Her voice was like a knife, carving at his libido, slicing it away from his reason.
"In the slow areas," Carlos said, releasing a deep breath. "I have forces - the Vampire Council's messenger demons who do not want Nuit's goal to be accomplished. They will sense anything in there moving slow, and will help you get to his door to kill him. That was our deal."
"Demons?" The Templar and the members of the Covenant pulled back and huddled in an agitated conference, arguing the merits of Carlos's newest strategy, and the way it might be misunderstood within their own hierarchy.
"Listen. We don't have time!" Carlos began pacing. He'd been in the room longer than three minutes. The show proceeding hers was wrapping up. There would be a brief break, and then she'd have to go on stage. Someone would knock soon to tell her it was time.
"The demons I worked a deal with agreed," Carlos said. "However, there are rogues amongst them that will attack slow-moving objects - any vampire not traveling at the higher speed, or humans. The way the tunnels work is, if something is moving slower than the tunnel's speed, it belongs on a different level, not theirs. They don't ask questions, they attack. And humans aren't even supposed to be anywhere down there. Your bodies are slowed to topside time, not astral time, and you draw them. Not to mention, the scent of your blood is a tracer."
"This is a bad - "
Carlos stopped Rider's comment and pressed on. "Nuit's forces are expecting six of us to go down there with Damali in tow - me, my brother Alejandro, as well as Julio, Juan, and Miguel. The five other vampires made by Nuit's line, and me, are the only ones that have high-speed amnesty - not even Damali can be cleared. Which means as soon as the floor drops, while in the center of a zone, I'll have to do them... may their souls rest in peace. From there, we can go fast, or slow, but we won't have much time. The longer it takes me to get to Nuit's door, the more suspicious and on guard he'll be, and the higher the risk of attack from other subterranean forces."
"Oh, Carlos," Damali murmured. "Nobody should have to do their own family..."
Carlos looked away from her.
"Once I... take care of them, you can pick four men to replace them, but they have to enter the tunnel immediately after you and me or they will be viewed as intruders. If they miss that window of opportunity, they'll have to risk the slower corridors with the rest of the group." Carlos studied the serious faces that stared back at him. "If you don't get to Nuit's door in time, Damali will be between me and Nuit. The only thing you'll have to your advantage, and the only possible way to get her out, is if he and I square off - which is inevitable."
"I told you, they did his fam - "
"No, D!" Carlos yelled. He looked at her hard, and finally told her the truth. "It's not because of my family. Two male masters, one female Neteru... If I kill him down there, you'll have to kill me. Got it? So will your team, when they get there. Make your strike swift, make sure you get me on the first blow. If not..." He put his hand on the door and didn't look at her as he spoke. "If not, I start an empire. Choose well, and be decisive."
The assembled group didn't say a word. The expressions on everyone's faces said it all. Damali walked over and picked up her blade, and checked the sharpness of its edge.
"Say a prayer, Templar," she said in a low murmur. The knock and curtain-call yell didn't even make her look up. So much adrenaline had hit her system it was making her ears ring. The tone of Carlos's voice, the look in his eyes... the unconcealed desire. Yes. She might have to kill him.
"C'mon, people. We've got a show to do."
She could feel them watching her as she stood on a small platform under the stage, waiting for it to raise her to stage level. It was like being in a shark cage underwater, each beast swimming by, circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Seconds seemed like minutes. Damali gripped Madame Isis tighter, checked the battery belt on her silver suit, as well as the Isis dagger on her hip, and picked up the medieval, silver, double-bladed battle-ax the knight had offered. They were gonna get it on when she dropped, and she'd have everything she needed when she did.
Special-effects thunder and lightning strikes could be heard above, as the crowd's clapping roar swelled when Big Mike turned up the volume of the FX section of his soundboards. Marlene's voice rang out with the introduction, and she began an African chant that the crowd followed.
Stage boards creaked overhead to the beat of Marlene's repetitive, "Oooohhh, nanana." The team was jumping up and down overhead, giving Watutsi homage and anthem from the motherland. Deep bomb blasts that sounded like M-80s soon followed, and Damali knew it was show time.
She held up Madame Isis as she rose. A dark blue and a purple haze awaited her entrance when she got to the top, then more bomb blasts, and the stage went white with light and gold smoke. More thunder sounded as Rider's guitar started to wail. Jose, as sick as he had been, was throwing down conga hard, J.L.'s keyboard was serving it hot, but Shabazz was walking the bass and had it thumpin'. Marlene was working out on cowbells as the crowd went nuts. Damali laughed. So, they liked the twelve warriors with weapons onstage, huh? Cool.
Electricity ran through her. There was nothing as exhilarating as a performance when the crowd was like this. And even though there was everything in the world riding on the situation, the music had her swaying. All those innocents out there, waving UV unknowingly. She was gonna blow the doors off!
Rising slowly, she heard Big Mike's booming voice lead off and blend in with Shabazz's and Rider's, as they each took turns to yell into their Mies.
"She leaves 'em smoking, on fire!"
"Baby got da ansa, for any desire!"
"Hot - burnin' with emotion!"
"Betta wat'chure back, 'cause she ain't jokin'!"
The floor opened and a wave of audience screams assaulted her as more stage bombs went off, white and gold smoke surrounded her, and the lights changed. The music tempo picked up, and Damali stepped forward holding a medieval ax out from her boot ninety degrees on the left and Madame Isis raised on her right. She gave out a war cry, and the crowd erupted again. Dropping the ax for a nearby knight to catch, she strutted to the front of the stage to the music, pulled her dagger from her hip belt, lowered her sword toward the crowd, breathed in, and let the words ring out.
"I leave 'em smokin', dead or alive. Dis ain't no job like a nine to five. Ain't scared of the dark, 'cause I bring my own light. Make a choice, fast, and make it right. Been to Hell and back, might go there again - but you betta watch yours and take a friend. My sword's name is Isis, and Momma draws heat. Watch her work, when we drop da funky beat!"
Carlos was riveted to Damali's image, as she owned the stage. He couldn't move from his position beside his squad in the wings as she began her routine. It was pure, fluid adrenaline, charged atmosphere. Her body was like liquid silver fire, and the crowd was off the hook. The UV lights kept him in the shadows, it burned off some of the scent, but it didn't keep him from seeing her work. She took full possession of fifty thousand screaming fans, however many crew and vamps in the wings - and him. There was no description for it. The music throbbed inside him as Shabazz and Rider took the rhythm frenzy to the next level, and Damali swung a sword and dagger in between stanzas.
"Yo, man, how's your head?" Alejandro whispered. "You need to step outside for a minute and get some air, so you can do this delivery in a few? You don't look so good, hombre, but I got'chure back."
"I'm all right," Carlos growled, his gaze glued to the stage.