"I don't know," Carlos whispered, closing his eyes to the too-bright sun. Maybe it was all of it, or none of it. For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure what to do, and she wouldn't even really talk to him... kept everything to surface bullshit. At the same time, he was just as guilty, because there was no way he could honestly talk to her about this.
He just shook his head, which made him wince. Damali had actually gone down to square off with the Chairman like he should have... She ran the team better than he probably ever would. She knew the Neteru code cold. She had met with her queens and they'd offered her swift guidance, when his kings had simply marked him and left him to figure life out on his own.
Plus, she'd shape-shifted so smoothly that it gave him chills when she went from black adder to panther, and had held Hell in check until she hit multiple targets with authority. Damali was moving up in skill and rank, while he was on the bottom rung of becoming whatever he was supposed to be. Rank busted. What was he supposed to do with that? More important question: What would she wanna do with that? With him?
No doubt about it, she was evolving into something more spectacular than she'd already been and was in full control, total command, just like he used to be. He was proud of her, but the joy was bittersweet... just like she'd crooned to all the masters in Sydney, it was a bittersweet transition, from time to time.
Even up in Gabrielle's establishment, Damali had to show him how to get back on his horse and ride... and the way she'd bent light up his spine and had him close to pure ether... There were no words for it. Girlfriend was bad. She had to be simply tolerating his ass these days.
That was unforgivable; not her actions, but his. No wonder she didn't feel like it, all their love notwithstanding. Familial love was something real different from Eros, any fool knew that. So when she says, "I love you, baby," what does she really mean? he wondered. Which kind? General, like family, or specific, like you're my man? But that was a stupid mental question, because what had he put down with authority lately?
Skills all f**ked up, head jacked, powers shaky... Shit, he couldn't stand his damned self, why would his woman? So, no, it was better that they didn't try to mind lock. Maybe they both had enough sense to know that they might find out some real deep shit that neither of them was ready to address.
Carlos hung his head. Every part of his body felt like he'd been beat down. He missed it all, and couldn't lie to himself or the Light about that any longer. He missed everything, the old nights, to be more precise... damn... when a throne gave him absolute power and control over everything in his world. A time when he could walk through walls, bulk to beat down any predator, step to any challenge... with strategy like a razor, game to the bone. Variables, not a problem - he could work four corners of a room with unparalleled mastery, because he was a master. He could blow Damali's mind and show her some shit she had never seen before, and leave an echo print on her soft skin that would make her holla just from the heat of his breath against it. Those nights were gone. He had to suck it up and deal with his new reality, or new sentence.
He thought for sure after he'd been shown some new shit by the old boyz in Ethiopia, and then on the road, things would go back to the way they were. But how did he begin to deal with the fact that now he was always two steps behind her, instead of leading the charge?
Damali had taken to the Light like a fish to water; he'd been dragged into it kicking and screaming and was currently drowning in it. The Light had blessed her with radiant beauty and unstoppable power; it had stripped his ass bare and bled him out, as far as he was concerned. Fair exchange. His baby had rolled on Level Six, pure gangsta. He'd seen her do that cold-blooded shit with his own eyes, which had left him both proud of her, but f**ked up behind it. The combination was unsettling. Somehow that was different from what she'd done in McGuire's castle, because at the end of the night, then, he was still Councilman Rivera... he owned all the territories in the world, and had worn her beautiful ass out lovely in the desert.
"Ain't that always the way," Carlos absently muttered as he began cleaning up the porch, tying everything he'd been thinking about into a tidy military-style bundle to clear away.
Yet, a jumbled, tangled pile of thinking lay at his feet. He might as well have dumped his dresser drawers and tried to quickly shove everything back into them. Same process. Once everything was out, one had to deal with every individual item, carefully lift, handle, and fold each piece, quite a process if the furniture was overstuffed from the get-go. His black box was. He hated cleaning out his box as much as he hated his turn doing team laundry and cleaning up the aftermath of a night out with Yonnie. It was sloppy.
Carlos glimpsed the mop with sudden disdain. The mundane had claimed him. He had been given the gift of life, but from all indicators, he was still trapped in another world, one of mediocrity, filled with senseless struggles that caused nothing but heartbreak. Yeah, he was still serving time, more like marking it than living it. Cool. He'd figured it would go that way - maybe he'd traded a living hell for a dead one. He'd amassed enough debt for either side to make said point.
"Es decepcionante." Very disappointing, indeed. Carlos glanced through the screen, hoping nobody would come outside to see him at the messy task of cleaning away what he'd upchucked. What he had now were spotty powers that worked when they felt like it, and a family to care for when he couldn't half take care of himself.
And what about the vamp females that would inevitably come out of the shadows when he reached his apex for real? What then? He was supposed to be this millennium's male Neteru, but wasn't even sure he could take down one vicious vamp female and dust it if it rolled up on him in the midnight hour; but he knew Damali could. He'd seen her nearly smoke four vamp bitches with their masters present. So now Damali was his bodyguard?
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He couldn't even look at her, right through here, and abruptly trained his line of sight on the horizon, remembering the freedom of wingless flight. Mist. Smooth exit. Except that wasn't an option this morning.
To his mind, there was just a certain way things should be done. The complex problems really had simple solutions, but the whole issue of souls and their metric weights added variables that frankly seemed to cause more confusion. The angels knew everybody in Hell was double-dealing, so why didn't they just come down, go prang, and fix this shit with the quickness? He knew the Light had awesome veto power, but the way they used it just strung his brain out.
That was something he definitely had to ask Father Pat one day. He had questions like, why all the riddles, intrigue, mayhem, and choice drama? Lucifer had aces and nonsense up his sleeve, so the other side, to his thinking, should just do the damned thing and straighten out the madness. Zap that bastard, too, while they were at it, and be done.
He'd had this partial conversation about the use of power when the Covenant had first rolled up on him in a parking lot at Nuit's building. What now felt like a long time ago seemed to be a simpler time, too. Just whack one slimy mofo and save his woman angst. But even then the Covenant couldn't negotiate directly with him to cut a deal. They had to take it higher up, and wait for a long decision. Whereas the side that shall remain nameless seemed to work on a different timetable. Instant gratification.
Like, in the old nights, he could have solved Rider's problem with one feral elevation nick, and made him a master so his woman would never stray again. Rider was drinking and smoking himself to death anyway - there were viable options... if one wanted to get technical. It wasn't his first choice, but he was sure if he was in a position to make a tender offer to a man slowly losing his mind over something like that, hey, the thing would be simple. He knew Rider well enough to know that if the shoe were on the other foot, hombre would be down to do whatever needed to be done. That's what he liked about Rider - the man was practical, a realist, said what others were too chicken shit to say. He respected that.
They could have discussed it over Jack Daniel's, shook on it, and the deal would have been done. It wasn't about allowing a respected amigo to suffer. Rider was grown; one allowed a grown man to choose his own way out. At least that's how it was done where he was from... East L.A., by way of Mexico, and a small pit stop along the way. But topside or sub, you didn't leave your tight homeboy to twist and have his heart butchered slowly by memory Harpies or his guts pulled out by shit too hard to digest. A favor was in order, for a real good friend caught between a rock and a hard place. De nada. Same night. Right on the spot when he and Rider stood up from their bar stools.
How different was what he proposed from watching a fellow soldier blown half to bits, still alive, guts lying everywhere... no chance of recovery, and begging for a bullet in the temple to stop the pain? Done quietly on the battlefield every day with honor.
Carlos shrugged and glanced up. No answer. His solutions spiraled darker as he continued to think about it all and mop off the porch.
To keep the peace, since they were family now, and a strong family was a necessity in any realm, he would have given Yonnie enough playmates to take the sting out of the loss... he'd get over Tara with the replacements he could have made for his main man. Then, by rights, he woulda backed Kamal up to an appropriate distance so Kamal could get his head straight and go home, and Marlene could relax enough that Shabazz could stand down without losing face. Respect for the family's Aikido master and their philosopher extraordinaire coulda stayed chill. That was power.
There was a way to do everything, and a way not to. That's how he saw it. Regardless of the Light, all of this was sloppy. "I ain't trying to offend," he said quietly, talking to the porch floor. "I just don't understand."
'Cause he mighta been able to share a little suave with Dan, so the young buck could go pull a superfine babe older than Krissy, get laid on the regular by a double-D-cup blonde, and stop wigging every time Berkfield's underage daughter was near J.L. See, that was the thing to do to deescalate a potential nuclear situation. It didn't have to be like this.
He would have just taken Bobby out into the night, too, while his momma wasn't looking, and gotten him sho' 'nuff straight. Marj was worried about homeschooling her boy... Sheeit, he woulda schooled the boy right, and all would have been very co-pacetic. She could tell Krissy whatever, and let her daughter eventually grow into her own.
Carlos smiled. J.L. just would have had to deal until then, like he did. He loved the brother, but J.L. wouldn't die from having his nose wide open, would just feel like he was gonna, but hey. He'd waited for Damali, and had lived... well, kinda sorta. Survived was more accurate. Still. Her daddy was in da house, and Berkfield was a good man that he owed, so even in his old life, he wasn't gonna f**k with certain protocols. Peace.
That's right. Besides, he mighta been able to have a little convo with Juanita to make her go on and be with Jose, no past haunting thoughts allowed. He'd wipe the slate clean. Jose deserved that level of man-woman lock without her side glances toward an old flame, and in that very brief platonic discussion he coulda made Juanita think hombre walked on water. Sheeit, and for his brother, 'Nita would have been the alpha and the omega. Problem solved. No more drama.
Yeah. If he was back on his old block, back on a throne, he woulda given Jose a double dose of some mad-crazy shit, 'cause he owed his line brother his life for watching his back... woulda given him all he wished he could have given Lopez to make up for the fallen. That woulda been a fair exchange, even in his old world.