers in his human form—handsome as always and well coiffed, wearing one of h
is best black business suits.
His dark hair was well barbered. He'd put away his horns and bat wings, with no evidence of fangs gracing his seductively lush mouth. The spaded tail was gone and he wore a pair of expensive Italian slip-on leather shoes. He'd even come wearing his fanged crest ring, the one she so adored with the pentagram and black diamond in the center of it. Very nice. What game had he come to play today? She almost smiled.
The entire council prostrated themselves as the Dark Lord approached the bargaining table and took up a golden goblet, waiting impatiently for the fanged crest to belch black blood into it.
"The pale horse is running amok, how shall we make use of this fine hour?" The Unnamed One lifted his goblet with a droll smile and waited until Lilith slowly gazed up at him. "You have no idea how dismayed I was to have my hand forced like that. But all is fair in love and war, they say."
"We tried to contain the battle with the Neterus to Detroit and end it there," Vlad said in a defeated tone, "but—"
"My dear count, do stand." The Dark Lord swirled the blood in his goblet and then took a healthy swig from it as Vlad pushed up and stood. "You were the only one man enough to attempt to offer an explanation, and out of respect for all you've done for the empire, I'll allow you to cast the first suggestion for a strategy." Seeming unsure as the Devil's smile broadened, Vlad hesitated.
"Oh, come now . . . you don't trust me?" The Dark Lord set down his goblet very carefully on the edge of the table and clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to circle Vlad. "You gave me much," he said in Dananu, beginning the negotiation by employing the centuries-old bargaining language. "Here is your chance to make a fair exchange. Sebastian is too weak to call me on what I really owe him; therefore, I will give it to you—if you can guess what it is." A loud swallow made the Devil turn toward Sebastian, and then he laughed as Sebastian lowered his gaze. "Don't even attempt a late entry into this game, you pussy . . . you had your chance."
"You have released the pale horse of the Apocalypse to divert attention away from your heir," Vlad said quickly in Dananu. "It was a wise move necessary so that the warriors of the unnamed place above shall be too busy saving human lives to send a substantial retinue of warriors after the dark prince." Clapping slowly, Lucifer narrowed his gaze on Vlad, the echo from his strong palms slapping one against the other deafening the vampire until blood began to leak from Vlad's nose and ears, staining his black council robe. Then in a sudden fit of rage Lucifer grasped Vlad by the jaw and stared deeply into his eyes. "Only half the story, old friend. Your obliviousness disappoints me. Perhaps I allowed you to suffer in the Sea of Perpetual Agony too long and your sensory awareness is dulled. Pity."
Gently removing his grasp from the count's jaw, the Dark Lord spoke in a quiet, lethal tone. "Please tell me what happened in Detroit?"
"The moment I surfaced with my army," Vlad said, gasping in Dananu, but still standing tall and proud, "I attacked with all my might. We impaled innocent humans and Guardians alike. We ravaged the area—"
"You attacked," Lucifer said calmly, refilling his goblet. "And not once did your dick get hard for the Neteru ... a centuries-old vampire that still has the look of a young, virile, handsome warrior from the knights of old?"
"No," Vlad said proudly. "I was focused on victory." Lucifer shook his head. "Fallen
. . . stand and tell me what's wrong with that picture?"
Fallen pushed up from the floor and stood, head held high, shoulders back.
"Dracula lusted for the Neteru in the Sea of Perpetual Agony until he nearly went mad when she ripened," Fallon murmured in Dananu, staring at Vlad first and then the Dark Lord with dawning awareness. He ignored Elizabeth's hiss of jealousy and a sly half-smile tugged at his mouth as he finally settled his gaze on Vlad. "Man ami. . . you didn't even try to take her as a hostage for a lair prize later—you tried to kill her outright. . . the female Neteru."
"Of course I did, you backstabbing harlot!" Vlad shouted, about to lunge at Nuit. But Fallon Nuit's eerily calm countenance gave Vlad pause as Lilith covered her mouth.
"That could only mean one thing," Fallon said, his Dananu now ringing out with confidence as his line of vision shifted to become steady on the Dark Lord. "She no longer lures . . . the female Neteru's once-irresistible scent has been tainted by the Light that now inhabits her womb. Damali Richards Rivera has conceived! Always efficient in your evil, you released the pale horse to kill two birds with one stone ... to lure the angels away from your heir and to infect the Neteru prophecy child."
"The devil is in the details—did I not say that when I first came in here? Give the man a seat at the head of the table, Lilith. He was the only one who stuck to his guns, figured it out based on a known variable—Dracula's behavior—and had the balls to present the theory. I like that," the Dark Lord said, laughing as he offered Nuit his goblet. "The game just got very interesting, and I have much work to do." Time was pressing down on Damali like an invisible anvil. While the team absorbed the shock of what they'd just learned, something very instinctive kicked in and made her stop all conversation. She couldn't worry about how people were processing any of the news. They had to get out of there. Now. Damali rushed forward to the middle of the room, her second-sight sending a hot poker of pain through her temples until it bloomed behind her eyes. "Everybody chill!" she shouted. "I can see the inside of the church. We've gotta move, come out of the energy fold in the long corridor just before you get to the sanctuary. Then we'll blend in with the tourists. There's a man there now, seeking his life's purpose
... he's going into a confessional booth. If we wait, we'll miss him—he's our contact."
"Baby, you all right?" Concern laced Carlos's expression as Damali doubled over, beginning to pant.
"No," she whispered, standing up slowly. "I'm really not."
CHAPTER THREE
It's been three days, and no word." Rabbi Zeitloff turned his heft away from the television in the Brooklyn safe house and closed his eyes against the violence being broadcasted from around the world.
"They have finally arrested the Dalai Lama," Monk Lin said in a quiet, angry tone. Lines of worry had begun to mark time on his otherwise ageless, bronze face. "A spiritual man of peace, Chinese government officials have dredged up false charges against a man of impeccable character, simply because of his words of truth and enlightenment. . . our Neteru Guardians are nowhere near as iconic, and thus would never stand a chance against an organized campaign of propaganda. We must go and protect those children. They must not fall into the hands of misdirected human authorities."
"How do we get to them, get into Washington, D.C., where they were last seen?" Imam Asula's calm gaze raked his fellow clerics as he unfolded his towering height from the small, white, vinyl-covered chair. He walked to the window and stared out at the city that never slept, his large, dark presence swathed in white linen almost blotting out the sunlight within a full pane.
"Perhaps our goal should be to secure their loved ones? We do not know where the Neteru Guardian team has hidden themselves, but we must ensure that baby Ayana, her grandmother, and Dan's parents do not perish at the hands of evil."
"Yes," Monk Lin said quietly, moving a worry bead through his graceful fingers as a rare breeze from the window caught the hem of his Tibetan robes. "But with the chaos, do we even know for certain where they are? We can try to get through the barricades to drive to Philadelphia to seek the child and her grandmother . . . perhaps Dan's parents will remain safe in the synagogue refuge here?"
"But Dan's mother and father must be confused and frightened by what they are hearing," Imam Asula said in a sudden boom of rage. He pointed at the television.
"What mother or father could withstand such an onslaught of lies about their child? Even if they are physically safe, we must go to them and for once and for all reveal to them the truth of their son's sacrifice . . . they must be able to have peace in their souls, if not in their minds."
Rabbi Zei
tloff stared at the television for a moment and then out of the window.
"Don't you find it odd that the communications channels—radio, television, and such—are still functioning as though nothing unusual is going on, when the entire monetary system has temporarily shut down? They said the money is dirty and could pass the virus from human hand to human hand—so who would still be on the air at a time like this? Who would still be trying to document events while everyone is at risk, even newsanchors?"
The elderly rabbi turned to his fellow clerics. "While all of this is happening, and the people on television are still looking freshly showered and clean, stray dogs and cats are fleeing down the streets. Pit bulls are savaging homeless people for food. Vermin is pouring out of the sewers, rats are just ambling down the street with cockroaches, and no trucks are coming in to bring food back into the city. Is it me, or is this strange? How long do you think it'll be before the military and cops abandon their city checkpoint posts? Those young men and women have families .
. . they will soon be as afraid of the contagion that's got pigeons falling off the wires and ledges as well."
L A Banks - [Vampire Huntres Legend 12] Page 4
