by L. A. Banks
“How bad was it really?” she asked, gently probing for critical information. When he looked away, she touched the side of his face. “Carlos, look at me. Was it from a throat or a cup or a bottle? Talk to me?”
“It wasn’t from a throat,” he said on a heavy exhale. “I didn’t hurt anyone but myself.” He looked away from her after the admission. “Rider was right, so were the others. Smelling the deer blood messed me up, and I was on the edge.”
She let her breath out hard and kept her voice firm but her gaze gentle. Her squad was still on-point, contagion notwithstanding. Clearly, so was she. But seeing this broke her heart. This had to be what she’d been visioning, feeling, dreading for months—not just the portal problem. It was time, also, to change the people, places, and things that could lead him to relapse, but she couldn’t drop that responsibility at Yonnie and Tara’s feet. In an odd way, they were also family.
“Carlos, I’m not preaching, but I want to tell you what I know. All right?”
“Yeah, baby, anything you know that can help me kill this side of my nature. Go ’head.”
“First of all, this blood thirst is not in your nature, it was acquired, like a virus. Remember that always. It is alien to your God-spirit, and you must separate it from the true light within you.” She thrust her chin up, her eyes blazing with righteous determination. “You were chosen to be a Neteru. A Neteru is not perfect; there is only One Supreme Being that owns perfection. However, a Neteru is the vanguard of justice.”
She placed her hand over his heart and splayed her fingers over his scar. “A Neteru must be strong, is not to be sequestered from the world at large, but has to have the inner strength to stay on the path and to walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and fear no evil … has to be able to dig deep within to summon the courage to do the right thing always, to walk where angels fear to tread, and go down into Hell, if necessary to free the innocent—one’s own life the last concern.”
She watched his eyes fill and his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed hard.
“I am those things, Damali. I wasn’t afraid to go down to Hell to free the innocent,” he said thickly. “I have walked where angels fear to tread, trust me on that.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Damali nodded and patted his chest.
“You’ve got the scars to prove it. This is the man I know. The man who could fight the blood hunger. The man who could look an entire Council table of demons in the eye and outwit them, outsmart them, and come up holding aces. The man I know is strong and powerful, not from the illusions he could cast, but from his inner self.” She gathered him into her arms and whispered into his ear on a harsh murmur. “You can beat this, Carlos. I believe in you.”
He clutched her like a man drowning. His hands sought her hair. She didn’t understand what had just transpired, but her words gave him hope.
“I’m going to call the family house to find out what time our flight leaves this morning and run by there to pick up some clothes for you. In the meantime, you take a shower and pray, and think, and try to put things in perspective.”
The warm sensation of water felt good against his skin, like it was peeling away layers of filth and baptizing him in renewal. Even though he hadn’t been able to bring himself to fully explain the depth of his fear to Damali, or the profound sorrow for what he’d done, her faith in him stilled some of the inner terror. If the angels would just hear his cry, would just understand how the chair attacked him, how it had happened not of his own will, how the contagion had helped sway him—
“Speak!”
Carlos jumped back from the showerhead, almost slipping on the wet surface beneath his feet, and then rushed out of the glass enclosure. His heart slammed against his breastbone. Terror shot adrenaline through his system as his gaze tore around the spacious, lemon yellow room.
“Speak!”
He was out, going for the door when it sealed shut by a wall of light. Suddenly every window flooded with light that bounced off the bathroom mirror, blinding him. Light poured in from the edges of the doorframe. Then the walls of the bathroom closed in on him.
“You sat in the unmentionable,” one voice said.
“You defied a direct order; the consequences are grave!” another said.
“You acted prematurely,” another voice argued.
“You know not what you have done,” a chorus said.
“I didn’t know,” Carlos said, not sure where to turn his attention. Voices had slammed him from every direction, making him whirl around in the now-tiny space. The sensation of vertigo made him fall to the tile floor, but he outstretched his arms, trying to make them understand.
“It attacked me,” he said, tears running down his face. “I went in, searched, and under the crest, it was gone—then it attacked me!”
“You were not to go there until you had integrated the fragments of your mind,” one voice said. “Your spirit is now in peril.”
“We know of the attack,” another said.
“You’ve released the realms. The Damned are now upon the earth with the Lilim.”
“Armageddon has begun too soon.”
“No, no, no,” Carlos yelled, scrambling to his feet. “I didn’t release—”
“The original demons of darkness feared coming out to search for their once-captive Damned, until each of their levels was made intolerable, even for them.”
Carlos opened his mouth, then slowly closed it. He knew exactly what they meant. When he’d gone level-by-level wreaking havoc, those entities were to hit the sealed portal and be trapped, tortured. Now they’d flooded the earth.
“Yes!” one thunderous voice boomed. “That was your mission, but your timing was in error. We commanded you to wait for a sign! You were to send the Damned to the surface, but not the original demons that feed upon them, only once the book was acquired. Our Light would have held the Lilim back; the Damned would have fled blindly, aimlessly away from the horrors of the pit. This would have allowed us to decimate their numbers with swords raised at every gate, their names listed, and we would have been able to swiftly commend the lost to peace!”
“Now they all hide, unnamed, unseen, and await nightfall,” a very quiet voice said. “The Damned, with the Lilim, further spreading the contagion among humanity.”
“Like in the days of old, when Lilith spewed a hundred demons a day upon the earth and our warriors slew them by the thousands!”
“Now their leader is within you; they await your command. Their exterminator is also within you. Decide. Separate yourself from this iniquity.”
“How?” Carlos whispered. “Tell me how?”
“The unnamed one’s essence was within Lilith’s womb, like the original demons she helped give rise to using the seed of human males. Its abomination filled your lungs, began to taint your spirit, and by day it lay dormant, by night it stirred … but the throne ignited it to life. Kill it.”
Carlos whirred around in a circle. “If it’s in me, then how do I get it out of me?”
“This is your task. Bring us the book. The struggle is within.”
“It was and remains in the chamber, under the crest, but your eyes were blind to it because you still lusted for that world.”
“The contagion weakened me,” Carlos said in an urgent tone. “Even as a man, not a Neteru, I was stronger than that!” He stared at the Light unblinking. “Help me make the separation.”
For a moment all went still, and then the battering of voices again splintered into echoes throughout the tiled space, increased in tempo. The tone of urgency made his head pound. He was no longer able to separate where one voice began and another ended. His senses on overload, it sounded like one long run-on sentence spoken by many voices without any taking a breath.
“Yes, the contagion is insidious—that is why we said to wait for a sign.”
“You saw the illusion of emptiness.”
“We will not leave you as long as your will clings to us.”
“Your impatience made you disobey our command.”
“The book is still there under the wicked crest.”
“We sent the vision, even through the darkness, to guide you.”
“The Chairman’s blood must be spilled by a Neteru’s blade to break his illusion.”
“You may not be able to do it now. We can only hope.”
Voices collided with voices; information was being shouted at Carlos in varying timbres till he wept. He’d messed up, had finally gotten played. The Light was furious; the dark side was laughing at him. His sanity was on the brink of fracture. The voices bounced off the tiles and nearly made his ears bleed. But they would not relent as the voices swirled around him, gathering like a white-light storm.
“Even the one who remains nameless could not see it.”
“They are from the same seed, their treachery near equal.”
“Their province over certain realms is distinct. Only the Chairman ever entered the Garden—not his father. All of our forces are attempting to assist. The Neteru Councils are involved, as well.”
“This is why the Chairman’s father hunts him. In the end of days, the book will reinforce or deplete soul armies of Light. His father cannot obtain it without a Neteru’s blade.”
“This has always been the way. A Neteru’s hand allowed fruit from the tree to be consumed—branches to create the pages gleaned, thus a Neteru’s hand must break the Chairman’s hold.”
“This is the only reason his father cannot acquire it; we have been in wait for this opportunity since the dawn of time when Dante went into permanent hiding with the book.”
“Your destiny was greater than you knew.”
“We allowed you to learn Dante’s world so that you could walk through it, but not ultimately be of it, and to teach the female Neteru all that we could not.”
Carlos felt hot, wet splashes on his shoulders that burned as voices above him wept.
“Do you know your value to us?”
“You and she were our most cherished weapons.”
“A tandem secret weapon, brought together as one. The darkness never knew. We were simply awaiting your choice! It is still always your choice—that is what remains fragile.”
Carlos stared at the Light. “All this time … you wanted me to turn, allowed it? Needed me to be a councilman? Let us both walk—”
“We never left you.”
“We prayed that you would make the right choices, and you did. You both did.”
“It was not punishment. You both were being honed for greatness.”
“The challenges of this millennium are more arduous; the time draws nigh.”
“Desperate times called for desperate measures. What we face now required our Neterus to know that which those that went before them have never known. The Light has ultimate knowledge, beyond the dark thrones—this has always been their quest to seek the knowing of The All.
“The Chairman’s head must roll.”
“He’d been lied to by his father, was told he would release those armies.”
“He is not the one chosen to be the unspeakable.”
“Lilith knew this, for she came before him.”
“The female Neteru only wounded her, but must take her head, as well.”
“The Himalayas.”
“The Himalayas.”
“The Himalayas.”
“We called home the Covenant to prepare the twelve paths for certain war.”
“We now directly guard the Neterus.”
“Do not defile the Neteru.”
“To defile her is to defile yourself.”
“Our Neteru is also your Neteru.”
“You are a Neteru.”
“Do not defile yourself with corruption.”
“If you defile the Neteru within you, you defile your other half, Damali.”
“The Himalayas,” a chorus whispered in unison.
“The list is of those weak in spirit that needed reinforcement, angelic assistance, to make the right choice.”
“They were attacked first and then consumed.”
“We want those stolen in treachery, the multitude returned.”
“Only one with the nameless within him, after the Chairman’s blood has been spilled, his essence extinguished, can retrieve the book.”
“Our command had purpose. Was to be followed with blind faith.”
“You were once polluted by the Chairman, thus the only one on our side who could open his crest.”
“The Himalayas was a part of the path; the path that would lead to spilling the Chairman’s blood. Then you could retrieve the book without more compromise of your inner Light!”
“Time has sped up. Disaster has been set in motion.”
“Spill the foul blood.”
“Bring us the book.”
Carlos grasped his skull with his hands. The Light suddenly receded, and was gone as quickly as it had come. The room expanded back to normal. The shower was still running. White steam cloaked him and clouded the mirror. It was just like what had come up out of the crest’s vault. The Himalayas. He didn’t fully understand what he’d find there, maybe the Chairman’s lair, but knew enough by this point to do as he was told without question. Thoughts tumbled and spun within him. Something frightening also stirred within him as though it had been slowly awakened. Thoughts became fuzzy and suddenly scattered.
Was he supposed to go back down and get the book right away, or go to the Himalayas with something he couldn’t even name within him … with the family and Damali unprotected and near him? To his foggy mind, the answer was clear. Get the book first.
He heard a small squeaking sound coming from the mirror. He stared at it intently as it began to scrawl a message in the condensation on the glass. It was written in reverse, and he squinted at it, trying to decipher it. Renewed terror threaded through his soul and spread like an inferno. It read very simply, Get the book.
Krissy glanced up from her laptop and over to Dan as he sat at the dining room table playing cards with her dad and a few of the male Guardians. She smiled as he studied his hand and rubbed his jaw, considering his next move. Rider was always a hoot and provided comic relief. Their card game antics made her laugh, and she liked seeing Dan happy instead of tense and scowling at J.L.
Truthfully, Dan was a really nice guy. Had big blue eyes, a sweet heart, was smart, cute in a wiry sort of way … considerate, listened, was a decent fighter, and was crazy about her. The only problem was that after one kiss she knew he’d only be a brother to her. But the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt him.
He was family, he was Bobby’s best friend, plus her mother adored him. Her dad, well, that was another story. Richard Berkfield didn’t trust any guy around her and never had. But he was at least reasonable toward Dan, unlike the way he practically snarled when J.L. sat too close to her. Maybe being a cop for all those years gave her dad special insight. Perhaps he felt the chemistry that was hard to ignore and that they’d attempted to keep secret. Just her luck to have a detective for a father.
She glanced away and sighed, studying her laptop as though its keys might provide answers like a Ouija board. However, she could feel J.L.’s intensity from where he sat in the adjacent chair by the window. No, she would not look up at him. Couldn’t. His quiet need reached out to her across the room. It always did. That’s how things always got started. She squeezed her knees together and briefly shut her eyes. It had started.
Unable to help herself, she glanced up and her gaze was trapped by the silent smolder in his eyes. Those searching, intense brown eyes were impossible to ignore. She loved what the sun did to his skin as it washed him in afternoon gold. She loved the feel of his hair, black silk, and patient hands … haiku fire. She loved his agile, toned body, and the way he moved like a cat … a being without bones, so fluid, graceful … just like he was on the computers, a mastermind, subtle, wise, a man of few words, though those he spoke were profound. And his mind had
been the thing that had stolen her heart. He’d taught her so much. He had been the first guy that really heard her, knew what she was talking about, and didn’t think she was an airhead or a geek or weird. He believed in her—her. She loved him. That’s what she couldn’t ignore. That’s what her father didn’t understand.
Their code was also subtle, codesigned without words. J.L. closed his laptop, asked if anyone wanted a beer, and left the room. She waited until he came back, handed out brews, and then she mouthed hollow platitudes about finding the rest of the girls. She went out the back door; he went out the front door.
Her heart raced faster than her legs as she dashed across the wide backyard toward the toolshed, slipped inside, and gently closed the door behind her and waited. The wait for him to wind an oblique path to meet her was the worst. She never knew if he would make it or get waylaid by one of the other Guardians or what.
Krissy peered through the open shed slats, then leaned against the wall and shut her eyes, trying to slow her breathing. Impossible. Sunlight created splintered beams along the dirt floor and dust motes glistened. She impatiently peeked out once again, then watched pollen and dust particles dance in the air like sunlit fairy flecks that had been stirred from her quick entry. If he would just come to the shed …
When she heard footfalls, she held her breath. Her face felt hot. Perspiration made her white cotton shirt cling to her skin. Would this time be like all the others—his kiss and touch interrupted by someone approaching? What if this time he said it was wrong, or that they should wait until her birthday, when she turned eighteen in a few weeks? What if it wasn’t him?
She whirred around and pressed her face to the wall slats again, and then let her breath out in relief when she saw J.L. glance over his shoulder and reach for the door. She moved toward him the moment he closed it behind him, but he put his finger to his lips and glanced around the toolshed barn, as though being hunted. She froze, listened hard, but couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her gaze became a slow glide down his handsome, symmetrical features; it stopped at his mouth, then continued to his Adam’s apple; took in his shoulders and the way his T-shirt clung to him with a thin sheen of sweat; then slid down to his narrow, tight waist, to his jeans.