Minion (35 page)

The seated members again erupted with dissention at the request.

“Order, order,” the Parliamentarian shouted. “A seal of off-limits for unclaimed humans is easy. But we do not easily put down second or third generations, unless you want your own
lieutenants? That is understandable, but your closest allies in life not coming under you, once Nuit is terminated, gives us pause. Why?”

Carlos glanced around nervously. He could not divulge that he wanted his brother's and his friend's souls saved. But a lie came to his lips quickly. “I don't want anyone in my inner circle possessed by an Amanthra.”

“You propose to wipe out all of Nuit's made vampires, his Minion, too?” The attorney glanced at the group. “Ambitious. Very ambitious. We may have made a correct choice.” He returned his attention to Carlos. “We generally never leave territory open—which is also why we didn't eliminate Nuit until we had a replacement. But you make a valid point. The entire Nuit line, the Minion, has been polluted. We can give you blank lines within his registry to fill. As you kill one of his, you can replace it with one of yours, until the line is purged. Feed well.”

“Ruthless. Ambitious. I like it.” The chairman nodded. “So be it. If you come with us, you take Nuit's territory, rebuild at will, and you will also get one-sixth of the Neteru vessel heritage. If we are able to compromise the Neteru, her heir will be a daywalker—which will produce more daywalkers. One-sixth of that number will come under your leadership.”

“She's beautiful,” Carlos murmured, using the mere mention of the Neteru to buy time. “And I owe Nuit. He'll pay.”

“Yes. Vengeance is such a driving force.”

Carlos nodded.

“Then, you're with us?”

He picked up the papers, but left the pen, and skimmed the documents he couldn't read. “I want a translation. I want to see my requests in blood—especially the part about me being the one to enter the slayer for the group. I also want to sign it just before my delivery of her to you, and after I have had a chance
to peruse the fine print. I want amnesty from the agony pit—if Nuit does me first. But know that I will hunt that bastard down for the return of the double-cross . . . it's personal, and it ain't business between him and me. I want to be the one to take him out. And this discussion will be considered a verbal contract.”

The attorney leaned in to the chairman. A low murmur ensued and then both beasts parted.

“We don't like verbal commitments—but given the pressure of time, and the unusual circumstances of all of this, plus your palpable hatred of Nuit—a wondrous emotion—we are willing to seal the bond the old-fashioned way.” The attorney accepted the papers back from Carlos. “I will have new documents drawn up in human blood, forthwith.”

Carlos nodded. “I'll need a layout of his lair and the demon realms so I can know how he moves.”

“We'll send it by messenger,” the chairman said with an uneasy smile. “You ask for difficult information, however. We know some of it, but not all. But we will give you a tour of Hell before you go.”

“Send what you have then,” Carlos said, turning to leave. “And I'll need an escort to the topside.”

The chairman nodded. “Then, we have an agreement?”

Without turning fully around, Carlos cut a sharp glance at the group. “I will off Nuit, and I will find the Neteru,” he intoned flatly.

The group hissed its acceptance.

 

 

 

THE LEGENDS CONTINUE WITH

A VAMPIRE HUNTRESS LEGEND

 

 

 

TAKE A SNEAK PEEK

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
IME WAS
of the essence. He stood outside Damali's compound on the dark side of the road and willed the phone inside to ring. A male voice answered, and sounded weary.

“It's Carlos. I need to speak to Damali.”

In the background, beyond the mute option that had been engaged, he could hear mild pandemonium break out as she came to the phone.

“Carlos, where are you?”

He looked down at his T-shirt and sealed the gunshot hole in it, then glanced at his hand, dissolving the image of Nuit's ring. “Close by. I want to take you up on that invitation to come in. There's a lot going on, and I have some info.”

“We can come get you . . . uh . . .”

“Tell the team I am not being followed—but I do need you to kill the exterior lights for a minute so I can come in.”

She'd put her hand over the receiver, and then had hit the mute button again. An argument was underway. He let out his breath hard. Time was ticking, and tonight would be the last night he could really help her. He called her in his head. Get back on the phone.

“We don't turn off the lights,” she said quietly.

His mind wrestled with the obstacle, trying to work around her team's resistance. “Tell them to lower their guard—a knight of Templar visited me, and left the newspaper. I need to get info to the group for tomorrow. He gave me some maps that I didn't understand.”

She paused, and then began a flurry of words back to her group. Good.

“Just ten minutes, then I'm out—I have other pressing business going on in the streets. Tell them, okay?”

Her hand covered the phone and he could hear her battle for him. She didn't even hit the mute this time. Real good. The knight hadn't lied.

He closed his eyes, already invited, just blocked by the damned contraptions they had everywhere. He was not going through the door's double-lock process—he'd fry. He hoped that nobody would panic and hit the hall sprinkles. This was bullshit. But on the other hand, he was glad she was so well fortified . . . it just bothered him that, at the moment, he was on the other side of her world.

“Tell them,” he added, slowly, “not to blast me when I come through the door. I've got maps that will burn in the ultraviolet light, the knight said—now I don't know what the hell he was talking about, but—”

“Bring them in. We won't flash you.”

He could hear the team murmur agreement, and he relaxed as the lights around the compound went out. But he hesitated for a moment, scanning the terrain to be sure he'd be the only guest, while another part of him became mildly concerned. Baby, do not panic and toast a brother—cool? Everybody just chill, no lights, crossbows down, everybody just take it easy.

Carlos kept the mantra in his mind as he crossed the road, hoping that the lights wouldn't suddenly come up. But when he
reached the door, Damali and two of her male crew were there. She was unarmed; they weren't. But he crossed the threshold nonetheless, received a quick hug from her in the dark, and immediately she pulled away from him and led him to the inner rooms with two henchmen at his back.

The hug had destabilized him a bit, but he shook it off. Had to stay focused. This was business. It was about her safety. But in the dark . . . wow. Okay. Think.

Slightly taken aback, he surveyed the extensive weapons room as an Asian guy at the computer panels flipped a master switch and he could feel the entire compound heat up like it was a tin can in a microwave. This, he hadn't anticipated.

“Shabazz—”

“Save the intro, Damali. Me and Carlos know each other, or should I say, we remember each other. Lotta guys in the neighborhood did time for workin' with him, or got shot.”

Carlos nodded to Shabazz. What could he say? There was no defense. It was what it was.

Damali let her breath out hard and extended her arm, moving it slowly as it swept the room. “Rider, J.L., Dan, Big Mike, Marlene, Jose is sick—but will recover. There. You met everybody, everybody, meet Carlos—or re-meet him, whateva. The man came to help. So chill.”

“Speak,” the one pointed out as Big Mike said. “Now.”

“Wait,” the tall guy with spiked hair interjected. “A formality. My name's Rider,” he added, picking up a crossbow. “They call me the Nose. And, while I can't put my finger on it, the scent ain't right. So . . . how the hell did you know where we were? I don't like it.”

“He saved me, guys, remember?” Dan said fast. “This guy put everything on the line, fellas. Seriously.” Standing, Dan's expression held an apology.

“Rider, stop. Put the weapon down, okay?” Damali shook her head and stood in front of Carlos. Although fatigue had dimmed her sensory awareness, common sense still prevailed. If Carlos were a vampire, or vamp helper, no religious guy would have let him know their location. The Templars weren't that sloppy.

“If a Templar sent you,” Marlene said suspiciously. “Then?” But Marlene pulled back a bit and folded her arms. “How about if you stay on that side of the room, and Damali comes this way and stands with us . . . just till we get comfortable. We don't get many visitors at night around here—none that don't bear fangs.”

“You know, Mar, now that you mention it, the hair is standing up on my arms.” Shabazz bristled and picked up a weapon—glancing at Big Mike and J.L., who gave him nods and flanked him. “Damali, come on over to this side of the room.”

“No! Would you guys stop? Carlos, show them whatever it is you came to show us.”

“Thanks, D,” Carlos murmured. The fact that she had remained on his side of the room was not lost on him at all. The Templar had made good on both parts of his agreement; he'd get him into the compound and would try to surround him with enough mercy that the guardians wouldn't sense his vampire status. But he only had a few minutes. Damali and her team, although weary, had keen sensory ability. He had to talk fast and get out.

“I got a newspaper shoved through my front mail slot, and inside of it were some drawings I couldn't understand at first . . . until this guy came and told me to choose wisely—then rolled. It was the weirdest thing. Said something about New Orleans, and bullshit going down at the big international concert. I figured one or two things—either the guy was whack and could
pose a threat, so you should know, or, it had something to do with all this bizarre shit we've seen lately.”

One by one the stances before him relaxed, and Carlos kept his attention roving over their expressions. It was a definite standoff, and the monitor behind J.L disturbed him. It was flashing like wild, but he'd been able to mute the sound. His attention was divided between many things at once. It was sapping him to project, cover the hole on his shirt, conceal the ring, keep the alarms from sounding, and stand away from any unusual lights on the table. The smell of holy water and incense was wearing him out, as was Damali's fragrance. The joint was a freakin' oven. He had to materialize maps and hope the guardians would heed the tunnel layouts before daylight came and the illusion of the maps torched. The big guy named Mike kept tilting his head like a bloodhound, like he could hear something, and the hunger was beginning to come back—the energy drain, kickin' his ass. He'd need to feed again after all this.

“Look,” Carlos said, tossing the maps out for the guy named Mike to catch. “I don't know why I bothered. Turn off the lights, and I'm out. No need in jeopardizing you all—I have a lot of people looking for me. Dig? I want to slide out of here cool like, and not get sprayed when I roll.”

The attention of Damali's palace guards went to the maps, and the blinking monitor no longer made the huge brother keep tilting his head. They descended upon the information like vultures, but he was curious—Damali hung back, near him. Deep.

“Where did you really get that, Carlos?” She'd whispered the question so quietly that she'd almost mouthed it instead of speaking.

The complexity of her question, and the way her voice had murmured, made him step closer to her than was advisable. The
nearness was working on the wrong side of his brain, gnawing it away from cool logic.

“Now is not the time, but you have to trust me.”

She nodded, and put her hand on his arm. He stood there glancing at her team as they absorbed the information, trying his best not to breathe in too much of her. The heat of her hand was melting his common sense. He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Do you know what this is, dude?” Rider walked around the table and saluted.

Shabazz and Big Mike gave a grudging nod.

“Looks like these things can open up a portal at will—big change,” Shabazz muttered. “Not good.”

“Apparently, there was an alliance formed,”Carlos began with caution. “We're in the last days, the knight said, and key sectors of the demon realms have joined with a major sector of the vampire empire. Evil is concentrating, gaining force.”

“A vampire-Amanthra hybrid . . .” Marlene whispered, making the group stare at her. “I didn't think it was possible, because the two species are enemies. But now it all makes sense.”

“That's what the superstitious guy said.” Carlos allowed his statement to sink into the wary team around him, and just pointed toward the maps without crossing the invisible boundary that had been drawn between the sides.

“He went on and on about how it used to be that the vampires could only come up through lair sites—burial sites, where they kept their coffins—and had to have human helpers move their coffins from place to place. But, under Fallon Nuit, he made a pact with the demons, and can use demon transpo levels to move underground without human support—like high-speed train zones through the third and fourth layers of Hell. Like I
said, do what you want with the info. He was talking some crazy shit. I need to go.”