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 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 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 faltered and broke into a sob.
Carlos glanced at his appearance. He was normal, projecting pure human. What was she talking about? Even her mind was shut to him.
"Mama," he crooned. "Come outside. We should talk. I know Alejandro's death is killing you, but you still have one - "
"No!" His grandmother wrapped her aged, gnarled fingers around his mother's upper arms. "You may not enter! You are demon now!"
What? His own grandmother... and how did she know?
His mother turned from him and sought her mother's shoulder. Juanita's stricken expression drew him and he entered her mind. His grandmother had anointed the house. She had put down a barrier and had been screaming about demons and vampires all day. It was her house, too, shared with his mother now. He could not cross the line without permission of the owner. Juanita thought it was all superstition and was torn. She still loved him. Her heart was breaking as she watched his mother give in to the old ways. He called her with the most seductive voice he could muster within his mind.
Juanita opened the door as the eldest of the women shrieked and grabbed at her. His grandmother and mother were screaming in Spanish, shouting prayers, trying to get her to come back into the sanctuary of the protected home. But his focus was singular. Juanita walked toward him, down the steps as the older women yelled behind the now locked screen. They called him vile things. They said his grandmother had had a vision... a dream. Yes, the humans did indeed have gifts. Blood.
"Come to me, baby," he whispered, drawing Juanita farther away from the house. "Just a few more steps, and I will make it better. The pain will go away... you won't ever have to be afraid. The old women are foolish, look at how they've hurt me, have turned on their own son. They break my heart."