by L. A. Banks
And in Brazil the power possibilities would be extreme. Clubs with hot bodies, filled with adrenaline, drug-saturated blood, sexual arousal, all the good stuff, times thousands screaming his baby's name if she did a concert there.
Real predators, like you don't see in North America, would be luring him to the jungle to hunt in the dense heat. The night calls alone would seduce him to turn into something very scary that she might not like, but that he'd love, until he dropped her limp and sweaty body and got up off her.
Carlos closed his eyes. If he had to battle whatever was over there, he'd have to feed an army—and they weren't going to do deer. Neither was he. Right there, his number would be up. Besting some local second-level was one thing, but if there was a serious international threat out there, he'd have to feed the way a vampire was supposed to feed.
And the worst part was, Damali would see that part of him that he'd managed to keep from her. His heart squeezed in terror when he thought of the horror that would fill her eyes. She would be disgusted that she had allowed one of the monsters to touch her, lie with her, love her. He had been caught up in her arms and no matter what happened, he would cherish that time with her.
Carlos turned into vapor and began drifting back to the safe house. He and Father Patrick needed to talk. He might have to say good-bye to that old man tonight.
"Well, what a surprise to have you home so early, Carlos," Father Patrick said in a cheery tone. "Want to join us in some poker?"
Carlos shook his head. "No. I need a supply, and then I'm going back out."
The monks looked at him.
"I'm going to Brazil and I need to go subterranean to raise an army, so don't even start."
Father Patrick abandoned his cards and stood, coming to Carlos's side. "Son, it's too dangerous for you to go underground again. You made your deal. Why do you have to go back? And… an army?"
"Need to investigate a few things. Need a squad."
"Can't it wait? If you go with other vampires and not our teams…"
Carlos shook his head no.
"At least let me contact Damali's team for some stronger donations? We don't have to tell her why."
"No, forget it. It really doesn't matter anyway. Besides, I don't need to get used to the taste of her team's blood. One shot of that was bad enough—got me looking sideways at Big Mike and Shabazz, as it is."
"Hold it. A word. Me and you. In your lair, before you go?"
"Aw'ight." Carlos brushed past the cleric and headed downstairs.
He was sitting on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor, when the cleric entered the room.
"I lived like this when I was a kid," Carlos said in a quiet voice. "Raggedy, old, narrow bed, in a fucked-up, tiny room. I swore to God that as soon as I got old enough, I'd never go out like that again." He looked up at Father Patrick and held his gaze. "I don't expect you to understand because you took a vow of poverty, but I didn't."
The priest nodded. "I think I understand better than you know."
Carlos was on his feet in seconds. "No! You don't!" He snapped his fingers and instantly converted the room. " This is what a master vampire's lair looks like."
Father Patrick put his hands behind his back and slowly walked around the converted room. "Impressive. I like the four-poster bed… candles add a nice touch… Did she like it?"
"Yeah," Carlos said with a scowl, waving away the illusion. He sat on the cot, in frustration.
The cleric shrugged. "So?"
"So… so… I need to be able to do more. I need more juice in the human world."
The priest just looked at him for a moment. "We get our juice, as you call it, from On High. I have the gift of second sight, but I don't have any magical powers to confer, if that's—"
"I know that. I wasn't talking about that. Forget it. Stupid for even bringing it up. I wasn't talking about fucking decor!"
Finding a wooden chair in the corner, Father Patrick brought it to the foot of the bed and sat down in front of Carlos.
"Son, talk to me. What's on your mind?"
Carlos took in a deep inhale and shook his head. "I'm dead."
The priest nodded.
Tears welled in Carlos's eyes and he blinked them back in anger.
"I ain't got no future."
The priest said nothing.
"Ruined everything… can't marry her, buy her a house, give her a kid, you know? Can't protect her in Brazil like I'll probably need to if she gets a wild vision to go—not without putting innocent people at risk… People who got what I want. Life. No matter how rich, no matter how poor, they ain't dead. They got kids, and people to care about them if they die, you feel me?" Carlos looked at the wall, rather than at the priest. "I needed to explain some hard shit to her tonight, man. But I couldn't. I haven't told her, yet, what would happen to me if I don't eat right after a battle. And if she saw it, it would break her heart."
He rubbed his jaw. "That's some gruesome shit to tell your woman. I can't look in her face and explain that if I don't take a body, mine will decompose back to the date of my real death."
Carlos sucked in a hard breath, actually absorbing the information himself for the first time. "I can't tell her how every wound I ever sustained in every battle I've fought will manifest, because I'm undead." The wall became blurry. "Man, how do you explain shit like that to your woman, when you've had her in your arms, and she's allowed you the privilege to be in her body?"
His gaze sought the floor, then went to the ceiling as he struggled against the damnable, building tears. "I don't want her to ever look up at me one night, and flip, because she finally gets the fact that she's been sleeping with something that's truthfully supposed to be in Hell. Every time I drop fangs in her presence, I keep waiting for her to scream. I beat the odds, hombre. But I am what I am. I hate lying to her, keeping her in the dark, but if I go to Brazil… I'ma hafto eat to protect her—which will end your and my deal."
Carlos looked at the priest, then away to the wall and swallowed hard, knowing Father Pat didn't have an answer for this. "I know it's fucked up what I'm saying, but you and I are rational men. So, understand that you and I are cool, and it ain't personal… You've been good to me, man. But if it's her or you, you know what I've gotta do. Protect her at all costs, even if it makes her never look at me the same way again… even if I have to take a throne. But I will survive to come for her in seven years—whether she wants me to, or not. That's instinct."
Carlos felt a warm hand touch his arm, but didn't shrug it away like he usually did. His chest got tight and his vision blurred again. But he wasn't no punk, wasn't gonna start cryin' like a pussy. Not about some real shit that he had to suck up and take like a man. Fuck it.
He heard Father Patrick swallow and it made him take another shaky breath. Hell no, he refused to have some bullshit take him there.
"It's all right, Carlos. It's just me and you."
"Oh, yeah, right. I forgot. Even carrying a blade, you're still a priest." Carlos forced himself to laugh and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But what are you doing sitting in here with me, alone, so close?"
"Talk to me," Father Patrick said, his hand now on Carlos's shoulder. "Get it all out before you go underground and try to cut another deal."
"You know what? I've just decided I'm not going to Brazil," Carlos countered all of a sudden, feeling defiant. He refused to look at Father Patrick. "When she finds out that bodies have been dropping over there I'll try to convince her not to go—but you and I both know Damali. So, I'm just gonna go get some info from the streets, give it to her when she finds out, and then I'm out. I'm done. She's almost got all her sight back; she should be fine. If I go with her, I might have to do some things she won't be able to deal with. And, I don't need this bullshit. I don't need a relationship. Don't need to be arguing with no woman—it's bad enough I have to constantly argue with y'all." He folded his arms over his chest. "That's the whole point. I haven't decided what I'ma do, and every
body is trying to rush me to play my hand. I need you all to back off!"
Father Patrick's hand remained on Carlos's shoulder. "Before you do anything permanent, and we both now know how important choices are, I want you to think about how she really makes you feel, way down deep in your soul. We agreed to let you be the one to break the news about Brazil to her—or to clean it up before she had to think about going… but remember that it is her job to keep innocents from harm. You can't protect her from her destiny, no more than she could protect you from yours. So, study your heart long and hard, young man, before—"
"I don't have one, remember? Least not one that beats. It ain't nothing real between us," Carlos argued, now shrugging off the priest's hold, and then standing. "I know you wanted me to block the shot, but, hey… It's just a physical thing. It'll pass. Wasn't supposed to get all involved, so I need to let it rest. Ain't worth trippin' about, and definitely ain't worth—"
"You can lie to me, you have already lied to her, but don't trip, as you say, on yourself." The old man stared at him hard. "You'd give your life for that woman, already have a couple of times." Father Patrick stood slowly and moved toward the door. "This period of atonement is very hard—we never said it would be easy. But there's nothing wrong with wanting better in life or death, Carlos. It's all in how you go about it. You need to tell her about the bodies in Brazil, before she finds out some other way, and wheels get set in motion."
For a long time, Father Patrick just stood there by the lair exit, as though waiting for something while Carlos stared at the blank wall. How did one explain, especially to a priest, how the tender touch of a woman could transform life itself? How could he describe the sight of sunset in her hair, her scent, or how her laughter ran through his system like a clean, hard rain? When she looked at him in the darkness and traced his face with one finger, she made him feel like he still had a soul.
So how did a man who once had everything, come to a woman, busted, destroyed, and dare love her in return? He had everything she didn't care about… money, cars, villas, you name it, but he was destitute when it came to providing everything that ever mattered to her. So how did one tell an old priest that, and make him understand? How did you come to terms with the bitter reality that by chasing everything she never cared about, you'd fucked around and lost everything she'd willingly give her life for? There was no way to explain how helpless and powerless that felt. Especially when your woman deserved so much, had lost so much, had done for so many and all you wanted to do was give her the world in return… And her way, time would rob him, and he would most likely die on the spot at the end of seven years of hard time.
Carlos chanced looking at Father Patrick, and was met by a gaze of compassion that held him hostage. This priest was a decent man. But he couldn't understand pain like this, or the rational decisions that needed to be made.
"Every time I hold her, and she rests her head against my chest…" The confession got trapped in his throat. Carlos breathed hard and slow. "I pray each time that just once she'll hear my heart beat for her. But I don't even have that to give her. Like I said, hombre, I'm just trippin."
"Stay in tonight," Father Patrick said quietly. "And, in a few nights go with Asula, Lin, and Manuel to Brazil. Don't raise an army from Hell that will sway your path. Take ours. We'll be your backup. I'll prepare your transport and supplies. I'll man the safe house until the four of you get back. We'll ship blood over there for you, Carlos. Like you told me, you and I are rational men… You want her more than anything else in the world. Take a few nights to think about that, and don't allow the dark side to rush your decision. Make them wait, just like you're making us wait for your decision. That's a fair compromise. In the meantime, I'll keep the faith for both of us."
"I can't promise—"
"I may be an old man, but I'm also a seer." Father Patrick's eyes held compassion, but not pity, as he stared at Carlos. "The beat of your heart is in your caring for her. She can feel that because it's real."
"It ain't the same."
"No, it's not."
"Then why try? If I mess up over there—"
"Have faith. I think you're ready."
Carlos paused, clearly struggling. Father Pat waited.
"If she calls, I don't… I won't speak to her until I'm ready."
"Then don't. Go to Brazil when you can handle it."
After a while Carlos sat down slowly and just nodded.
Hot water from the shower mixed with soap and made her shudder. What had she been thinking? She'd come in, hit the hallway, and hadn't even said hello to anyone in the compound—just went right for the shower. Her short dagger went in the shower with her; it needed to be hosed down, too. Madness, craziness, she had to get this man out of her system and get back on the job.
Annoyed at herself, Damali snatched a towel, paced across the room, and tossed the dagger on the bed. If she ever allowed herself to do anything so foolish again, she'd slit her own wrists with it.
Tugging on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, she searched for her Tims and laced them up hard, then looked at the cell phone on her dresser. For ten days she'd been in a trance. For ten hot nights she'd been out of her mind. She'd been caught up so hard in a love jones that she'd been disconnected from the world… hadn't even watched the news—and her team had let her. Shit.
She went to the dresser and found a leather thong to tie her wet hair back, and searched for her favorite silver earrings, then sighed. Oh, yeah, she'd flung them across a priest's floor in a moment of passion that first night.
Total shame filled her. She'd been lax, to say the least, and it was more than obvious what she'd been doing every night. Group housing sucked. She reached for her cell phone and turned it on and let out an annoyed breath. Well, the fellas had their nights like this, too… so…
But the digital display on her telephone stopped her rambling thoughts. Inez had blown up her phone over several days, and her repeated calls had gone unanswered. Damali cringed. Inez never called her like that, unless it was a 911.
Immediately she hit speed dial and waited, her heart racing. The moment Inez's voice came over the receiver, she didn't even say hello before launching into her discussion.
"Girl, I was all tied up," Damali said. "What's wrong? You okay?"
"Damali," Inez said, her voice sounding tense, "have you seen the news?"
"No. What's happened?"
"Put on CNN. I'm scared."
Damali paced to the large unit across the room, too jangled to even bother looking for the remote to turn it on. "A war, girl?"
Inez didn't say anything for a moment. "No, maybe I'm crazy… superstitious, but… I shouldn't have called for something like this. You're busy, and this is stupid."
Damali watched the crawl on the bottom of the screen. Nothing odd was coming up, just general world chaos. "Talk to me, girl." She closed her eyes and focused on Inez. It had been almost two months since she could bring a person into her focus and actually see them inside her head. She hadn't even dreamt about anyone else but Carlos. When her sight came back, she couldn't even lock with Marlene in the same house, let alone someone miles away… all she'd been able to see was Carlos. Under any other circumstance, she'd always been able to pick up a vibe. Guilt stabbed her. She'd been off the job and insanely love-blinded.
The hair stood up on her arms as she quieted her inner being, then she saw Inez clear as day and locked with her. She watched in her head, like a slow-motion reel, as Inez suddenly shot out of her chair and turned the volume up on the television.
"You hear this?" she shrieked, watching the TV. "That happened right outside the town where my mom worked! Oh, my God, D… what could have eaten those people like that? We still have family over there!"
Damali opened her eyes, keeping Inez in her mental sight and the television in her normal sight, watching in horror as the media descended upon a sleepy little town, far, far away, circling the bewildered inhabitants like sharks, sucking the lifeblood
out of their pain, and presenting it to faceless spectators who could watch from the comfort of their safe homes. This… she had been blind to this.
She stared in horror, barely hearing the reporter on the television or Inez on the phone. Reality slammed into her like a sledgehammer. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't put her head in the sand, couldn't lose herself in a lover's arms, couldn't pretend she wasn't who she was. She was the Neteru.
She thought of Inez's precious little girl, asleep down the hall from her frantic mother. No more.
She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was clear to her now. Carlos had lied, had blocked this from her. Her guardian squad knew—but hadn't trusted her to be ready to fight. The truth stabbed her. They had been right.
"Inez," she said slowly, "I'm going to send you a large check. I want you to put whatever family you have over there on a plane and bring them stateside for a few weeks—on me. Don't argue. I've got their food and hotel; just bring them here. When I get back from tour, I'll come see you. It's gonna be all right."
Fuck all this. It was time to go to Brazil.
* * *
In the dark, where you do what you do what you do to me, baby . . .
in the dark… blood running through my deep rivers, baby
—"In the Dark," Damali Richards
* * *
Chapter Twelve
The sun was so bright, Damali squinted as she tried to peer out the plane's window. She gave up and lowered the shade. She blinked and finally closed her eyes, the sun's golden glow permanently affixed to the insides of her eyelids. Carlos hadn't answered her calls. After the incident in the woods, had he just walked? Even when she'd left word with Father Patrick that it was urgent, and had told him that she was heading to Rio on tour, Carlos had actually gone AWOL knowing she was going to Brazil—when they both knew that something serious was lurking there?