"Baby, go lie down. I'll get the bathroom," she said quietly, and gathered up a sponge and disinfectant.
The flu? It was May. Carlos had a constitution of iron. So did the rest of the squad. And his statement didn't make sense. The flu? After what they'd just been told? Living in close quarters, if it was something communicable like that, then everybody should have been feeling under the weather. But he'd passed Marlene's inspection... hers, too, as far as any traces of returning vampirism was concerned. No. This was so much more. The infection. Damali watched him walk down the hall, and she glanced at the bathroom mirror as he passed it. He still had a reflection. If the dark energy was affecting him, then the only thing that should be coming back would be the vamp virus. Strange.
Father Patrick had given him the once-over thoroughly before being called back to Rome. Imam Asula had seen him before Mecca requested his presence. Monk Lin had also done his divination on Carlos before heading back to Tibet, and Rabbi Zeitloff said things were cool before he took off for Israel. The ground they were on was hallowed, Yonnie didn't nick him... It was daylight, but Carlos was puking up his guts. There was only one explanation.
Damali screwed up her face as she went into the bathroom. She made a yucky pile with Carlos's cast-off clothes, which were destined for a garbage bag, and then the laundry. She peered into the toilet and at the splatter where some of the refuse had missed. Green bile confronted her, but that made sense. If the man hadn't eaten all day, and had been projectile vomiting all day, then that would be the only thing left in his system. But it wasn't the sight, it was the smell.
She covered her nose and mouth with her hand and opened the window. Naw... she'd lived with men long enough, and had seen them come in after a binge, especially Rider - who didn't lose his lunch like this, and it never smelled so foul.
All of her Neteru attributes kicked in and surrounded the stimuli. She opened her third eye and looked at the mess. Within the dark, green slurry were thin threads of blackness, almost like filaments running through it. She edged closer and put out her hand, and allowed her palm to hover over the nastiness. Heat. Serious heat was wafting up from the splatter. She uncovered her nose. The smell almost made her dry heave. But it wasn't sulfur. It was something worse, almost metallic... like burning metal, aluminum. Gooseflesh rose to her arms. Mentally, she replayed the sound of his distress. A high-pitched wine was buried in the guttural sounds as he'd vomited... "Just like the tea kettle," she whispered.
Damali hurriedly cleaned up the mess and balled up his clothes with the sponge, careful not to touch any of the bodily waste. She ditched it in a white kitchen trash bag, and went into her cabinets, pulling down the stash of real housecleaning aids that Marlene had left; holy water and purified sea salt, and then went to the front yard.
She flung the bag down on the dirt next to where Carlos had left another splatter of bile. Carefully, she uncorked the bottle and began dousing the site, and then flung salt on top of that. Instantly, black smoke billowed up from the spot on the ground where he'd thrown up; a small gap in the earth groaned open, and sucked into itself, taking the bag of clothes with it.
"Oh, shit!" Damali jumped back and flung purified salt at what had disappeared. The ground shuddered, and then the spot covered over with dead grass again, as though nothing had ever been disturbed. She ran into the house, added anointing oil to her arsenal, and dashed toward the bedroom. He was a Neteru. He was supposed to be immune, not a carrier!
Carlos was resting on his side, under Jose's blanket, shuddering and beginning to convulse.
"D, baby, I'm sorry I'm so sick."
"Carlos, listen to me," she said quickly, brandishing her bottles. "I don't know where Mar is right now, and I'm gonna call her again, okay? This isn't a hangover."
He peered at the sun. "Close the drapes? I feel like shit."
"No, you need the sun," she said, and went to his side. In a flash she had put oil on her fingers and then touched them to his forehead.
Immediately, he flung off the blanket, sweat forming on his brow and then coating his chest and abdomen.
"It's so f**kin' hot in here - I'm flashing hot and cold, can't get comfortable, can't - "
"Shhh... be still," she said, dropping salt around the edge of the bed as she walked and quietly prayed. She watched him slowly begin to stop shivering as the room darkened. Daylight was waning and she circled the bed with liberal splashes of holy water, and removed Jose's blanket from him, replacing it with her duvet.
Unsure of what had just transpired, she knew enough to know that Jose's grandfather's blanket held some serious shaman charge. Whatever was going on with that, it was not the thing to have covering Carlos, until they were all sure what they were dealing with and how it would individually manifest. She watched him slip off into a mild slumber as his body relaxed, his temperature normalized, and the shivers abated. She stroked his mussed hair and anointed his forehead again with oil, and then kissed his temple.
Finding the night-light by the wall switch, she clicked it on and stood by the door, watching the sun finally go down and disappear. After what felt like forever, Carlos stirred. It had only been a half hour, but while one is hoping and praying, thirty minutes might as well be thirty years.
"Hey, baby," he said, opening his eyes slowly and rolling over to face her. "You have my word, I'm never going out drinking with my boy like that again. I swear."
"I believe you," she said, her voice devoid ot emotion. Panic had made her eerily calm. "What did you drink when you were with Yonnie?"
"I told you last night. Too many vodka martinis and a bottle and a half of Remy to chase it."
Damali remained fixed in her position against the doorframe. "Did he put any color in your glass?"
Carlos sat up slowly. "No. Why?"
"Before we knew what we know, we'd relaxed and were all using cell phones lately, since we'd mistakenly believed there'd been no real threat for months. But we weren't dealing with the fact that the Chairman is still out there, and we know we haven't heard the last from Lilith. So, I'm opening my third eye, and you're going to open yours, right now," she said too calmly. "Then, I'm going to ask you again. Did Yonnie put any color in your drink?"
"Okay, okay, okay," Carlos said with a weary sigh. "He didn't, but for a second, I sorta had a relapse and asked him for a hit." He stared at her intensely. "But my boy had my back, and told me no. That's when he brought me home to you. All right? Satisfied?"
He pushed himself to the edge of the bed with effort when she didn't reply, and stood, seeming indignant.
"I want to ask you another question - because I'm worried."
"Yeah, all right," Carlos grumbled.
"Have you ever considered what just thinking about a blood hit could do to a Neteru?" She kept her voice calm, even, and very psychiatric. "You're about to go into the male version of my ripening. That is a very powerful transitional time. If you are unclear, in any way, about what your leanings are, you could do metaphysical damage to your gifts... especially with the dark energies that are polluting our topside environment."