Minion (10 page)

“Good.” Marlene sat back in her seat and stared out the window.

Jose had never even taken his eyes off the distance. He just didn't seem to care. Shabazz had pulled his gun back in the window, and patted Jose's shoulder, but Jose didn't acknowledge the touch. Damali just drove.

Highway turned into narrow, one-lane roads as their two-car caravan snaked its way up the misty, North Hollywood mountainside. Commercial districts had given way to residential communities until the houses became mansions separated by vast expanses of land. The full moon cast a bluish tinge on the rows of tall pines and redwoods and made the dense foliage take eerie shapes as they approached the place they called home.

Damali stared at their fortress that was set on a high vista surrounded by time-activated ultraviolet lights. All shrubs and trees had been removed from the landscape, except a few tall palms on the outskirts of the property—for safety purposes. Steel gates were still closed down over the bulletproof-glass windows and skylights. The clean edges of the modern concrete design didn't appear to have been disturbed. Tonight it bothered her that the brightly lit building looked more like a prison than a place to live.

“Seems clear,” Damali said into the radio receiver as she pulled the Hum-V to a stop behind the Jeep in the driveway.

“Yup. But only one way to be sure,” Mike answered from the other vehicle.

“Jose, why don't you sit this one out?” Damali looked at him when he didn't respond, and glanced at Marlene and Shabazz.

Shabazz gave her a nod, and he, J.L., Big Mike, and Rider all exited their vehicles on cue.

J.L spoke into his transmitter as he walked ahead of the four-man sweep team. “All sensors are still operable. The normal alarms haven't been tampered with. I'm going to open the garage. Mar, you drive the Jeep in, and I'll flood the interior with UV. We could have picked up an unwanted passenger.”

Shabazz leveled his gun toward Marlene to cover her as she jumped out of the Hum-V, ran over to the second vehicle, and engaged the ignition within the Jeep. Intense lamps lit up within the garage over the other parked sedans. Both trucks rolled forward slowly. The ground team had already gone in and was ready to fire at any intruder. Damali sighed. Normal people didn't have to go through this mess just to come home from a business trip. She watched the garage doors slowly seal them away to safety, and as the team went room by room, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of resentment.

“We need to have a meeting before any of us goes back to sleep,” she said in a weary tone. “I know everybody is beat up, tired, and through—but we've gotta deal with this now.”

A series of disgruntled mutters followed her as she led the way to the war room. People dropped their bruised bodies on the seat closest to them, fanning out to claim director's chairs, metal stools, the sofa, and an armchair. The crew looked like hell. But they also seemed relieved. J.L.'s systems and monitors were operating at normal levels. Damali walked over to the expansive metal table in the middle of the area that was littered with equipment and weapons and hoisted herself up to sit on it.

The war room was mostly metal and concrete; maybe they should have all just met in the study or game room or even the kitchen, just to get away from the madness. They had all worked so hard at making every other room and the studios in the compound feel warm, lived in, like a real home—but the weapons area was where the illusion ended. No amount of art, plants,
cool furniture, or serene colors could disguise that.

She knew all of them were maxed out, stressed beyond the edge, and for a moment Damali wondered whether or not a more comfortable atmosphere might make the conversation feel less invasive. She was also worried about how Jose would handle the details that needed to be discussed. Then she immediately banished the thought. They had to deal with this head-on.

“Damn,” Rider said, dropping his weapons on a nearby table with a clatter and flopping on the sofa. “I need a drink and a good card game.”

“First light, you're on.” J.L. eased into a director's chair with a groan. “Feel like I got my ass kicked.”

“Me, you, our old friend Jack Daniels, and anybody else who doesn't have second sight can play poker with us, and I challenge you to shots.” Rider leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Times like these, whiskey is a man's best friend.”

“As soon as it gets light outside, I'm finding me some barbecue ribs, potato salad, greens, and a cold beer,” Mike said, sitting heavily in an armchair. “Then, I'm calling up this fine sister who—”

“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Marlene just shook her head. “Or anything else? You guys don't need to pollute your bodies, either. Everyone needs to focus, and keep their systems clean—”

“Been telling you that pork will kill you, brother,” Shabazz warned, taking off his gun and examining the clip. “And be careful about the sister you decide to spend some time with.”

Big Mike laughed his deep, rolling-thunder chuckle. “Takes my mind offa thangs, Mar. Shabazz, you know I can't eat that vegetarian bird food y'all keep pushing. 'Sides, a brother needs a little TLC, if you get my drift.”

“But you need to lose the pork, Mike.” Shabazz shot Big Mike a disapproving glance.

“A man who hunts vampires for a living is not trying to tell Big Mike to worry about pork killing him, or did I hear wrong?” Rider slapped his forehead and let his arms fall to the back of the sofa. “Put me out of my misery.”

“It's bad for your health,” Shabazz countered.

“I need some real food . . . might even have me a taste for some Creole.”

Rider opened his eyes and gave Big Mike a scowl. “Do not even talk to me about anything that has to do with Louisiana. That topic is off-limits.”

Damali chuckled and before she could open her mouth to ask the question about the dreaded city, Marlene had held up her hand.

“Girl, you don't even want to know.”

“But I hear you, Mike. We all need a break after what just went down tonight.” Shabazz shook his head. “Me, I'm going to find my jazz spot.” He glanced at Jose. “Man, some cool-out music might help. We can hang, if you want? We can go find us a brew, maybe?”

Damali watched the interaction, quietly assessing how each team member was talking about everything but what needed to be discussed. “I might go shoot some pool, then find Rider and J.L. and whip their butts at some cards—as long as the joint you hit has my extra-hot barbecue chips.”

“You can shoot pool, but you can't play cards with us, darlin'. You and Marlene have been permanently banned from all games of chance, even Scrabble—because you ladies cheat with your gift.”

“We do not!” Damali laughed and hopped off the table to stand in Rider's face.

“We're just good,” Marlene chuckled. “But I'll leave you guys to your games. I have some research to do.”

Just as quickly as it had erupted, the mirth slid away from the group.

“Marlene is right,” Damali said with a sigh. “There's a new entity out there that we've never dealt with before. So, I suggest you all get some more rest and play hard when the light comes up, because we're gonna have to work hard come nightfall.”

All team members nodded agreement, except Jose, who just continued to stare at the steel-covered windows.

“Work hard, play hard, and carry some serious heat,” Shabazz muttered.

“Correct.” Damali cast her attention toward Marlene. The subject was on the floor, and it was time. “These things die like vampires, and suck blood. But they hiss, not a normal characteristic of vampires. They leave a horrible signature bite—”

“They ain't smooth at all,” Shabazz added. “Normal vamps talk a lot of shit. You don't even see the bite coming till it's too late—but from what Damali described, they totally jack up their prey.”

“Can't be demon, though, can it?” J.L's gaze went from teammate to teammate as he spoke. “Each one of the people we lost had been attacked in a different location—just like Blood Music's people, according to the newspapers. Demons are usually linked to a place—a house, an abandoned facility, or inside a host body.”

“Right, J.L. And the host body doesn't incinerate on impact. The demon flees, and it will torch, but the human body just dies a normal death.” Damali waited, her focus on Marlene.

“Marlene, tell her,” Shabazz urged. “Tell her about the house in New Orleans.”

Everyone watched the team matriarch slowly stand and walk
over to the sealed window. Marlene leaned against the steel beam and spoke in a low tone. “There was a mansion down there that had what we all assumed, for years, was a demon sighting. Same thing happened—the absence of sound, and one hell of a fight to put the thing down. It slithered into nothingness, and we thought it had been destroyed. The host body was unfortunately killed.”

“How long ago?” Damali's arms were folded over her chest. For some strange reason the information was making her breathe hard, and again, her second sight was wavering. “And why didn't I hear about this before?”

“It happened a little more than twenty years ago,” Marlene murmured, and then her gaze slid away from Damali's. “I thought it had to do with my own coming of age as a guardian, with no bearing on what's been going on here. Every one of us has their own private tale about how they were summoned to this destiny, I'm no different.”

Nervous glances shot between her crew members, and then each of them looked away. She didn't like it. “Fine. But what did that thing from twenty years ago look like? How did it manifest?”

Marlene took in a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled slowly. “We thought it was an Amanthra demon—ugly things that look like a cross between a snake, a huge spider, and a panther, hence the scaly facial appearance and fluid movements and power. The hiss is like a snake's, but it also has big cat properties, like a panther, and growls low in a rumble. Jaws unhinge to attack—the snake part. Its fangs and bite are deeper than a regular vampire's. Retractable claws, moves fast—the panther aspect. Joints able to turn backward and give it scurry motion like a spider's. Eats flesh. Hideous creatures.”

“Now where did some shit like that come from?” Rider was wide-eyed, his expression incredulous.

“Demons have to be released, or conjured up, brother.” Big Mike rubbed his jaw and stared at Rider. “You and I both know that.”

“Right. New Orleans.” Rider sighed. “Need some black magic to bring them to the surface. Vamps can just do their thing and don't have to be called. Guess that's why they're at the top of the food chain—or the bottom of it, as the case may be.”

“Vampires are incredible creatures, if you really think about it.”

This time the entire team just stared at J.L. for a moment, stunned.

“What?!”

“Hear me out, Rider,” J.L. argued. “Think about it. What makes a vampire so deadly is they have the ability to blend in with humans. They can transform into bats, wolves, mist, smoke, leave no real odor trail, can invade dreams, and feed without detection. Leave the body drained with only two puncture wounds—but most of the time they cover up the kill and make it look like an accident to keep authorities at bay. As an entity, they are extremely effective.”

“Smooth, like I said,” Shabazz muttered. “Most times they're cool, don't cause a lot of static. They stay on the down low to keep the public unaware.”

“Sexy, too,” Big Mike said in a distant voice. “Can make you wanna slap your momma.”

“I told you, we were not going to get into that discussion,” Rider said with a scowl. “Almost got yourself bitten that time.”

“Yeah . . . I did, didn't I?” Mike chuckled. “Guess I been cooped up too long.”

“People, can we stay focused?” Damali walked in a tight circle. “What brought this Amanthra thing up from Hell?”

“This demon is one that has province over revenge.”

“All right, Mar, but that's another difference. Vampires aren't just bent on revenge. They're about power and feeding.”

All eyes were on Marlene as she spoke.

“There's a South American legend, and another similar one from ancient Kemet . . . the three creatures' aspects of the demon are found in those respective regions. Hence why it has to be released using incantations from those cultures.”

When the group looked like their understanding had glazed over, Marlene pressed on. “Big snakes like anacondas and cobras, and jaguars—a cousin to panthers—are found in South America, and the Kemetians were always partial to the big cats. Spiders, I can only assume, had the South American influence. No matter. Someone conjured up that particular revenge demon, or made it, or whatever, in some dark-arts ritual long ago. We thought we'd dealt with it years ago, and now it appears to be back. That's what I need to research. So, while you guys are drinking and carousing, I will be in the occult bookstore and scanning the shelves at the Botanica to get answers.”

“But the eyes,” Damali persisted. “These things had vamp eyes, and from all the police accounts and the stuff in the papers, they said the bodies were drained of blood. That's vamp action. Plus, a wooden stake wouldn't do a revenge demon. Would it? That's a vampire weakness.”

“I know,” Marlene murmured. “That's what concerns me. It's almost like a hybrid.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me!” Rider leaned against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. “Now I
know
I need a drink.”

“Think I'll skip the ribs and the fine sister and join you, brother,” Big Mike said.

“Jazz ain't calling me like Rider's bottle of Jack Daniels, right through here,” Shabazz agreed.

“How about if I just make a package-store run and we open up old Jack right here in the compound, dudes?” J.L. glanced at his monitors. “If Mar is breaking out the dusty black books, I'll need a shot. Hell, I'll even stop off and pick up some chips for Damali, too.”