He sighed. "You've already met the Aussie, who is young compared to the others. Not much of a threat. But the one who rules the Asian continent has been around since the Ming dynasty, and they're as rich as shit. They've got resources like you wouldn't believe, D, and thousands of human helpers because the population density in his feeding grounds is ridiculous - just teeming with humanity. Have you seen the size of Asia? Plus, heroin... He and his first wife, Lai, are as old as shit, and shrewd as hell, but don't look a day over thirty. You think Shabazz has some martial arts moves... sheeit. This guy is pure lightning. His woman ain't no joke, either. Their shape-shift preference is the dragon; screw some panther or wolf transformation. Their asses breathe fire when pissed off."
Damali sat down on the bed slowly. "Who else?"
"There's the Transylvanian and his wife. He's a master strategist, has garnered more assets than the others, even though he's not as old. He's only been around since the sixteen hundreds - a ruthless sonofabitch descended from Dracula. He uses mind games, human armies, and has pretty much conquered a significant part of the world. Power grab for power grab, he's the one that most concerns me, not that the others aren't formidable. What he lacks in physical strength he's made up for in mental energy."
She raked her fingers through her locks and stared at the floor. "Cool," she said flatly, trying to quell her nervousness.
"But you stay away from that African bastard, hear me?"
Damali looked up. The tone of Carlos's voice stunned her.
"I'm serious, D. He's been around since the pharaohs and - "
"Do not tell me you're jealous?" Damali shook her head.
"I'm not jealous," Carlos said louder than he'd intended. "I don't care if that motherfucker can drop ten inches of battle fang and has wonders of the world built in his and his wife's name! So what if he's got pure gold and diamond mines, and shit. What do I care? I ain't worried about him transforming into a Sphinx, or some shit. Fuck all that, I got something for his ass if he goes there. The point is, he's got like three hundred wives, but still is always looking for the next one to be the one. So, I don't care if his moves were recorded on ancient scrolls or in the damned Kama Sutra. I ain't jealous. Feel me? But, if he pushes up on you, if any of them do, all bets are off. I'll - "
"Be cool and do this the way it needs to be done, Smooth," she said, exasperated. Like she would go off with some master vamp just because he had longer... fangs than Carlos. It was ludicrous. "Go to sleep, man."
"Aw'ight," he said, pushing himself away from the dresser. "You stay on your side of the bed and I'll stay on mine."
"Liar," she said, with a sultry smile.
Carlos was in a truly foul mood when he woke up. She knew he was irritable from tossing and turning beside her all day, but that's how it had to be - no sex until they got to a safe place. She also didn't care if meeting the other masters was making him trip. All she could do was watch him stalk around the suite in his hunter gear. Fatigues, a matching safari hat, bowie knife, combat boots, and a vest loaded with stakes. She shook her head. Men.
Damali let her breath out hard and began rooting in the trunk for something to wear. Ignoring him, she went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the tub. Save it for the hunt, she thought grouchily and chuckled to herself when she heard him mutter something back.
There were several problems with the plan - A, she knew she had to get to her team to go over this whole concert madness one more time to be sure everything went down smoothly, B - she and Carlos had to live through one more night in the house of horrors, and C - she hadn't been in full combat with another master since Nuit, and she'd gotten lucky dusting Vlak. Now four of them would be converging upon the castle. This was not good. Why in the world would he have allowed her to talk him into something this crazy?
She took her time bathing, thinking, delaying the inevitable. Images of the baby were firmly implanted in her brain. Yeah, she had to clean this joint out.
"Any night now," Carlos hollered, growing impatient. "We're having breakfast with the McGuires, you know."
Damali almost laughed. Breakfast with the McGuires indeed. Weren't the 'hood rat and the orphan being quite social?
"All right, all right," she said, stepping out of the bath and wrapping a thick Turkish towel around her. "I still have to dress and put on my makeup." That's when she remembered that there wasn't a single mirror in the castle. She swore, then shrugged, resigned to do her best.
She peered out of the bathroom door and could see Carlos on the terrace. "Can I talk to you a minute?"
"Yeah, D, but hurry up," he said, sounding surly. "The other diplomats will be here soon."
When he didn't move and continued to give her his back, she went to him, too disgusted for words, and touched his shoulder. "I meant can I talk to you?" she repeated.
He still didn't turn around, just kept watching the surf. "Then put on some damned clothes, first."
"Ouch," she said and withdrew from him. She glanced around at nothing, tasting her mouth, cool with fresh mint. "What does a councilman's wife wear to a masters' hunt?"
"I don't know!" he bellowed, and strode into the suite, slamming the terrace doors closed behind him.
She was so sick and tired of his moods and him bossing her around that she could scream. But she tried to remember that his nerves were fried. The masters' hunt, plus everything else, was freaking him out... but like she wasn't on edge, too. Finding a calm place in her mind, she called him again. "Come here," she said gently, but her tone was firm.
Begrudgingly, he came to her and touched her cheek without looking at her, keeping his line of vision on the wall.
One - I haven't eaten human food or had any water in twenty-four hours, and I'm starved. I'm also afraid to drink out of their taps. Two - they can't see me eat in here. Three - I can't see my reflection, because there aren't any mirrors, so I need you to dress me. Four - I'm worried sick that you'll get hurt tonight. Five - if you do, then I'll be in a castle with four serious world masters and their wives. Six - I have to get to my team. Seven -
He snapped his fingers and dressed her, and then touched her face again. I cannot feed you in here; they'll pick up the scent if I bring you something from the human servants' kitchens. Even water poses a risk around old masters. The best I can do is play it off and say you have to go to meet your band to prepare, and I suggest you fill up while with them, then I'll have to figure out a way to get you a swig of blood under radar to chase it.
"Eeewww..."