The Damned, Page 2

  Again, silence. It pounded in his ears and added to the everpresent throbbing headache he was constantly nursing these days. Drawing a shaky breath, he pressed on with his complaint in the eerie quiet, hoping Father Patrick would hear him in his mind and send a sign, something, anything, maybe a little salvation for him to cling to.

  “Everything is falling apart, Father. The team is in disarray. My claw of Heru ain’t working no more than Damali’s stones can give up a charge so she can do a shift; none of our powers are stable, and our reaction time is slow. Bad position for everybody to be in.”

  He breathed out hard and pulled his fingers through his hair as his voice faltered. “Father Pat, this is too much shit going on at the same time with all the newbies to train when I ain’t even ready for whatever myself.”

  Carlos drew in another shuddering, ragged breath and let out a rushed exhalation of frustration. He took his time, framing his next statement. There was something he had to get off his chest that he could never tell another living soul, could never tell another man … but Father Patrick was somehow different, in a different category than a Guardian brother, or a friend. But even sitting alone in the privacy of the bathroom, which had been turned into his tiled confessional, just forming the words in his mind gave him a chill. Saying it out loud would give it energy and reality, and then he wouldn’t be able to tuck it neatly away and ignore it. It had gnawed away at his brain so long that it nearly bled. He had to get it out.

  “Father Pat,” he whispered, his voice barely audible to his own ears. “I’m scared, man. I can’t lead this team. What if I fail? What if I really fuck it up this time and get somebody else killed? My powers ain’t fully back, been dwindling since the battle in Philly.”

  The words had come out in a panicked rush of emotion. A repressed sob held back more of the truth for a moment as Carlos began rocking and speaking to the cold bathroom floor. “I know this ain’t your department, but, even with my woman … you know what I’m saying … things ain’t right.” He clutched his hands together as his forearms rested on his thighs, studying the blurring mortar between the tiles.

  I can’t sync up with her, he murmured within his mind, unable to verbalize this deeply personal pain. “I hope you can hear this part, man,” Carlos whispered, talking as much to the absent Father Patrick as to himself. “I can’t even say it.” He glanced toward the window, as the walls in the bathroom felt like they were closing in on him. Just thinking about it, much less mentally stating it, made him want to get up and go take a long walk. He needed fresh air. “I’m a Scorpio, what do you want from me, hombre?” he muttered with a sad smile, trying to joke it off. It didn’t work; it just made him feel worse and made the truth barrel into the forefront of his mind.

  “All right.” Carlos sighed. “No games.” He focused on the small clerical cot and wooden chair that used to be the only furniture in the old safe house room where he and Father Pat had some of their deepest discussions. Then he jarred the lid to his very personal thoughts, the real dark and scary portions that he shared with no one, and mentally told the truth.

  At first, when I got marked by Ausar … I thought I’d been, you know, messed up—permanent. Then I found out I wasn’t. And I’m not, but it’s complicated. My silver ain’t firing on all cylinders. Comprende?

  Carlos let his shoulders drop and intensely studied a single tile on the floor.

  When I go to touch her, she pulls back, almost like she’s afraid of me or doesn’t want … There’s no heat, you know what I’m saying? Half the time I don’t even feel like it, when we … There was a time when I’d give my eyeteeth just to get with her, and could get a mind lock going to make her hit high notes in three-part harmony. Now … I can’t explain it. We don’t even lock anymore. It’s like we’re just roommates.

  Carlos stopped breathing for a moment, and then pulled in another hard breath through his nose and let it out quickly through his mouth. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to hang back. “What’s wrong with me, man? I’ve never dealt with nothing like this in my life.” Me, I could always count on, if I couldn’t count on nothing else … now …

  He looked at the door, wishing his vision could bore through it to see Damali like before. Good memory was a bitch, and he knew he was nursing the past like an old drunk nursed a drink in a rundown bar … thinking back on the good old days or nights and mentally editing out the twisted parts about it. Yeah, he knew that’s what he was doing, but that still didn’t make it any better. His past was a complicated blend of the horrible and awesome. Bitter irony. Perhaps karma, as Shabazz would say. But he’d never breathe any of this to his seasoned Guardian brother. The shit sounded weak, pitiful. Soft.

  He wasn’t about to divulge to another man beyond a priest that all he had left was his hard outer shell, and some of his pride—illusion caster that he’d once been. It was the law of the jungle; you never showed anyone or anything your soft underbelly, lest you get it ripped open … and that wasn’t an option in the joint, in the ’hood, or in Hell. Never. And no woman wanted a soft man. Forget that. Natural law. Yeah, he’d suck it up and figure this out alone. Father Patrick didn’t have advice for something like this.

  “I’m not feelin’ this shit at all, man,” Carlos whispered. Out of reflex, Carlos ran his tongue over his teeth—something he still did when thinking hard or pissed or both. “Old habits die hard,” he said with a crisp tsk of his tongue against a normal canine, and then stared at his hands. “Fuck it.”

  He didn’t miss the blood, the torture, or the foul darkness, but there were some things he secretly had to admit his soul ached for. He tried to tuck all that away and into his mental black box before he left the bathroom to go back to bed; he couldn’t even tell Father Patrick about that part, or about missing his old power, even if it did come from the dark side. He was a priest and definitely wouldn’t understand.

  But strangely, all the stuff he’d pulled out of the box seemed to mysteriously expand on its own and didn’t go back into it as neatly after it had fallen out. Nothing was crisp and folded as it spilled out.

  Carlos stood and stared in the mirror and set his jaw hard. “Show me something, then,” he said quietly through his teeth, “that’ll make me know what to do from this point forward, ’cause right now, I don’t know. All I know, that works, to get the job done, is power. And so far, it’s only been shown to me, for real, from a throne that had a lineage arc to it that was no joke. Serious kick. Feel me?”

  The bathroom was silent. Now, so was he. Dawn fully crested. He was too disgusted for words. The good old nights had to go back where they belonged, inside his mental black box. He’d let them stay there until they begged for another private review with a nonjudgmental audience—him. Carlos closed his eyes and steadied himself for a Joe-normal day. The old nights whispered good-bye like an unhappy lover and slipped back into the shadows of his thoughts. It had been real.

  Quiet as he kept, he missed all of that.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chinle, Arizona. Present day.

  She didn’t need to look into Carlos’s eyes or try to go inside his head to know he was pissed. The pulsing muscle in his jaw was always a dead giveaway. So was the attitude.

  Damali watched him stare into the distance as she said her goodbyes to the team at the front screen door. There wasn’t even a flicker of silver in his irises. That hurt, but she’d live.

  “Okay, listen, guys—I’m only five minutes down the road, so it’s cool.” Her smile was forced, her concerns about her man’s mood growing as hugs got passed out on the front porch of Jose’s grandfather’s house.

  “Call us in the mornings, though, D. You ain’t gotta be long-winded,” Shabazz said, fussing as he ran his palm across Sleeping Beauty. “All a brother wants to know is that you made it through the night. After that, we’re cool.”

  “I will, I will,” Damali said, kissing his cheek quickly.

  “Any problems, we ’round the corner,” Big Mike adde
d, nodding toward Rider. “I’m gonna be in Houston with Inez to visit the baby at her momma’s, but still call somebody.”

  “You send up a flare,” Rider said, “and you know your crazy brother, Mike, if he’s here, will launch a rocket-propelled grenade from his bedroom window to wake up the neighborhood, if he has to. If he ain’t, I got whatever in rifle range. Jack Daniel’s or not, I can still nail a target with my eyes closed.”

  “Sho’ you right,” Mike said giving Rider a pound.

  Damali smiled. Way too much testosterone was flowing in the house this morning.

  “Now, if you need anything, baby, you let me and Marj know, and we’ll be sure you’re stocked at the new place.” Marlene sighed, gave Damali a defeated hug, and let her go slowly.

  “I will,” Damali said, wondering why this was so hard to do and why everyone was so worried at this point. It didn’t make sense. She was grown, and had shown them she could hold her own in battle, but she knew some things were just instinct. It was always hard for mother birds to watch one of their own fly away—even if it was just around the corner. She squeezed Marlene’s hand and let it go when the older woman smiled.

  “You need anything, you call,” Marlene repeated, gently placing a finger on her third eye.

  The group seemed to be holding its breath, as though Marlene might say something at the last minute to get Damali to reconsider. But when Marlene nodded and moved away from Damali, shoulders slumped.

  “That’s right,” Marj said with emphasis, picking up the mild guilt trip where Marlene had left off. “Towels, blankets, you have everything, right?”

  “I’m well stocked,” Damali affirmed, attempting to swallow a big smile without much success.

  “How about some more rounds?” Berkfield said with skepticism in his voice. He looked at Jose, J.L., and Dan. “Her weapons room is righteous?”

  “Yeah,” J.L. said, stepping forward on the porch. “It’s tight.”

  “I ain’t just concerned about the realms,” Jose hedged, glancing at the others. “You know, escaped convicts, crazy SOBs from off America’s Most Wanted, and shit like that might not show up on radar.”

  “See, that’s what I mean,” Dan said, nodding emphatically. “She’s a celeb, too. Somebody could snatch and ransom her, happens every day.”

  “I ain’t worried about that,” Shabazz said with a grudging smile. “Bastard will get his heart cut out first. It’s nightfall that concerns me.”

  “We do have a coupla team members who specialize in night work,” Damali reminded them, but without saying any names. Speaking of Tara in front of Rider, especially in the same breath with Yonnie, was taboo.

  “You ain’t scared?” Inez said, reaching for Damali’s hand and clasping it. “Girl, I ain’t trying to be funny, but—”

  “Yeah,” Bobby said, glancing at his sister. “Me and Kris could be over there with you as an extra pair of eyes and ears, especially on the computers. All you have to do is say the word, D.”

  “We could take shifts,” Kristen offered eagerly. “It would be fun.”

  “Uh, that would be no,” Damali said, laughing and ignoring their dejected expressions. “You two have to go into heavy training with the seasoned brothers. Nice try.”

  Juanita folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “If the Covenant brothers said she’d be fine and left this house, then I see no reason to worry.” Her cool statement delivered with a frosty bite made everyone stop clamoring around Damali for a moment.

  Damali ignored her, laughed, and kissed them all again, semiavoiding Jose, but offering him a quick peck on the cheek and then she stepped back. She didn’t even approach Juanita or look at her, but quietly served Juanita her ass to kiss. “I’m just around the corner, dang,” Damali said as gently as possible, making her tone up-beat. “I’ll be fine.”

  Carlos cut her a sidelong glance from his position away from the group and near the steps. “She always is.” He walked farther away from the group and walked down the steps to stand by the driver’s side of her black Hummer.

  If he didn’t get out of here soon, his head was gonna explode. He understood where the brothers were coming from, but it was also the height of disrespect. Before, she didn’t need no serious artillery—she had him as her weapon. He had been her night security system, locked and loaded. Fuck Yonnie and Tara being that. Now she needed some old motherfuckers to blow something up or shoot a target from their windows? Mike and Rider needed to step off. Even the young bucks were talking about going over to Damali’s as a defense system? Right. The only one who had said anything that made sense had been Juanita. And if Damali called anybody on second-sight impulse, it, by rights, shoulda been him—her man!

  Carlos walked a hot path toward her vehicle, his back straight. With that, everybody nervously waved and went into the house, but stood huddled just inside the screen door.

  Damali took her time meeting Carlos by her vehicle. She had known he’d take it pretty bad when the day finally came, but she’d expected him to be cooler about it in front of the team. “It’s gonna be all right,” she said, trying to extend an olive branch of peace. “Your place will be finished in a couple of weeks, they said, and then you’ll—”

  “It’s cool,” he said, cutting her off and yanking open her Hummer door. “I’ll see you around.”

  Damn. No kiss, no hug, muscle in his jaw still jumping, no effort to even act like—

  “Act like what?” he said evenly, not hiding the fact that he’d read her surface thoughts. “Act like I’m okay with this bullshit? You oughta know me better than that, D. The one thing I don’t do is front.”

  “All right,” she said calmly. “I feel you. No problem.” She got into her Hummer, casually closed the door, and started the engine. “I’ll call you later. On the phone.”

  Carlos tilted his head. A nonverbal, “Say what?” passed between them. He lifted his chin, turned on his heels, and stormed back into the house. A screen door slamming was his answer.

  Her Hummer took to the road as though on autopilot, kicking up dust as she leisurely drove to her destination. Her thoughts were miles away, the scene behind her competing for attention with the perfunctory motor skills required to drive. She wasn’t angry, just annoyed. It was what it was. Instant marriage was out. Shacking still meant having a man and his dirty laundry and drama in her space. After what she’d just been through, she wasn’t trying to have a baby anytime soon, anyway … and living with him 24–7 increased the odds that one day or night she might be moved to forget all about lighting her Sankofa.

  Damali quietly laughed to herself. She knew how Carlos rolled. Not to mention, he still had a lot of inner personal development to do. By all indicators, the Light wasn’t finished with him yet, and as wild as Carlos’s ass was, she didn’t need to be in lightning-strike range while they honed him. His mild apex in Philly had been rushed and temporary, spiked like a flux, just by seeing Lilith. If he fluxed and started trailing aphrodisiac to draw out lower levels, Tara would be near to protect him; if Yonnie bulked on him, there were enough brothers in the house to cope to make Yonnie stand down … and Carlos needed to learn how to work with that weapon, too. She couldn’t teach him that. The Neteru Queens had intimated as much. This was his battle, not hers.

  Naw. Carlos Rivera needed to get his head together, deal with his new circumstances on his own, before bringing that baggage to her door. Uh-uh. Plus, after the heat in bed cooled, and it had, she had enough sense to know that it got real basic—Marlene and Marjorie hadn’t needed to tell her that. They were living examples.

  Carlos would either get over it, or not. He’d better recognize that the Light worked in mysterious ways, and needed to stop challenging the Father for all the gifts he’d been given. Did the man realize that he was alive, had all body parts accounted for, with a for-real second chance, and had been elevated to Neteru status? Incredulous, she could only shake her head as she drove. “Carlos better stop, y’all. My name is Bennit, an
d I ain’t in-it. Okaaaay.”

  Shoot, the way he was acting, thunder and freakin’ lightning from the sky was likely—and she’d go into the pit for the brother, but wasn’t even trying to get in trouble with the Most High. Nope. Not hardly. Especially not over some male ego yang. Puhlease. Hold the line, stay the course, handle her business as the female Neteru, that was it. They already took her long blade behind the nonsense, and she’d gone through too many changes to get back the baby Isis dagger. She’d learned her lesson, and had learned it well. She wasn’t going backward, not for love nor money. Uh-uh. He had to step up to her level, this time.

  She smiled wider. Live with him while he was challenging the Light’s blessings? Hell no. Not until they were evenly yoked. When he got his head right, then she’d consider it. She needed time to breathe and assess. The whole meeting with the Neteru Council had given her serious pause, and before she made another rash move, she wanted to be sure the timing was right.

  It wasn’t about communal living arrangements any longer, either. Too much water had run under that particular bridge. If Juanita stepped to her wrong one more time … See, that was the problem; she couldn’t just drag her narrow behind out into the front yard and kick her ass old-school style. That would be irresponsible as the Neteru, would have repercussions if the girl got seriously injured, and … no. Moving out solved a lot of problems, beyond Carlos’s mess. A sister needed space, time, privacy, and room for all the thoughts tumbling around in her head.

  Damali turned off the engine and hopped out of her vehicle, crossing the dusty driveway and listening to gravel crunch under her feet. What was there to fear, really? She’d literally been to Hell and back already and wasn’t even twenty-five years old yet. She’d have her own place, not far from the others, just like Carlos would. But that whole thing of everybody living under one roof was beyond tired. It was better this way—much better.