by L. A. Banks
"Are you mad?" Carlos asked evenly. "They are master vampires. They all have secrets, lies, fraud, and deception. It runs all through them, it's like a cesspool in their systems. There's no way to cleanly sense that and sort out thousands of years of lies without getting that bullshit twisted. Get real." Indignant, Carlos stared off toward the wall.
"We didn't know you were trying to sense for the Living Blood! I cannot believe your whole strategy hinged on that aspect! This was the problem with not being able to caucus with Damali, properly, as a team, before you all went off on your own!" Father Patrick shook his head and let it drop to his hands in defeat. "Oh, God… had we known… Yes, you can sense Berkfield, but you can never smell the Blood of the Lamb—"
"Father, the ability to track a blood scent is—"
"—Beyond your capacity, even if you were Lucifer himself!" Father Patrick's panicked gaze shot around the room.
Damali covered her mouth with her hand as Marlene closed her eyes. Her gaze darted around to the stricken expressions of her teammates.
"But the council never told me that," Carlos whispered, caught up in his own new awareness. "I never gained that knowledge, even after taking a throne…"
All eyes were on Father Patrick as he spoke. "You wouldn't, because that information doesn't reside down there." The elderly cleric began pacing again. "Just like your realm has certain powers and hidden information—rules of engagement—so does mine. Welcome to my world, Carlos Rivera!" Father Patrick slapped his chest hard and his voice trembled with rage. "This is what I do—what we do, as the Covenant. We know things that the darkness cannot even conceive! That is our strategic advantage… so for all your powers, you'd better know that some things you simply cannot fathom, young man."
Father Patrick walked a hot path away from Carlos, spun on him, and leveled his finger toward him. "Vampires, nor any other form of demon, can ever pick up the scent of the key. The only thing you can sense is the vampire who might have been involved in the heist. That's it. But to sense the Living Blood, as though it were mere human, or food for your craven bellies—never." He let out an angry, weary sigh. "So that was your plan, to smell the key on one of your own and track it to where it might be? Have you any idea…" The cleric shook his head and closed his eyes. "Your kind cannot even handle the substance, let alone ingest it. That's why they need a human, someone with a soul, to courier it!"
Carlos nodded, but was thoroughly blown away. "I had to take her inside deep," he said, his voice firm, regaining its former authoritative tone. "All right. Our plan had a flaw. But Damali is still human and could get to the key, even if I can't smell it. She had to take a walk on the dark side to go up against four masters, and I saw her do it. She's all-pro, and ready to take the heat. I've got your back, always did. I stand with you against the world—stand with her against the universe. I have to. That's my job as her man. The game ain't over, yet. Where's your faith?"
Slowly, perspectives opened. The fury in gazes subsided. Hurt began to give way to listening in earnest. He took his time. This was a negotiation far more delicate than facing the council. Family peace was always more fragile, and at the moment, more important to him than world peace. This was home—his woman's people… now therefore his people, joined by something smaller than his fingernail, but more powerful than anything he'd ever seen, his baby.
He waited, gathering elements of what could be said, what couldn't, separating them out, a lie of omission, but no fraud. They deserved better than that. Damali deserved better than that. He watched them all find seats on the sofa, available chairs, the end of a table, and on bar stools in the living room section of the suite, spreading out in the room, weary, but suddenly not defeated. That was critical. They had to go in strong, or die, and he didn't want to lose a single soul on his watch. Tonight, that was his intent, and he planned to honor it. That was the plan.
Rider glanced at Damali's hand, then up at Carlos. "So, what did you kids do, run off to Vegas, or something?"
"She's my wife," Carlos said, his voice tense as he walked in closer, not caring if they smoked him. "That part of what we did in the castle was no bullshit."
"Shit," Marlene's voice was a quiet rush, as her glance went from Damali to Carlos, then quickly scanned the group. "How far did you turn her, Carlos?"
He could hear heartbeats thump inside chests that couldn't draw air. "I didn't turn her, she turned me."
Eyes searched, blood drained from faces, but no one spoke.
"Get her something to eat," he said. "She's human. Made me find my own humanity." He looked at Damali. "And I can't allow anything to happen to her now." He sent his gaze back to Marlene. "So, everything that I've learned, I'm going to do a knowledge transfer and teach you within one hour." He scanned the group, holding them bound by the truth. "I am what I am, a council-level master vampire—your worst nightmare and best ally." He turned his hands up. "And she can have everything in my hands, thousands of years of vampiric knowledge from all five continents… fair exchange is no robbery when this woman has given me the world."
Damali's gaze upon him was so tender that he had to look away. He held Shabazz's instead, talking to the only father she had ever known. "Test me, man. Use your Guardian sensory skills and see if I'm bullshitting you."
He waited as Shabazz walked up to him, no fear, eyes hard, a hand placed strong on his shoulder, drawing it away with a begrudging nod that relaxed the group.
"Talk to us," Shabazz said, walking away to find a bar stool.
"She gave you the whole world," Big Mike said, still unbelieving. "Talk to me," he said, pointing at his own chest.
"She ran a game so lovely on four master vampires blitzed on pure Neteru that they ceded their four continental territories in a blood match—winner take all. I won."
Father Patrick blinked as he strode closer to Damali, his line of vision going between her, Carlos, and the Covenant brethren. "You bet your body in a fortress full of master vampires… winner take all? To what end?"
"It was the only way for it to go down, Father," Damali said quietly, but her head was held high and her gaze at Carlos filled with pride. "He protected me until there was a feeding frenzy, then he pulled me out as his wife. They couldn't rush him because he'd amassed too much power in the pacts we'd stamped under crest. They thought I knew where the seal was that will match the key, buying us time to learn where it is."
The priest backed away. Rider was on his feet. The rest of the team members slowly stood.
"Oh heavenly shit," Rider whispered, standing stock-still. "She was in the middle of a feeding frenzy near four battle-amped masters, and they couldn't rush you?" He looked at Damali. "And you're sure you only want nachos?"
"The crest pact," Father Patrick wheezed. "Tell me you didn't ransom your soul, child!"
"I told you," Damali said, going to stand by Carlos. "He kept me safe. He even rolled over prayer lines to win the master's hunt so they couldn't have me. I couldn't put my soul on the line—as far as they knew, I didn't have one. It was one night for a nation."
"It was a fair trade," Carlos murmured, looking at her with a long gaze, then he pulled it away.
"You are not making me feel better, D. Because, if that bastard rolled over ancient prayer lines in a blood battle, his ass is strong as shit," Rider said, pointing at the couple, but looking at the group. He quickly returned his line of vision to Carlos and Damali. "If he can do that, what else can he do? I mean, this is good, but I have a feeling it's also very bad. Seven years from now, people, we have a crisis."
Carlos chose his words very carefully. Rider wasn't wrong; he wasn't offended by the statement. Truth was truth. Problem was, Rider was just a few years off.
"Worry about seven years in seven years. Right now, Rider, I have enough power to make her walk on water," Carlos said, closing his eyes, and for the first time really becoming aware of the true power at his disposal. All the drama, the emotional upheaval, and their night together had literally pushed th
at reality into the background of his thoughts. "I am the air. I am the night. I am the elements of the planet. I am dark energy that can move matter and steal dreams. I can send my whisper on the wind. I'll find out which one of them has the key. New strategy."
He walked into the center of the room and opened the ceiling for them, swirling a dark cloud above them. "I can enter minds and bend them until they snap. I can assume any shape, and you would never know. I can walk through walls, and hurl my energy over distances at a rate of speed you can't even fathom. Silver will leave a nasty scar, but won't incinerate me. Hallowed earth will slow me down and sting, but won't kill me. Holy water will leave a third-degree burn, but I'll heal. You're right. I am as strong as shit, and not the one to fuck with. If one of them knows where the key is, I will snap his punk mind like a twig—now that I just got stronger, due to Damali's sweet game."
He opened his eyes and stared at the group. "I know everything that has happened in every language on the four continents she gave me, plus the one I had at throne level… back to the time before kings—and the only thing that I'm vulnerable to now is daylight, and a stake, well placed, in my heart. But the chances of someone smoking me in my lair with daylight are slim… and I don't think the hand holding the stake would ever make it to the center of my chest. Maybe I could be beheaded, if I didn't see the swing coming in my three hundred and sixty-degree peripheral vision."
He smiled and sealed the ceiling, waiting for them to breathe. "When I tell you that I've got your back, say a prayer and be glad that I'm the one on your side. I won't let anything happen to her on my watch."
After a moment Rider walked past him, sat down on the sofa, and blew out a long whistle. "Why didn't you say so, dude? Shitùwelcome to the family."
One by one, each Guardian took a seat. Marlene sank onto a bar stool.
"Seven years from now, we're gonna have to move to Alaska for six months a year when there's perpetual sun." Marlene dropped her face into her hands, leaned over, and breathed in and out slowly.
"No we ain't, Mar," Big Mike grumbled and then motioned to the clerics. "Got us some old dirt from some real old hallowed ground right here in Australia—feel me?" He glared at Carlos. "Yeah, we went to see some people who know some people to get strapped for the concert, too. But if you think your little floor show impressed somebody, brother—"
"We're running out of time, folks," Damali said, her palm resting on Carlos's folded arms. "Tell them the plan, baby," she murmured, her eyes filled with new panic when she glanced at the clock. Tell me you have one. Damali hesitated, thinking fast on her feet.
"Number one, we have to locate the key." She glanced at Carlos. "He found the seal but—"
"What?" Father Patrick whispered, horrified.
"But the keepers of the seal are some seriously old Aborigines, ancestral spirit walkers who saved our lives," Carlos said as he glanced at his shoes, the humiliation still fresh. "None of the other masters are strong enough right now to break their circle."
"And what about you, motherfu—"
"They saved Damali's life, 'Bazz. Give me a little credit. I'm in a don't-ask, don't-tell frame of mind about that. The old men are safe. They've got twenty-thousand-year-old prayer lines hottin' their compound. So let's get back to what Damali was talking about, namely, finding the key."
"We've gotta cause chaos right after the concert, create some mega after-party VIP function to get them all together again so we can each be posted by one of them for a strategic takedown, once Carlos gets a location lock on the key. The plan is to get them all jockeying for position to acquire what they believe is the former Neteru and seal, and going after each other's throats," Damali said as calmly as possible. "Right now, the African master ceded the most, and wants me the worst, to regain his power and then some, so he's an easy target. His power center is in turmoil and he's been weakened by the land grab. The Aussie is also very vulnerable, because he thinks I'm coming to his room after the show with my blade as a role-play prop to do him, not do him—follow? That's an easy hit."
Rider slapped his forehead but withheld comment.
Damali glanced at Rider and returned her gaze to Marlene. "I told you I went in deep undercover, and right about now, that's working to our advantage. They saw Carlos practically drag me out of the castle by my hair and—"
"We get the picture," Shabazz muttered. "Get back to the key."
"If all four masters are here, then the key has to be nearbyùbecause I can't imagine them leaving lower-level vamps to guard it, or entrusting human helpers alone, especially if they're pretty sure council is hunting for it, too. However, we know that Carlos is council's representative, and it's unlikely that one of the old boys will risk surfacing with four aggressive masters all in one location. But even with that going on, the Neteru scent and the thrill of acquiring me along with the seal is making the topside masters greedy, take risks, and get sloppy."
"Which creates the opportunity for chaos and a variable like us to crop up in the mix," Carlos stated, nodding in Damali's direction with pride. "I watched the African master almost blow his lands in the master's hunt trying to save Damali. The damned Transylvanian went down on his knees in the parlor and begged her to slit his throat while she had the Isis on her, he's hurting for her so bad. Gentlemen, I don't think you understand what she does to my species."
Big Mike shook his head. "Shoulda cut that bastard's throat right then, girl. But I suppose you had to play it out."
"The timing wasn't right," Damali said, her tone gentle as she stared at Big Mike. "Their wives ain't no joke, either. We have to take out masters plus very old and very strong second-gen females. Understand? And if I'd iced the Transylvanian then…"
"We believe you, D, and follow," Jose said, unnecessarily coming to her defense.
"If they think they can snatch her after the concert, and assassinate Carlos to get all of the empire he's amassed, plus Damali and possibly the location of the seal," Shabazz said, rubbing his jaw, "then this key has to be near wherever they plan to convene for the blowout after party. I'm sure they didn't bank on Carlos coming away with world power. We need to use that variable to our advantage."
"Right," Damali said, her gaze going to each member of the team one by one.
"The clerical team should insure the safety of the key, once we locate it," Father Patrick said, "because the highest priority will be getting it safely to hallowed ground during the battle. Carlos, you're going to have to use your new, increased power to quickly locate it. If it falls into the wrong hands…"
"It won't," Carlos said, his eyes holding a promise as he and Father Pat stared at each other. "I have every reason in the world, now, to make sure that doesn't happen. Can't be no Armageddon… no time soon, anyway." He stalked away from the group and leaned against the wall, aware that all eyes were boring into his back. "My boys have been searching for Berkfield, and I've been trying to sense for him, to no avail. The only thing that could block my sight is if he's on hallowed ground—but that wouldn't block the Guardian seers—or if he were stashed in a strong master's lair coffin, covered by his original earth."
For a moment Damali held her breath. "So, uh, I have to get them all amped at the concert to mess with their concentration while Carlos works them with hollow promises, to share the seal, pitting them against each other, and then we do the after party, each of us assigned to a particular master and his wife—based upon our skills and their potential strength. The moment Carlos transmits that he's located the key, we ice 'em."
"Yeah, I hear you," Shabazz said, worry clear in his tone. "But we can't bank on you fluxing hot with Neteru to disorient them. Like you said, these boyz are old and shrewd, and if the key is nearby, we need a sure bet that they'll get distracted by your offer and Carlos's. No offense, baby, but even at your concert best, if you ain't trailing ripe Neteru, they'll be sharp and on guard."
"Aw'ight, listen up," Carlos said, going to sit on the sofa next to Rider and to use the coffee
table as a drawing board. "D told me to leverage the darkness for good, and what I'm about to do is low treason—I can still be smoked at the council level, all theater aside. The shit I'ma tell you, humans probably were never told or shown about my kind." For a moment, he stopped, then shook off the gnawing inner conflict. Then talking as he gestured with his hands, he cast the illusion of a small replica of Sydney.
"Here's the city grid of portals, temporary lairs," Carlos said drawing with his finger, "and prayer lines. The clerics can spread a handful of hallowed earth at each location while the show is going on, to keep the vamps from having a way to go subterranean in retreat, or for any of their troops amassing and coming up here to join the party. Damali already said we have to wipe out the masters and top lieutenants to weaken each nation in one night. Near dawn, after partying, they won't have enough energy to project all the way back to Queensland where the castle is, if one gets away. And Hell won't send a courier that close to dawn, if we time this right—unless there's a legitimate dispute, which there won't be."
"That's some deep shit," Big Mike finally said, stooping to gaze at the hologram image. "All right, I'm listening."
"Thanks, man," Carlos said, meaning it. What he'd just done on the table was pretty cool, and he liked that Mike was impressed. Plus, for what they had to do, he needed the team's strong man on their side. "If what I'm about to show you doesn't disorient them, they'll know where it came from, and I'll be toast, which leaves your asses vulnerable."
Puzzled glances passed around the group.
"If I won all their territory in a blood match, so be it. That's just a land transfer, not unauthorized extinctions. No problem. If four female seconds bite the dust, so what, according to realm's point of view. But if I personally dust four masters without delivering the seal or the key to council, it will look like assassinations, an unauthorized coup, and the council will send up an inquiry."