by L. A. Banks
Satisfied that her statement had given him sufficient pause, she chuckled. “All you have to do is tell the old boys at the council you’re using my intermittent fluctuations as a cover so no other master will try to tamper with their package, and so that they’ll think council may have access to the seal. Tell them that you’re using the human Guardian team to actually search for the key on hallowed ground, where the human helpers have probably stashed it so no other master but the thief can get to it. Since you have us all compromised, tell them you’ll use me to lead you to it once it’s been located.”
Carlos cocked his head and peered at her. “And what if you flux pure human while we’re in Australia and start trailing Neteru . . . ”
“Tell the other masters that it’s something I still wear for you. Just a female vampire illusion that I still have access to, since it was a part of my DNA when I died.” Damali chuckled and shook her head. “Talk about creating chaos . . . ”
Carlos drew in a deep inhale and walked away from her. “The plan is crazy, but has distinct possibilities.”
Damali shrugged. “Then?”
“Coupla things worry me. Like, number one—we’d have to stay in the host master’s lair estate. The walls would have ears, and I’d only be able to communicate with you in a mind lock.”
“So?”
“Uh-uh. And stay in the same room with you all night like a happily mated couple?”
“And?” she said, her hands still on her hips. “It’s part of our cover. It’s true, but not true. Perfect.”
“I do not need to be distracted like that. I’m council level, D, and we’re talking about drawing four masters to one meeting. They distrust each other so much that they rarely cross each other’s lines topside, fearing a power grab hit that could fold their territory up under another master. Any of those bastards would attempt a council assassination to get a throne seat. That’s why the old boys do not come up from Hell.” He let his breath out hard, thoroughly annoyed with her shortsightedness.
When she didn’t answer right away, he felt vindicated and spoke with more authority, less emotion. Yeah, baby, welcome to my world.
“If we’re sleeping in the same bed, and I get with you while we’re there, they could smoke us in the throes. I’m not going out like that and neither are you. I won’t allow it,” he said, growing more agitated as he began walking again. “If we’re making love, I’ll be vulnerable to an assassination attempt.”
“All right. No sex while we’re on the road. You set the rules of engagement. Your next point?”
Exasperated, he glared at her. “Second, we’d have to eat while there. They always roll out the red carpet for VIPs, would have a banquet, blood feasts, shit like that, and you’d never be able to deal with it. If they bring us a baby, or a child, you’ll freak . . . we both will.”
“Okay. Point taken.” She moved in close to him, and breathed out her response. “So I’ll simply tell them that I don’t do children, take it away and let it live, I had a bad experience with one once, I’m eccentric, still, old Neteru perversions in me, which is why you love my twisted ways. Then I’ll come to you and—”
“Uh-uh,” he said, backing away from her. “I don’t do public displays of affection, and definitely not in front of another master.”
“See, here again, this is where male ego is messing you up.” Damali folded her arms. “What is more powerful than making them think you have your woman so in check that she won’t even feed from another vein or source?”
He stopped pacing and looked at her dead-on.
“Baby,” she murmured. “I promise you I will slide up against you when they bring the blood, will give you a look that will stop your heart, and go to you in public like I just can’t stand it and the other masters there will have much respect. Trust me. They won’t be able to retract fang when I’m done.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. She could see a combination of emotions battling for dominance within him.
“And what if you’ve fluctuated and don’t have fangs?” he said coolly, regaining his composure.
“When I come away from your throat, there won’t even be a mark, not a drop of blood, just the wet ring from my kiss. They’ll say, ‘Dayum, Rivera, you taught her to finesse you like that?’” Damali laughed and threw her locks over her shoulders. “I know men. Ain’t much changed since Eve hit the planet. They’ll go for it.”
That was no lie. Her just saying what she might do had almost made his incisors come down. The plan was brilliant, but it still contained a lot of variables. “The sun,” he said, ticking off new points on his fingers, determined to stay annoyed with her.
“I’ll only go out at night. They’ll never know, which is best for me to do, anyway, until my system levels off.”
“Your image goes in and out and we could get busted.”
“Tell them you project a false one for me while we’re out, because I still make good money for you and have unaware human fans.”
“What? Like I’m your pimp? Are you crazy—”
“You own a music empire, remember? Blood Records.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re supposed to be as rotten as they come, evil,” she said, chuckling. “I’m your turned-out female at your beck and call. Damn, I may have messed you up after all. That one was pretty obvious.”
“That shit is not funny, D,” he said, now hollering as he pointed at her. “You’re fucking relentless when you want something, won’t take no for an answer, and this time you’re dancing on the edge of disaster.”
“See, now, I must have gotten that relentless-when-there’s-something-I-want-that-I’m-not-supposed-to-have part from you. Hmmm . . . dancing on the edge . . . I believe that was in both our bloodstreams going into this mess.”
“You are out of your mind,” he said, seething and walking away again.
“Just tell them you’ve quietly pulled my production company under your label, and the general public doesn’t need to know that. When I do concerts, the cash hits your coffers.”
“Okay, right there,” he said quickly. “How are we gonna pull that off, especially if you cast an image on the one hand, which will alert the vamps in the VIP boxes, or if you don’t, which will really freak out the networks?”
“I don’t know,” she said, chewing her bottom lip as she thought. “Maybe we can tell the vamps that you’re projecting from a human body double that my team uses for the videos over my voice. I can tell J.L. and Jose to edit a compilation from other concerts,” she said, growing quiet. “When the local cameras scan me, you can block out what the masters will see.”
“But even I can’t do shit about what really broadcasts.” He walked away from her. Damali wasn’t crazy; she was insane. If they broadcasted the edited videos to fill in a lot of the time, swept the stage with a narrow pan, and held the cameras on the other team members, then went back to video clips . . . maybe. But there could be disastrous moments when she’d either appear, or not. Plus, this whole thing required tight choreography that the evaporating time didn’t allow for. Her team wasn’t even speaking to her, so how was she gonna practice this bull? That was the problem this stubborn woman was overlooking. Too risky.
He could feel her mind wrestling with the challenge, instead of giving in to the fact that some things just weren’t prudent. “Besides,” he went on, “you can’t do the whole Bring the Light thing up there, anyway, and try to pass yourself off as a female vampire. That’s a big stretch, D. For real.”
“Why?” Her tone was flippant and her eyes glittered with mischief. “I’ll stand back from the libations pouring, can ask Mar to go easy on the incense. You and your boys will be in a VIP box away from it, anyway. Tell them it’s just business, box office draw. Then I can do my thing, yeah, without the silver suit, but I can give the crowd a new song to fill in for it and to appease the vamps, one that’s been working in my head. Will blow the vamps’ minds, and make them overly confident that I am what I seem to be. Illusion. Theater
. Meanwhile, if we take out a few heads of state, your territory just increased again. You’ll be the only topside master left standing.”
She had her hands on her hips again, but not in defiance, just deep thought. She then rubbed the nape of her neck and began pacing. “Yeah. Flip the script. Nuit was going to take out the whole human race with one concert, let’s take what we learned from him and put it to some good use. One concert to draw all the masters, you sense for deception, sniff them out to see which one stole the key and where it is, then we get Berkfield back and dust the entire topside vamp empire.” She smiled. “We give the key back and topple the empire.”
Even as he walked away from her into the kitchen toward the taps, he knew this was a bad idea. The amount of power she was talking about temporarily amassing under his control was sure to corrupt him. What bothered him more was the fact that he was even struggling with the concept of doing a power grab. That she’d come up with the plan, one so freaking devious that it had made him look at her twice, hard, to see if she had fangs, also worried him. What if she did? Permanent ones? He had laid his thing down pretty hard . . .
But if she wasn’t darkening, contained within her wild scheme was blind trust. She trusted that he was worthy of amassing the power, and would do what, cede it to the Light? Insane. What if it got too good to him, and he couldn’t? And the fact that he worried that she might have a dark side and decide to let the chips fall where they may to share the dark rule, worried him just as much. This was too crazy. She’d polluted him and had given him a damned conscience!
He could feel her following him, almost skipping; her step was so brisk to keep up with his long strides to get away from her. No, he was not having it. What she wanted to do presented too much of a risk. It was too bold, too crazy, too off the meter. Extreme. If she wanted to bring down the vampire nations, she needed to pace herself, be strategic, do it methodically, one brick at a time, just like he’d built his territory while still living. You just didn’t rush in and do things all buck wild. That’s how people got hurt. That’s how she might get smoked.
“I’m not arguing with you, D,” he said, his back to her as he filled a glass, knowing she was leaning on the kitchen door frame.
“Don’t care ’bout the changes I go through for this man of mine,” she said, her voice sexy, deep, melodic, as she began performing her new spoken-word cut for the vamps at the kitchen entry. “It ain’t really a change, just a bittersweet transition . . . from time to time.”
“No, woman, I told you!”
“They have no idea what crossing over in his arms is like—”
“Stop.”
“Will make you leave Momma’s house in the dead of night.”
He wheeled on her, and set his jaw hard. “Cut it out. I’m serious.” She wasn’t fighting fair, was using all of her theatrical talent, and a whole lot of the others she possessed. Even though he swore he’d wring her neck instead of watching her, for a few moments she was winning the standoff; he was the one strangling on a hard swallow.
Damali pushed herself off the door frame, filling the divide as she held her head back and belted out the lyrics, working her body around an invisible floor microphone, then began walking in the small confines with it. “Can’t stop, this sweet transition. Can’t play with bittersweet madness. Can’t resist, but don’t judge till you’ve felt the burn . . . talk to me, baby, I’m ready to learn. It ain’t wrong; it ain’t right, just real. Give it up on demand. Pleasure coats the pain when you’re with this man. So don’t ask about my changes, just try to understand. It’s a bittersweet transition that’s like a brand.”
When she closed her eyes and ran her palm down her torso on the last stanza, he was determined to warn her for the last time before transporting her out of his lair. But somehow what was supposed to be a harsh tone sounded half-hearted, even to him. “I’m serious, D.”
“So am I,” she murmured. “I want to go to Australia and do this thing. I think this new song will blow them away.”
He knew it would, but that was not the point. “You’re not doing that number on stage in front of my boys. No.”
“Good, isn’t it?”
Her eyes glittered with such mischief that he wanted to slap her. Instead he put his hands behind his back to keep from doing that, or anything else.
“Together, we’re strong enough to take ’em, you know that. And, hopefully, you can tell the old boys that one or two of them reached for your package, which they probably will, so, a man had to do what a man had to do. Or that I had to plant the blade to protect my honor, since I’m so crazy about you. Meanwhile, we’ll tell them that in the mêlée, the seal’s whereabouts were never found, and the key got snatched by human forces and delivered to hallowed ground before either of us could get to it. That will make them have to go back to relying on me to be their only vessel in seven years, and we just bought ourselves some more time, brother. I don’t see how this can fail.”
She smiled when he didn’t answer. “It would be the truth, Carlos, they just wouldn’t understand the intent. But it’s a lovely setup, don’t you think?”
Still he didn’t answer her, just stared at her. The treachery of her mind was messing with him, big time. It was so damned sexy, utterly defiant, and thoroughly brilliant . . .
“What you see was always in me,” she murmured, going into her song again, and coming toward him slowly with a smile. “Couldn’t hold back—no woman would. Wasn’t that much of a stretch . . . just gotta work around the changes . . . like a bittersweet transition . . . from time to time.”
He didn’t move, nearly forgot he was holding his glass, but lifted his chin up, refusing to drop fang in front of her. What had he gotten himself into?
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I”M GOING to bed,” Marlene announced as the teams entered the compound. “Tomorrow, with fresh minds and renewed spirits, we’ll move out.” She motioned to Father Patrick’s crew. “There are spare rooms down the hall, food in the fridge. Gentlemen, make yourselves at home.”
She was too weary to stand on ceremony, and the thoughts rattling around in her skull made her need to lie down. No matter how many times she had witnessed the miraculous, so-called coincidences of the universe, it still always amazed her how tightly woven the threads were within the grand design. So odd, but not, that they’d been offered a brief one-night-only concert gig in Sydney, only to find out that that was where they were destined to go. It had happened so many times that she would have thought she’d be used to that by now—then again, how did anyone get used to any of it?
Marlene didn’t even look back to wait for a response, but headed to her private sanctuary. When Shabazz appeared in the bedroom doorway, she almost ordered him to get away from her. She didn’t have an ounce of strength to argue with him, but his eyes held such worry and hurt that she conceded, sitting down heavily on the bed.
He closed the door behind him softly, and walked in a bit to lean against her dresser. “Marlene,” he said, his voice so quiet that it made her look up. “The team is changing, too, not just our baby girl.”
“I know,” she murmured.
“This thing with Carlos and Damali has shifted the whole dynamic . . . and that’s dangerous.”
She nodded. “It will either make us stronger, or split us apart.”
Shabazz rubbed his palm across his jaw, and studied the steel grates at Marlene’s window. He looked so tired, battle-weary, like he wanted to just lay down and weep but was too proud to ever allow that to happen.
“She’s like a daughter to me, Mar, too,” he said in a ragged voice. “And, what she let homeboy do to her . . . and the shit with Jose—he ain’t never gonna be right.”
With her last ounce of strength, Marlene stood and went to her embattled partner. Tears glittered in his eyes, and she touched the side of his dark, walnut-hued face, admiring the handsome, regal quality of it. This was some man-shit, she knew. The inability to accept that a female from his inner circl
e had made a choice to take a lover against the clan, had done what was natural, what was a part of the cycle of life. “She’s gonna be all right, honey. And that girl never stopped loving us.”
“But, what if he bites her again, Mar?”
His eyes held a fervent need for her to understand. She did. So, she allowed her voice to soothe, become a balm, as she drew from every source of wisdom she had.
“Mike got nicked in New Orleans, and after a hard purge, he came back. Right?”
Shabazz looked away, but didn’t shrug out of her hold against his cheek. “That was different.”
“Why?” Marlene waited and offered him a tender smile. “Our brother got caught up, and staggered back to the hotel, collapsed in Rider’s arms, and went into a convulsion. Rider had to take him to a local root worker just to ensure he’d live till he got him home to me.”
Shabazz chuckled, despite his determination to stay morose.
“You know, every member of this team has had their turn at delivering drama,” she said, her voice containing rich amusement. “Rider would go off on a Jack Daniel’s binge and be AWOL for days, only to be found in a titty bar when Jose went on a search and rescue. Dan had us scramble battle stations to bring him in from a six-vamp attack. J.L. almost got whacked by some guys in the casinos for card-counting that time, and Jose took us through major yang behind Dee Dee.”