Stack stared at Yonnie for a moment and then looked away. "Humans."
"What?" Yonnie was incredulous. "The Guardian team is in LA, man. How you gonna tell me that - "
"No, man," Stack said, grabbing Yonnie by both arms. "Can't you feel it in the air? We were in one of our clubs, everything was going smooth, the girls were dancing the poles. We were about to do a little dinner theater - chick about fifteen or sixteen. You know, blood sacrifice for the crowds, when the f**king door blew in and these big, burly, black motherfuckers came in and lit the joint up. Rowdy black giants, and shit, are what they call themselves."
Yonnie opened his mouth and closed it. Stack dropped his arms and walked away.
"Lost three of our boys. They have one about the size of Damali's big man, Mike. And a smaller version of Shabazz. Like ten or eleven of 'em, and they roll fast, combat-style, then be gone. We got our asses kicked, man. They drew us to the rooftops. We thought we could escape, but that's their backyard. Lost one of our boys on a disguised roof - was hallowed ground and he torched on impact. Then that big Hannibal-looking guy threw a hammer at our other boy, and the way it hit him, it dazed him, and he fell wrong off the roof - two of them got him on the ground before he could get up. Third one got wrapped up in motorcycle chains - pure silver dipped in holy water - strangled to death. We was out."
"You sure they were human?"
"Man, they bled red blood, okay?"
Stack let his breath out hard and leaned against the metal door and shut his eyes.
For a moment, Yonnie didn't move. He became so still that he didn't even breathe, sensing the atmosphere.
"You feel like you're getting stronger?" Yonnie whispered to his friend.
"That's the crazy thing about it," Stack said quietly, peering around nervously. "We felt strong as shit going in. Every one of us was on top of our game. We were drinking toasts to you for getting us aligned with Rivera, and they were saying that even back in the day under the old regime, we'd never had the blood flowing like this. At one point tonight, it was like the females were all in heat. You could feel it in the air."
"Yeah, I know, man," Yonnie muttered as he began to pace. "That's what's so freaky about humans taking you out like that."
Both vampires looked at each other for a long time but said nothing.
"If we're getting stronger, it has to be because he's getting stronger." It was more a question than a statement.
"Then, it makes sense," Stack said, but his voice seemed unsure. "If our side just kicked up a notch, then the light maybe kicked up a notch?"
"That has to be it." Yonnie continued to walk back and forth, running his palm over his jaw. "See, you guys probably ran into a regulation Guardian team - there's like a hundred forty-four thousand of them bastards in hidden cells scattered throughout the globe. So, what happened in Philly was good. We'll explain to Rivera that you tracked down a splinter Guardian unit in his territory. Cool?"
"Right. Makes sense. We tell him that we were holding down his club, and we drew fire. Then, we can ask him if he wants us to take a small army back there to deal with the Philadelphia problem."
Yonnie was walking in circles now, perspiration making his black silk shirt cling to his body. "Yeah, man. That could work."
Stack wheezed as he pushed himself away from the metal door.
"You need to eat," Yonnie said with concern. He slung his arm over Stack's broad shoulders.
"Let it go, man," Yonnie told him. "We've gotta take this shit like men. We'll feed, get laid, and be merry since tonight might be our last night once Rivera blows in here."
Berkfield walked the perimeter of his suburban home one last time before he set his top-of-the-line security system. His wife thought his job was making him paranoid; it was better that she and his teenage son and daughter believed that. They didn't need to know that his floodlights were special UV halogens, nor did they need to know that the lawn and garden sprinkler systems contained holy water.
If his family knew he believed in monsters, they'd have him committed. Then what would happen to them? Who would take the special precautions that had become a neurotic routine?
He scanned the short hedges and peered into his neighbor's yard. All seemed well. It was still light out, nearly dusk, and people were about, messing with yard equipment, calling children in for dinner, and washing their SUVs and minivans after work.
Maybe he was crazy, but he'd witnessed his partner's shot mysteriously turn on him when he'd tried to shoot a guy with fangs. Carlos Rivera had dropped a gold mine of info on the local drug lords in his lap. Then Rivera had disappeared and he'd come up empty on all his searching into Rivera's territories. There was something very serious going on... Then again, maybe he was just crazy.
Berkfield's shoulders sagged resignation as he slowly walked toward the garage.
A bee sting on his calf made him wince. He hated yard work and he hated bugs. He grunted with exertion as he leaned on the workbench to pick up the garage-door opener that had fallen梐nd froze when he saw a shiny pair of military-issue black shoes on the other side of his minivan. Then everything went dark.
Groggy, Berkfield woke with a start, his gaze darting around. He was in a van. A gaunt, older, Caucasian male with dark sunglasses and a shock of unruly white hair leaned in close and shined a pen-light in his eyes, causing him to squint.
"You'll be a little disoriented for a moment," the man with the light said, "but it will wear off. Our apologies for the way we had to collect you."
"Who are you?" he said, his voice tense and angry. "What do you want? Where's my family?" He let his mouth snap shut. What if his captors didn't know that he had a beautiful wife, daughter, and son? Damn it! Whatever they'd given him had made him sloppy.