The Hunger - Vampire Huntress Legend 3

by L. A. Banks

  "You gotta get to her fast and hard, den," Kamal said quietly. "Before the were-demon senates form an alliance with the weakened Amanthra empire—"

  "What?" Rider was walking between Shabazz and Big Mike, shaking his head. "They have senates, plural, like the vampires have a council—"

  "Don't be foolish," Kamal said with disdain, looking at Rider hard as his gaze scanned the group. "Every sector of the were-realm has a senate segregated by fila. Each of the Hell levels has some form of organized, governing body. There are legions of evil down below, brother, just like we got up here. Dat's why there are so many types of guardian teams on the planet. We may have deeper insight because of our circumstances, but we don' deal wit dem, thou'. Like I said, we are not demons—we are humans dat had da misfortune to get nicked. And we are very clear on what side of the line we're on." Satisfied when his entire were-human squad nodded, Kamal let his breath out hard and raked his fingers through his locks. "We got your back."

  "Oh, I feel better," Rider said with a sneer of disgust.

  Marlene walked away from Damali's side. "All respect for what that the female were-demon lost and endured, since she was once one of us—a Neteru guardian—but, yeah, you show her what you lost, first. You show her your history, too, honey. You've got one; believe me. Your past life was here, your DNA is tied to this region, and your people went through hell on earth, too. So, when you confront her in battle, you ask that twisted bitch if she's gonna pass out green cards for all the oppressed people of the world to keep them from becoming something her ancestors fought against! Ask her how she's gonna keep the same oppressed people, who've already had horrible things happen to them, from having to endure more—and ask her how she's going to keep the human power structures from nuking the joint, leaving a smoking, black hole topside," Marlene yelled. "And you ask her how she's going to justify going against you, a Neteru, a light-chosen warrior. If she has a sliver of a conscience left, even if only through ingesting the strength of character resident in a Neteru's cellular makeup, it might give her pause, might make her hesitate for a split second, and that's when you take her."

  "Yeah, you think once the human superpowers find out, they won't detonate something, trying to stop a vamp-demon army that's come topside—not having a spiritual reference for how to deal with something like this? And you think they'll listen to us?" JL shook his head. "Can you see world leaders, or the United Nations convening a summit on this? They'll act like aliens had infested the planet, will shoot everything with all they've got, not realizing the firepower ain't what they need to fight this madness, and that this is a spiritual war."

  "This crazy shit will kick off the Armageddon just from the fallout," Dan added with a shudder. "Maybe that's what this is? The prelude to the Armageddon?"

  "Crazy motherfuckers with their fingers on the red button will probably go with the alien theory first—won't ask a church, temple, or mosque, and definitely ain't gonna come to no people down the way to get the answer. We're oppressed and ignorant, remember," Jose said, walking toward the porch.

  "By the time they do, the war will be over," Rider snapped. "Just like that. All right. I'm down. This is big shit that transcends the drama, kiddo. We've gotta sync up with Kamal's team. We're talking potential world peace hanging in the balance. How many innocents do you think will die from a nuclear, human-sent blast?"

  Marlene held Damali in a firm stare, sending confidence with it, trying to heal with a look. "You've got a long tale of woe that lasted the same four hundred years or more in the US. But you show her, also, the faces of the innocent people she murdered. Folks with children and partners, and parents, and what have you. Give her a dose of that while we're out there. She hit 'em with no warning, not like a warrior—and with no honor. Civilians. And they weren't even armed. You let her see it, taste it, breathe it, and ask her how it feels. Baby, you've gotta fight this one spiritually, psychologically, and with some serious artillery to back it up."

  A grumble of agreement rippled through the room, fist pounds got exchanged, and suddenly the two teams became one.

  "If she persists," Kamal said, rubbing his hands over his face, "den you twist her heart wit de last image you have, draw her out. Make her crazy, give it up—to da bone… till she don' care 'bout ambush, takin' cover, all she wants is your head on a pike, gurl. Den, you swing de Isis. Hear me? Show her you with Rivera, and what dat really means."

  "Tell that bitch you're her daddy," Shabazz muttered. "Use what you saw, in any voice you need."

  Shabazz and Kamal shared a glance, but this time it wasn't a look of hatred between ardent competitors. Their stare contained the silent agreement to disagree, for the good of the whole, for the safety of the squads, for the protection of the Neteru, for the love of Marlene, and with much respect for the position the other had to endure. The two masters nodded, then allowed their gazes to trap Marlene's for a moment before finding a neutral point in the room.

  "She even wanted to take Madame Isis from me," Damali finally murmured. Steadier, more lucid, Damali nodded as the images receded. But the place inside her soul was raw. Stripped. Kamal looked at her, his eyes gentler now, and not blazing with conviction.

  "Took a lot for him to show you what he showed you to save your life," Kamal murmured, sitting down on the side of a bed. "Felt da love. Dat's why I knew… let dat one through—set no barrier for the vampire wit half a soul in da balance. 'Cause de man would die for you. Dis makes one more time he did… 'cause he know, like any man in his right mind know—once a woman tink 'bout another lover wit him, let alone see it, part of dat love dies between you two."

  "Baby," Marlene said gently, only looking at her, "you have immediate, recent, visceral memories of being with Carlos. It's a primary memory, not a secondary illusion of one… but stronger than even his fantasy of being with her, because you've lived it. Her images of the past don't have the texture of the present, because they were transferred to him—didn't come directly into your consciousness from experience. Just like what you show her of your history will have the depth of a textbook, or movie, because it's a fourth-generation down—my great-grandmother lived it, told my grandmother, who told my mother, who told me. What I show you, just like what Carlos showed you, is diluted. Only first-line feels it directly, the eyewitnesses. So, she won't smell the insides of the slave cargo ships, won't feel the lash. Unless she has a lot of compassion, and she doesn't, it won't move her."

  When Damali nodded, Marlene pressed on, holding her in a stare to get through, to strip away some of the pain in the only way it can be purged at a time like this—by another supportive woman-friend's voice. "His fantasies of being with her are not grounded in the other senses all the way. Close, because he imagined it, but he still doesn't know because the act wasn't consummated. But you've got a nuclear bomb of recent memory grounded in every fiber of you. Hit the red button, baby. Use it. Blow her head up so we can take it off. Use the truth. And kill her with your love." She shook her head and closed her eyes. "That's what Father Pat had said. This scenario had to be fought with compassion and love, and he, as a cleric from an order with blood on his hands here, couldn't be there to witness it or help."

  "You might feel like you're gonna die, and when you walk away from what you need to walk away from, part of you will," Rider said in an inordinately gentle tone, "but sometimes you have to opt to exist, even if it's not how you want to live. Y'all both might have to do that. Much as I hate to, I've gotta give Rivera credit for that. Welcome to being an adult. The shit sucks."

  Kamal let his breath out slowly and rubbed his jaw and sent a silent message of thanks Rider's way for veering the way-too-personal subject away from him, Marlene, and Shabazz. He waited until Damali looked at him before he spoke.

  "Granted, his fantasies were fucked up. But all I'ma say is, dis ain't happen yet, and nobody needta be judged on a fantasy, or we'd all go to Hell in a handbasket." Kamal's gaze swept the room, avoiding Marlene. "Ask any and all of your broth
ers, dey'll tell you. Don't let what could happen drive a wedge between you and him out dere. Deal wit what did happen, and if it's going to go down in a way you don' like, suck it up. That's life. You won't die of no broken heart—you will die, however, if you misjudge your opponent. Shit happens fast."

  Shabazz looked at him. "Yeah it do, man. I'm real sorry it does, too."

  The two old masters looked at each other again and nodded. Respect and silent understanding passed between them once more, sealing their pact to let their personal incident ride.

  "Heal up your slayer's head, man. Baby girl took a hit of something she didn't need to see for years—if ever. Fucked-up, man… but in dis case it was de only way. Truth was da light. Bring da light."

  "Word."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thirty-three very serious, fatigue-wearing warriors entered Belem, causing other pedestrians to cast fearful glances in the combined team's direction. Humid, thick air almost stole every breath while sweltering heat bore down on them. Waiting for Kamal to do the necessary weapons transaction with his unnamed contacts from places she was too weary to imagine, Damali absorbed the collage of tower blocks, crumbling Portuguese churches, and the dotting of Old World Mediterranean palaces in pastel hues. Cobblestones, hand-laid, brick-by-brick by slave labor met her footfalls. Every sense quickened, she was not about to miss anything that could be of importance to the group's safety.

  Sitting, waiting, watching, sipping cool glasses of cupuacu juice on rickety wooden outdoor cafe chairs, the table umbrellas mild relief from the sun, she studied the terrain. A dog ran by and thirty-two pairs of eyes behind dark sunglasses, expressions masked, looked at the animal. Children and vendors plied their wares, but made no move toward her group this time. She hunted the environment with her sweeping gaze, roving over every aspect of it, taking mental snapshots of the borderline Belem presented between elegance and shabbiness. It was a gray zone, too.

  She felt it. The Jesuits had aided in the destruction of the Indian populations here. Smallpox, dysentery, the lash for not adopting the conquering religion, cultural destruction as much as physical annihilation, people who had known freedom remanded to aldeias—reservations. Segregation. Lands snatched and plundered. Righteous anger lived here, just under the surface, crumbling the buildings as much as the weather and the insidious heat. They were getting closer to the Amazon. The question was, how to reach this agonized entity that wanted to unleash a demon army upon this land to wrest it back from modern invaders?

  Damali looked up at the sun, not needing a watch now to tell the time. It was late. The travel had been yet again delayed, as things were always delayed in parts of the world that lived by the natural rhythms. She was still uncomfortable about Kamal's decision to go all the way with the group, since it was not the original plan. She was worried not because of Shabazz; a truce had been established. The elders forecast that the number thirty-three in a situation like this was a double trinity to deal with a triangular relationship; three issues within itùlove, war, lessons. Two triangles made the hexagon balance. Three and three, the number thirty-three, half-were and half-human forces joined. Crazy. Yeah, they needed an army for this battle.

  The triumvirate of Marlene and Kamal and Shabazz were cool. The men were cool; the teams had melded. But she looked at thirty-two innocent people possibly going to their final destination with her. The responsibility was enormous. She knew how her adversary felt. Damali had to respect that much about her. She respected the place from which the rage bubbled within the Amazon's soul. But the methods the Amazon used, and was about to deploy to redress the wrong, Damali could not abide.

  "We're gwan fly into Santarem to refuel, den Manaus for de weapons," Kamal said in a low tone, returning to the table where Damali, Marlene, Shabazz, Rider, and Big Mike sat. "From dere, Jeeps take us to de boat. Once on de Amazon, look alive."

  "Your people able to take that knot we gave you and convert it into some serious gear?" Shabazz had asked the question while studying his drink.

  Kamal nodded.

  "What we looking at, brother?" Big Mike said low, leaning in.

  "Two bazookas wit crystal-packed shells. Semiautos for everybody; silver shards in de bullets. Hand grenades loaded wit crystal and silver shrapnel. Standard crossbows—but they're slow, and dese tings move fast. Ultraviolet light lanterns and floodlights, in case we get caught out dere after dark, which is not advisable. C-4 bricks coated in silver alloy. Other standards—holy water, hallowed-earth bombs, but crystal-tipped stakes. Food, bottled water, medical supplies, gasoline for the boat, regular guns for da caiman, de crocks, anaconda nets, tentsùtings like dat, too."

  The small group of generals nodded, satisfied.

  "How'd you get all this arranged so fast, dude—not that I'm complaining, but damn?" Rider smiled and pounded Kamal's fist.

  Kamal offered a lopsided smile in return, casting a sly look at Shabazz. "When you're hiding in de jungle for a couple decades, and have to ward off rebels, and whatever else come for ya, mon, ya learn to know some people who know some people."

  Shabazz chuckled, his laughter an unspoken apology for the assumptions he'd made the night before. Kamal nodded, quietly accepting the apology with grace.

  "But, if Shabazz is cool wit it… I have sometin' for Marlene." Kamal hesitated, stared at Shabazz for approval.

  "Yeah," Shabazz murmured, nodding and taking a sip from his glass. "If you got something to protect her, cool."

  Damali watched the transaction from a remote place in her mind, as Kamal went into the vest pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a magnificent hexagon-shaped quartz crystal the size of a small bread plate. It was dangling by a silver-and-gold chain, and the markings on it, except two overlapping triangles, were indecipherable. Kamal looked down at the amulet, rubbed the gleaming face of it with his thumb, and didn't take his eyes off it as he spoke.

  "Was me modder's," he admitted quietly, taking a long breath before continuing. "Shoulda gave it to you a long time ago, to keep you safe while in de States." He nodded, in deep reflection, still not looking at Marlene. "But, no matter 'bout water under de bridge. Had solid protection wit you dere, anyway. Got good people around you, gurl. Just as well." He stood, glanced at Marlene, dismissed the past, and handed the amulet to Shabazz. "You take care of her heart now." Then Kamal stepped away from the table to go sit with his own men.

  She watched Shabazz study the piece, look back at the man who had removed himself, then gaze at his prize, Marlene. Shabazz looped the amulet over Marlene's neck, stood, walked to Kamal, briefly rested a hand on his shoulder, then slipped inside the cafe. All the warriors in witness had lowered their eyes in reverence of the dignified act. Marlene's hands shook as she brought a glass of cool juice to her lips.

  Damali stood and went to Kamal's table.

  "Thank you," she said quietly, "for all your help. For everything." She appraised the three tables of young men, good men, fine men that were going off on a mission that wasn't necessarily theirs to fight.

  "But none of you have to go the full distance with this. You've given us too much already."

  A murmur of discontent rose from the tables. Kamal held up his hand.

  "Dis ting ain't personal, gurl. Dis ting is 'bout everybody's way of life," he said, bidding her to sit in a chair that one of his men had abandoned for her. "Evil to walk da planet at will? Why you tink we live where we live, study what we study, give up what we give up? To hide when da hour comes? All my life," he said, motioning toward his men, "all dey lives, we knew we were summoned to a call… just didn't know when da call would come. It is now. We all go of free will. We all are prepared to do what we gotta do. Dis ain't on your shoulders, or Marlene's. If we die fighting for a good cause, we get released from dis half-life we've lived since nicked."

  His gaze had slipped away from hers with the mention of Marlene, and she wondered how a person summoned such restraint. But she'd felt herself strengthen and her
emotions harden in just one day. After last night, she now knew that she could take one helluva hit and still keep going. Kamal smiled.

  "First time," he said with an empathetic grin, "is like a sucker punch. Tink you gonna die. But den, you don't. You surprise yourself, and you live. And just like you gotta break down da muscle, feel da burn, work through da pain to make your body stronger, you hafta remember, the heart is a muscle, too."

  She nodded, smiled sadly, sighed, and stood. Kamal held her hand, stopping her.

  "But, every warrior also knows dat it is foolish to suffer unnecessarily after you've worked a new muscle. Needs balm. Ointment. Care. Take care of everyting God gave you, including your heart, gurl. Sit down. Suffering for no reason is not courage, it's foolishness of youth. Proves no point."

  Nervous, and not sure where the conversation was going, she sat slowly, her eyes steady on Kamal.

  "You young bloods wear yourselves out, den don't do what is proper to heal and get stronger. That will only break you down, not build you up; will make you bitter. Dat's no good." He smiled, his eyes gentle, his voice tender as he traced her cheek the same way Carlos always had.

  But it wasn't sexual; it was a touch of affection and admiration. Familial. She felt it enter her, and it calmed her while also shaming her that any glimmer of distrust remained in her about this man. She had so much to learn. And as she looked at this elder, this mentor, this guide, she thought about how odd life was. The man could pass for Shabazz's older brother. Who knows? Maybe they'd really shared the same ancestors, the same blood?

  "I don't know how to heal after all this, assuming I'm still alive when it's over," she admitted.