Carlos shook his head no. "Don't mention food."
She was beyond through.
Damali turned off her motor with attitude and jumped out of the car. She rounded it, flung open the passenger-side door, and stepped back, arms folded. "If you're gonna barf, do it in the dirt, not on my leather interior."
Carlos nodded, leaned over, and obliged her.
"I've got mouthwash, toothpaste, hot water, and towels inside. Some roadie. Damn." She strode ahead of him, swinging open the screen and inside steel door so hard that both slammed.
This was why she wasn't trying to get married. At a time like this, and he was sick from overindulging with his boy? For better or for worse - yeah, she could tolerate vampire status as worse, more so than general-purpose man-stupid. Being a vampire was a condition, like a disease, but this mess didn't make no sense! For richer or poorer - hell, she'd gone out with this fool when he was scuffling in East L.A. and she didn't have a dime, and was happier. Forsaking all others - shit, she'd only been with him. Till death do you part - shooot, she stayed with his behind even after he'd died, and even slept with him, so whateva. He had some nerve challenging her commitment. And this yang wasn't how he needed to be handling his business.
Damali yanked down fresh towels, an unopened toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash from the linen closet and thrust it at Carlos as he slowly came down the hall.
"Thanks, baby. I really appreciate this."
She didn't say a word as she watched him meander to the bathroom and begin stripping off his clothes. No, no, no, see, this was another reason why she wasn't even trying to get married. Yeah, when it was all romantic in the castle, it sounded good. But the old dolls were right. Once everyday reality hit, and all the magic was gone, the wife would be the one picking up funky-drunk clothes and whatnot, when there were serious matters at hand. Uh-uh. And, yeah, they had money, but maid service wasn't an option. It wasn't like they could just hire some innocent lady to come in daily to sweep up, pick up, dust and polish around weapons, and do toilets with the undercover lifestyle they lived. She hadn't been able to do that in L.A. when they did have a compound.
All this bullshit, when they had really tough situations to attend to? And he had been whining about not liking his fate? She'd give her blade arm to go back to the old compound days of just fighting regular demons, and being able to quell a night-crawler disturbance by the easy swing of a sword.
He didn't like the old mundane arrangement? Everybody had a round of chores - but as a wife, she knew how the thing would go! Just like all of a sudden, Big Mike had been acting like his legs were broken now that Inez was putting plates in front of him and doing his dishes. The new terror at hand would change all that, she bet. Like how Shabazz took liberties with Marlene, and Berkfield was the worst offender of them all. Yeah, everybody just got a wake-up call.
Before this recent serious turn of events, all Jose had to do was look toward the fridge, and Juanita had a beer in hand, dashing in his direction... and poor Krissy had been spoiling J.L. rotten. That's why she had to get the hell out of that house. The dynamic had changed. It was like sex made people stooopid! All bullshit aside, when it came down to a firefight, and it got real, wasn't no gender in the game - so why in the hell should it be all rosy-cozy during so-called normal hours of operation? The only ones who had sense were the brothers who weren't getting any. Maybe the clerics in the cloister had the right idea.
Damali cringed as she heard Carlos upchuck again. For a minute she wished he could still wave his hand, snap his fingers, and change his environment. Cleaning the toilet behind some man was not her role as the Neteru, and the wife gig wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. No, why trade in a perfectly reasonable title to be a babysitter, nursemaid, chambermaid, and cook? There were no words. She'd hand his ass a mop, bucket, sponge, and some Lysol and be done with it.
Damali went outside and leaned against the deck rail. Some first weekend alone. All because she'd held her ground, and was sick of his tight jaws, bad vibes, and attitudes for the past several months, he gone and gotten himself totaled? Right now he was useless.
She'd been very understanding, allowing him to grieve, go through all the changes necessary, readjust to the group situation. She'd practically kissed his behind to keep the peace. But did that matter? No. He'd allowed Yonnie to take him out and get him wasted like that, with so much pending? Oh, so how was he gonna act when they had a really big fight? The Armageddon was about to kick off any day now; in fact, it might have already started. Carlos had to be razor sharp, and ready to rumble when the going got tough. That was what was panfrying her brain.
What he'd been sulking about had been relatively minor, truth be told. But was this how it was gonna be? What had possessed her to go get that man? She could have handled this as team leader herself. The next time, if there was a next time for her to feel compassion toward a dumb bastard, she'd kick herself first.
"You okay?" she yelled back into the house.
"Yeah," she heard him yell back.
"Whateva," she muttered and stared out at the canyon.
The late afternoon sun had begun to color the horizon burnt orange and deep, pastel rose. Thick cumulus cloud formations soaked in the hues within a shocking blue sky.
"What am I doing out here on Indian reservation lands?" she whispered, briefly closing her eyes. "I should be staking Lilith right now in whatever hole she slid into."
Damali opened her eyes, expecting to see the same landscape before her, but instead, she was looking at herself earlier that morning.
It was disorienting and fascinating as she stared back up to the deck from a bird's-eye vantage point. She saw herself holding a mug of tea, nursing it slowly, Jose's blanket around her shoulders, the fragrant steam curling up from the mug under her nose. The surreal blended with the real as she remained still and watched. Then the steam turned dark and angry, became billowing black smoke that entered her nostrils, violating them, knocking her head back... and when her head lowered again to take another sip, her eyes were not her own.
"D, you got a bucket?"
Damali snapped out of the vision and placed her hand over her heart. "Yeah, I got it," she yelled back, and began to run toward the door.
Something definitely wasn't right. These bouts of rage, weird energy, even the feelings she'd had while Jose was with her... and his very sensual dance down the line of propriety. No. Something wasn't right. She knew she'd been affected. Maybe Carlos had been, too. She had to lay off the rage at him, become centered as one. Father Patrick tried to warn her, warn them all, but it was such a very subtle change that it was hard to know what was justified and real, and what was not.
When she entered the kitchen, Carlos was there, standing in the archway to the hall with a towel wrapped around his waist. His well-sculpted body was damp, and she watched rivulets of water course down him. What disturbed her was that there was no attraction whatsoever. Even sick with a hangover, the man was fine, and he was hers, and they loved each other, but she was nearly revolted. Instead of continuing to stare at him, she quickly bent and began hunting under the sink for cleaning aids.
"I got it, D. It's pretty nasty. Been cleaning up all day."
"Why don't you go lie down, and let me do it. You sure you're all right?"
"I haven't been able to keep anything down, much less smell food. Maybe I've got the bug on top of everything else we're dealing with... I've been out drinking before, but I can't ever remember feeling like this."