The Damned (Vampire Huntress Legend #6) 3

CHAPTER NINE

During the drive over to the family house, Damali prayed out loud, and prayed hard. Her panic-laden entreaties ricocheted between the Almighty, any available guardian angel listening, and her Neteru Queen Council. She put out her quiet-hysteria all-points bulletin with tears brimming in her eyes while she clutched the steering wheel.

With portals open and demons running rampant, who knows what could have happened to her man? Was she crazy, not going after him and arguing that he stay until daylight? What had been on her mind! Marlene, AWOL? And that hadn't shaken her to her knees? The rest of the older team members hadn't responded to a significant crisis - and that hadn't jolted her brain to wake up from its self-indulgent haze? Oh, yeah, she was definitely infected. Carlos had to be, too. Just let him be alive and uninjured.

Damali jumped out of her vehicle, ran up the front steps, and barreled through the front door. Her heart was pounding so hard that she almost couldn't hear the sheriff and the tribal leader's quick footfalls behind her. Every member of the team was on their feet, and Damali almost fell from relief when she saw that Marlene, Shabazz, Berkfield, and Marjorie had returned.

"Chief Quiet Eagle had a vision," Damali said, out of breath as her gaze swept everyone in the living room of the family house. "He brought his grandson out to our road, and sure enough, the sheriff saw Carlos's Jeep totaled with a doe on the hood."

"We set up orange barriers and flare markers so no other vehicle will plow into the back of the wreckage. But it's pretty much in a ditch off the road anyway, so in the morning, the tow truck can come to flatbed it."

"Am I missing something?" Marlene said, her gaze locked with the sheriff's for a moment and then with Damali's. "Search party? Paramedics!" Marlene swept away from the sofa and went to stand by Damali.

The elderly man, who had been silent until now, shook his head no and began speaking slowly in Navajo so that his grandson could interpret.

"In the morning, like the Jeep wreck," the sheriff said with an apology in his eyes. "There was nobody in the vehicle, and I scanned the area with floodlights from my cruiser. He wasn't there. My grandfather advises - "

"Damn all that," Shabazz said, pounding Mike's and Dan's fists. "Our brother could have been injured, limped away from the crash, and passed out. We don't roll like that."

Rider and Jose looked at the old man and then the Sheriff.

"Wanna give our brother Shabazz the unedited version of what Pop said, Sheriff?" Rider walked over to the breakfront and gathered up ammunition. "I can't speak it, but I can pick up a few key words and phrases, even though I'm rusty, and that ain't all the old man said."

"We ride," Jose said bluntly. "Tonight."

The old man began speaking again; this time he withdrew a shaker and a small, leather medicine bag with an eagle feather attached to it, and began gesturing wildly with his hands.

Jose and Rider watched him intently, as did the rest of the group.

"The doe had two puncture wounds in its throat," Jose said in a quiet, defeated tone. "Local nearby ranchers outside the sacred barriers have been losing livestock recently. Carcasses drained, mutilated. People behaving strangely, too."

Knowing glances passed around the team.

"He says we should watch the news and read the papers, not just from this town, but from other cities as well. Crime is up, like people are possessed. Strange types of senseless acts of violence are taking place. There have been bizarre sightings of things that cannot be explained. Not just here, but in many areas, many cities." Jose rubbed his palms down his face and briefly closed his eyes.

The old shaman nodded and folded his arms with satisfaction in his unwavering stare.

Damali closed her eyes. It was spreading.

"Grandfather says there's a bad spirit afoot. Whatever's been making bad things happen in the world is trying to infiltrate sacred lands. He has called a meeting of the elders at the sweat lodge tonight. The elders are reconsidering your building permit, and will refund any monies you have given them." The sheriff looked away as though ashamed.

"That is bullshit!" Dan shouted. "Not to mention illegal! We've already poured the foundation, have construction crews out there, and contractors, not to mention the fees to the architects - "

The old man held up his hand and spoke in a calm, determined tone.

"Grandfather says that the nation is well aware of the expenses, and will reimburse you from the nation's casino funds, but there is not enough money in the world to pay for the devil to lodge here." The sheriff looked around with a pained expression. "The ways of my people are... different. Perhaps in the morning, when heads are cooled, we can thoroughly inspect the doe and come to a reasonable compromise." He glanced at his grandfather and the group, and then sighed.

Kristen and Bobby drew in close to their mother. Berkfield's arm went over Marjorie's shoulders. J.L. closed ranks with Dan and Jose, their chins held high and their eyes burning with determined intensity to defend the house, or die trying. Nobody cared who touched whom; they were one team and would go out as one. Jose nodded to Mike, and accepted Mike's handoff of Inez, as Jose's other hand pulled Juanita in closer to his side. Marlene picked up her stick and took a position in front of those who would undoubtedly remain at the house.

Damali looked at Marlene. "When we get back, I need to fill you in more. You and I have to talk."

"For sure," Marlene replied, her intense gaze boring into Damali's.

"Like Jose said," Big Mike repeated, gaining a nod from Berkfield. "We ride."

"Old squad," Shabazz said, motioning to Rider, Big Mike, and Berkfield. "We take our lead tracker, audio sensor, and a healer, along with Damali, our lead seer. I've got your backs as lead tactical sensor. J.L., Jose, you two stay here on monitors and as a nose to be sure nothing untoward blows through this door. Dan, you're on ammo with Jose. Mar and Marjorie will be in here as senior and junior seers to pick up anything before it even shows up on the radar. The rest of y'all chill and stay strapped with a weapon until we get back."

The lights of the family house were like a beacon. All that he cared about, all that he loved was at risk. He wanted this nightmare to be over. Tonight. Waiting was out of the question. Damali hadn't answered her door, and he knew where she was - home, with the others. A place that he could no longer go in his condition.

Carlos wiped his face with both hands and walked down the steps into the front yard. He paused as he passed a blackened section of grass that had not been there before. He stood still and sniffed, and a rank metallic smell entered his nose. He rounded the small patch of pure darkness and then stooped to further inspect it. Something magnetic drew his arm away from his body, made his fist open, and invited his fingers near the patch of sullied earth. He immediately knew what it was; the place where he'd vomited, where his clothes had been deposited in a trash bag in the yard... where the earth had swallowed his dark essence back down into the pit.

And she'd seen it. Had anointed him. Damali had witnessed all of this and still came back into the house to allow him to lie in her bed, trying to heal him, purge him? He owed her more than an apology.

"Oh... baby..." he whispered into the night. "You still had my back. I should have never doubted you." He stood and walked around the dark patch, closing his eyes as he considered the enormity of her love. She'd kept his secret, always had, and had tried on her own to bring him back before alerting the team. She knew he was turning back and had something else too horrible to name within him.' She'd felt it, but never disclosed it. She had also held him in her arms, but simply couldn't get past her inner alarm barriers. Nothing was wrong with her; it was him. Now he understood it all.

Renewed panic entered him as he opened his eyes and glanced back at the lit house in the distance. If all he needed to do to put this to rest and keep the team safe was to deliver the book to angels, then that was a small thing, at least compared to what could result if he didn't.

The pull to the black circle became stronger, almost a lure, and with Damali on his mind, he stepped into the center of it. Instantly the ground gave way, yawned, and sucked him down, burped, and then closed over him.

Rider stood in front of Carlos's wrecked Jeep, sending a UV halogen flashlight beam onto the doe, and then neared the dead animal. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "Wasn't Rivera," he said, disgusted.

Damali touched the animal's throat, peering at the gaping puncture wounds. She measured the bite marks with her forefinger and thumb. "Too small. This isn't Carlos's jaw range. It's - "

"Female," Rider said, flatly. "Goes with a tracer of lavender that I'll never forget."

"Tara?" Shabazz said, nearing the carcass. He spread out his hands and then pulled them away from the animal as though it had burned him. "Definitely female vamp vibration."

Mike cocked his head to the side. "Incoming," he muttered, and spun in the direction of the bramble a few feet away.

Tara walked out of the darkness. Her shadowed form remained partially hidden until Rider killed the lights. This time, without Yonnie there to immediately observe, she allowed her gaze to appreciate Rider fully.

Old memories died so hard, as did one's soul. Every facet of him took her back to a lost oasis in her mind. He still had that sinewy, lanky build, and gorgeous hazel eyes, even when they flashed in her direction with anger. There was a quiet passion beneath his hard gaze, just as the way the muscle flexed in his jaw told her all she needed to know. He felt it; she felt it. Maybe one night; but not tonight. She breathed in his earthy scent, picking up his adrenaline-laced blood, and watching his nostrils slightly flare to breathe her in, too.

She wanted to whisper to him that it had been a long time, but thought better of it. She allowed her mind to scavenge sensations from memory... his rough, guitar-calloused hands, and how wonderful they felt gently caressing her skin. The warmth of his body, the exacting rhythms of his deep breaths when he was in her arms... and the impassioned sound of it when it hitched just behind her ear. His hair, his laugh, his wit, his touch... his good heart. A thousand years would never replace the loss. She loved him so, but had hurt him so badly that tears rose to her eyes in the dark. Yet, there had been no other way. One more kiss, one more night, and she'd turn him. That couldn't happen. He deserved better, and she loved him enough to set him free.

"I'm sorry that you all had to see that," she said quietly, her eyes on Rider, meaning more than the bleeding deer. "It was my intention to remove the animal before you did, but the trooper and the old man arrived before I could."

For a moment, he just stared at her and then sent his line of vision toward the dead doe. "Nice to see you again, too, Tara," Rider said in a tight voice. "How've you been since last night? Guess you can tell we've been just peachy."

"Rider, listen," she said gently. "I - "

"What's to listen to, darlin'?" Rider snapped, cutting off her statement. "You had to eat, jacked up our boy in the process, but he's only a human. You got our near-apex male Net stashed in a the DAMMED love lair, or did you have him for a light appetizer, maybe the main course? Or did you save the big game for Yon - "

"I don't know where Carlos is. I didn't send the deer into his windshield, either. It was running from my hunt and froze in Carlos's path. Before I could help him, a bright light sent me back and away. I was temporarily blinded, and I don't know what happened. I needed to feed once the light receded, because I'd been rendered blind. I was injured! Do you understand?" she said, her voice as brittle as Rider's. "I didn't call Yonnie to help me - out of respect for this land, and for you."

"This is getting us nowhere," Damali said, giving Rider a look to tell him to chill. Hummer headlights made everyone's faces seem elongated and eerie, but she shook the dread. If lights came from the sky and chased a female vampire away, then it stood to reason that Carlos was still in good graces. She hoped. Damali turned her attention to Tara. "Can you track Carlos now? Are you all right?"

"Thanks, Damali," Tara said in a huff. "Yes. I am fine. I've healed." She scowled at Rider, and then addressed Damali again. "But I could not locate Carlos, even after the light receded. I fed as quickly as possible to regain my sight, and then began to search for him. I was frantic. That's why I left the carcass, hoping he might home back to it, if he was experiencing a relapse. Then the sheriff came before I could dispose of it and I had to conceal myself. When I saw your Hummer approach, I was hoping we could search for him as a team." Tara had let the offer dangle, placing extra emphasis on the word team.

Damali nodded. "Let's do that, then." She looked at Tara, then at Rider, before glancing at Shabazz and Mike. "We all have to pull together on this. If one of our team is out there and down, time is of the essence - given what else might be out there." She stared at Rider hard. "Tara just confirmed that Carlos didn't relapse. This was her kill. However, she and another member of our team have superior night radar and range."

"Rider, man, we ain't trying to rub your nose in the situation," Shabazz said carefully, "but Carlos's boy can cover more ground in the air with Tara than we can on foot or even in a vehicle - plus he can pick up a human blood tracer faster."

"Word," Mike said, adjusting his semiautomatic. "But it's up to you, brother. Respect."

All eyes were on Rider. He hocked and spit and walked away toward the Hummer.

"Call the sonofabitch," Rider muttered. "Just keep that bastard out of my face."

His descent was immediate, but not disorienting like it had been in the past. Nothing reached for him or scrabbled at him as the black siphon pulled him deeper. All it took was his thought, Level Six Chambers, and he landed on his feet just outside the Vampire Council's Chamber doors. Not even the bats crowded among the stalactites and stalagmites moved. Hooded messengers bowed and closed their red, gleaming eyes, their skeletal bodies trembling beneath tattered black robes as they lowered their massive scythes. The gaseous fumes that swirled up from the Sea of Perpetual Agony didn't even make his eyes water. His nose seemed impervious to the harsh sulfuric blasts. Even the heat emanating from the bubbling red-orange surface felt like a cool breeze. All moans and shrieks and wails ceased.

Somewhat bewildered by the reception and his instant adjustment to the environment, Carlos proceeded down the narrow crag and stood before the doors of the Vampire Council's Chambers. He reached for the golden fanged knocker, expecting the customary entry-check bite, but the demon-headed knocker closed its eyes, retracted fangs, and the door creaked open eerily.

Carlos stood outside the huge black marble double doors, frozen in wonder for a moment. Not even the Chairman had access like that. The knockers always did a vamp black-blood ID check to ensure no imposter was entering for a coup. Down here, illusion and treachery were the order of the night. The doors just opened like that? He felt another potential setup, but no alarms were sounding in his gut.

After struggling with the conundrum for a bit, he soon gathered his courage and walked forward, not waiting for the underworld to change its mind. He knew only one thing for sure, power was respected, but that was always a temporary condition. Therefore, whatever the angels had jolted him with, he couldn't waste time thinking about it for too long. The mission was clear; get the book and get out.

As he crossed the familiar marble floor, however, the level of disrepair did give him slight pause. Thrones were overturned and broken; there was a huge gaping fissure in the floor. Residue of black blood spatter marred all surfaces, staining everything like it was crude oil goop. Wall torches appeared to have been ripped from their mounts. Rubble and crushed granite was everywhere. It seemed like a veritable war had been fought within the once revered hall. It was obvious that whoever or whatever had been searching for the Chairman had exacted serious pain from any entity that had been foolish enough to remain here to try to take a stand.

Carlos glanced around, the eerie desolation unnerving him as he approached the barren, dust-covered, pentagram-shaped table that sat silent and abandoned. No longer could one hear the constant trickle of blood that used to run through it. All motion had ceased; blood was dried and clotted in the veins and arteries of the marble and had come to a dead halt. Inner lair, granite coffins of the councilmen had been reduced to piles of ash and small stones. Mere pebbles represented the once ornately carved caskets now. No respect for the dead resided here. True, Damali had dusted the remaining council suckers, except the Chairman, but it was also clear that someone or something else had come in there behind her, and it had been very pissed off. Girlfriend didn't do all this damage while she'd been here.

The kingdom of the vampires had obviously been served a death knell. Level Seven was definitely in full effect.

Carlos peered down at the crest at the center of the table, wondering. The eyes of the demon head opened slowly and stared back at him. Fear flickered in its red glowing eyes as it submissively retracted one battle-length fang and one broken fang, then shuddered. Carlos glanced back at the Chairman's throne. With all the devastation, what if the book had already been stolen? They hadn't considered that? Why would it be left here? Clearly, unless the Chairman had some serious special power over that artifact, the one who will remain nameless would have already seized the prize and have it in his possession - and there was no way he was going down there to retrieve shit.

Carlos wiped at the thin sheen of perspiration forming on his brow. The decision was clear. Report back that the book was gone, and where its probable location was now. Let 'em know the condition of things below, and they could concoct a new plan. That was the ticket. He was out.

He began to draw away from the table, wondering if just a mere thought would jettison him to the surface without incident, or if he had to risk calling for one of the trembling messengers. In the few seconds that it took him to draw a rational conclusion, the crest shuddered and yawned open on its own, revealing the vacancy beneath it. Confirmation. Cool. Even the fucking crest was scared shitless. Obviously it didn't want to be ripped open again and violated. He could dig it. Been there.

As Carlos edged away, stepping over toppled, abandoned thrones with care, and avoiding the Chairman's at all cost, memories coalesced within him. Ultimate knowledge lay as rubble at his feet. Carlos hesitated, suddenly remembering his old throne. Everything from his line from the beginning of time resided within it, and had offered infinite knowledge. No. He kept edging away. His orders had been explicit. Never sit in a dark throne again, especially not the Chairman's.

Before he could clear the circumference of the table, something very odd began to happen right before his eyes. The rubble of the Chairman's throne slowly gathered. Carlos was transfixed as stone sealed in upon itself, black marble smoothed, deep crimson velvet rethreaded as though new, dust filtered away, and the Chairman's throne righted itself from the floor and regenerated. His first impulse was to run... but a slow trickle of crimson ran down the arms of the throne, pooled at the edges of the demon handgrips, and then dripped to the floor in a long, string of inviting ooze. Then, in a slow, sulfuric burn, Carlos watched his name become etched in the hieroglyphic-like markings at the top of it, replacing the former Chairman's.

Blood scent filled his nose and made him lick his lips. "No," Carlos whispered.

The throne whispered back, its call like a siren's. "Come, and know all." Multiple voices wafted out to him, offering the blood scent as a lure. The slow ooze that had pooled on the floor instantly rippled across the marble to Carlos's feet, covering his Timberlands, circling his ankles. Blood soaked into the hem of his jeans, climbed up his legs, lapped at his thighs, stroked his groin, then wet his T-shirt to travel up his neck and stroke the place along his jugular until it burned like a lover had caressed him there.

Carlos weaved and caught himself against the edge of the table. The scent was intoxicating, but didn't make him nearly as heady as the hint of power the throne begged to share. He'd always secretly wondered what gave the Chairman such absolute reign over the other councilmen. If each of their thrones held the wisdom and collective knowledge of their lines on a given continent, then what the hell did the Chairman's throne hold?

The blood that teased his throat spread under his nose and across his face in delicate tendrils, licking at his nostrils. Carlos held his breath for a moment, fighting the urge to inhale deeply as he staggered away from the table and kept his lips sealed firmly shut against bloody invasion. He shook his head no as he turned to stare at the throne. No... he was out. The book wasn't there.

Standing there, soaked with blood, tears forming in his eyes, his body began to shudder with feed desire. He hadn't sipped in any air, and was suffocating. He angrily wiped the blood away from his mouth, took in a huge gulp of air, and closed his mouth quickly. But the taste in the scent lingered on his tongue... made him close his eyes, slowly part his lips, and a tiny tendril entered his parched mouth where air was allowed to seep in.

Flavors and colors from all the blood consumed from generations of vampires coated his tongue, opened his mouth wider, until the blood ran over his face like a river, pooling in his opened jaw, lowering fangs, and he swallowed.

The throne pulled him blindly as a deep, sensual moan came up from Carlos's abdomen. Blood washed his face; it was impossible to see. The rush of it was so intense that it deafened him, filling his ears, invading every orifice, until he sank against the crimson velvet panting, swallowing, shuddering, crying, laughing, his palms welded to the hand rests.

His body arched as a black electric volt ran through him. It snatched open his third eye, bludgeoning his senses, burning out his cerebral cortex with so much information transmitting so quickly that he sat there like a vegetable, twitching and jerking in the horrible seat. His spine groaned, writhed to the surface beneath his skin, and then snapped, tearing away from tissue anchors and cartilage, making him scream as vertebra became one with the high-back marble throne for a moment, and then reentered his body, regenerating with new circuitry and bits of black matter.

Carlos slumped forward, panting, sweat pouring down his frame, his clothes burning away while blue-black flames scorched his skin, but he was unable to move. Then the surface of his skin became suddenly cool. A new torrent of blood filled his mouth, and he greedily gulped it, regenerating more as he did so.

Pain abated. The room again went still. Strength slowly crept into his naked limbs. Fear fled his heart. Knowledge from every throne in the room had a new lord. A sly smiled graced his face. Information poured into his mind in streaming, endless still frames... then with agonizing pleasure.

Every carnal act that had ever been committed on the planet sent shock waves of ecstasy through him. Depraved or otherwise, it didn't matter. He could feel the impact of it all, every touch, every shudder, every moan, every gasp, every whimper - it all collided and fused into one sensation. He came so hard his heart stopped. His pulse was measured in elongated wails each time his body jerked and emitted thick, black emulsion from his member that wriggled in a slimy wash of tiny black tadpoles over his stomach, his lap, and his thighs.

Carlos's fingers gripped the hand rests; his nails grew, carving into the marble with hooked talons. His eyes were sealed shut, but as he opened them, a black gleaming ray covered the floor where his line of vision went, scorching new sections of marble away.

Battle-bulked to proportions he'd never dreamed possible, Carlos stood abruptly. Dark ejaculate slid from his body, splatting to the floor in thick, wriggling plops from his thighs. He stared at it dispassionately as his legs turned into granite. A scaly, spaded tail swished a razor-bladed tip at what was moving at his feet, making the knots on his spine feel tender as he flexed his spine. Then his toes welded together into gleaming, black, cloven hooves. Interesting. He chuckled, his voice booming like thunder and sending small rocks to the floor from the abraded walls. New, leathery wings unfolded from his shoulder blades and cast a dark shadow from their broad span. He spun to face the throne that had consumed him, fury at the treacherous invasion closing his talons into a fist.

He hurled a punch that exploded against the marble and decimated the throne to bits of stone once more. Breathing hard, he could feel sudden heat flare from his nostrils. He covered his nose with his hand, and it came away with blue flames. "Well... I'll just be damned."

Yonnie touched down and stared at Tara in the moonlight. "Something major just happened."

She nodded, glancing off into the distance. "I know."

"We've gotta find our boy before the others do," Yonnie said, worried. "Fuck all that bullshit with Rider. I ain't even thinking about that right now. We need to get back to the group and let 'em know something big is going down."

Tara nodded and disappeared.