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"Oh, Carlos," Damali murmured. "Nobody should have to do their own family…"
Carlos looked away from her.
"Once I… take care of them, you can pick four men to replace them, but they have to enter the tunnel immediately after you and me or they will be viewed as intruders. If they miss that window of opportunity, they'll have to risk the slower corridors with the rest of the group." Carlos studied the serious faces that stared back at him. "If you don't get to Nuit's door in time, Damali will be between me and Nuit. The only thing you'll have to your advantage, and the only possible way to get her out, is if he and I square off—which is inevitable."
"I told you, they did his fam—"
"No, D!" Carlos yelled. He looked at her hard, and finally told her the truth. "It's not because of my family. Two male masters, one female Neteru… If I kill him down there, you'll have to kill me. Got it? So will your team, when they get there. Make your strike swift, make sure you get me on the first blow. If not…" He put his hand on the door and didn't look at her as he spoke. "If not, I start an empire. Choose well, and be decisive."
The assembled group didn't say a word. The expressions on everyone's faces said it all. Damali walked over and picked up her blade, and checked the sharpness of its edge.
"Say a prayer, Templar," she said in a low murmur. The knock and curtain-call yell didn't even make her look up. So much adrenaline had hit her system it was making her ears ring. The tone of Carlos's voice, the look in his eyes… the unconcealed desire. Yes. She might have to kill him.
"C'mon, people. We've got a show to do."
She could feel them watching her as she stood on a small platform under the stage, waiting for it to raise her to stage level. It was like being in a shark cage underwater, each beast swimming by, circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Seconds seemed like minutes. Damali gripped Madame Isis tighter, checked the battery belt on her silver suit, as well as the Isis dagger on her hip, and picked up the medieval, silver, double-bladed battle-ax the knight had offered. They were gonna get it on when she dropped, and she'd have everything she needed when she did.
Special-effects thunder and lightning strikes could be heard above, as the crowd's clapping roar swelled when Big Mike turned up the volume of the FX section of his soundboards. Marlene's voice rang out with the introduction, and she began an African chant that the crowd followed.
Stage boards creaked overhead to the beat of Marlene's repetitive, "Oooohhh, nanana." The team was jumping up and down overhead, giving Watutsi homage and anthem from the motherland. Deep bomb blasts that sounded like M-80s soon followed, and Damali knew it was show time.
She held up Madame Isis as she rose. A dark blue and a purple haze awaited her entrance when she got to the top, then more bomb blasts, and the stage went white with light and gold smoke. More thunder sounded as Rider's guitar started to wail. Jose, as sick as he had been, was throwing down conga hard, J.L.'s keyboard was serving it hot, but Shabazz was walking the bass and had it thumpin'. Marlene was working out on cowbells as the crowd went nuts. Damali laughed. So, they liked the twelve warriors with weapons onstage, huh? Cool.
Electricity ran through her. There was nothing as exhilarating as a performance when the crowd was like this. And even though there was everything in the world riding on the situation, the music had her swaying. All those innocents out there, waving UV unknowingly. She was gonna blow the doors off!
Rising slowly, she heard Big Mike's booming voice lead off and blend in with Shabazz's and Rider's, as they each took turns to yell into their Mies.
"She leaves 'em smoking, on fire!"
"Baby got da ansa, for any desire!"
"Hot—burnin' with emotion!"
"Betta wat'chure back, 'cause she ain't jokin'!"
The floor opened and a wave of audience screams assaulted her as more stage bombs went off, white and gold smoke surrounded her, and the lights changed. The music tempo picked up, and Damali stepped forward holding a medieval ax out from her boot ninety degrees on the left and Madame Isis raised on her right. She gave out a war cry, and the crowd erupted again. Dropping the ax for a nearby knight to catch, she strutted to the front of the stage to the music, pulled her dagger from her hip belt, lowered her sword toward the crowd, breathed in, and let the words ring out.
"I leave 'em smokin', dead or alive. Dis ain't no job like a nine to five. Ain't scared of the dark, 'cause I bring my own light. Make a choice, fast, and make it right. Been to Hell and back, might go there again—but you betta watch yours and take a friend. My sword's name is Isis, and Momma draws heat. Watch her work, when we drop da funky beat!"
Carlos was riveted to Damali's image, as she owned the stage. He couldn't move from his position beside his squad in the wings as she began her routine. It was pure, fluid adrenaline, charged atmosphere. Her body was like liquid silver fire, and the crowd was off the hook. The UV lights kept him in the shadows, it burned off some of the scent, but it didn't keep him from seeing her work. She took full possession of fifty thousand screaming fans, however many crew and vamps in the wings—and him. There was no description for it. The music throbbed inside him as Shabazz and Rider took the rhythm frenzy to the next level, and Damali swung a sword and dagger in between stanzas.
"Yo, man, how's your head?" Alejandro whispered. "You need to step outside for a minute and get some air, so you can do this delivery in a few? You don't look so good, hombre, but I got'chure back."
"I'm all right," Carlos growled, his gaze glued to the stage.
"Listen, man, you gotta stop watching her or you ain't gonna be no good by the time the floor drops. Plus, the silver suit wasn't expected. How you gonna hold her and not go up in flames, hombre?"
"I'm already there, bro. You have no idea. The suit doesn't even compare."
"I think he's over the top, man," Miguel said nervously, looking at Carlos and then at the others.
Carlos pulled his gaze away, and turned his back on Damali's performance. "I'm all right. I'm good. She won't be in the tunnel that long." He watched his brother's expression from a side-glance. Despair fought side-by-side with the effect Damali was having on him, all of it clouding his judgment. "But I just needed to watch her for a little bit, before it's time."
"Damn, man, I can dig it," Alejandro agreed, his gaze fixed on the stage. "I remember when she was just a kid, free-styling in the old neighborhood—begging to get a shot at a mic. Look at her now…"
Unable to withstand the pull, Carlos found his line of vision drawn back to where he had forbidden it to go. It was now possible to see a thin sheen of perspiration on her brow, and she'd licked her lips, opened her arms, and leaned back with a weapon in each hand. Incredible.
"If I die with honor, then they say it's all good. But I'm about livin', not jus' survivin' in the hood. So keep your light, and block the shade—tell 'em don't hate a player that the light above made! 'Cause … I leave 'em smoking wit da truth, everything I'm telling you got da juice. Been standin' on the high road, but can go low, might hafta drop a body, so act like you know. Ain't no game, ain't truth or dare. What Grandmomma told you is your only prayer—"
"Man… go get some air, brother, for real for real. Your hands are shaking," Alejandro warned. "You are way too high right now, and—"
"Shut up!" Carlos shouted as the music took another turn, and Damali paced toward the back of the stage, allowing the drums a solo.
His boys looked at him hard. Alejandro shook his head when Juan, Julio, and Miguel came up behind Carlos and stood with him. His breath was coming out in short bursts now, and his shoulders were gaining in thickness. Carlos wiped his nose with the back of his hand as a shudder ran through him again. He swallowed hard and could feel his gums beginning to bulk. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and sucked in a huge gulp of air.
"He'll take a limb," his brother warned. "Go get him something to eat."
"I don't need to feed on garbage!" Carlos growled.
His boys hesit
ated, and Alejandro signaled for them to wait and ride it out. They stood by him with a wary distance between them. When Damali went into the last stanza, Carlos held onto the wall for support. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes and again watched her work.
"Yeah … I leave 'em smokin'—so watch your back. Night is the time when creatures attack. Bring the word; stand in the light. We got one shot to get it right! Ain't a game or a battle, it's a fight for it all. Make the wrong choice, and you'll take a fall. Runnin' down the high road, dodging from the low, pressure starts to build, but that's when I blow…"
The lights blew, sparklers went off, the keyboards screamed with the guitar, and Damali lit up in full UV—the crowd went wild, and he had to turn away. The light temporarily blinded him, dazed him like a sucker punch. His boys covered their eyes with forearms and snarled. But the pain worked like a slap of reality. The UV so close to her skin, burned off the residue of potent scent for a moment, and it helped to break his trance.
"Downstairs, now!" Carlos circled his team, and pointed to the lower level.
"Yo, man, but—"
"She's only got a few minutes to be lit up, judging from the battery sizes on her belt. She's got two more songs, and we roll." He was breathing hard as he walked away from the stage, his squad in hot pursuit. "You wanna be the one to explain to Nuit why we weren't in position to catch her when she falls? If the wrong demons claim her, or another vampire does, he'll have everybody's head—do it now!"
Without further argument, his posse followed him. He couldn't speak as he got farther and farther away from Damali. The pain that riddled him felt like an eerie withdrawal, but if he didn't get away from her now, he wouldn't be able to later. A female vampire holding a clipboard scowled as he walked by.
"This was not on her docket, nor was real silver! That bitch flipped the script," she said low in her throat.
Carlos came to a halt. "Tell it to Nuit. He said to make her happy, and give her whatever she wanted."
"She's got this place feeling like an oven, and temporarily sealing lairs near wherever this sound travels or is broadcast with all this light bullshit! She's got the crowd with UV wands in their hands, and—"
"Say anything to make her anything less than happy, and Nuit will rip your heart out," Carlos said evenly. "He wouldn't care if every portal sealed worldwide, as long as I bring her to him. You understand? No interventions topside, or after this is over, I will personally hunt you down. We clear?"
The female vamp smiled. "Promise?" she purred.
"Forget her, man," Alejandro said, pulling his arm. "Let's do this thing."
Carlos nodded, then brushed past the female and made their way to the lower level. He could hear Damali above finishing her first act, and the scent of her was so strong in the tight confines near the lift that he had to keep walking in circles—motion, anything to wear it off, wear it down.
"Man, in just a few, everything will be cool. Just hang in there."
He closed his eyes as he heard Damali prepare to go into a baleful poem-song above his head. He could tell by the music that she was sending him a message as much as she was working the audience. It made him stand still as he braced himself to listen to the words, and the guitar and keyboard accompanied her in sad harmony. Marlene's violin felt like it was cutting him, sawing through his ribs to get to his heart. The flute, the chimes, soft bells, making him go back to the place where he'd found her; Shabazz's bass connecting it all like a pulse. Don't do this…
"Remember, baby, how it used to be," she began singing low and sweet to the audience. "Before it all got crazy—when we just were kids… and so free.
"Now, I know we've gotta move on—and that's life. Still I can't help going back to our past—just once or twice… Just remember, baby, how it used to be—before it all got crazy, when we were just kids… and so free—please, baby… don't forget."
Damali's voice had risen with the violin, stroking his memory, turning a blade in the center of his chest, and had ended on a whisper… please, baby… don't forget.
Carlos looked up at the black underbelly of the stage. The area had cooled; the lights had gone low to a blue haze. He could see a ball casting a prism of stars around the glimpses of stage periphery, and he shut his eyes to see her and join with the emotion in her. She stood in the middle of a blue universe of stars, wearing her silver, her sword held low as though in defeat, her dagger clenched in her fist, her head back, her eyes closed, tears glistening at the corners of them, as she sang her heart out. Yes, he remembered. How could he forget? She stood in the middle of his world, and was his universe.
"Don't listen to her, man," Juan murmured. "That was a long time ago, hombre. It's all different now. Power, money, women—she didn't understand the life. Never did."
"Don't let it mess with your head, bro," Julio said with worry. "You got everything in front of you—leave the past behind and may it rest in peace."
"Yeah, man," Alejandro said with growing concern. "Only thing you need to remember is you got a delivery to make."
"Word," Miguel murmured.
Carlos didn't respond to his best friend, cousin, or brother, nor did he shake off Miguel's hand on his shoulder. He had to do what he had to do. But her words were like an echo, a whisper that wouldn't leave him… because all he could do was remember. Everything.
"Alejandro," Carlos whispered, as he walked toward his brother and Miguel's hand dropped from his shoulder. He needed to stand close before Alejandro to help him understand. "Listen to the words," he said, locking his brother's gaze within his.
"You all right, man?" Alejandro backed up a bit when Carlos placed his hand in the center of his chest.
"I'm fine. Close your eyes. Remember when we were kids—playing ball in the street, running for ice cream, hanging out?"
With caution, Alejandro closed his eyes, and gave in to the sway of the memory that Carlos projected. "Yeah… man, those were some good times. We'll have good times again."
"Yes, you will, my brother. But remember how I tried so hard not to bring you into the life—how I'd chase you away?"
Behind him, Miguel and Juan laughed with Julio. Alejandro opened his eyes.
"Little brat was always following us, getting in the way of a deal." Julio shook his head. "We had to finally let you in, before you got yourself—or one of us—shot."
Alejandro just laughed, and covered Carlos's hand over his chest. "But I wanted to be just like him." Tears filled Alejandro's eyes suddenly and he looked away. "Would do anything for my brother, even this."
"When's the last time you saw Mom?" Carlos's question was a murmur.
His brother shrugged and the laughter among his friends died down. Silence enveloped them.
"I want you to remember her face when she was happy—before any of us died… before Dad lost his sense of what was right and wrong… before he hit her. I want you to close your eyes and stand with me and remember her laughter, the peace in her eyes, the sound of her voice when she'd call us for dinner, and remember how much I tried to push you away from my life—because I loved you so much, then, and knew what I was, then… what that life meant. And I'm doing it again," Carlos said, sucking in a deep breath, "because I love you."
He'd reached into his breast pocket so fast with his free hand, without removing the other from Alejandro's chest, that his brother only had his eyes half open before the stake replaced his palm.
"Rest in peace, Alejandro." Carlos stepped back from the burning ash, and breathed in deeply to steady himself. The wailing song above held him as he stared at what was left of his brother.
"Oh, shit! Carlos, man—you did him? What the fuck! You're too high—you just did you own brother! Are you crazy, man!"
"It was about my brother's soul. I'll never have one, but I always wanted him to have better than me. The song made me remember how much."
Carlos didn't move as his boys circled him, their fangs now showing, ready to attack. He watched them through narr
owed eyes.
"He went soft," Juan spat. "I don't fucking believe it! And he's supposed to bring the huntress to Nuit? You don't even deserve the honor. You disgrace our family—our line!"
Miguel lunged at him first, and lost his heart to Carlos's fist.
Out of friendship, he made the snatch instantaneous. A master's reach slammed into breastbone, ripped away anchor tissue, and left a gaping hole in Miguel's chest. With Miguel's heart still beating in his hand, Carlos drove the point of the stake through the bloody organ and flung it away, watching it burn as his friend was immediately incinerated. The only comfort he took was that his friend had stopped feeling before he even began to burn.
Julio tried to escape, but that couldn't happen. Carlos grabbed the back of Julio's suit, pulled his cousin to him, lodged the stake where it needed to land, then stepped away from the inferno. But perhaps the hardest pair of eyes to meet were Juan's. Unlike Alejandro, cornered, Juan saw it coming. The pleading expression almost made Carlos hesitate. The question "why" hovered on his best friend's lips as Carlos held him by his throat and killed him at close range.
It had to all end here, quietly, under the stage—which it summarily did. Carlos stood over each pile of ash that had been his friends, his family, closed his eyes, and saw again how he'd driven a stake into their hearts—using the same one that had allowed Alejandro to rest in peace. They had not been on a tour of Hell, of that he was sure. They would never know where their souls could have been trapped… not even a dog deserved to be held hostage there.
Tears threatened his eyes as he realized he couldn't even pray over their remains. Such a transgression would scorch his tongue. All he could do was look down at what was left. Four members of what was once his family… what had been and was no more. Young, vital humanity, with promise, turned inhuman, all in the blink of an eye.
Carlos listened to the end of the song as he wiped ash from his hands and the stake, putting it back in his breast pocket as he slowly stood. "Rest well my friends, my cousin, my brother. Remember what it was like when we were just kids, and we were still free." That was the closest thing to a prayer that he could utter.