by L. A. Banks
The two stared at each other and the chairman slowly released his grip. Carlos’s chest heaved.
“I can’t go against the vampire that made me . . . he told me who delivered the bite.”
The chairman’s hand lowered and he placed his hands behind his back.
“I didn’t want to be in Purgatory, after having a chance to sit in Nuit’s abandoned throne.” What Carlos said was true—but it could be taken in two ways. He knew which way the vampires before him would take it; they had a blind spot created by their evil perspective.
The chairman nodded, then rubbed his jaw. His fangs retracted, and he swept away toward the table, the others following him. Taking his time, he sat slowly, and after he did, the two others seated themselves at his left.
“I was willing to wait seven years for the chance to be made council. Ask your couriers; we all tried our best to keep your cargo out of harm’s way. But Vlak put her in danger with his fucked-up plan, and was going to use my body—no self-respecting master would allow it. You know that.”
The chairman nodded. “And, with my bite, you were strong enough to resist Vlak . . . were strong enough to drag yourself here even with ripe Neteru in your system. You also feared me more than him.” He paused, his gaze raking Carlos. “Good,” he finally said with a low hiss. “Wise choice.”
The old vampire leveled his gaze on Carlos then looked away in the distance, thinking. “That I can believe, because you were made by the top of this empire.” He nodded again. “Thank you. Your report has been most helpful. We will deal with Counselor Vlak in our own way. You may go. Bring me back my cargo.”
Carlos shook his head, making the council go still. “I can’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said honestly, his gaze tearing between the council members. “Has it been so long since you’ve been topside?”
Their expressions held a lack of comprehension.
“I’ve got ripe Neteru in my system—but your cargo isn’t ripe! Yeah, I can get her out of the Amazon, with some demon breach-sealers with me as backup, but I’ll injure her. She’ll hemorrhage internally. Don’t you remem—”
“Yes,” the chairman said, standing. “We’ll have to send somebody else.”
“But it’s my mission!” Carlos was pacing in an agitated line. “Don’t you have an antidote for this shit at your rank?”
The chairman looked at the others who shook their heads. “There’s only one . . . and we have to destroy Vlak to do it. That will take time to locate him and corner him.” The old vampire sighed and studied his claws. “The elixir from our table keeps us refined, balanced, and very strong while here—as our physical strength has ebbed over the years. But do not toy with our mental capacity, Carlos. Topside, you could have beaten Vlak. Why didn’t you, especially with what courses through your system?”
“Because,” Carlos said, combining the truth with the deception, “he also left me vulnerable when he lost my soul.”
All the senior vampires looked at him, and Carlos saw that as his next in.
“Until you guys figure out a way to retrieve it, I have a weak spot for this Neteru. I would rather see her sire day walkers willingly, to help our cause—even if I have to work on her for the duration of seven short years—than to see her emotions butchered by plagues.” He took a deep breath, holding their gazes. “You have seen how effective I’ve been in swaying her to our side, haven’t you? She’s drawn to me because I have a piece of soul left—even I didn’t understand that. She a Neteru, and could sense it. But I’m using it for the empire, and I’m patient, can wait for my opportunity . . . let’s use it to work her. If you send somebody else, she’ll fight to the death and may get injured or die—but she’ll come to me, and only me!”
The chairman offered a lopsided smile and nodded.
“I’ve proven my loyalty by using my weakness to your advantage. For the dark realms, I was already marked. That’s fact. I was turned during the commission of a crime—fact. I was supposed to be full-fledged, but was somehow robbed. I figured, fair exchange is no robbery . . . but I’m no fool. I wouldn’t hurt the only chance we have to strengthen the empire. That’s why I came here—home, first, and didn’t go with Vlak, or try to follow the plan myself, using the Amazon.”
The room went very, very still, save the screeches of the bats.
“When a council seat is lost, the throne runs black blood from that senior officer. The history of the event immediately burns into the arch of the seat. The only antidote for ripened Neteru is for a council member to be slain by a Neteru—and when the throne runs red blood, we can give the affected master a sip.”
The chairman let out his breath hard and pointed to each throne. “Masters have been killed by a Neteru, that is the ongoing struggle . . . see for yourself in the high histories. But never has a slayer taken out one of our Vampire Council chairs. It would mean a search for a very crafty, and very old council member—and we’d have to allow her to kill him in order to remedy your condition.”
The chairman chuckled. “Ah, the conundrum. While I have no problem in exterminating Counselor Vlak with my own bare hands, you would never be able to tolerate the wait while we found him, bound him, and brought her before the chair to kill him. We would have to exterminate you, just to get the act completed.”
Leaning forward on the pentagram-shaped table, the chairman sighed, holding Carlos with an empathetic, but smug, stare. “My suggestion, then, is that you remain on the sixth level for a few evenings until our border patrols find and eliminate Vlak. We will perform the ceremony on the ancient Amazon ourselves, and will ensure the current Neteru’s safety, but won’t abduct her to cause her to fight us or sustain injury. We’ll allow you to guard the younger vessel, as a reward for marvelous undercover work—once you have collected yourself. You’re right; if she’s with you willingly, then you’re our safest long-term containment strategy—and your soul can stay where it is, until the seventh year . . . it’s best to keep her confused . . . might even render her team and the Covenant off guard. But this is so very interesting . . . two available vessels, only seven years apart. Wonderful variable; unprecedented opportunity.” He laughed deep and low in his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Rivera. You are amazing.”
Carlos nodded. But pure defeat stripped every option away from his mind. Humiliated by his condition, and knowing that now they’d really do everything in their power to sway his soul just as Damali was ripening, made his shoulders slump. The word was out; his soul was hanging in the balance up in Purgatory. At least they still thought he was pissed off about that fact, and it being there made it impossible for them to read his mind at will.
The only small glimmer of hope within the travesty was the fact that they wouldn’t hurt Damali, or her people. Greed was their imperative. They wouldn’t jeopardize two shots at creating daywalkers, and that was the only thing he could hold onto.
There was nothing else to do but chill and suck it up. Still reeling from the effects of the intoxicant in his system, and slightly weakened by the council’s initial angry beat-down, he knew he had to be hallucinating. Carlos laughed as he turned to walk away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Yeah, right, Vlak had gotten his heart cut out and his throne is running red. It wasn’t even midnight. Boss would last more than a few hours topside, old and treacherous as he was. In his wildest dreams.
But sudden hisses and commotion behind Carlos made him turn around. He froze with the others, their eyes on Vlak’s throne that had come to life in a red gurgling stream. The inscription within the arch of it flashed with a blue-white light that made them all cover their eyes. Then the light vanished, leaving a burning brand of a Neteru sword with a glowing date in the blade handle. Carlos stepped forward slowly as the glow of the date abated. Immediately a searing sound cracked into the throne’s black marble, and a new etching began. A name was written.
Spellbound, the vampires stared at the inscription. The chairman dumped out the contents of his goble
t and pressed the empty chalice against the bleeding arm of the throne, lifting it toward Carlos. They all understood. If Vlak was dead, so was the demon, so was the second option to make daywalkers—option one, Damali, was at risk.
“Give the man an army and strengthen Rivera’s borders from every quadrant in the empire,” the chairman said with controlled panic. “ASAP.” His eyes narrowed. “This vessel is so much more than the millennium slayer, Carlos. She sways the Armageddon . . . was delivered five hundred years early, which is how we know the hour draws near. We did not even speak of it at the table before, because you were too new, and this was of such magnitude. However, with her squarely at risk in demon territory, you must be clear that no cost is too great to ensure her safe return. Now, do you understand? The precious nature of this cargo to our side is beyond measure.”
He stared at the chairman. His instincts had been correct. The information slowly entered his mind, toppling one epiphany against the next like mental dominoes falling. Yes, she was definitely precious beyond measure, and Vlak would have never given her up—even seven years from now. Carlos knew in every fiber of his being now that Vlak would have used him as a security guard to keep competitors away while he was empire-building, then double-crossed him, killed him, and added Damali to his stable, derailing anything she would have accomplished during the big war.
For a fleeting moment, Carlos wondered if Damali even knew how serious her role was. Then he shook the concept. Of course she had to, Marlene and company had been schooling her for years. Pride for her filled him instantly, as did the understanding of who she really was. Respect . . . damn, she was the Neteru. It wasn’t an intellectual understanding anymore, clouded by passion, or the way he’d found her in the streets all those years ago.
Carlos smiled, his voice a reverent whisper. “My baby’s making history.”
The blast from Big Mike’s charges flashed orange-red, and sent huge chunks of dirt, rock, and foliage hurling into the jungle. The team dropped, the ground beneath them unstable, as the explosion began a rain of rock and dirt upon them from the side of the cliff. Frenzied bats screeched and sought available escape paths. Righting themselves, and racing toward the tunnels that brought them to the top, the team scrambled to get out of the cave.
Damali shot out in front, leading the group through pitch blackness from memory. There wasn’t even enough light for her night vision to be fully effective. But with what little she could sense, she got the squad back to the center of the cavern where the were-jaguars had ambushed them, the team feeling the walls blindly with their gun barrels angled down to avoid shooting a fellow teammate by accident. When her foot struck something soft, Damali almost jumped out of her skin. But then she remembered, and made the team come to a halt.
“I don’t know if we can carry our man with us,” she told the group sadly, “even though we never leave our own.”
They gathered around their dead man, but even Kamal shook his head. They didn’t have the manpower to carry Dominique as well as the footlocker, and be alert.
“Anoint him here,” Kamal said fast. “He was already were-human, and has been bitten again by were-demon—at least our man deserves to ascend.”
Marlene hurried as the tunnel continued to rain rock.
“I’ll carry him for you, brother,” Big Mike boomed.
Drum put his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “His body is jus’ flesh and goes back to the earth. Long’s we get his soul out, we, from our team, are cool with it. But, thank you.”
Mike nodded, though Drum couldn’t see the response. Damali glanced around in the darkness, seeing nothing, as Marlene quickly concluded, sensing where to drop a vial of holy water on Dominique’s missing chest.
Just as she was about to tell the group to move, glowing green-and-gold eyes from every imaginable ledge appeared. Sulfur smoke filled the tunnel. Big Mike and Dan lobbed holy water grenades, and for three seconds of bright light amid horrible demon screeches, the team saw what they were up against. Pure Hell.
It was as though the entire demon world had evacuated the subterranean space they occupied and had descended on the cavern. Kamal’s men were gagging, the grenades nearly felling them. It was clear that the ancient warrior had meant more to them than the vampire nation, and they had sent up serious representation to ensure no double-cross from Vlak.
Deformed animal shapes grotesquely fused with human forms stood poised for attack once the holy water rings began to burn off. Guardians quickly paired up with Kamal’s men, trying to help their comrades, but also trying to keep themselves covered with weapons at the same time.
Acid-dripping fangs had flashed in the light, massive hooked claws had shielded hideous glowing eyes from the glare, greenish rotting skin befouled the air—this was the demon realm’s warrior team.
In a unified thought, the human squadron opened fire, sending automatic-weapon magazine releases against demon targets that exploded, scrambled, and lunged again. It was like the things were splitting, multiplying as the guardian and were-human teams cut a path, backing into an open tunnel on the run, Mike and Drum hurling C-4 bricks and grenades behind them to seal off a path.
“Roll call!” Damali yelled, as they found a temporary shelter. “Anybody hurt?”
“No, we good!” Kamal hollered back. Rocks behind them made the group press forward, but as soon as they rounded the corner, Damali held out both hands. They were at the mouth of the booby-trapped tunnel. Behind them was half of Hell, before them was sudden death.
“Shit!”
“What’s up, D—we gotta roll.”
“Rider, this is the tunnel we were supposed to be sending the bad guys into.”
“Oh, shit,” Shabazz muttered.
“Send a crossbow stake through it—see how bad . . .”
Kamal’s words tapered off as a low hissing sound filled their tunnel. It was coming from outside the cave, and in seconds a huge black snakehead eclipsed the moon. The thing’s skull and jaws were the size of a Honda, and when its eyes flashed green, it unhinged its jaw to bear fangs as long as a tall man.
“I think we could use your shoulder cannons now, gentlemen,” Damali whispered as the serpent slowly eased its way into the tunnel, viciously snapping in the process. “Let him get in good, so we don’t miss . . . they move fast, I saw one in action.”
Mike and Drum just nodded. The scratching at the blocked opening behind them had ceased, and the growls and screeches seemed to be moving, like the fight was going on outside now—probably to join this thing for dinner, Damali woefully thought.
But as the monster got fifty yards away from the team, a snap sounded, the beast looked up, and huge wooden spears impaled it. Furious, wounded, but not mortally so, it struggled against the spikes, slamming its head against the sides and ceiling of the tunnel, causing an avalanche from the commotion. Taking quick aim, Mike and Drum sent twin bazooka blasts at the creature, which blew it out of the tunnel, clearing the way.
The team was about to run forward, but Damali held up her hand, finding a rock, hurling it to the midsection of the tunnel, and the false floor gave way, revealing pikes. The problem was, however, pikes weren’t the only things down there. The pit writhed and swelled with serpentine energy. Wet, slimy things half human and half snake unwound from the stakes and moved toward the group.
The team unleashed everything they had—automatics, crossbow shots, holy water bombs, Damali taking swipes at things overhead with Madame Isis and the Amazon’s battle-ax, dropping hissing heads as Marlene defended against them and batted them away with her stick. Artillery low, the things just kept coming, and then for no reason, retreated.
Huffing from exertion, the team stared at Damali—who stared at Kamal and his crew, then her gaze shot to Jose.
“Incoming,” Jose said quietly, as the spent were-human team nodded, gagged, and looked like they would vomit from all the holy water smoke in tight confines.
Two of Kamal’s men dropped, and neither their teammate
s nor members from Damali’s guardian team could immediately help them up. She glanced at the fallen men with panic, as Drum weaved and Big Mike caught him under his arm.
“The sulfur. We’ve gotta get Kamal’s men out, fast. So we’re gonna have to creep along the sides while the enemy regroups. It’s our only way out, but we have to leave the footlocker. It’s too unstable, a man could fall, Kamal’s men are getting sicker . . . plus, these things could snatch any of us down there at any second.”
The team members murmured an uneasy agreement as Damali stepped forward, her boots crumbling rock and dirt along the edge. There was nothing to hold onto. The walls were slimy and slick, the soft edging was only four inches wide, and she was physically the lightest-weight member in the group. Big Mike and Drum would never make it. She glanced back, and returned to the squads, shaking her head.
“We’re fucking trapped,” Rider said quietly.
Growls made the group train its focus on the open, but inaccessible cave exit.
“We’ll bring you over,” a familiar voice said, materializing with a twenty-vampire squad.
The team just stared at Carlos, slowly raising weapons like Damali had told them to do. But the sheer size of him, as well as his squad that covered the entrance, gave the entire guardian and were-human team pause. Damali could not breathe. She was going to have to watch his beheading, if not do it herself. Her grip tightened on the Amazon’s battle-ax, and Madame Isis. Several, if not all of her team members would die.
Carlos looked more pumped than he had in the tunnels before, when the entire team battled Nuit. His fangs were down at the ten-inch battle length; his eyes were solid red, his chest and shoulder enormous beneath black camouflage fatigues. His Green Beret-looking henchmen had no faces, just red glowing eyes within a black haze under hooded robes, and their arms were as thick as two of Big Mike’s. Battle-axes in hand, they snarled and surrounded Carlos, who took a step forward, motioning for them to not enter the holy water smoked cavern with him.