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AWAKENING
A Vampire Huntress Legend 2
By
L. A. Banks
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Contents
PROLOGUE
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
PART II
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
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THE AWAKENING.
Copyright © 2003 by Leslie Esdaile.
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Banks, L. A.
The awakening : a vampire huntress legend / L. A. Banks.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-31683-6
. Women artists—Fiction. 2. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.A64A97 2004
813V6—dc22
2003058354
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Awakening to a new reality, perspective, or understanding is a process. For some, it happens in the blink of an eye, a millisecond of time when one's life is irrevocably changed. For others, the awakening within is gradual and complex. But fast or slow, all awakenings require change… and as humans, the one thing we most resist and tend to fear is change. Therefore, consciously awakening is perhaps one of the most courageous things an individual can do. This book is dedicated to those who have awakened and were brave enough to open their eyes—even while in the dark.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks go to my editor, Monique Patterson, and my agent, Manie Barron, who took this entire project to the next level. To my husband, Al, and Constance O'Day-Flannery, who began this mission with me as dear friends. To all my tights who stood with me through thick and thin; you know who you are! And, as always, to my family (especially my mother, my daughter, my sister, and aunties), who are always there for me with deep spiritual backup, no matter come what may.
Special thanks also go to the wonderful "master authors," Tananarive Due, Brandon Massey, and Susan Sizemore, who supported this new legend series with generous blurbs; to Robert Flemming and Donna Hill, for their always positive vibes; to Lorene Carey (a community treasure), Jeff Hart, and Bebita Metellus of Art Sanctuary, for their steadfast friendship and encouragement; to Christopher Bonelli, for his fabulous Web site development that launched our Neteru into cyberspace with flair; to Vince Natale, who captured the very essence of our vampire huntress with a visually dynamic book cover, as well as to Michael Storrings, for his awesome cover design work; and to Liza Peterson, who gave Damali Richards's voice living energy via her off da chain spoken-word rendition of Damali's poem. THANK YOU! This deeply appreciated collaboration of allied artistic support created the complete package and could not have been accomplished without a team effort by serious, visionary individuals.
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PART I
In order to cause the enemy to come of their own volition, extend some
[apparent] profit. In order to prevent the enemy from coming forth, show
them [the potential] harm.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Se wo were fi na wo sankofa yenki.
(It is not a taboo to go back and retrieve what you forgot.)
—Sankofa proverb
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PROLOGUE
Standing in the Middle of Hell…
Carlos assessed his situation fast. Payback for all that he'd done in life was a true bitch. There was no way out. He was dead. Or, more like half dead—undead—a vampire. Topside, he had a woman who he'd give his life for. Perhaps, to some extent, he already had… only to find out that the sister he was protecting was a vampire huntress. Not to mention the fact that the woman he wanted more than his next breath was surrounded by a gang of weapons-toting brothers and an off-the-hook momma who could fight. Crazy.
The old vampires had called Damali a Neteru, and then thinking him ignorant and stupid, and being themselves arrogant, had attempted to simplify the concept for him by describing her as a slayer. Carlos smiled. The tension in their faces was a dead giveaway that, for all their power, they couldn't hide. Yeah, they had reason to worry.
But didn't they realize what he'd known all his life? Now dead, there was no loss of that knowledge about what she was—special. Always had been, to him. There was no simplifying Damali. Neteru fit her. To call her anything else would be a clumsy summation of what she was.
His awareness from just a quick hit of Nuit's throne had given him a glimpse of all who had hunted vampires in the past. For centuries humans had cast spells, or those with mild forms of extrasensory awareness had come for what was now, unfortunately, his kind. Shamans had performed rituals and secret societies had made their own legends. But this one, this huntress… a Neteru was divinely created and specially anointed. Damali was something that he could not put into words.
Carlos drew a hard breath just thinking about her. This woman could shift the balance of world power, realign the energies in the universe. She had every gift to go along with her force of nature—not all of them realized, but definitely there, waiting—and a team of seasoned hunters at her side to give guidance, then ultimately follow her lead. From her womb great empires could be birthed, on the side of light or dark, and she held the key: her choice in the matter—the ultimate power of free will. The sister had divine authority. Even the old boys were awed, nervous, and craved what she had come by as a birthright.
And she is mine…
But he couldn't worry about all that right now.
Above ground, he had the Asian, Russian, Dominican, and Jamaican drug mobs, plus the federal authorities and another master vampire, looking for his head on a silver platter. Beneath the earth's surface, he had the entire Vampire Council on his ass. And now he was about to receive a tour of Hell itself.
This was beyond fucked up.
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CHAPTER ONE
The dense black smoke that swirled in the abyss-like ceiling high above the Vampire Council table formed a moaning funnel. A long strand of it touched down as though a violent twister, depositing a hooded messenger before sucking back into itself like a giant vacuum to resume its previous whirling mass. Now Carlos understood what was in the screeching cloud—things that went for food, bodies, and anything else the Vampire Council requested.
The messenger used his scythe to motion for Carlos to follow him. "The Vampire Council occupies the sixth realm, with which you have been made familiar. What you have not seen here is for the knowledge of the council members only. As we go, we will stop on each of the five demon realms with brevity. I am told you are valuable cargo, and the upper realms have formed a resistance."
Carlos nodded. The council chairman waved his hand. Just as quickly as he'd consented without words, the funnel reappeared, creating a whining turbine sound. A putrid wind rushed against Carlos's face. This time no terror entered Carlos as the bony messenger's hand clutched him and the tornado-like cloud enveloped them. He was on a mission. He'd been granted temporary immunity. He'd cut the deal of life. The powerful strength of master vampire status surged through his veins. Curiosity about this strange new life replaced fear.
Soon the jettison slowed. Carlos landed h
ard on his feet and heard a crunching noise under them like twigs snapping. Screams of agony met him as they echoed through the distance. The messenger's eyes narrowed as he pointed ahead of them with his scythe. They were standing in a clearing at the edge of dense black woods. Tall, disfigured trees with no leaves rose and twisted amid a climbing bramble of thorns that seemed alive with motion. It was so dim that even with his heightened ability to see in the dark, he had to strain to differentiate the shapes of objects before him. Slowly but surely, he could begin to make out the strange new environment, relying partly on his physical awareness, and partly on his mental sight.
"Look deeply," the entity whispered. "This is the were-realm."
As soon as the messenger had spoken, Carlos heard several mournful howls echo in the distance. The screams that sounded human were everpresent, and the wolf-like mourn pierced those cries to create a chilling call and response in the darkness. Within seconds, golden-yellow eyes opened in the shadows within the thicket. Carlos glanced down at his feet and saw human skulls and bones instead of twigs. He was speechless.
"There are many different mutations within a demon species. The were-creatures are one evolutionary turn from vampiri. Vampires have their wolfen trait from one of their particular lineages, but are more sophisticated. The were-creatures can deliver a vicious bite, turn their prey, or eat them, but they cannot hold their shape permanently. They are beholden to the moon. This is what gives the vampire realm the advantage. Our bite is permanent, hence our superiority. Our human turns do not shape-shift based upon the phases of the moon."
Curious, Carlos glanced around. "How do you keep humans alive down here so the werewolves can feed on live prey?"
The messenger chuckled. "Ah, you refer to the perpetual night sounds here?"
"The human screams," Carlos said impatiently.
"Those are harvested souls, not living humans. The were-creatures, like other demons, are released through their topside portals by a curse or ritual levied by a human with a soul. They eat topside, as do we all. But what remains here are the souls of the damned to also be feasted upon in perpetuity. The damned fuel the transformations and give each demon species strength. The damned feel each topside human attack."
Carlos rubbed his jaw and continued to monitor the distance of the sounds, which were advancing. "The souls take the weight?"
"Correct." The messenger nodded. "Each demon is created by the deepest, darkest, most twisted human thought and desire. You are aware that thoughts and beliefs manifest?"
"I am now."
"Good. You learn fast. The thoughts create the density of the demon. Determine its range of power, or its horror. The lower realms are of the darkest thoughts, most twisted human conception of evil… with a little creative license from our Dark Lord. And, so it is with the souls. The greater the sin, the deeper the soul is sent into our realms to contend with the most ravenous of our demons. Sometimes the soul of an unredeemed sinner is ripped apart to experience multiple levels of Hell. Their harvest location all depends on what the primary focus of their human life has been; vengeance, lust, greed, murder, pick one. As we visit the upper levels, you will notice that the density is less, as is the darkness. It is all relative."
A series of howls turned into snarls, and Carlos could detect misshapen, low stalking forms advancing just from the increasing volume of the sounds. Thoroughly intrigued, he decided to wait until they had found a less dangerous location before he'd fire another round of questions. The messenger had said two things that he wanted to learn more about. One was the part about souls being harvested. If he was damned, and if he was dead, then where was his own soul and what was feeding on it? The second issue was the question of unredeemed sinners. The messenger had not just plainly said sinners. By now Carlos had learned that everything meant something here, and an omission of a word spoke volumes.
"We go to level four. The were-creatures—wolfen, panthers, jaguars, bears, all manner of earthly predators made hybrid with human—envy vampiri. It is not safe to linger."
Again Carlos nodded, and felt the touch of the messenger's hand. Growls and snarls continued to draw near him, and oddly it sent adrenaline through his system. He felt his jaw become filled with a sharp hardness as the golden eyes stalked forward. His shoulders now also felt thicker, more powerful, and he was not afraid, just poised for attack. His own fingernails sliced into his fists like razors as he clenched them, prepared to ward off a potential lunge from something in the woods. But a sudden wind encircled him as the beasts before him hesitated. He heard the messenger chuckle. It was so dark in this realm he couldn't even make out the blackened smoke that was lifting them to safety.
"You are coming into your master's strength," the messenger noted, as soon as they'd landed again. "The were-creatures would have rushed a weaker vampire. They are excellent trackers… you gave them pause."
Interesting. If he was a master, then the messenger couldn't enter his mind. His thoughts had been sealed, even against Nuit. This was good. There was much to think about. There were many strategies to grapple with. He needed a plan.
"Where are we now?"
Carlos glanced around a damp, mucus-coated area that was the color of dark-gray charcoal on all surfaces. Everything dripped from the slick, smooth surfaces and smelled dank. Clingy vines, Spanish moss, and wet spiderwebs made advancing treacherous, as he brushed them aside to see farther into the infested terrain. Maggots rained intermittently from overhead, making little plopping sounds as they splashed into the unmoving waters.
Tiny flying gnats and other insect pests added a bothersome distraction as Carlos swatted them away. Glowing-eyed vermin scurried and disappeared into the endless network of standing water ponds, wider black lakes, and puddles within the caverns. Moans of despair vibrated through him as he stared off in the distance toward a tar gully that had a low blue flame burning on its thick, slow bubbling surface. Carlos took a step forward and was suddenly knee-deep in vile standing water. "Shit!"
Things wriggled in the sewer-like swamp at his calves and he immediately jumped back from the cesspool that sent the rotting smell of human flesh, feces, and garbage into his nose, the smell covering his tongue. Ugh! It wasn't as dark as the previous black forest, but it was much wetter.
"Shake it off," the messenger chuckled, "and stay close. Use thought to clean and dry yourself. In fact, change your clothes, if you so desire. Always remember that you are from the lowest realm, which gives you authority over the weaker realms. Sheer thought. Use your ability to materialize your comfort—or safety."
Point well taken. Carlos released his disgust and focused his thoughts on having the crap off of him. Instantly he felt dry, and even the smells around him abated enough for him to think. "What's on level four? It doesn't feel as dense." He had a sudden, inexplicable need to know what souls were trapped here.
"We are in the realm of nightmare entities… things that swim and slither and creep. These are dark dreams, creatures made of dark desires and black thoughts. There are so many varieties of this demon, and they remain hidden, stay within the haunted spaces of the human mind." His guide waved its arm as it spoke. "Pure hatred lives here, incest lives here, as well as many other dark emotions that become manifest. Vampires have lost the wet, slithering, snakelike forms of these amorphous creatures, but have retained the sophistication of their ability to permeate dreams and thought. Their whispers are mesmerizing. We go now. You are not strong enough to fight the mental pull of these alluring creatures yet. Soon, however. This is a realm of dark desires where even seasoned vampires can go mad. Nuit remained here too long."
Carlos didn't even nod as the messenger beckoned him. Sinister thoughts were attempting to attack his brain, and invisible tendrils slithered up his legs, stroked his groin, and dazed him. The pull of his transport broke the spell, but he looked down as he ascended to the next realm, awed by the power he'd just been wrenched from. Oddly, his eyes adjusted to the speed this time. This was some twisted
shit, indeed. Somebody should have shown him this much earlier in his life. Had he only known… But where was his soul? Where was Alejandro's?
"We are on level two," the messenger announced as they landed in a barren, desert-like place that was merely dark gray all around.
Rocks and jagged gray cliffs surrounded him, and Carlos looked up from a deep canyon to a lighter realm above. He was glad it was dry at least. "We skipped level three," he murmured, listening to his voice echo. Sobs surrounded his voice, sending it back to him with piteous wails.
"Level three is where the Amanthras reside. That is not a part of our tour. Too dangerous."
"Why?"
"The Amanthra are poised to detect any vampire encroachment in their territories. The many species of vengeance demons are formidable."
Carlos nodded, continuing to stare at the barren crags above.
"This is the realm of lost hopes, lost dreams, lost faith. Angry ghosts live here." Rocks began to fall and pummel them, and the messenger held out his cloak to protect Carlos. "Poltergeists. A pain in the ass," it sneered. "Nothing here to see. They have no form, just move matter, but we have retained their ability to transform into nothingness, and to move about as mist. We go. Very boring here, but useful."
"Let me ask you something, though, hombre," Carlos said fast, holding the arm of the messenger. "Where do vampires' souls go? Assuming we're all damned… our essence must go somewhere, right? Who feeds on us?"