by L. A. Banks
Marlene’s gaze remained riveted to the text. “The book reveals what it wants you to know, only when it is time for you to know it . . . this name was never entered into the pages until I just opened this book in search, or I would have seen it before now—so would the vampires. How is it that none of us knew?”
She had no answer for Marlene, just a wide-eyed stare.
“Baby, something foul had to go down beyond the mere history of this region, to keep her shadowed from the sacred texts. The Amazon in my books was only made five hundred years ago, not a thousand. We knew the light sent you early, child . . . that had to be by design—just like the one now mentioned in there was sent early. Hold it . . . she actually predated Nzinga’s reign?” Marlene’s eyes were so wide that it made Damali cover her heart with her hand. “Damali,” she said reverently, “you know Queen Nzinga lived from 1583 to 1663, and never surrendered, even at eighty years old when she died. Girlfriend battled the Dutch and Portuguese from her base in Africa—she was the only one me and Shabazz had seen on the pages before you.”
“You guys knew Nzinga was a Neteru, and that I was born early, but never gave me the dates . . . Why?” So much new information was hitting her, it made her head spin.
“Because if you were, it meant something serious—we had to know what that was to ensure your guidance. Only Shabazz and I know. But that’s why she pulls you as a role model, and you admire her headdresses and garb . . . and like we told you, before that, we thought the Isis blade was held in the Nubian empire. If this Amazon fell in the mid 1540s, Nzinga was sent real early, too! A forty-year gap, not a thousand? That, we didn’t know. I’d put money on it that the vamps didn’t, either. As above, so below . . . Heaven has her mysteries, too. And now that we’re standing in Brazil with the Temt Tchaas on us, the Amazon is written in? And she’d been fighting the same people . . . same slave trade?”
Marlene shook her head as her fingers reverently touched the new etchings. “Uh, uh. This is scary deep. The Temt Tchaas rarely violates itself like that. It took your energy on this soil to make it respond. I’ve only seen it do that one other time since I’ve had it.” She looked at Damali hard.
“When was that?” Damali whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
Marlene’s eyes had never left her face. “When Carlos was named your life-mate guardian, then burned away early. Wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I wept as I watched it. You were only fifteen when his drug trade kicked up a notch too far.”
Damali’s hand slowly covered her mouth but her eyes remained fixed on Marlene’s. Her mentor only nodded and quietly closed the book.
“Go get him, and burn him back into the pages, baby. He was one of ours, and whatever’s over here can’t have him—not like this, just like Hell hasn’t been able to hold him. This is big shit going down in the universe. I can’t claim to know all, but I’ve seen enough. You were born early. There has to be a reason that you both have all these influences battling over y’all. He’s a pivot point to disaster, somehow, too. But you’re the only one who can get a lock. Use it, before the wrong side uses him. Do that for me; it’s way personal now.” She closed the book slowly. “The light has sped up the cosmic timetable. Neteru’s are coming fast and hard, and there must be a reason female warrior energy is required for the big one, the Armageddon. This is real personal, even at the levels of Heaven.”
For the first time in her life, she saw something in Marlene’s eyes that went well beyond being a guardian. There was a shadow, an angry one that spoke of a past experience that couldn’t be shared. And for the first time Marlene’s focus wasn’t solely on the universe’s grand plan to save the world, but was also on salvaging a little bit of happiness for one of her own. Within this frank discussion, Marlene wasn’t giving her platitudes, cautioning restraint, or telling her to be patient. Marlene’s eyes said to go for broke. Claim your territory; mark it. Just do the shit with authority, like you own it, because you do. It was destined to be yours. The book said so.
“Marlene . . . I had a feeling about there being a Neteru in the equation.” Damali steadied herself. “That’s the DNA link—and why the team is vibing here so hard, linking to female energy. I have a mostly male team, the Neteru before me had a team of Amazon warriors . . . and I had a dark guardian life-mate. Whatever this thing is, it’s syncing up and shadowing our team in a one-to-one matchup, and like you said, the mating ritual is giving it additional energy—topspin. It’s gotta be the past trying to link to the present, finding cellular matches to draw more energy . . . and Rider and Dan have bloodlines, like Father Pat, that could make them instant targets . . . while the others would-be mates. Either way ain’t good. What if—”
“This is definitely personal, then—and all of it, since you began fighting, has centered around mating energies,” Marlene said, cutting her off. “It ain’t about losing any of the fellas, especially Carlos, because he’s the strongest one on the team and has the most to lose . . . and if it’s a female vamp that got caught in the vortex, or a demon, who cares? We smoke that bitch.” Marlene’s eyes held Damali’s in a lock. “I know we have innocents to protect, but I also care about you, your joy, your future . . . and I damned sure care about this team, way beyond some grand cosmic plan. Nzinga wouldn’t have it; you shouldn’t either . . . and if this Amazon couldn’t hold onto her reign, or something corrupted it, do her. Yeah, girl, it’s personal, now, if that’s what’s going on. I trust your instincts on this one.”
That small but profound statement, I trust your instincts, made a huge difference as Damali stood there watching her mother-seer’s outrage over something threatening her joy, her future, as well as the team’s. For a few moments she could actually feel that, while Marlene grieved the loss of lives out there, it was okay that this was also personal. Something was after her daughter’s man, and the lives of their squad, which made it a more visceral mission. It linked them in that very private moment in a way they never had before. Right now, they weren’t just mentor and protégée, master and apprentice . . . or even friends. They were something much more than that.
They were peers.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HEAT AND music and the sweet, potent flavor of her caipirinha drink coated Damali’s insides with warmth. She’d craved the lime and sugarcane taste as much as she craved a few moments without worry. Everything that had been said in the room alone with Marlene was so wild that she needed time to regroup. If they were going to fight, they needed to be fresh, ready, with their heads on straight. Her team needed this night out just like she did, Damali thought, as she looked at their happy faces. She shot a knowing glance toward Marlene.
The guys had taken the news of pending doom fairly hard, and as though soldiers about to go off to their last battle, they were in the nightclub going for broke. Knowing what you were hunting, or what was possibly hunting you, was one thing. The not-knowing part was the real monster. It also gave her a certain peace about Carlos. At least there was a reason, perhaps some thin shred of hope to cling to. She was just glad that Marlene had been discreet about the more personal aspects of what she’d shared. The fellas didn’t need to know all that.
Damali watched them from the corner of her eye amid the colors of the club strobe lights. Men definitely had a different way of dealing with stress. Her mother-seer had been right about that, too.
It seemed that each one of them was having their last affair with life, and grabbing it with all the gusto they could. She could only silently pray that she and Marlene had been wrong and thus filled with unnecessary anxiety. Maybe it was just strong Amazon vamp female energy fusing with the whack history of the region, and not something worse. But, then, when had their intuitions ever been that wrong?
The four small tables the team had pulled together to make a long row for their group vibrated with the samba. One could actually see tiny ripples inside each glass and mug of beer. Voices, laughter, couples, people searching for a partner; the club was throbbing w
ith other types of energy that made Damali sad. There was so much yet to see in the world, and if she lost anyone on her team, she’d never forgive herself.
“Aw, man. Rider, check it out. Three o’clock over your shoulder, brother.” Big Mike’s eyes were trained on a tall sister by the bar, and Rider gave him a nod of endorsement.
“She has you written all over her, dude.”
“She’s serving pure Pam Grier, man, with her tall, fine self.” Big Mike stood slowly. “Anybody want a drink?”
Shabazz chuckled and gave Big Mike a warning glance. “Brother, remember what D and Mar said. Be careful. And, just for the record, everybody’s glass is already filled, so you need a better excuse than that to go over there.”
“But look at her,” Big Mike said with a grin, moving away from the table despite the word of caution from Shabazz. “She’s gotta be six two, and is built like a brick house.”
Shabazz sighed. He glanced at Damali and Marlene. “I ain’t feeling a vamp or demon vibe. Let him go.”
“Yeah,” Rider murmured, distracted by two pretty Brazilian locals who were wearing skin-tight, mini-length halter dresses. The one that smiled at him had long, ebony hair flowing down the center of her back, which stopped just above the round of her behind. Rider’s gaze slid down her butt to her slender thighs. He sniffed and then smiled wider. “They check out clean, my man. All red-blooded human female. I’m out. Remember New Orleans,” he added, standing, “I had your back then, Mike, got it now, and I’ll help you go bring over some more drinks. The one in turquoise there is killing me.”
“The one wearing black ain’t bad either,” Jose murmured in awe, standing slowly and pounding Rider’s fist as he inhaled deeply. “Damn, man, this place will definitely get a man killed. But you only live once.”
Damali couldn’t understand why Jose hesitated and then gave her a glance like he had a bit of an attitude before leaving the table. She watched him straighten his back and walk away tense.
“I hear you,” JL said in a distant tone, his line of vision fixed on a bevy of pretty women clustered about a small table at the far end. “Excuse me. Err, I’ll catch up with you folks later.” Then he was gone.
Marlene and Damali didn’t even protest as four of their best men on the squad got up and followed the call of the wild. What was the point? It was impossible to fight nature. They were all practically dog meat anyway, Damali reasoned. But she did catch a vibe going down between Marlene and Shabazz. Damali took a slow sip of her drink and watched Dan out on the floor dancing like a maniac.
Yeah, Shabazz was in hot water with Mar, because even for all of his cool, Mr. Aikido Master was having a visual meltdown. The thought made Damali chuckle. How was a tactile sensor, a guy who could feel everything through his skin, supposed to chill in a place like this? Bad luck that his woman was also a seer, and was probably kicking his rusty butt inside her head right now. Been there, seen it, done it, and it was helping her perspective on Carlos immensely.
“You know, you can’t blame the man, Mar,” Damali finally said with a sly smirk as she took another swallow from her glass. She’d said the comment low enough that only Marlene heard her and she enjoyed this new aspect of being with Marlene as a peer rather than as a kid to be kept out of harm’s way.
“Mind your business, chickie,” Marlene snapped peevishly as Shabazz’s head swiveled again toward a passing flock of beauties.
“Thought y’all had an open relationship?”
Marlene took a sip of her Brazilian beer and winked at Damali. “We do, but dang.”
“I hear you, but you and I both know he ain’t going nowhere, Mar. He’s just window shopping.”
Marlene glanced at Damali and tipped her beer in her direction. But the vibration that Marlene was trying to contain was palpable.
“Why don’t you two get out of here?”
Marlene halted bringing the glass up to her lips and stared at Damali for a moment. “And who has your back while we do?” She motioned toward the team with her beer, and used her eyes to signal that each of the guys had been able to pick a lovely lady off from the herd and were now engrossed in a heavy rap.
“I know,” Damali said with a weary sigh. Even the loud music wasn’t enough of a distraction to ward off her inner thoughts. “But, listen, I’ve had my ten nights of splendor, believe me. It’s unlikely that some mess will go down before the concert—moon won’t be full until two or three nights later, and if something jumps off, I’m strapped.” She discreetly glanced at her thigh under the table and pulled her gold-tinted mini up just a tad to give Marlene a glimpse of her Isis dagger. But Jose’s vibe was worrying her. He’d gone off with the others, but she could tell he was hanging back a bit. She could understand it, though. The Dee Dee thing was still fresh, just like for her, the Carlos thing was still fresh. Being with somebody else when there was a special person you really needed just wasn’t the same. Then an idea came into her mind and she quietly nursed it while talking to Marlene.
“This is a foreign country,” Marlene said in a low warning tone, breaking through Damali’s thoughts, “and everybody needs to stay alert. Just as important, nobody needs to get locked up for a bar fight. You understand?”
Damali smiled. “Go tend to your man, Mar. I’ll be fine, and I’ll behave. I’m in a public place right near the hotel. No sulfur is in the air. None of the fellas has sensed vamps in the joint. Look at our noses; they’re cool. Plus, neither of us has picked up heavy subterranean presence.” The last part of her statement came out on a wistful note, and she sent her gaze into the crowd to double check. No sign of him at all. There wasn’t even a third-generation sniffer topside in this club. “Feel it for yourself, Mar,” she added with conviction. Then she glanced at Shabazz and smiled. “Your boy is dying over there.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Marlene chuckled, relaxing back into her chair. Although Shabazz still had his eyes on the dance floor, his arm soon slipped over Marlene’s shoulders.
“I’m going to dance. Y’all do whatever.” Damali stood and polished off her drink, set it down with precision, and waded through the pulsing throng on the dance floor. Immediately four men approached her, each extending a palm toward her to take. She laughed. A blonde, a Rasta, a geek, and a local. God, Brazil was so much fun! If this was her last night before battle, so be it.
She accepted the outstretched hand of a tall suitor with walnutbrown eyes that were deep and intense. He reminded her of Carlos the way he openly assessed her, and that had been the thing that swayed her decision to choose him above the others. He would work perfectly.
His smile broadened as her hand found his, and she gave a little shrug of apology toward the men she’d declined. With grace, they seemed to take the rebuff well, and simply raised a glass to her as they found another partner. People here were cool, relaxed, open, she noted, but she wasn’t prepared for the total invasion of her personal space. Nor was she prepared for her own reaction when the Brazilian brother she’d chosen to dance with swept her into his arms, and ground out the music against her pelvis.
Way too close and personal. This wasn’t like LA, or the States. A sister got a minute to get herself together before all of that. But she was feeling the music, the effects of her third drink, and definitely enjoying the local flavor of the club. However, it was still too sensual the way he moved against her, and his natural funk was pungent, drawing her in a strange sorta way as it settled on the back of her palate. She inhaled it, held it in her mind, then smiled. Ignore my call, huh . . . we’ll see.
Her dance partner was sporting an open maroon silk shirt, had a nice chest, and was already sweating from dancing. Also he had on skin-tight black pants, and was packing about ten inches in them. Wow. A great testosterone sample. Laughing as he pushed her away and twirled her around, and grabbed her to him again, she couldn’t shake the wicked thoughts. Brother had a real nice butt, too. She just had to be careful not to get the poor man hurt.
Yeah, her guys had a
point: if you were gonna get a beat down, and possibly die, why not live life to the max while you could? Tomorrow wasn’t promised. The dancing and music were good morphine to chase away fear and doubt. No wonder tribes had war dances and got blitzed the night before a battle. Made sense. Made just too much sense.
Over her dance partner’s shoulder, she saw Big Mike leave with the Pam Grier look-alike on his arm. Rider had long been gone, and Dan was still rapping, trying to get some action. JL had two gorgeous women enthralled—dang! Jose was so smooth she hadn’t even seen the brother leave. When she glanced back at the table, it was empty. Guess Marlene took her advice? But when she saw a shy, blond college-looking chick giggle and stand up with Dan, all she could do was shake her head and keep moving.
The brother she was dancing with was now in her ear, telling her something in a language she could barely understand. Since the lobby incident, the ability to translate had faded. Go figure. But one didn’t need to be fluent to pick up the message, nor did a woman need to be psychic.
“Como se chama, por favor me de?”
Feeling the full effects of the drink now, she began to relax. Damn his voice was smooth as silk. She laughed. Then she opened her mind to be able to communicate, knowing the effect that might have on the man who’d left her hanging. “My name is Damali . . . but, uh, you need to back up.”
“Por que, hoj a noite?” he murmured.
“Why tonight? Because.”
He touched her face and made a little clicking sound with his tongue as he dipped his thigh deeper between hers. “You have a man?”
The fact that he just switched up to English so she could better understand what he was saying, tickled her. Oh, so now that you’re getting to the fundamental question, homeboy, you want to be sure I’m clear, huh? She laughed again. But the fact that she couldn’t readily answer his question quelled her amusement, “Yes. I do.”
