head at the remains. "That will make the news. If we don't tell it, one of the family members will."
"As long as it doesn't put a negative slant on our country," the Brazilian police captain said anxiously. "Tourism is down and only coming back very slowly, Se¤or, especially with the Americanos. Tourism is big - "
"This was a freak situation," the embassy official assured the nervous officer, while ignoring the terror-stricken expressions on the villagers' faces. "The incidents in the regions of Belem, Manaus, Para, Salvador, and Maranhao were all locals who were deep in the jungle where most of our wildlife live and tourists generally don't go there. The fact that this American team was attacked in the hillside areas near Rio de Janeiro - "
"Should not be made into an international incident. Yeah, we got it," the senior CIA official said impatiently. "Bag the bodies, inform the families, and we'll handle the media. Case closed."
Los Angeles, California
Detective Berkfield studied the Internet report with care as he slowly sipped his morning coffee and stared at his laptop. Nothing had even hit the US news. Weird. He could smell a coverup a mile away, and had it not been for his relentless search into obscure news for all things strange, he might have missed it. Ever since his encounter with Carlos Rivera, every bit of information he'd gleaned from Rivera's tips had sent him to search those regions for anything out of the ordinary, particularly bizarre murders, accidents, and deaths.
His gaze darted nervously around the slightly modern suburban kitchen, wondering if it was time to have a priest come in and bless his house. Somehow the gun he wore just didn't seem to bring much comfort, especially not when reading this type of news. It reminded him too much of what he'd seen in an alley not too long ago, and he thought that was all behind him. The world was going from bad to worse. He was still having nightmares, and this crap didn't make him feel any closer to making them stop.
"Do you believe this shit..." he whispered in the vacant kitchen and read the tiny, almost insignificant article again. "Happened over a week ago, and we're just hearing about it?" His mind wrestled with what could have kept something like this hidden in the middle columns of the papers, out of the headlines of the Brazilian press, and away from major news sources in the States. There was only one plausible answer; it had to be much more than what was reported, if someone had gone to such lengths to bury a story.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He'd seen shit similar to this before, right in his own backyard. Kids with their throats ripped out and chests torn open, bodies mysteriously disappearing from the morgue... The article said mutilated. What did that mean? It was what the paper didn't say that disturbed him. He'd seen plenty of madness that he still couldn't explain to a soul, much less himself. Question was, where was one Carlos Rivera?
Maybe he'd have to go ask the only person that might know - an always very hard to locate Damali Richards.
You've got a piece of my soul buried within you. Why you gotta take us both through pure hell?桪amali Richards, "Piece of my Soul."
Chapter One
Chapter One
Los Angeles, California. Present day
Vampires had a vibe, and right now it was thick. She could feel them on her skin, making her flesh crawl beneath it. Oh, yeah. Tonight it was on! Damali glanced around the club, all her extrasensory instincts humming. The electric blues, fluorescent greens, and flaming orange stabbed into her brain as the insistent reggae tempo seeped into her blood and created a second pulse within her. She could feel the rhythm of her walk becoming smoother, longer in stride as the music filled her up. It beat inside her, mingling with the grief and rage that had been her companions for the past month.
Lingering cigarette and spliff smoke burned her eyes. The stifling, club-sweat heat of bodies dancing, pressing, grinding, nearly smothered her as she shoved her way through the crowd to get close to the bar. Screw what Marlene and the guardian team had to say about her venturing out alone at night. She was a full-blown Neteru now - a vampire huntress... and the vamp empire had killed her man. A Corona was in order... no, perhaps a Red Stripe beer. Fuck it. Make it