"I will, baby. I'll walk you out."
As he neared her again, she stopped, and put her hand in the center of his chest. Her mind sealed it with a prayer. It didn't matter if he wore a cross, a Star of David, a star and crescent, a medicine wheel, a Yoruba amulet, a crystal, a Buddha, whatever ... each member of her team was protected by these symbols of faith because they believed. They all came from various cultures, and brought their ideologies with them. He had to understand that the symbols were powerless without the faith behind it and an affinity toward the light.
"Oh, Carlos ... you have to listen. This is worse than anything you could imagine."
"I'll be all right."
"I wish you were on our side." She looked away, not able to gaze into his eyes any longer, and not able to be this close to him.
"So do I, sometimes," he whispered with another deep inhale of her.
"If you do find yourself in a situation that you've never encountered before ... and if your gun fails, do one thing for me at the very end."
"You know the only way I'll go down is fighting." He took her hand, found the middle of her palm and pressed a kiss into her hand, then folded the kiss away within it.
"Say a prayer to God if you find yourself going down. Make that the last thing you do, if it comes to that. Promise."
He nodded, and released her hand. "If is a mighty powerful word. I don't plan on going down. That much, I'll always promise."
Chapter Nine
"I know," she said softly, walking beside him. "None of us ever do."
* * *
She sat beside Rider saying nothing for a long time, just staring at the horizon as the sun set. Dusty mauves and muted blues formed a blanket covering the sky, which tried to hold its own with violent golds, pinks, and oranges, battling for the last of its light against evening. Night would not be kept at bay, no matter how hard the sun fought against it. Even the largest planet in the heavens had to follow what was natural law. Damali shook her head and sighed. How was she supposed to fight a pull that strong - indefinitely?
"Been a long time since the team did two-by-two detail. Just two from the team on a stakeout so a person could talk, really get to know the other guy whose back you're watching," Rider said in a quiet tone, his gaze fastened to the building across the street as he toyed with the jade cross at his neck.
"I know," Damali murmured, still looking at the sky. "Shame that we haven't had much breathing room ever since Marlene started us hunting. Liked it better when we left shit be. If something rolled up on us, then fine. If not, that was most cool. Today was the first time in a couple of months any of us went out alone."
"Yep. Was a time when I rode solo - got a bottle of whiskey, found a good poker game, selected a beautiful woman, and paid my tabs in the morning. Now, I'm rolling with the Magnificent Seven, or what used to be the equivalent of the Dirty Dozen, to God only knows where, or why. Nobody coulda told me this, then. Ain't life ironic?"
She nodded, checking the weapons in her belt and the Isis blade in her hand. Rider had made her smile despite her sullen mood. "Was a time when I had a bunch of girlfriends, and we all hung out and partied, and the biggest thing we were worried about was what to wear to the clubs- - or if our fake IDs would get us in. Then again, some of us did have more than that to worry about. Don't get sentimental, Rider - it wasn't all good. Foster care was a bitch. So was being a runaway." She laughed and then swallowed hard as she looked at her sword.
"Ain't life ironic."
She didn't answer him and just allowed her fingers to trail the multiple blood grooves of the silver-plated triple blade, and eased it back into its ancient mahogany scabbard, holding it with both hands between her knees while she and Rider waited.
The ornate gold handle commanded her attention as she studied the goddess cast from Kemetian pyramid metals that slayed a serpent, wondering how many high priests had used it to de-
fend themselves. Running from the authorities as a kid, fending off drunken adults, even running from a gang shootout was deep, but not as off the hook as this.
"You like her?" Rider asked. "She suits you."
"Thanks... yeah ... she's beautiful."
"I remember being your age once," Rider said in an unusually gentle voice. "Had me a girlfriend and a Harley, was doing the all-American thing and rode all over creation, screwing, having fun - that was the seventies." When Damali chuckled, he laughe'd. "Honest to God's truth. I wasn't always a sharpshooter, just like Shabazz wasn't always an Aikido master. Wore my hair in a long ponytail, didn't worry about taking a bath, the weed was good - no bullshit in it like now - got in more bar fights than I care to remember, was locked up a time or two ... the good old days."
"You're crazy, Rider, you know that, right?"
He laughed. "Yep, I am. That's why I lifted Madame Isis for you from Marlene's footlocker. That old bird got it from the Knights of Templar, and knowing those guys, it probably came from the Vatican. You weren't supposed to take it off the compound until after you turned twenty-one, lest it fall into the wrong hands. But, I figured, what the hell? A few days early won't hurt. You're as good as grown. Plus, I've seen you fight; it won't get taken from you, that's for sure." They both stared at each other. "All right, I admit it. I can pick a good lock. Don't ask."
She studied his face, the way the lines were starting to form in it from the wear and tear of life, and the way the edges of his eyes crinkled with mischief. He still wore cowboy boots and a seventies relic, fawn-colored suede jacket. All that was missing was the ten-gallon hat. "You're good people, Rider."
"Why thank you, darlin'. You ain't such bad people yourself."
He blew out a long breath. "And, although you're strong as shit, and have all these abilities, you're still young and human. Just so you know, we've all been working on Marlene for you."