Minion (22 page)

Mike glanced at the team and received nods of confirmation. “Heck, when I was younger, I thought I was crazy. I could hear things nobody else could hear. Scared the heebee-jeebies out of me, most times. So, I didn't tell nobody, never. It was my secret, until one day something rolled up on me and I had to deal with it.”

“Word,” Shabazz muttered. “I could be out in the hood playing B-ball, and brush up on somebody, and feel when they were gonna die. Or give an aunt a hug and know her time was limited. We've all been there, Damali. Everybody's had their own private wake-up call. We all have a long story, and we wanted you to have as much time being a kid as you could.”

“Yeah,” Big Mike agreed. “We didn't find you until we were readied, either. You had to be in a place in your head where you were ready to be found, had seen enough stuff on your own to accept protection—just like we all had to.”

“Right,” Jose agreed. “And we all had to be ready . . . it took
us time, too, to learn to accept the cosmic laws of reciprocity. We would teach you and be taught by you. We will hunt and be hunted. We will guard you and be guarded by you. We will defend you and also sustain attacks from the vamps. Whatever we all do follows the natural and supernatural laws of energy exchange, Damali.” Jose labored as he spoke, and his body slumped from the mere exertion of his statement.

“Here on Earth is the gray zone; it's both light and dark here,” Marlene said as everyone nodded. “In this war, the good and the bad pull from the casualties of that war—the choice border, Earth. That's what we defend.”

“Last night, your metabolism changed,” Shabazz said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Second sight, olfactory and taste awareness, tactical sensing, increased audio capacity strength. When the seventh one hits . . .”

Damali kept Shabazz's gaze trapped with her own as his voice trailed off. So much had come to her at once that she could no longer get inside the group's heads. Part of her didn't want to. Before today, she'd never mentally probed them—but it had been a reflex when it happened this time. But now it was almost as though they'd thrown up a mental barrier to her thoughts, and when she looked at Marlene, all she saw was blackness. Why would Marlene block her that hard now? “What's the seventh?”

Thoughts, emotions, and an ache so deep that she couldn't move, battered her—her heart hurt. She just stared at the people around her, listening, trying to make sense of the insane. But they were forcing her to grow up overnight and fast-forwarding her awareness. The shift in tempo of the group was dizzying.

“Later,” Shabazz said, shaking his head. “Marlene will go over that one-on-one. We need to look at the map.” Shabazz went to the weapons table and gave Damali his back to consider. “Our
people are going down, as are Blood Music's and Carlos's—forming a triangulation of activity between here, Carlos's hub, and New Orleans where the bullshit began.”

“The vamps have eyes everywhere—normal joes who do their bidding . . . think this big worldwide concert has anything to do with it?” J.L. fired up one of his computers, and clicked on the attached projector, shining a map of the world on the wall whiteboard. Using a laser pen, he drew a line between the five selected continents, marking the cities where the concerts were to be held. “It looks like a giant pentagram. Anybody want to bet that the dark realm has claimed all the space between the points as the place where their major attack will be mounted?”

Marlene sent a glare so sharp and with such warning embedded in it toward J.L. that he looked away. If Damali didn't know better, she would have sworn Marlene wanted to cut the man's tongue out. Deep. Later, like Shabazz said. However, this time when the group fell silent, the quiet horror they shared was audible. No words were needed.

“We've been following the attacks happening to Blood in the papers, just like we've been following what's up at Carlos's joint. We can probably rule out that his performers are vampires, because to perform, they have to cast an image,” Jose rasped, countering Marlene's glare as the group's peacemaker. Despite his weakened condition he appeared to be desperately trying to restore civility. “Their artists are doing music videos, interviews, traveling on planes during the day, whatever.”

“Have you seen 'em lately?” Big Mike argued. “They look like walking death, too. Might drop and turn any minute. Never can tell, if this old master vamp, Fallon Nuit, runs Blood Music.”

Shabazz shook his head. “Vampires have normal business operations to keep them rolling in capital. They don't feed on everything around them; that would be stupid—and the last
thing vampires are is stupid. The only reason this world concert made us sit up and pay attention is because J.L. showed the team that the locations formed a pentagram. That part is not a coincidence. So what if their artists look like hell? Plenty of goths look like death warmed over, too.”

“Drugs will do that to you,” Rider said with a sigh. “We can't go staking what we think are negative artists on a hummer—even if they can't play a lick of music and their act reeks. I believe cops will call that Murder One.” Rider made little quotes around the word “negative” as he glanced from Big Mike to Damali.

“No,” Rider added in slow contemplation. “If they're casting an image, they aren't a part of the equation—except as possible master vamp helpers. Hell, we've had presidents that were surrounded, and they were even guarded by Secret Service from a master vamp's groupies. Every part of the world has had a leader that was either surrounded, or compromised, at one juncture or another. A coupla hot music artists doesn't stress me. Vamp traitors gotta make money, too. That's part of the deal—your soul for millions, power, and fame. Basic. Once the deal is made, a human is marked for that master vamp. However, vamps don't generally do their marked human helpers . . . so it might be safe to say that wherever bodies are dropping might just be happy hunting grounds.”

“No, listen,” Damali said, finding her voice as she approached the map. “Didn't you all say they stake out territory like wolves and fight if lines are crossed? Well, this concert is being simulcast—which means that they had to form an alliance across competing vampire borders. If what you're telling me is true, they're not supposed to do that, right?” She glanced around and then wiped the perspiration from her brow. “Either there's been a
weird alliance, or one master vampire has taken out a lot of competition to be able to cross vamp borders worldwide.”

“Li'l sis has got an excellent point,” Rider conceded, finding a stool and sitting down again. “Damn. Maybe the bodies dropping had to do with some war we didn't see coming, some subsurface event that was hiding in plain sight—just like this slayer is. What if that's why the killings were all so brutal, and not the normal, smooth, two-hole bite? Ever think of that? A vampire version of a drive-by, maybe?”

“We're still not sure it's pure vamps, though. What about what Marlene said earlier about that revenge demon?” Damali shot her attention to Marlene, who remained silent.

“Let's not jump to conclusions, though. Like Carlos's shop and ours,” Shabazz interjected, “the Blood Music team is probably just a feeding ground for a line—grazing lands.” He shook his head as he walked away from the board, kicking a metal stool out of his path.

“Yeah, but Shabazz,” Damali argued, “the concert is
worldwide
. That's a lot of territory. It would be different if only artists from L.A. or New York or whatever had dropped. Think about it. They've had to cross their lines. Kids have been dropping after
all
of these concerts in the last few months. Now they're linking those cities with one label doing a megashow? Uh-uh. Something ain't right.”

“The Blood Music label draws kids from all walks of life—lost souls, and seducing good souls, too.” Shabazz leaned over, his fingers tracing and retracing the steps. “Anybody without a strong spirit is susceptible to the negative vibrations and can be hypnotized by the violence in the music. It's real easy when the concertgoers are in altered states, partying under the influence of drugs . . . like in the clubs. Shit happens, nobody finds out why, or really cares. They're just teenagers going down from
drugs and violence. Parents grieve. Whatever. Concerts get shut down for a little while, just like a club that has had an incident and then reopens in a matter of weeks. Authorities can't shut down a venue if some junkie kicks off there—and it wasn't the organizer's fault.”

“It's a perfect cover for a vamp operation,” Rider admitted. “Right out in the open, like I said.”

“You're right, though,” Shabazz finally conceded, turning toward Damali. “The artists that have died were all linked to the same company by contracts, but they haven't just been dropping in L.A. How our people, and an unrelated club network that Carlos runs, fits into that is the thing that's nagging me. We have to find the epicenter of activity. Something big is definitely going down.”

Jose's frail voice held the group enthralled. “So, if it was just feeding grounds the vamps were after, Blood Music's regular concerts gives them plenty of opportunities to eat. Why are they
turning
our people, and possibly Carlos's people? If vampires want to eliminate a threat, they can easily just kill it, then feed off of it. But if they're increasing their ranks, then Damali has a point. Something's up.”

Rider nodded with Marlene. “Yeah. Who knows? Maybe they only went after us because they thought we'd get in the way of their ability to feed when the
Raise the Dead
simulcast concerts go down. I have no idea why they went after Rivera's posse.”

“But,” Jose argued, “ours
and
Carlos's
are turning
.”

“If they're turning, and building in numbers, then they could be getting ready for a vamp war. I think this goes way beyond feeding grounds.”

“Was I the only one left out of the loop on this Nuit character?” Damali suddenly asked, not needing her team to answer her. She already saw what she needed to know in their eyes.

Damali's skull felt like it was splitting. Her focus went to Marlene, who had to be the one to give the hush order. “Why didn't you just be straight up and tell me who owned Blood, especially if you had a run-in with this Fallon Nuit years ago? Why'd you give me some bull about some millionaire in Beverly Hills?”

The group looked at Damali and then Marlene.

“I needed to be sure myself, first. Blood Music
is
listed under some high roller in Beverly Hills, who's probably just a vamp helper. Fits the profile. But, when their artists started dropping, I started researching and digging. I found out that Blood was under a dummy holding company in New Orleans. Once I dug through the layers of publicly traded holding companies, and waded through the boards of directors, and dredged deep enough, the same company kept popping up,” Marlene said quietly.

“That still does not explain why you didn't tell us once you found out.”

Again the two women's eyes met.

“Simple. I didn't want you to go to New Orleans.”

“Why, because you don't think I'm ready to clean out a lair?”

“Partly.”

“Then what's the other part, Marlene? What's the damned address in New Orleans?!”

Marlene's eyebrow arched in a challenge, but she kept her voice even. “When you're strong enough to get through my psychic block, then you'll know, because then you'll be ready. If you can't read it on your own, then, baby girl, your stubborn behind ain't ready to deal with what's in New Orleans. Perhaps none of us are.”

Tension thickened the silence that surrounded the group. Finally, Jose tried to stand, but couldn't. It made everyone start, as though they wanted to catch him before he fell, but they
allowed him his dignity by keeping their reactions in check.

“You know, Blood Music has this whole
Stars D'Nuit
PR thing going—the stars of the night. Their whole goth motif—even the recent murders around their bands—have been drawing kids in like flies to the mystery and danger of it all. Marlene, I know you had your untold reasons for holding back the info from the Neteru, but
we
should have known that part about a master vampire's presence. You and Shabazz should have told the rest of us sooner. It might have saved Dee Dee.”

Jose's angry whisper made Marlene and Shabazz look away. No one wanted to think about Dee Dee and the pain of that loss, but it was impossible not to. Damali went to him and touched his arm, and then her unanswered touch fell away. She understood where Jose was now. The vampires had driven their own kind of stake right through Jose's heart and had impaled him with a level of anguish that maybe a lifetime wouldn't erase. The only thing she could think of to help him cope with his grief was to not allow Dee Dee's death to have been a sacrifice made in vain. She would take up her argument with Marlene later, and get answers then.

“So, his artists are possibly vampire helpers covering for vamps? Or just unaware pawns, right? Maybe a few of them were even turned, who knows? At least three incidents got reported about Blood Music concert victims not being in the morgue the next day, so we can assume they're undead.” Damali walked and talked, rounding the table and staring at the map.

When her group only nodded, Damali kept brainstorming out loud. “Okay, so we have a master vampire in our midst. But then, that only explains the teenagers murdered after the shows—which has become this dare to attend the concerts, the stupid rites of passage that is PR hype. Most of those kids died and didn't turn, and weren't left in a state to turn—like our people
and Carlos's people were. And it still doesn't explain this international thing, which wouldn't be possible if only vamps were running it—because of territorial lines . . . unless something major was going on in the vamp world that would make them galvanize across borders.”