L.A. Banks - Vampire Huntress Legend 2 - The Awakening

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THE AWAKENING.

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Printed in theUnited States of America .

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Banks, L. A.

The awakening : a vampire huntress legend / L. A. Banks.—1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-31683-6

. Women artists—Fiction. 2. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3602.A64A97 2004

813V6—dc22

2003058354

Awakening to a new reality, perspective, or understanding is a process. For some, it happens in the

blink of an eye, a millisecond of time when one's life is irrevocably changed. For others, the awakening

within is gradual and complex. But fast or slow, all awakenings require change… and as humans, the one

thing we most resist and tend to fear is change. Therefore, consciously awakening is perhaps one of the

most courageous things an individual can do. This book is dedicated to those who have awakened and

were brave enough to open their eyes—even while in the dark.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks go to my editor, Monique Patterson, and my agent, Manie Barron, who took this entire

project to the next level. To my husband, Al, and Constance O'Day-Flannery, who began this mission

with me as dear friends. To all mytights who stood with me through thick and thin; you know who you

are! And, as always, to my family (especially my mother, my daughter, my sister, and aunties), who are

always there for me with deep spiritual backup, no matter come what may.

Special thanks also go to the wonderful "master authors," Tananarive Due, Brandon Massey, and Susan

Sizemore, who supported this new legend series with generous blurbs; to Robert Flemming and Donna

Hill, for their always positive vibes; to Lorene Carey (a community treasure), Jeff Hart, and Bebita

Metellus of Art Sanctuary, for their steadfast friendship and encouragement; to Christopher Bonelli, for

hisfabulous Web site development that launched our Neteru into cyberspace with flair; to Vince Natale,

who captured the very essence of our vampire huntress with a visually dynamic book cover, as well as to

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Michael Storrings, for his awesome cover design work; and to Liza Peterson, who gave Damali

Richards's voice living energy via heroff da chain spoken-word rendition of Damali's poem. THANK

YOU! This deeply appreciated collaboration of allied artistic support created the complete package and

could not have been accomplished without a team effort by serious, visionary individuals.

PART I

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, showthem [the potential] harm.

—Sun Tzu,The Art of War

Se wo were fi na wo sankofa yenki.

(It is not a taboo to go back and retrieve what you forgot.)

—Sankofa proverb

PROLOGUE

Standing in the Middle of Hell…

Carlos assessed his situation fast. Payback for all that he'd done in life was a true bitch. There was no

way out. He was dead. Or, more like half dead—undead—a vampire. Topside, he had a woman who

he'd give his life for. Perhaps, to some extent, he already had… only to find out that the sister he was

protecting was a vampire huntress. Not to mention the fact that the woman he wanted more than his next

breath was surrounded by a gang of weapons-toting brothers and an off-the-hook momma who could

fight. Crazy.

The old vampires had called Damali a Neteru, and then thinking him ignorant and stupid, and being

themselves arrogant, had attempted to simplify the concept for him by describing her as a slayer. Carlos

smiled. The tension in their faces was a dead giveaway that, for all their power, they couldn't hide. Yeah,

they had reason to worry.

But didn't they realize what he'd known all his life? Now dead, there was no loss of that knowledge

about what she was—special. Always had been, to him. There was no simplifying Damali. Neteru fit her.

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To call her anything else would be a clumsy summation of what she was.

His awareness from just a quick hit of Nuit's throne had given him a glimpse of all who had hunted

vampires in the past. For centuries humans had cast spells, or those with mild forms of extrasensory

awareness had come for what was now, unfortunately, his kind. Shamans had performed rituals and

secret societies had made their own legends. But this one, this huntress… a Neteru was divinely created

and specially anointed. Damali was something that he could not put into words.

Carlos drew a hard breath just thinking about her. This woman could shift the balance of world power,

realign the energies in the universe. She had every gift to go along with her force of nature—not all of

them realized, but definitely there, waiting—and a team of seasoned hunters at her side to give guidance,

then ultimately follow her lead. From her womb great empires could be birthed, on the side of light or

dark, and she held the key: her choice in the matter—the ultimate power of free will. The sister had divine

authority. Even the old boys were awed, nervous, and craved what she had come by as a birthright.

And she is mine…

But he couldn't worry about all that right now.

Above ground, he had the Asian, Russian, Dominican, and Jamaican drug mobs, plus the federal

authorities and another master vampire, looking for his head on a silver platter. Beneath the earth's

surface, he had the entire Vampire Council on his ass. And now he was about to receive a tour of Hell

itself.

This was beyond fucked up.

CHAPTER ONE

The dense black smoke that swirled in the abyss-like ceiling high above the Vampire Council table

formed a moaning funnel. A long strand of it touched down as though a violent twister, depositing a

hooded messenger before sucking back into itself like a giant vacuum to resume its previous whirling

mass. Now Carlos understood what was in the screeching cloud—things that went for food, bodies, and

anything else the Vampire Council requested.

The messenger used his scythe to motion for Carlos to follow him. "The Vampire Council occupies the

sixth realm, with which you have been made familiar. What you have not seen here is for the knowledge

of the council members only. As we go, we will stop on each of the five demon realms with brevity. I am

told you are valuable cargo, and the upper realms have formed a resistance."

Carlos nodded. The council chairman waved his hand. Just as quickly as he'd consented without words,

the funnel reappeared, creating a whining turbine sound. A putrid wind rushed against Carlos's face. This

time no terror entered Carlos as the bony messenger's hand clutched him and the tornado-like cloud

enveloped them. He was on a mission. He'd been granted temporary immunity. He'd cutthe deal of life .

The powerful strength of master vampire status surged through his veins. Curiosity about this strange new

life replaced fear.

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Soon the jettison slowed. Carlos landed hard on his feet and heard a crunching noise under them like

twigs snapping. Screams of agony met him as they echoed through the distance. The messenger's eyes

narrowed as he pointed ahead of them with his scythe. They were standing in a clearing at the edge of

dense black woods. Tall, disfigured trees with no leaves rose and twisted amid a climbing bramble of

thorns that seemed alive with motion. It was so dim that even with his heightened ability to see in the

dark, he had to strain to differentiate the shapes of objects before him. Slowly but surely, he could begin

to make out the strange new environment, relying partly on his physical awareness, and partly on his

mental sight.

"Look deeply," the entity whispered. "This is the were-realm."

As soon as the messenger had spoken, Carlos heard several mournful howls echo in the distance. The

screams that sounded human were everpresent, and the wolf-like mourn pierced those cries to create a

chilling call and response in the darkness. Within seconds, golden-yellow eyes opened in the shadows

within the thicket. Carlos glanced down at his feet and saw human skulls and bones instead of twigs. He

was speechless.

"There are many different mutations within a demon species. The were-creatures are one evolutionary

turn from vampiri. Vampires have their wolfen trait from one of their particular lineages, but are more

sophisticated. The were-creatures can deliver a vicious bite, turn their prey, or eat them, but they cannot

hold their shape permanently. They are beholden to the moon. This is what gives the vampire realm the

advantage. Our bite is permanent, hence our superiority. Our human turns do not shape-shift based upon

the phases of the moon."

Curious, Carlos glanced around. "How do you keep humans alive down here so the werewolves can

feed on live prey?"

The messenger chuckled. "Ah, you refer to the perpetual night sounds here?"

"The human screams," Carlos said impatiently.

"Those are harvested souls, not living humans. The were-creatures, like other demons, are released

through their topside portals by a curse or ritual levied by a human with a soul. They eat topside, as do

we all. But what remains here are the souls of the damned to also be feasted upon in perpetuity. The

damned fuel the transformations and give each demon species strength. The damned feel each topside

human attack."

Carlos rubbed his jaw and continued to monitor the distance of the sounds, which were advancing. "The

souls take the weight?"

"Correct." The messenger nodded. "Each demon is created by the deepest, darkest, most twisted human

thought and desire. You are aware that thoughts and beliefs manifest?"

"I am now."

"Good. You learn fast. The thoughts create the density of the demon. Determine its range of power, or

its horror. The lower realms are of the darkest thoughts, most twisted human conception of evil… with a

little creative license from our Dark Lord. And, so it is with the souls. The greater the sin, the deeper the

soul is sent into our realms to contend with the most ravenous of our demons. Sometimes the soul of an

unredeemed sinner is ripped apart to experience multiple levels of Hell. Their harvest location all depends

on what the primary focus of their human life has been; vengeance, lust, greed, murder, pick one. As we

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visit the upper levels, you will notice that the density is less, as is the darkness. It is all relative."

A series of howls turned into snarls, and Carlos could detect misshapen, low stalking forms advancing

just from the increasing volume of the sounds. Thoroughly intrigued, he decided to wait until they had

found a less dangerous location before he'd fire another round of questions. The messenger had said two

things that he wanted to learn more about. One was the part about souls being harvested. If he was

damned, and if he was dead, then where was his own soul and what was feeding on it? The second issue

was the question of unredeemed sinners. The messenger had not just plainly said sinners. By now Carlos

had learned that everything meant something here, and an omission of a word spoke volumes.

"We go to level four. The were-creatures—wolfen, panthers, jaguars, bears, all manner of earthly

predators made hybrid with human—envy vampiri. It is not safe to linger."

Again Carlos nodded, and felt the touch of the messenger's hand. Growls and snarls continued to draw

near him, and oddly it sent adrenaline through his system. He felt his jaw become filled with a sharp

hardness as the golden eyes stalked forward. His shoulders now also felt thicker, more powerful, and he

was not afraid, just poised for attack. His own fingernails sliced into his fists like razors as he clenched

them, prepared to ward off a potential lunge from something in the woods. But a sudden wind encircled

him as the beasts before him hesitated. He heard the messenger chuckle. It was so dark in this realm he

couldn't even make out the blackened smoke that was lifting them to safety.

"You are coming into your master's strength," the messenger noted, as soon as they'd landed again. "The

were-creatures would have rushed a weaker vampire. They are excellent trackers… you gave them

pause."

Interesting. If he was a master, then the messenger couldn't enter his mind. His thoughts had been sealed,

even against Nuit. This was good. There was much to think about. There were many strategies to grapple

with. He needed a plan.

"Where are we now?"

Carlos glanced around a damp, mucus-coated area that was the color of dark-gray charcoal on all

surfaces. Everything dripped from the slick, smooth surfaces and smelled dank. Clingy vines, Spanish

moss, and wet spiderwebs made advancing treacherous, as he brushed them aside to see farther into the

infested terrain. Maggots rained intermittently from overhead, making little plopping sounds as they

splashed into the unmoving waters.

Tiny flying gnats and other insect pests added a bothersome distraction as Carlos swatted them away.

Glowing-eyed vermin scurried and disappeared into the endless network of standing water ponds, wider

black lakes, and puddles within the caverns. Moans of despair vibrated through him as he stared off in

the distance toward a tar gully that had a low blue flame burning on its thick, slow bubbling surface.

Carlos took a step forward and was suddenly knee-deep in vile standing water. "Shit!"

Things wriggled in the sewer-like swamp at his calves and he immediately jumped back from the

cesspool that sent the rotting smell of human flesh, feces, and garbage into his nose, the smell covering his

tongue. Ugh! It wasn't as dark as the previous black forest, but it was much wetter.

"Shake it off," the messenger chuckled, "and stay close. Use thought to clean and dry yourself. In fact,

change your clothes, if you so desire. Always remember that you are from the lowest realm, which gives

you authority over the weaker realms. Sheer thought. Use your ability to materialize your comfort—or

safety."

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Point well taken. Carlos released his disgust and focused his thoughts on having the crap off of him.

Instantly he felt dry, and even the smells around him abated enough for him to think. "What's on level

four? It doesn't feel as dense." He had a sudden, inexplicable need to know what souls were trapped

here.

"We are in the realm of nightmare entities… things that swim and slither and creep. These are dark

dreams, creatures made of dark desires and black thoughts. There are so many varieties of this demon,

and they remain hidden, stay within the haunted spaces of the human mind." His guide waved its arm as it

spoke. "Pure hatred lives here, incest lives here, as well as many other dark emotions that become

manifest. Vampires have lost the wet, slithering, snakelike forms of these amorphous creatures, but have

retained the sophistication of their ability to permeate dreams and thought. Their whispers are

mesmerizing. We go now. You are not strong enough to fight the mental pull of these alluring creatures

yet. Soon, however. This is a realm of dark desires where even seasoned vampires can go mad. Nuit

remained here too long."

Carlos didn't even nod as the messenger beckoned him. Sinister thoughts were attempting to attack his

brain, and invisible tendrils slithered up his legs, stroked his groin, and dazed him. The pull of his transport

broke the spell, but he looked down as he ascended to the next realm, awed by the power he'd just been

wrenched from. Oddly, his eyes adjusted to the speed this time. This was some twisted shit, indeed.

Somebody should have shown him this much earlier in his life. Had he only known… But where was his

soul? Where was Alejandro's?

"We are on level two," the messenger announced as they landed in a barren, desert-like place that was

merely dark gray all around.

Rocks and jagged gray cliffs surrounded him, and Carlos looked up from a deep canyon to a lighter

realm above. He was glad it was dry at least. "We skipped level three," he murmured, listening to his

voice echo. Sobs surrounded his voice, sending it back to him with piteous wails.

"Level three is where the Amanthras reside. That is not a part of our tour. Too dangerous."

"Why?"

"The Amanthra are poised to detect any vampire encroachment in their territories. The many species of

vengeance demons are formidable."

Carlos nodded, continuing to stare at the barren crags above.

"This is the realm of lost hopes, lost dreams, lost faith. Angry ghosts live here." Rocks began to fall and

pummel them, and the messenger held out his cloak to protect Carlos. "Poltergeists. A pain in the ass," it

sneered. "Nothing here to see. They have no form, just move matter, but we have retained their ability to

transform into nothingness, and to move about as mist. We go. Very boring here, but useful."

"Let me ask you something, though,hombre ," Carlos said fast, holding the arm of the messenger.

"Where do vampires' souls go? Assuming we're all damned… our essence must go somewhere, right?

Who feeds on us?"

The messenger gave him a suspicious, appraising look. "They go to the Vampire Council's vault where

they are registered; hence nothing feeds on us… unless that soul gets tossed into the sea of perpetual

agony—which you crossed to enter the council chambers. Why do you ask?"

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More rocks skipped down the cliffs, but Carlos held up his hand, stopping the assault as a huge boulder

came toward them, but was deflected. He looked at his hand, assessing the awesome power it had. The

messenger smiled with approval.

"Just curious," Carlos said slowly, still awed at what he'd just done. He continued to look at his hand as

he pressed his question. "So, my soul is in the vault… and so is my brother's, right? Safe?" He had

openly displayed concern that his spirit would be kept by the council to throw off the messenger's

concerns. It apparently worked when the messenger seemed to relax.

"Yes. Your brother's has been registered, as have your friends." But then its voice took on a strange

tone of worry. "Yours, we are still trying to locate, however. There was a dispute, and it was wrested

away during the border battle at the edges of Purgatory. No matter at this juncture. We have rightful

ownership… after all our years of work on you. We will find it, or reclaim it."

"No matter?" Carlos was incredulous. "After seeing this shit, you tell me no matter?"

"No matter. We are predators. The density of your unredeemed soul will have to bottom out,

unmolested, on level six—the realm of predators. This was your lifestyle. You preyed on the

weak-minded for material gain. Power, blind ambition… yours will come to where all like you come."

The dissection of his life gave Carlos serious pause. While he was aware that his business transactions

required the weaknesses of others to keep the cash flowing, it never really dawned upon him. "Tell me

two things, and then we can go," Carlos hedged, "since you guys have been sloppy—seems only right."

The messenger cocked his head to the side and waited.

"Which souls get cast in the lava around the council's chamber? You feel me? I'm just trying to know:

What could get a man thrown in the joint?"

"Wise information to have," the messenger replied. "Those without a prayer who get staked by us for

transgressions… should they violate the council's policies, or those who fall victim to the humans. If a

made vampire was an innocent victim, was turned without agreement, when that vampire is extinguished

he goes to the realms above—assuming he didn't have other issues to damn him. But, alas, if he was of

the redeemed, he is escorted to the province of the angels by the warrior legions."

"Now that's some deep shit."

"Yes," the messenger stated flatly. "This is why we try to kill all innocents, first, then feed. They are a

waste of energy in our realms. This is also why the cleric being turned was such a flagrant violation—it

brought warrior angels deep into our realms to collect his soul… and they also tried to take additional

borderline souls up with them in the battle… and were successful in a few cases. We speak of that no

more. It is a history that nags the council. But those under our aegis that are cast by the council into the

pit around the sacred council chamber feel us feed on every victim, as well as feel the blood hunger that

cannot be quenched while in the pit."

Dozens more questions entered his brain, but Carlos focused on the one priority he had: Nuit. "Then if

Nuit was cast into the pit, where's his soul now? Can't the Vampire Council just—"

"No," the messenger spat, cutting him off. "His was in the pit, and in our registry. His lair was sealed and

he writhed in pain for only a short time—until his lair was disturbed. After his term of incarceration, his

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soul was to be sent through the demon realms for them to have their rightful torture split, since his

damnation levels were manifold… but when Nuit escaped, he was able to convey it to a hiding place on

level three where the Amanthras control. His deal put his spirit in their safety zone. They have it, but do

not attack it. This is what makes him so dangerous—he is rogue, with no way for us to sanction him like

the others."

"And if I drive a stake in his heart for you guys? Where will it go?"

The messenger chuckled. Carlos wished it had a face so he could read more into the thing's voice or

expression than just the scant narrowing or widening of its glowing red eyes.

"Straight to level seven, beneath even the Vampire Council's realm. If Nuit fails his betrayal of us, he will

have a permanent appointment with the Dark Lord… and ask me no more, for I do not want to even

fathom what that consequence could bring."

"Sho' you right." That's all he needed to know. For now.

This time, Carlos anxiously awaited the last level, curiosity pulling him upward as much as his guide's

hand. They landed in a light gray, barren sandy area, and there were illusive human figures milling about

seeming disoriented, arguing, bickering, and screaming invectives at each other—some laughing with

insane, vacant stares.

"Pathetic," the messenger spat. "The realm of confusion… addictions, excesses, wantonness. Some of

these transparent specters don't even realize that they're dead. We don't use much from this realm, save

the ability to create turmoil and their capacity to throw voices, which rise to the surface. When humans

hear ghostly sounds that frighten them, or hear voices that propel them to evil deeds, more often than not,

they come from this region. Sometimes we bring one of them up as a zombie, but it is a tiresome, noisy

realm that I cannot tolerate."

"I hear you," Carlos muttered. "Let's roll. This is getting on my nerves."

"Yes. A vampire's sensibilities are utterly invaded by this clamor. We go now."

Again the black smoke pulled at Carlos's body, and his guide didn't bother to touch him. Somehow

Carlos could sense that he was in no imminent danger in the upper levels. The only thing he'd been there

was aggravated.

"The council felt it wise to deliver you to the gray zone here, in Fallon Nuit's territory. It is necessary that

he continue to believe that he has control over you. Kill well on the topside, and feed heartily. You will

need your strength," the messenger said with a nod, and was gone.

Carlos stood in front of his grandmother's house and stared at the front door. A pang of mourning inside

him became a dull ache. His family… things would never be the same. The tiny, impoverished house

seemed so frail against the night. Carlos shook his head. Why hadn't his mother and grandmother simply

agreed to his offer to move them to a lush home in a much better place? Just look at it, he told himself, as

he stared at the aged clapboard frame, peeling, ugly gray paint, and flimsy metal bars that covered the

screen door and windows. The front yard was a postage stamp of withered grass. They should have let

him do what he could, when he could, to move them all to somewhere safe. But they were so stubborn,

the women in his family.

The porch seemed like it could barely support the white plastic chairs on it. Cheap flowerpots sat on the

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steps filled with half-dead plants. The windows were covered inside with cheap, sheer fabric curtains.

Traffic and night noise blared around the huddles of young-bloods standing down the street on the

corner. This was no way to live.

However, a wave of concern came over him as the hunger for blood regained its topside strength.

Perhaps it was the scent of humanity in the air that had ignited it, he wasn't sure. While on his

zoo-exhibit-like tour through the dark realms, looking at all the grotesque abominations of demons, he

hadn't felt it. Not this strong and not like this. Not here, he admonished himself, but the familiar ground

had such a pull.

He wanted to wrap his arms around his mother, beg her forgiveness, see that she was all right. He

closed his eyes, breathed in, and saw within the home. Yes, she was on the telephone in tears—just as

he'd witnessed as he was dying. His grandmother was in her room, her lips moving in what he knew to be

a fervent prayer, but he was now deaf to it. Juanita was inside trying to comfort his mama. She was

always a good girl.

Tears of earnest remorse welled in Carlos's eyes. What had he done… what had he become? The

paradox claimed him; when he had been alive he could not submit to live like them, and now dead, he still

could not.

Yet the need to eat created a ravenous draw to the front steps of what had once been his home. These

were the people who had given him life, and this was where he'd grown up. The alpha and the omega; his

beginning in life through them; their end of life through him. Full circle. He could smell the living behind the

door. Their blood was so ripe, so thick… Carlos licked his lips. Guilt and shame battled with the hunger

and loss.

Like a junkie, he was drawn up the front steps. Like a junkie he knew he would pillage his own home

for one hit. Like a junkie he knew that he would prey on his own family—just as every junkie he'd

created had. As a dealer, he'd made humans that were like vampires, too. They were also the living

dead. They would feed on their families, with remorse. They would make excuses and apologies, but

would quench their hunger. Fair exchange is no robbery, he told himself, as he prepared to enter through

the mail slot as smoke. His family would hesitate to fire a weapon, fight off an attack, or drive a stake

through his heart—just like living families always hesitated when a junkie of theirs came home.

It was the way of predators, junkies, addicts. Bring down the weakest in the herd. Pick off family first.

Open a sitting pocket-book, steal money from a drawer, but feed your hunger. Family, for a while, will

not bar the door or change the locks. They'll weep. Family, unlike an outsider, would try to beg and

plead and hope. Family would try to negotiate and get their predator help. Family would hesitate in the

crucial moment of truth. Family had love, and that made them vulnerable.

He almost cried out as the images flashed through his mind. Hot tears rolled down his face and spilled

with knowing. He couldn't even call out to God to help him. The thought made him bring his hands to the

sides of his head as a stabbing pain shot through it. But it was enough to sober him slightly. Carlos

knocked on the door, and immediately his hand was scorched.

Yelling with pain, he drew away his wounded knuckles. Immediately, he heard the locks turn, and his

mother stood inside, just beyond the threshold with Juanita and his grandmother behind her. Tears were

cascading down his mother's puffed face, and she covered her mouth with her hand for a moment as she

stared at him.

"Oh… my son…" she whispered. "Madre de Dios, you have taken all of my children." Her voice

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