by L. A. Banks
He laughed again and shook his head as Carlos simply stared at him. He glanced at the grate, which was now half lowered and still closing. “Foolish woman. She didn’t know we already had the Neteru in our sights, and that with your soul weight, if you took her to the vanishing point, your dropout is guaranteed. And through you our empire would have access to daylight, plus a vessel that could produce day walkers seven years from now.” He paused and stared at Carlos. “I want that power.”
“If I take her there, how would that help you? Through a throne transfer? You want me to rush the chairman?” Carlos asked, trying to remain calm.
Vlak smiled and made a little tsking sound of disapproval. “Silly boy, no. I will be there the moment you come out of the fusion point naked and shaking like a junkie. You’ll be weak; will need to feed. You’ll barely be able to lift your head. And if you do attempt to fight me, I can easily kill you, bleed myself out, and then drain you dry to recover. But it would be better for us to keep our dirty little secret until I can infect enough of my own army to storm the chambers. That crazy old bastard . . . He must be insane to believe that I would wait in line to receive the day walker’s bite! I will already be one, long before the Neteru is ready to give birth to them, and the chairman’s throne, which goes back to the time of Paradise lost, will be mine.”
He folded his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, and let his voice drop to a sinister whisper. “So, rather than make this messy and public, you’ll come to my throat and I’ll come to yours, double flat-line, total transfer.” He looked at Carlos and tilted his head. “It will be enjoyable, trust me.” He chuckled as the color drained from Carlos’s face. “Ahhh . . . while alive, you never went to prison, did you? Shame, having missed so many different experiences. But this one foul act of willingly taking a were-demon to the vanishing point will most assuredly give us your soul. All will be well, and as it should be. Fair exchange, and I’m even allowing you to keep the Neteru.”
Carlos’s gaze narrowed on Vlak. Fury sent bile to his tongue as he remembered the subtle threat of violation that had threaded through his system as the demon siphoned his wrist. Yet Vlak’s full-fanged smile contained cool confidence in a way that let him know the counselor had somehow trapped him.
“What if I just say, fuck you?”
“You catch on quick.” Vlak smiled but returned a lethal stare. “It’ll be my pleasure, but preferably after you do her and hijack daylight.”
Instantly Carlos was in full battle bulk. He would take this motherfucker’s head off.
“I’ve got your insolent ass by the balls, Rivera.” The counselor hadn’t even matched Carlos’s mortal combat challenge or backed up. He just continued to smile. “I have evidence that you did the black blood exchange with a were-demon, of which the council penalty is death. And if you’re not around to protect the Neteru . . .”
Vlak’s gaze went from red glowing orbs to black flickers. “Do you know how many ways we can torture her existence? We don’t need her mind, won’t care what plagues riddle her body, as long as her womb performs its function seven years from now. What we will do will make you puke. We can tap into her cellular structure in a way that we never could have had access to without you, until you bit her and carried her blood in your veins.” He laughed cruelly as Carlos normalized. “That’s right,” he said with a nod, “you’ve got her DNA all in you—and trust me, I’ll extract that from you drop by drop before you torch.”
“You gave the demon blood, too, you lowlife sonofa—”
“With a searcher’s testimony to back up my claims, whom do you think the old man will believe? He’ll smell demon saliva in your system, and know that you did the exchange. You were so foolish to let her take from your wrist instead of from a goblet. There’s no trace when you allow them to drink from a goblet.” Vlak shook his head as he clucked his tongue. “You do know that I’m in charge of chamber inquisitions, si?”
He stared at Carlos hard when Carlos didn’t immediately answer. “Take it or leave it. The offer is as I have described. If you refuse, I’ll burn you—literally, by turning over evidence of your treason to the chairman.”
“But the she-demon went after Damali already. If she goes near the Neteru to try to kill her, I’ll have to smoke that crazy bitch.” Carlos had meant his statement to come out as hard logic, a forceful slap of reality in Vlak’s face. But instead it sounded more like an unsure question, holding the tone of near defeat in it.
“Oh, noooo,” Vlak warned. “What she did was send you a message that she has lost patience, just like I have.” His black gaze narrowed to a withering glare. “Fuck that bitch soon and be done with it! The longer you procrastinate, the more you put the daywalker breeder at risk. I need what you sire to come under my armies. Her heirs will pass the virus faster than through the black blood transfers, but will still be beholden to the case above them, mine.”
He smiled and glanced at the grate that was three-quarters closed.
“What if the chairman gets hip, if he finds out like he found out about Nuit?” Carlos asked, his voice strained with panic. He felt like he was suffocating within his own lair.
“Nuit was sloppy and obvious. But more importantly, the chairman was your maker. That is why he favors you so, has such a blind, sickening, weak spot for you. He is too arrogant to concede that one of his own made vampires might deceive him. You can deceive him and go against him because of the little issue of your soul not belonging to the dark realms yet. A wonderful variable . . . that he knows nothing about. Make a choice—opportunities like this don’t come often. So fuck that bitch for daylight, and that old man out of his throne, and be done with it!”
Carlos could feel the transport winds beginning to kick up, the smell of potent fumes and smoke gathering as the counselor began to dissolve away.
“Well who made you, then? How can you go against the chairman?” Carlos yelled, feeling the winds begin to go quiet, but his mind raging.
“Caligula Caesar!” the voice echoed up from the cavern. “Who else?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
HER GUARDIANS looked like a band of worn-out desperadoes. Each had on a variation of light-khaki army fatigues, heavy boots, safari hats, and sunglasses as they snoozed in the small charter plane waiting area. Tourists going on the more daring sight-seeing tours huddled nervously away from them, as though Damali’s squad were drug-dealing hit men. People eyed the group’s bulging duffle bags with suspicion in the oppressive heat.
The only reason that they’d been able to carry their artillery in such an open and flagrant display of firepower, despite the new era of heightened security everywhere in the world, was the fact that this tiny, puddle-jumper, flight school airstrip was off the beaten path—and no doubt, often used by the more unsavory element in the region. It seemed to Damali to be a place where a few dollars could get the local authorities to look the other way. Perhaps they had upon someone’s word? She didn’t even want to know what Marlene had done to transact their passage. But she was sure that, if it had been a more populated, commercial airport, they’d all be in a Brazilian jail somewhere by now.
Thank goodness Marlene had some contacts over here that could tell her where to go and with whom to do the travel arrangements. Otherwise, Damali knew she’d have to fight her own team to get them to part with their weapons, even in broad daylight. There would have been no way for her to get them to stash their gear in FX boxes disguised as stage equipment like they had to on the flight from the States. It was on, at this point. The fellas had rightly argued that under the circumstances, they wanted quick access to the heat they were packing. She could dig it. No one on the guardian team had really slept. They looked horrible.
Rider’s jaw was covered with a thick five o’clock shadow, and he snored without shame under his scrunched-down hat. Sweat trickled down his temples and stained his back, chest, and underarms through his cotton T-shirt. Shabazz was practically gray, having kept one eye open all night just to be sure
Marlene was still breathing. She was curled up in a fetal position in a chair with her head on Shabazz’s lap, while he intermittently stroked her damp, silver locks. Dan was flushed, breathing with effort, and constantly wiping his drenched hair off his forehead. Big Mike just breathed slowly, and seemed to be the coolest of the bunch, but despite his warnings to be still, Jose and JL fanned themselves with a newspaper.
Frustration at the delay made Damali want to jump out of her skin. Everyone in Rio seemed to have a carefree, casual attitude about time. It had taken way longer than they expected, or in her opinion was necessary, to arrange for the shipment of their heavy band equipment and other items they no longer needed. Minivans were slow, airport personnel were slow, and the charter service was slow. No one moved with swift authority. Perhaps it was the oppressive heat. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the antique air conditioner needed Freon?
Damali dabbed the sweat from her brow and neck with a limp tissue as she tried to get comfortable in a hard plastic chair that stuck to her butt. The turquoise blue scooped seat was molding to her back, butt, and thighs, sealing her body to the suffocating surface.
Gnats and mosquitoes dive-bombed everyone in the room, oblivious to heavy coatings of insect repellent they all wore. The little pests were relentless, making people swat and slap themselves until the sheer volume of the attacks just made each person surrender to being bitten. Her only alternative was to spread her legs wide, lean her forearms on her knees, drop her head, and try to sleep like a soldier.
Finally, after two hours of waiting, their private flight was called. Damali didn’t have the energy to stand, but understood why the guys were on their feet acting like they’d just hit lotto. Anything to be out of that dank waiting area was worth it.
But the group was also exceptionally quiet. Fatigue not only claimed them, so did fear of the unknown. In truth, this might be the last adventure they went on together, and she noted how considerate each teammate was being to one another.
Sure, they always operated as a crew, but they also bitched with each other the whole time they were performing a task. Rider would be fussing about everything in general, JL would be complaining about how sloppy everyone was with the technical equipment. Big Mike would be puffed up and close-mouthed about something smart Rider had said. Shabazz would get fed up and walk away with impatience, claiming not to have time for dumb shit. Jose and Dan would be steadily trying to keep the peace, while Marlene would get started, and make them go back over the entire process again.
Yet, as her guys filed out of the shack and down the tarmac to finally take their seats within the small twin-engine, the stronger ones were helping the guardians who possessed less bulk. Folks were giving up window seats, handing off fruit that could be peeled, passing snacks, and just chilling. Everyone was offering stuff to Marlene as she leaned against Shabazz. There was a community spirit happening, something going on that sealed the group’s bond tighter than it had ever been. They were even sharing water with each other . . . would take a look at a partner and say, “Here, man, don’t get dehydrated.” Normally that was Marlene’s roll—to check on everyone. Despite the perils of the journey, as Damali leaned back in her seat and looked down, one thought crossed her mind: it’s all good.
Soon the jewel-green land beneath her became a blur as she dozed, her head bobbing, the drone of the plane’s engines hypnotic. In her sleep-induced haze of semiconsciousness she felt like she, without the aid of the aircraft, was flying.
The sensation of freedom lifted her into cottony white clouds, the wind caressing her face as she soared. Her body dipped and rushed with the rivers, splashing cool, clear mountain water against her face. The smell of fresh grasses and wildflowers entered her nostrils, filling her nose and lungs with their sweet, pungent nectar. Her tongue could taste it as she took off running in a field, delighting in the textures of tall grasses that brushed her naked legs. Oh, but the forest, the dense tropical heat, and its sounds . . . a spectacular fusion of percussion and strings and flutes created by the natural chatter. Damali laughed in her sleep as a swirl of electric-blue butterflies took off as she approached. Parrots and wrens and creatures of flight in so many patterns and colors made her dizzy. Frogs and monkeys and tiny things that skittered coexisted with larger predators in each fila that only hunted what they needed—she watched.
Tears brimmed in her eyes as she sped past perfect harmony. Life balanced, natural. Beauty beyond comprehension, unfathomable danger. The magnificence of it all. Nothing wasted, everything designed and interwoven into the grand tapestry by grand design. Each blade of simple grass as awe-inspiring and necessary as the most complex creature. Remove one, and the tapestry is ruined, irrevocably altered. Like removing the bass, or keyboards, or guitar, or the single chime . . . once designed, once composed, it was what it was.
She felt the plane dip and returned to herself. Damali opened her eyes and peered around the cabin. Marlene lifted her head from Shabazz’s chest and smiled. Damali wiped the tears from her face, stricken by the majesty she’d just witnessed. Marlene nodded again. Yeah, she thought, definitely a religious experience.
Although no one said a word as they deplaned and began walking down the tarmac, Damali’s mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour. How could something from the darkness ever think it could go against the awesome power of the one who created all of this? She glanced around, incredulous. Pure genius, all-knowing, all power went into the creation of life itself—any life form came from the source, the one, the almighty. She’d known this before, had said it many, many times, but it hadn’t registered at the profound soul level until now.
Immediately she became aware that her understanding had been intellectual, not emotional, it wasn’t inside her; it was memorized like a school lesson, yet not inarguably known. But the sacredness and beauty of life was all around her as she allowed her gaze to pass the clutter of traffic and look out toward the jade-marbled hills beyond it. Then she looked up at the sun and shielded her eyes to its power. Whatever could create this, harness this, had dominion over this unparalleled power, was all.
Her mind flexed and the stars and moon filled it. The design . . . the design. It was all so rational, organized, planned. Who could not believe there were things greater, and that the side of what created it all in the first place would not triumph in the end? Damali covered her mouth with her hand, just looking out at nothing.
Near weeping as her team stood waiting on their ride, Marlene came to her side, took up Damali’s hand and squeezed it.
“It finally hit you, huh, baby?”
She turned and stared at Marlene for a moment, not knowing how to respond.
“Finally felt it, didn’t you? The connection.”
Damali just nodded as Marlene kissed her cheek.
“You just hang onto that understanding, baby. No matter what happens, it doesn’t matter. All good things are connected to the same source—only one side creates life, the other side destroys and creates death. They can’t really kill you . . . or me, or the others, as long as our thread is connected to the right side. The side that goes on and creates, restores, and lives on.”
“But, Mar, they almost killed you,” Damali whispered.
“Almost killed my body,” Marlene corrected gently. “As long as your spirit is right, you do not end. If my body had died, where do you think my soul would have gone?”
“Heaven, of course,” Damali said quickly.
“And, which side do you think it would add to? This endless, nuclear combustion of turbine energy we are all connected to.” Marlene smiled. “I would have fueled new life. Through spirit, you will learn in the hills, all matter is created. Life emerges from spirit, not the other way around. That is why souls are so valuable to both sides. One had an endless bounty of them; the other had none . . . the darkness covets what the light has in plentiful supply. They abuse the natural resource . . . but what they create is artificial, substandard, twisted, with no way t
o be efficiently, cleanly reabsorbed back into the spiritual ecosystem.”
The guys had gathered near, making an intimate circle around Damali and Marlene to listen.
“Just like all of this greenery and the huge trees we see, all the plants and animals eventually die in the body, their remains get absorbed into fertile, rich soil, that later gives rise to something that reconstitutes into the growth of something new and beautiful. It is a perfect, efficient process. So, too, is a good soul. And as above, so below. But, man-made things cause pollutants, toxins, and cannot be reabsorbed, because those things, while manifest, were not created by the one.”
“Mar, I just never understood the impact . . .” Damali leaned against Big Mike, needing to hold onto something tall and solid before her legs gave way.
“Whatever we are hunting, might be stronger in body, but is a spiritual pollutant, a toxin that the fragile ecosystem of the spirit world has no way to absorb. Thus, it is banished to the nether realm’s dump site. Spiritual landfills are the best description of the dark side realms. They cannot create life—only twist and modify it. That’s why Carlos’s soul is so important to them and us . . . he’s a great natural resource, like ore, that can either become steel beam for them that can never be absorbed, or important natural metallic infrastructure to our planet that is a part of the ecosystem. For us, he’s gold.”
