Retribution, Devotion (17 page)

“Interesting memory, one I'll think on later. Dear Nydia, as you do your bidding, do make sure to kill the woman you've chosen as my son's nanny. We will not need her services after all. She is a loose thread that should have been snipped awhile ago. Also, these are the codes to deactivate their pesky barriers.” Sliding a palm-sized black book across the table, Jacques casually smiled her way.

“Once that is out of the way, have your fun,” he replied, motioning with his hands. The sound of a man's gruff scream drew Nydia's attention away while she took the book. A sweet hit of the smell of blood hit her sense instantly.

“I always manage to do so, as you should recall,” she heatedly replied, her body reacting to the craving of feeding.

Jacques steepled his hands together, assessing the way she sat. She knew to keep a thin line of boundaries with him because he could kill her in a blink. It was also the fact that he sat emotionless, watching her in a cool demeanor that made her skin crawl with his magnetic aura. She had to get her control back. He wasn't worth the dirt that rested under the cheap table they both sat at and she felt like telling him just that.

As she began to formulate her mind to say something to the Elder, she was stopped mid-thought. She sharply gasped the moment he phased through the table then slammed her on her back. Two fingers found their way into her pants, slipping into her moistness. Fangs scraped against the side of her neck and she glanced into the eyes of evil. To the human eye, it just appeared as if he had quickly stood up and moved to confront her, but his grip grounded her in the truth as his minions caused calamity around them.

“Give this gift to my Dark princess next time you see her. I'll be busy with my games as you are familiar with so I do not have the time. If you disappoint me, Harpy . . .” His tsk against her earlobe caused her to reflect on their rough games in bed with Reina. Laughter bubbled within at the tight grip of his painful hold and the desire to gut him burned her mind.

“Don't disrespect how I hunt. I am the Medusa. People die just by my presence, so don't confuse me with your other . . . weak minions.” She said with an irritated, yet annoyed flip of her hand in the air and a roll of her reptilian eyes.

“What you need will be done. If it is not in the manner you want, you know it will be in the manner I need or want! Which is why her mark is still on my list. Okay, my Lord?” Nydia calmly drawled back.

Screams sounded around them and the Elder gave a curt nod while standing. Sometimes, being in a drunk stupor can reveal the demons that surround a person, and the longer she and the other demons stayed in the bar, the illusion that was thrown up by Jacques's Witch was quickly fading away. Especially with the spill of human blood.

“Then we are done here. You might want to go now, doll.” He evaporated into air in front of her, and Nydia slowly sat up. Around her, everyone was either dead, trying to run away, or given the dark bite. The sound of thumping boots echoed outside with the loud clamor of a door falling to the ground.

“Police!”

The Medusa inwardly cursed then locked eyes on several cops who pointed guns her way. Sharply hissing, baring her fangs, the two cop's eyes briefly shifted to red, signaling her of her kind. A satisfying smile flickered across her face. One of the cops headed back to the door, letting off rounds of bullets into humans who were used as food, but who were still alive.

Nydia quickly slipped from the table, picked up a burly biker who had several fang marks in his neck and pressed an unmarked gun in his hand. Shooting around the room again, she shouted, cloaking her voice with a Cursed spell which made her sound like the man she held. Dropping him against a wall, two more bullets bore into his skull, this time from an unmarked gun Nydia had on her from a human goon she had tainted earlier in the night.

Motioning for her to exit, the second cop muffled the screams of a woman who ran from the bathroom. His bite was swiftly lethal as he snatched her. It also infected the young prostitute, which amused Nydia. Watching her fall to her side in a daze, Nydia quickly headed to the back of the club. Exiting with a kick to the steel door, she ran into the side alley. The voices of various cops alerted her that she would not be able to get to her car right away. Therefore, opting for another means of exit, she dug her nails into the brick siding of the tavern and briskly scaled it until she reached the roof.

Panting, the Medusa watched the tavern become overrun in blue, red, and white light. Annoyance caused her to shake her bladed inlaid braids before walking away to leap to a nearby building where her ride waited. “St. Louis, here I come.”

The name
“Kwame”
plummeted against his mind as a throbbing hit his right shoulder blade while he drove his black SUV up into his old complex in St. Louis, Missouri. The Angelic Ghanaian script that ran down his shoulder and bicep was yet again ripping him a new one, causing him pain. He had to grip the steering wheel attempting to ignore it. This was not the first time that he had heard his true name, or his soul name as they called it in Society, within his mind. Lately, he was hearing and feeling it often. Each scream giving him flashes of his old life and causing the words on his shoulder to blaze with life. But, as usual, he had to deal with the pain and ignore it as he had to do now.

It was another new day and he was back at his old digs with Marco. It seemed like only yesterday that they were all living it up and protecting STL from lower-level Cursed. Now that all changed and now he was no longer in the comfort of this city but back at the headquarters, Chicago. Thinking back, sitting and listening to Sanna comb through the book was the most awesome experience in his life these past months.

The Oracle blazed in front from him as he anchored her and Khamun fed her his strength. Calvin knew that Sanna had pulled as much of her energy as she could to help lead them correctly, due to her stunted gifts. He could see the disappointment in her because Oracle only could stay around for thirty minutes, but within those minutes, massive information was shared and they had learned a lot.

They had learned that this book was a history of the Founders, the first fallen and it blew his mind. He learned the first Sin Eater was born to protect the Lady Magdalene as she carried the child of the Messiah. That alone almost made his heart stop and had him sitting slack jawed. Shit was boss.

This unknown angel removed the One Son from his cross and in doing so, the Messiah whispered within his ear a Spirit Song, triggering their DNA, that changed him and his chosen warriors into what the enemy had become. Vampires. But unlike their evil brothers and sisters who killed and drank the souls of humans from their bodies and polluted their bodies with dark sins in order to create demons for the Dark One, they would feed from the Cursed and balance the unnatural law created by the Dark Fallen. This angel—whose name was blurred because they needed the other books to reveal it—was given a vision.

The vision showed that a second war would take place where they would need to bind the Cursed and make them impotent. Part one to the punishment for their Fall, for lying with humans to create evil Nephilim, for the conception of demons and for the implementing of pain to the Most High's children. He was told that those Chosen warriors who survived would be asked to willingly Fall and stay behind yet keep their anointed gifts, as a means to watch the Most High's children and fight the remaining evil Nephilim. As they eagerly leaned in to absorb more, the rest of the scrolling ink script disappeared and broke off as the book automatically sealed shut on its own.

As everyone sat in shock, he watched his cousin's aura dwindle, her speech wavering. San explained to Marco and him that they had to intervene with a human with a dormant Nephilim gene. She explained that the young woman had to leave STL then return to her home. In addition, that the woman would lead them to “the missing” and a clue in finding the true Key. Both men nodded their heads in understanding and acceptance of their mission. Which had them now back in St. Louis.

Marco and Calvin had been in STL raising the body count, saving innocent humans, and slamming heads together all through the week. If felt like home again while they stomped through their familiar haunts and made the enemy run for cover. Now they were back in the streets ready to do it all over again as they searched for the one Sanna demanded they find. Stepping out of their ride, both men were greeted by a text. It was around eight at night in STL and they knew demon activity was heating up.

It automatically made sense why the new team was scattered throughout the city and county of St. Louis, hunting now. Checking the cords, Calvin shook his head with a chuckle. “Hey, bro, drop this shit off and let's head across the river. Looks like some demon heads are about to roll at Pink's according to the intel I got from Dolla and Zion.”

Marco slapped a hand against the hood of the SUV with a lopsided smile. “Perfect.
Exactamente
where Sanna told us we needed to be, Cal.”

Whipping the ride down Natural Bridge and Kingshighway, they passed several Nephilim safe houses and churches then headed to the “Ill side.” Pink's flashing sign appeared fifteen minutes later, letting them know the place was still bumping. The building appeared nonthreatening, as was the custom for places like this. Pink's was known under the circuit as a neutral zone for humans, demons, Nephilims, and other supernatural entities to visit. Rules of places like this were that no one fed, no one killed, and no one hunted. Penalty of breaking the rules was being banned via a gridline that would kill the person on the spot if they stayed on the land.

Both fellas loved how Mystic magic ran the place and how interesting it was that a non-house affiliate sect of Nephilim ran the spot. It was rumored that they could not be touched due to old laws handed down from the start of the war. That there would always be neutrals and these neutrals happened to be the only surviving Death Wraths, or Phantoms as they were called, with the infinity mark. Only the Most High or his appointed overseer could control infinity-marked Phantoms; unfortunately, no one could recall what or who the overseer was to the Phantoms and only the oldest surviving Pure Wrath could and he had disappeared eons ago.

An inside liaison-based old team member and friend of theirs was the main bartender. He was a drifter and former truck driver whom they called Dolla. Dolla had come through for them a long time ago when they first were assigned to Sanna. Scanning the place, Calvin inwardly chuckled in thought. If an establishment had the infinity mark in the land, then anyone who could read it knew the rules. In order to keep some balance, the rules had to happen as means to keep an eye on the humans in the world and the things that hunted them or their kind. That didn't mean shit didn't go down that wasn't supposed to.

Music spilled into the parking lot. Thumping bass vibrated through Calvin's blood, pumping him up. The thing about the music here was, though one might hear a song that makes them drop into a split and shake every orifice on their body, somehow the dirty, sinfulness of it was scrubbed out and left with a neutral feeling. The Prince of the Airways might have inspired much of the provocative music, but his influence was not allowed on neutral land; it was all about free will here and keeping peace.

Flashing their cards, both men walked in with smooth style. Glances from many women and even men honed in on them, during which the sensuality of poetry fused with current music blared around them. Poets spoke on the mic and dancing strippers put Olympic gymnasts to shame as they worked poles like superb artists, enticing the patrons. Tonight was “Seduc-try” night and the house was full of women, men, truck drivers, and more. Poets from around the nation flooded Pink's as they combined forces with dancers and mashed up a seductive night of poetry and enticing.

“Calvin, dog, what's real, man?” From his position behind the bar, Dolla gave a quick nod from behind his dark shades. His crossed bourbon tatted arms bulged with lean muscles, while his flashed a smile, signaling where the STL team were sitting.

Calvin reached over to give his old friend dap then glanced around. He saw their standard VIP table was ready for them where some members of the new STL team sat. Strolling their way, both he and Marco breathed in the atmosphere. This was their old stomping grounds and regulars knew exactly who they were.

Taking a seat, he leaned back listening to the music while Marco stood taking off his long black double-breasted coat. A waitress appeared at his side. Her voluptuous creamy chest lightly brushed him while she handed Marco his standard drink: Bacardi Gold in a chilled glass. His boy's gaze ran over the club at the same time as his was. This was his element, music and a crowd. He thanked the same brunette who had served Marco while she handed him a Heineken and fresh mound of caramel-coated pralines. Dolla had their back.

Music breathed life into the club, two poets on the stage forced his attention, and he easily read their auras. Slayers and Mystics.

“That's my homies from Cali. The Bad Boys. Reggie and Demetrius Darby. Guess they are doing a layover in the STL,” Calvin pointed out.

“
Sí?
” Marco asked.

“Yeah, brah. They are sick with it. I learned some of my flow from them. Watch how they control the room with the lyrics, homie. They are working an old spell I taught them. Aesthetic hymns wrapped in sensual poetry.”

“
Ay! Carajo wey!
You mean the Song of Solomon, Cal?” Marco mused.

Calvin's eyes softly pulsed, his dimples deepened, and he flashed a lopsided smile before answering, “Fa'sho, punk. Classic Mystic move if you have a gift to manipulate words, like they do, nah what I mean? They can hit all theses with just a few power words. Each word, vowel, syllable they manipulate act as grenades that will implode a tainted or Cursed bastard. No demon or possessed human leaves the joint, ya heard me?”

Marco chuckled lowly. He crossed his thick, muscled arms with a pleased look on his face over the slick method of attack utilized to work in their advantage. “And you developed it?”

Tossing back a couple of pralines, Calvin chewed before replying, “Yeah, your homie right here set that shit up. Was schooled by some old school records I found and shamans tapes Kali introduced me to on YouTube.”

Marco gave an amused laugh. Calvin knew his boy was hitting him with jokes. Playing as if he were a newcomer and didn't know that info already. Marco respected his power. That Calvin was a master Mystic able to develop healing meds and battle psalms that could take down a tank of demons.

While the Darby Twins also known as the Bad Boys finished their set, the music changed tempo. The brother's words blended then fused, becoming heated as if they were ready to flip from seducing to hardcore screwing. Lights dimmed; Calvin's eyes adjusted with the change of the climate in the building. The intensity of the seduction in the club had him being hit with the scent of blooming lotus flowers from the women in the establishment. Steel was between his muscled legs as the music and lyrics flowed on.

The Darby Twins licked their lips with mirror grins before dropping a one-liner that had the crowd erupting in cheers. A wisp between the satin red curtains on the stage revealed a brown sugar, bourbon-hued thick-thigh female with ample, full breasts and an ass that wouldn't quit. She smoothly moved to slip down the pole from an opening in the ceiling and froze in the middle of it as the music pumped.

“Bourbon Apple Bomb/syrupy sweetness flows/from between the mental crevices associated with your Queenly gates,” blended with the rhythm of the song while the woman worked her magic.

Her skin was silky and shiny from oils begging to be touched. She commanded the attention of the crowd with her gliding hands. She elegantly dropped on her back. Her graceful legs parted in allure and both of her hands caressed her body trailing downward to cup her covered yoni. Her arms constricted to press her spilling breasts while she licked her lips and flicked her tongue out over her hard cinnamon nipples. Money went flying and Calvin saw Marco's eyes flash in the darkness. Something about her had both Calvin and Marco noticing the marker in her aura. It shone bright the moment she flipped to her stomach, tossing her long jet-black hair to seemingly lock eyes on Marco.

“Maldita Sea! That shit wasn't there before; are you checking this out, Cal?” Marco muttered.

Calvin leaned forward. He took a deep swig from his bottle while intensely staring.

“You know I did, homie.” Recognition had him quickly swallowing his laughter. He could tell already that Marco's world was about to be disrupted. “Whoa'na, isn't that, the waitress, ah, ah . . . Yaya? Yeah! That's her. Shit, Butter looks to be her stage name, when it should be Mrs. Butterworth's,” Calvin said aloud with a huge grin. His shoulders shook up and down in laughter and he ducked from Marco's swing.

“Git'er done! That broad is smooth like butta!” a drunken trucker roared walking by with a beer in his hand. He staggered forward to step to the stage and made it rain on Yaya.

“Watch yourself, homie, don't fuck around and get popped by the bouncer, feel me?” Calvin warned. He had noticed Marco's change in his posture the moment Yaya stepped on the stage. His boy had been helping her out for over a couple of years, when she was just a clever electric cigarette–smoking waitress with a confusing but interesting laugh. Time definitely had changed.

Calvin couldn't lie to himself though. Yaya was that butta. She had a body worth slicing a punk over and a gaze that made any man's member jump for her attention. His homie had learned from her that she had just moved to STL from Cali and that she was only working here to put herself through law school. She had been working at different strip joints over the course of her life just to pay for undergrad and now law school.

Marco had told him that the idea of her doing that always ticked him off but he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't some new phenomenon, but the idea that this was how she had to survive never felt right to Marco. Calvin could already tell that now with watching her work the stage, popping her kitty in the face of a hungry demon was finally making Marco realize why. Everything in baby girl's aura stated that she was Marco's guide and that this was not where she was meant to be.

Calmly chewing his pralines, Calvin punched Marco's shoulder to distract him from his anger, and then pointed to their right. Wandering in the new leader of the STL crew came to the table and held out his hand in a warrior's clasp. Dressed in dark denim jeans with casual black boots, a black and gray button-down shirt that was rolled up to show his muscular arms, the six foot five inch brother chucked two fingers in the air in a greeting.