Minion (31 page)

 

 

 

W
HAT FELT
like an unbreakable magnetic force held Carlos in place as the thing with no face came closer.

“When the council calls, you have no choice . . . for obviously your choice has already been made. Come. Stay near me as I guide you through the darkness—we must go past the demon realms of levels one through five, down to level six—and we cannot afford to lose you along the way.” The thing let out a vicious serpentine hiss, and brought a sickle out from under its robe, wedging it in the earth and pulling a tear in the grass and mud before hiding the huge blade again.

The earth began to vibrate and quake, and a deep fissure opened, uprooting trees, releasing dense plumes of yellow and black smoke until where Carlos stood became a cavern. Instantly he fell as the ground beneath his feet gave way, the dim moonlight above moving farther and farther away—then the overhead fissure sealed itself with he and the entity within it.

Carlos couldn't even yell; the force of the drop was so swift, so brutal. Slimy things grabbed at him, but the bony hand of the entity dug into his arm. He could see the scythe hack at limbs as body parts fell in a blur and screeches and screams echoed behind them.

Then his motion slowed and he came to a crash landing on his feet. The thing beside him glanced up into the darkness above them and shook its head.

“They're getting stronger,” it hissed. “Follow me.”

Not knowing what else to do, Carlos followed the hooded entity before him, taking note of the soot-blackened rocks that studded the narrow passage. The dank floor and walls were littered with stalagmites and stalactites bearing symbols he could not fathom, along with bones, the smell of acidic bat urine, and the winged vermin that murmured as if they could talk—then screeched in a cacophony of voices that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

The being came to a halt and held up its hand as the heat around them intensified. “After the lava moat, place your hand on the door. My journey ends here.”

Carlos looked over a wide embankment that was a red-orange-yellow swirling sea of volcanic heat. Only a thin path of rock extended from where he stood to the other side. The entity pointed to two large doors beyond a thin crag that were of a black shiny rock like marble. Each side of the double doors hosted a huge gold crest with brass fang-bearing, demonic knockers. The ornaments were so realistic that Carlos could swear the heads would bite.

“How do I cross?” he asked the entity warily, looking down at pure liquid Hell. He motioned to the bodies writhing and moaning in the swirling furnace. “I'm not trying to end up like them.”

“Nor I,” the entity spat. “Those who were not summoned, but were foolish enough to attempt a breech of the Vampire Council Chamber, go there—or, those that did not answer the summons. Step out and cross, or be sucked into the abyss . . . the corridor of perpetual agony is within the sixth realm.”

With few options, Carlos stepped out onto the thin path, and only looked back once as it began disintegrating behind him, making him bolt to the other side. He reached the thin ledge full-throttle, his cheek slamming against the thick marble, and in reflex he grabbed at the brass rings. Immediate pain shot through his hands as the knockers sank their fangs into his flesh. A yell of agony came from him as the doors began to open, and he was forced to let one of the knockers go when it retracted from his right hand.

The left door had only opened itself a crack, and he swung his body through the thin margin between a black marble floor and an ocean of heat beyond it. Falling to his knees, he placed both hands on the cool stone, and drew ragged breaths. Adrenaline and fear gripped him. What had he done? Then a low series of hisses made him look up. Almost afraid of what his mind would encounter, Carlos raised his head slowly and stared.

Four pale, black-robed entities faced him, their heads cleanshaven, with no eyebrows or eyelashes, and skin so thin that he could see their blue-green veins. Only one of them wore a peaked, black hat that resembled a Pope's crimson pontiff cap. Carlos's gaze tore around the room where he'd landed. Highly polished black marble was beneath him, a five-point star-shaped table was before him, and its center and each point appeared to be threaded with shining red marble and gold. In the middle of it was a raised, ugly seal circled by cryptic letters that almost seemed to move and swirl around the golden-horned, fanged deity of the crest. Golden goblets sat on the table before each entity and were filled with a ruby-colored liquid. Carlos inhaled. Blood.

Saliva built in his mouth as the scent from their goblets wafted across the room. Pure awe battled with terror inside him as he glanced at the surrounding walls that were of jagged, black granite,
and hosted massive, iron-held torches. He gazed up to the ceiling, but there was none. Above him was angry, swirling gray smoke that released intermittent screeches and distant howls. He slowly lowered his gaze. Strange inscriptions also covered the walls. Soon he could see the red veins within the huge table were not fixed. They throbbed, moved, and were fluid . . . more than likely blood.

The entities were seated in what he could only liken to highbacked onyx thrones, each bearing a different crest inlaid in gold. Thick black candles oozed tallow from tall, scorched iron stands that cast an eerie glow to their fanged faces. They sat before him like a row of judges. If his crimes in life were to be sentenced now, he was done for. Their long, willowy fingers were folded before them. But their countenance was calm, as though they were inspecting a bug under a microscope.

Vomit roiled within his chest, and he could not speak to even offer a plea for mercy. He was beyond disoriented. His heart beat erratically, stopped, and his hand immediately clutched his chest. Pain seared his ribs, lungs, and wracked his body with agony as the muscles around the dead organ within him constricted until there was nothing, no pulse. Yet he was still alive. Or still aware? What was he?!

Confusion and despair brought tears to his eyes. He could feel his body begin to cool as a hard shiver snaked through him. His breath now came out with a frosty mist, as though he were outside on a freezing day. He'd obviously been mistaken before.
This
was Hell.

“I see our messenger has been successful in bringing him down from the topside.” The words seeped from the entity that bore the peaked hat.

“The demonic realms are getting out of hand, we must rectify this, Mr. Chairman,” another intoned.

“It is hard to find good messengers these nights,” the counselor agreed with a nod.

“In due time, Counselor, gentlemen. For now, our cargo is safe,” the one identified as the chairman said. It smiled. “Do not be disturbed by our appearance,” it added in a cool tone, staring at Carlos. “Down here, we do not waste our valuable energy with image projection to assuage delicate human sensibilities. We save that illusion for when we are topside. Down here, there is no need to cater to human deception . . . we are what we are, and if you have been summoned, you are what you are—lost.” Then it threw its head back and laughed in a low, evil tone, drawing a round of deep chuckles from the seated group.

Their voices cut into Carlos's senses. Their harsh intent entered his ears and made them hot, feel wet. He brought his palms up to cover them, and came away with his own blood.

“He's new,” the chairman said with a wicked grin. “Adjust your frequencies, so he can adequately hear us. We have much to discuss.”

The seated entities offered the chairman begrudging glances and then nodded and complied.

“Welcome, Mr. Rivera. Our apologies for the abrupt and inconvenient mode of transportation.” The chairman stood and smiled more broadly, showing an impressive set of hooked fangs. He put his withered hands behind his back. “Our elder council members are too valuable to take the topside risk more than once a year. We only come up annually to meet with the gray-zone world leaders that have been compromised. Come. Join our table—we have a proposition for you.”

Carlos blinked, still disoriented, as he stared at the four black-robed figures before him. Each was seated at a star point around the table. One throne at one star-point was vacant. The creature called the chairman occupied the furthest point away from him.
He studied the pale, hideous things before him that were in full black regalia threaded with gold. He was mesmerized as he stared at their discolored blood moving within them, and on each of their hands they had a ring like his—but each had a different colored stone in the center of it that matched the long stole sash that hung down the fronts of their robes.

The one at the head of the star-shaped table hissed and began speaking in a brute-sounding tongue that was quick, complex, and totally indecipherable to Carlos. It set off a flurry of conversation between the others, and Carlos found his feet. This was power—consummate, infinite power. He could feel it enter him through the floor, forcing him to his feet. They had done this. Knowledge of that was evident when the eldest-looking one in the group fixed his gaze upon Carlos, and flicked a serpent's tongue, making Carlos feel the acidic lick across the room.

“Step forward!” it commanded.

Slowly Carlos complied until he was directly before the massive table. He could feel an electric current run through the length of his body, and immediately a metallic taste registered in the back of his throat.

“Very good,” the head entity murmured, then relaxed and sat down.

“He's strong-willed,” one of the others at the table whispered. “Could pose a risk.”

“Or a distinctive advantage,” the eldest one said, returning his penetrating red gaze to Carlos.

“You have been summoned and offered much. Be prudent,” another warned. It had been the counselor who spoke. “Mr. Chairman, you have the floor. The Vampire Council comes to order.”

The chairman nodded, then smiled. “Carlos Rivera.”

It had whispered Carlos's name like a lover and briefly closed
its eyes. An erotic waft of sensation ran through Carlos's body as the entity deeply inhaled. Disturbed beyond reason, Carlos's hands made fists at his side.

“Do not fight it,” the one identified as the chairman murmured. “Pleasure goes with the pain. Enjoy the encounter—always.”

“Look,” Carlos interjected quickly, bringing the horrific thing out of its violating assessment of him. He could feel it touching him, groping him, stroking his skin with an icy palm . . . licking him as though tasting the salt from his skin. “I don't know what the hell is going on, but—”

Screeching laughter rang out in the room as the entities around the table stared at Carlos and shook their ugly heads in unison.

“Mr. Chairman,” one said. “Point of order. He's new, but time is of the utmost concern.”

The chairman chuckled. “To be sure. My apologies to the council . . . it has just been so long since the topside has sent one such as this.”

The bald heads around the table nodded in agreement, flashing powerful incisors with their sinister smiles. Then each picked up a golden goblet and sipped at a thick, dark, ruby liquid. Carlos breathed in, hungering from the scent of fresh blood.

“We are an old race,” the chairman said, his glance roving the other entities beside him. “Our council was formed to ensure peace and order, and we are the most powerful of the realms of Hell.” He let out his breath slowly, and took his time. “Our methods are subtle, unobtrusive. Our bite is clean, only two puncture wounds to efficiently drain the human body. It avoids unnecessary alarm. It is accomplished with finesse. We leave no scent, no trail. We are highly evolved, and have mastered telepathy—brute force is rarely our way.” The chairman sighed, and
his expression became almost philosophical. “We blend in with the human world, and relieve it of its more unsavory characters, so in that respect, we perform a vital service.”

All Carlos could do was stare and listen as the creature before him spoke. How was murder of innocent people
a service
? There were no words. Hundreds of questions slammed into his brain, but as long as the creatures before him appeared peaceful, he didn't dare move a muscle or ask a question. However, as the thing continued to talk, he became less disoriented, and his senses felt more keened.

“Good . . .” the chairman said and chuckled. “You are beginning to adjust, and let's not quibble over the fleeting merits of a human life.” He stretched out his arm and motioned to the seated group. “Let me introduce our Parliamentarian—council member, Senator Vlak . . . an attorney, and once a member of Caesar's Roman inner circle of advisors. He handles our contracts and our worldwide business negotiations with the humans, but has been having great difficulty with our clerical invasions . . . albeit we are pleased with his infiltration of the North American Roman Catholic Church. Pedophilia. Pure genius. Creates such chaos . . . much like the old days of the Inquisition, Counselor.”

The one entity designated by the chairman's hand nodded and offered a smug look of satisfaction. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I will have forces in the Vatican again soon enough. I urge patience.”

“Very well,” the chairman crooned and then looked at Carlos once again. “Council Member Chu deals with another delicate balance of topside power . . . he minimizes the light within the dark sector of the yin and yang—he has Asia, and all within the Pacific border. The others”—it pointed with a bony, clawed,
hook finger—“have their specialties in war, famine, disease, and human lusts on every continent.”

The group smiled as the chairman acknowledged them.

“You are too kind, Council Chairman,” one said.

“But our Dark Lord is so eagerly watching the progress of your possible destruction of the Church of the Nativity in Jerusalem. We shall monitor your success closely.”

The eldest entity bearing the hat put his hand on another's shoulder as he began walking behind the seated members to denote each one by one.