Sarim's Scent (3 page)

“Hey, buster,” she wanted to cry. “Until you know what it feels like to have a knife shoved through your neck into your brain, I’d put your bug eyes right back into their sockets.”

Instead, she sank back into her seat, massaging her burning neck, totally embarrassed and confused. It had to be the damn triangle on her neck.
Stupid
. She shouldn’t have cried out. The tattoo appeared and burned every two to three months or so. She should have been prepared. She’d had it forever, from the night her menstrual cycle had started to when her cycle had finally ended. She had felt it burning then, and now the tattoo always burned the first day of her period. Since then, her period came every two and a half months and usually lasted two weeks. She and her mom were concerned about its irregularity, but the doctor had managed to calm their fears with an explanation about how every female’s body was different and had different cycles. Her cycle was fine. Since then, she just accepted her strange periods as part of her. However, the triangle on her neck was altogether different.

She sighed in relief as the bus rolled into the Tarheel State. Maybe now that she was finally in North Carolina she would find out why.

Sarim sat in his office, allowing the silence to clear his thoughts. Khafil remained in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Lately his office was the only place he could find solitude from the chaotic world around him. He should have been thinking of his upcoming journey to the human world, where he was headed later tonight. Instead, his thoughts were on the monthly meeting he’d just dismissed. Tonight, several members of the lesser Taalib Duma tribes were vocalizing concerns about Sarim’s successor. “Who is he?” “Where is he?” and “When is he coming?” Those were just a few of the questions asked. Even though Khafil had warned him the questions were coming, he should have been prepared. Instead, he was deeply unsettled. He had no answers. He’d managed to dissuade his brothers by explaining he still had a few years left and there was no need for the pressing concern. This was true, but Sarim knew it was customary for his successor to be introduced to the tribe by now. The new ruler had to be trained and tested. The process could last up to five years. The only exception to this was if a Taalib Duma was impregnated with the successor. Then the current leader was kept until the successor was born and came of age.

Sarim prayed to the Darvan God that the scent wasn’t a figment of his imagination caused by stress. The humvansi had to help him. It also had to carry the Dalili Nakisisa.

“If the humvansi does not have the triangle symbol, all will indeed be lost.”

Knowing his protector awaited permission to speak, he nodded in Khafil’s direction. Khafil materialized out of the shadows.

“If the humanvansi is already in a family unit?” Khafil questioned.

“The possibility of their having a family or pursuing their dreams is inconsequential,” he snapped. “My legacy must be preserved, at all costs.”

“How are you going to make them come to a completely different world with you?” Khafil boldly interjected. “This person has lived as a human all their life and knows nothing of our ways.”

“For all I care, the person can be strung out on drugs or a prostitute.” He snickered before continuing. “If that is the case, there are ways to purify the body back to its original state.”

This trip was a matter of life or death to him. If he came back without the humvansi, and the council saw no heir or signs of one, he would be killed. There would be no need to wait until his rule came to an end.

Acknowledging the plot to kill him, his instincts told him the Imvura’s were masterminding it.

“Khafil, I am the last in my line of rulers. This a perfect time for my enemies to strike.”

Picking up a pen off his desk, he began rolling it around his fingers.

“I feel their hatred at the council meetings. I know their eyes watch my every move, patiently waiting to strike like a snake stalking a mouse.”

Sarim allowed his thoughts to land on his enemies. The Imvura, a rival tribe of African and Caucasian descent, were second in numbers and power. His tribe and the Imvuras had been bitter rivals for decades. Mainly because many felt the Imvuras were impure and didn’t belong in a sect of vampires descended from The Motherland, Africa. Sarim, as with most Taalib Duma’s, did not trust vampires not of African descent.

Generations ago, European vampires enslaved other African minority tribes and used the tribe’s women. This was how the Imvura tribe originated. Some of them even looked Caucasian, a fact unnerving many Taalib’s. The Imvura leader, Zanhoden, looked exactly like a Caucasian male. He had short blond hair and blue-green eyes. Strangely, his parents were both of African descent. Sarim chuckled. He had given Zanhoden the nickname “the devil’s prince.” Since most of his tribemen considered the Imvuras devils, the title seemed fitting.

Rubbing his chin, Sarim visualized Zanhoden’s face.

“I feel the Imvuras are behind the attempts on my life.”

Khafil raised an eyebrow. “Any of the tribes would want your position to land with them. Why do you suspect the Imvuras?”

“Their leader, Zanhoden is as ruthless as they come. I can’t prove it, but I know he wants the position of Abu more so than any other Taalib Duma. I can feel it in his stare.”

Khafil remained silent, waiting for Sarim to continue.

“As the leader of the Imvuras, he has the same powers as me. Over the years we’ve had conflicts many times, almost to the point of battle.”

“How will you prove it is the Imvura behind your plagues?” Khafil inquired.

“Until they reveal their true agenda, I can’t prove it was them. I will be patient. My family’s legacy rests firmly on my shoulders. I can make no mistakes in this matter.”

“I agree you must be very careful. To accuse another tribe of treason is a most serious charge.”

Sarim nodded.

“More importantly, I can’t enter the inner world after my death and face my ancestors if the Chair of Drumhani
is no longer in the Soga tribe.”

The chair belonged only to the ruling family. Only the Abu sat in it. Legend said the chair enhances the Abu’s powers. By mankind’s standards, the Chair of Drumhani, made of gold, steel and platinum, was priceless. The chair was commissioned for the first Abu of Sarim’s tribe.

“I will be beheaded on the spot and tortured for eternity if the Sogas lost it because of my inability to rule effectively.”

Rubbing his temples, he thought back to the meeting he had just left, mentally reviewing the many conversations.

As if sensing his Abu was about to say something important, Khafil watched his face closely.

“What is it, Abu?”

“Today at the meeting, Zanhoden and his tribe didn’t utter a word during the barrage of questions. He just watched.”

Sarim had closed the meeting by saying he would be leaving for possibly a month or longer. When he returned, he would have news of his heir. After the bruising he got from the council, this would shut them up, at least temporarily. He knew he only had one chance to solidify his family’s heritage.

Looking at the clock on the wall, he stretched. There were two hours before he was to partake on his journey. Sarim needed to relieve some stress. He rubbed his teeth along his fangs. They were rather dull. He hadn’t been on a secret hunt in over a month. Taalib Dumas snuck out and went on their own hunts even though it was against the “hunting” rules. Sarim turned a blind eye to it. A good hunt was exactly what he needed. Lately, other things were overwhelming his mind and senses. Yes, it was exactly what he needed. He had to be refreshed and focused for his journey’s itinerary.

“I hear 22nd and Main is flowing rather heavily,” Khafil cited.

“Perfect,” Sarim stated as they both started to dematerialize. “I’m rather thirsty.”

Zanhoden frowned. For the last hour he was contemplating where his dear Abu was really going. He and his men didn’t buy the “looking for another resting place” nonsense Sarim had hissed out during the meeting. However, Zanhoden would not speak on it publicly. If he did, it would look like pettiness on his part and it wouldn’t be taken seriously. It was a well-known fact that he and Sarim despised one another. Zanhoden’s tribe, the Imvura, had enough to deal with. He didn’t need to add to it by questioning the truthfulness of the Abu’s upcoming whereabouts.

Leaning his back against the balcony wall, he smiled. He would soon find out exactly where Sarim was heading. He had an inside source.

Leaning his lithe, six-foot-two frame against the wall of the dark entrance chamber of the Vrandar Zormir, Khafil allowed his guard to drop. The entire resting area lay underground, right beneath Varlancia headquarters. The underground area equaled the size of two football fields, side-by-side, large enough to house all the Taalib Dumas who chose to rest peacefully in its confines. A fact most Taalib Dumas appreciated, considering humans had an uncanny ability to “accidentally” discover Taalib Dumas’ resting places. The unfortunate creatures were never able to tell their world what they’d discovered. Any human who inadvertently discovered a resting area of a Taalib Duma had to be killed.

Rubbing his face, he drew a long deep breath. He had just had the unfortunate experience of witnessing one of his Abu’s spur-of-the-moment hunts.

Khafil shuddered as he remembered the screams of terrified humans as their necks were being ripped apart. Thankfully he didn’t have to partake in the barbaric feeding ritual. He’d found the procedure disgusting and had voiced the thought to Sarim. Of course, his highness hadn’t appreciated being told his feeding ritual was revolting, and as usual, Sarim had told him to speak only when spoken to and know his place.

Sarim, Khafil mused, had no idea how ironic his words were. If Sarim knew who his loyal, faithful protector really was, he would be on knees begging Khafil’s forgiveness for every insulting word he’d ever muttered at him. Cursing himself, Khafil swiftly switched his thoughts back to matters at hand. During the migrata,
the first state of rest, Sarim could still read his thoughts, if he desired to.

Tracing a finger along his chin, he thought about the upcoming journey with Sarim. Finding the missing heir was his objective.
His
purpose for tolerating Sarim’s arrogance was to insure the missing descendant was found.

The role had been developed for him. Only he knew what the heir looked like. He had formed a connection with her. He could “sense” the heir, something he’d been doing for years. Sarim had no idea his faithful protector withheld such vital information about his heir.

Khafil was positioned as Sarim’s ass-kissing protector-the ideal position to allow him complete access to Sarim’s whereabouts and adequate knowledge of Sarim’s thoughts. At times he wanted to slap that arrogant look off Sarim’s face, but duty prevailed. Such whims would be put off until a later time.

Khafil cursed himself again. He had to be more careful. He quickly connected his mind with Sarim’s, then breathed a sigh of relief. Sarim was past the migrata and had heard nothing. But he could not afford any mistakes. He would not bring shame to his father’s lineage. So for now, he would heed his father’s wishes. After he reunited with the heir, Khafil had his own agenda-one which did not need his father’s stamp of approval.

Stepping on the sidewalk, Victoria took a deep breath of fresh, southern air. This was her first day outside since the ice storm had hit Tabor Ridge. Smiling, she lifted her arms upward, stretching them as far as they could go. She didn’t mind that the cold air burned her nose or that it stung her eyes. Happiness made her light on her feet. Feeling hope for the first time in weeks, she was glad to finally be out of her efficiency. Since arriving, she had spent the last few days watching TV, reading books, viewing the ice storm from her window, and devising a plan to locate her father. According to her mother’s notes, this small town was his birthplace.

Walking along the idyllic street outside her motel, she felt warm vibes from the picturesque town. She stopped in front of a building, which emanated wonderful smells. Looking up, she saw it was some sort of restaurant named McGrady’s. An eatery usually had a lot of people. People who may have known her father.

Shading her eyes from the sun, she peered through the glass and saw a bar with several patrons and a spacious dining area with customers filling several tables. Music was playing and the place seemed to hum with energy. Gathering courage, she walked in, determined to find out if anyone knew or remembered
Samuel T. Duma
. Afterward, she would find the nearest grocery store and buy a local tabloid newspaper.

She quietly closed the door behind her and turned around to silence. Gulping, she looked around and met stares from the now unsmiling patrons. She quickly sidled up to the bar and slid onto the first empty stool she saw. Picking up a menu with sweaty palms, she examined its contents, aware of the curious stares pointed at her back.

“What can I get ya?”

Opening her mouth to say she needed a few more minutes, she peered over the menu and the words stuck in her throat. The menacing glare of the bartender made her say the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll have a hamburger all the way with fries and a Pepsi.”

With a grunt, the bartender snatched the menu out of her hands and walked away.

What was that all about
?

Turning her head slightly, she gave a sigh of relief. The restaurant had become lively again. The customers were once again laughing, talking, and eating. Sitting quietly, she listened to the hum of conversations around her while discreetly scanning the crowd for a friendly face. Deciding no one had the open, welcoming countenance she sought, she turned back around just as a waitress placed her food in front of her. “Anything else, honey?”

Encouraged by the waitress’s warm tone, she decided to go for it. Maybe she was imagining all those hostile stares.

“Do you know a man by the name of Samuel T. Duma?”

“Samuel T. who?” came the confused response.

“Samuel T. Duma,” Victoria repeated. “I heard he’s from this area?”

Her question was met with a skeptical look.

“Ain’t no one like that ever been around here.” The waitress turned around as if looking for someone. “Hold on, let me ask Pierre.”

Victoria watched in horror as the waitress went to the bartender with the murderous glare and pointed in her direction. She heard the waitress say “Looking for some dude with a weird name.” Her horror grew as she watched the waitress walk over to several more people loudly asking the same question while pointing in her direction: “You guys heard of a Samuel T. Duka?”

Embarrassed beyond belief, she quickly turned her attention back to her food and took a bite of the sloppy burger, trying to appear oblivious to the scene.

She was almost done forcing it down when the waitress returned.

“Honey, I done asked everybody, and nobody here knows no Samuel Duka.”

“Samuel T. Duma.”

“Who you say again?”

Shaking her head in frustration, she mumbled “Nevermind” and stood up, searching for a ten-dollar bill to pay for the food. Finding it, she handed it to the waitress and exited the restaurant as quickly as her legs could take her.

After being stared at like a space cadet, she was actually looking forward to going in the corner store down the street and picking up the tabloid papers. She wanted to read about the strange stories of the area. By strange she meant vampire sightings, UFO sightings, or any instances of unusual occurrences. Picking her way down the ice-slicked sidewalk, Victoria carefully watched her steps. All she needed to top today was to slip and end up in the hospital. Crossing the street, she headed for Uncle Ray’s Corner Store
.
A bell tinkled as she entered. The store was definitely southern. It seemed Uncle Ray’s sold everything and anything he could cram into his small store. She searched for a newspaper display, scanning over the five rows of junk food, canned sodas, and pickled pork products before landing on the magazine and newspaper stand by the small soda fountain. Walking toward it, she scanned the contents on the shelves. Reaching the magazines and newspapers, she picked one up and started skimming it.

“Rattlesnake Man Spotted Near Tabor River,” sounded promising so she tucked it beneath the her arm under the watchful eye of the scruffy old man behind the soda fountain, who was watching her as if she were a pink-haired, prison-tattooed punk, not a normal woman. Ignoring his beady stare, she continued to scan the newspapers for interesting articles.

“Three-year-old Talks to Wolves,” appeared out of the ordinary, so she added that to the first. While paying for her papers, she studied the old man and, after meeting his baleful stare, decided against asking him if he knew of her father.

After collecting the newspapers, she let the door slam behind her. To hell with politeness. What had started out as a promising day was deteriorating into a terrible one so she let her shades drop from the top of her head to her eyes and started the trek back to her efficiency.

Crossing the street, she entered the lobby and slid into the empty elevator before the doors shut. Exhaling, she rested against the cool elevator wall. She hoped she’d find out something, anything, soon. This trip was playing havoc with her small bank account. Saving money had become a priority when her mother became terminally ill. Denying herself basic pleasures and necessary items like a car, new clothes, nights out-all for the quest to find her father and avenge her mother, had become a way of life for her. But avenge her, how? If her father was as she suspected, a supernatural being, what in the world was she going to do? There were several possibilities. One being exposing him to the world-but that may make the world look at her more closely, and she could possibly become a science experiment for some “mysterious government agency.” Or she could con him into forming a relationship with her, get money from him, then leave him without a word. But that wouldn’t make him suffer enough. If he could leave her mother without a thought, would he even be interested in forming a relationship with her? A daughter he didn’t even know about by a woman he’d abandoned without a second thought.

Victoria looked up as the elevator slowed and stopped. An older couple walked in. She watched the man press the fourth floor button. Sighing, she went back to her thoughts. The most satisfying plot she had in mind was to find a way to destroy him; either by killing him or destroying something or someone he held dear. The problem with that plan was her stomach got queasy just thinking about actually killing someone. Her mother lying deathlike in a hospital bed, frail and connected to IVs, flashed in her mind. Her mother vomiting and wasting away throughout the long, torturous year. Shaking her head, Victoria took a deep breath, dispelling the painful memories. Her resolve strengthened. She would accomplish something even if it damned her soul. But first she had to find him. She’d figure the rest out later.

The elevator stopped, and she waited for the elderly couple to exit first. Counting to ten for patience, she slowly followed them out, then headed to her room. Opening the door, she stopped as a thought struck her. Her tattoo hadn’t burned since she’d entered North Carolina, and she hadn’t got another funny feeling since either. What was she missing?

Entering her apartment, she switched on the lights. Glancing around, her mood dipped further. While her small efficiency had everything she needed, it wasn’t home. A tiny kitchenette equipped with a stove, fridge, and sink; a bathroom; a bed; and an old, chipped brown dial console TV. She’d even splurged an extra twenty dollars a week for a room with a phone and a view of something besides the back of the next building. She ran her fingers against the cool window glass as more depressing thoughts attacked. Maybe the search for Daddy Dearest was to find another sense of family, instead of revenge and retribution. A breakthrough had to come from somewhere soon. This past year, the quest to find her father, gain revenge for her mother, and find exactly who, or what, she was had become her whole life. Sighing, she stepped away from the window. Something had to come through. She had nothing else.

Smiling, Sarim hastened through the airport, glad the long, uneventful flight was over. Stopping mid stride, he sniffed the air, uncaring that he’d caused several people walking behind him to trip and drop their luggage.

Yes, the scent was indeed strong in North Carolina. The blood connection he shared with the heir had led him there, and he could feel the heir’s presence. He, or she, was close at hand. Time was running out, and he could not afford to make any mistakes. His life and his position depended on it.

Hands on his hips, he surveyed the airport, watching the humans walking about like cattle, distracted and completely unaware of what had just landed in their city. Feeling his fangs grow longer, he ran his tongue around them. A hand landed on his shoulder.

“Abu, we must get you in a safe place. These humans are a distraction you do not need now.”

Sarim stiffened at the reproach in Khafil’s tone. “I don’t need you telling me what I need to be doing,” he snapped. “Once again, you forget your place.”

Irritated, Sarim started walking again. Khafil was becoming increasingly annoying. When this situation was straightened out, he was seriously considering getting rid of his loyal protector and replacing him. The thought of another Taalib following him around, irritating him, made his blood boil. He would just get rid of him. By that time he wouldn’t need another protector. His heir would be his protector. Smiling, he became calm again. The thought of getting rid of Khafil permanently was the best idea he had had in weeks.

Something about Khafil was becoming unnerving, and the way he stared at him made him uncomfortable. More than once he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise to spiky points, and when he turned around, it was Khafil standing there—almost like he was waiting for something. Yes, Khafil would be handled when all this was over.

“Your limousine has just arrived outside.” Khafil picked up the two bags, then led the way outside to the awaiting black SUV. Opening the door, Sarim stepped in, sighing as he leaned against the soft, brown leather seat. The frustration and stress of locating the heir was taking its toll. He was becoming increasingly impatient and had snapped at a key staff member for a mundane thing like being two minutes late. Shaking his head, disgusted at himself, he closed his eyes and relaxed.

Sitting beside his Abu, Khafil studied him with barely veiled disgust. He was sick of this charade and prayed it would be over soon. Rubbing his head over his face, Khafil realized his patience was wearing thin. It was getting harder and harder to obey someone he had no respect for. He had been in Sarim’s service for too long; learning the Abu, gaining his trust, and figuring out the inner workings of the Soga brotherhood.

It had been uneventful until Khafil’s father had learned there was indeed an heir. Khafil’s number one goal now was to find the heir before Sarim did and bond with her. His gut tightened. A part of him actually looked forward to reuniting with the beautiful, vulnerable girl. If her trusting character had remained the same, she could indeed be easily manipulated by Sarim. He, however, had every intention of making sure Sarim didn’t get the chance.

Khafil chuckled out loud before grimacing when Sarim shifted beside him. His Abu would literally shit in his pants if he knew his loyal protector had already met the woman who was his heir. But he didn’t want Sarim to meet her.

However, he wanted to be facing Sarim when Sarim realized he had been played the entire time. Khafil just had to make sure the heir’s loyalty belonged to him. He did not feel an ounce of remorse for the humiliation Sarim was about to suffer. Sarim was a true bastard who followed his own agenda.

Khafil thought back to one particular example of Sarim’s ruthlessness. Rumors had swirled for months about other tribal brotherhoods resenting being under Sarim’s thumb. If they had to be led by the Soga, they preferred to be led by someone other than Sarim. Sarim had taken the rumor as a threat. After witnessing Danzi, his second in command, talking to one of the main disgruntled Taalib Dumas, Sarim took it as a personal insult. During the following night’s council meeting, Danzi had been noticeably absent. At the end of the meeting, Sarim called for a special presentation. Several plastic crates were rolled in and placed at the head table. As the council observed, Sarim opened each crate and pulled out Danzi’s severed head, severed torso, severed arms, and his severed legs. While Danzi’s blood ran off the table and pooled on the floor, Sarim preceded to inform council members that if they wanted to challenge his authority, then they had better face him instead of plotting with his second-in-command. The Council sat shock still, seemingly appalled by Sarim’s behavior. Yet Sarim’s actions had sent a ripple of fear through the council.