She watched the older woman release a deep breath and hold Mike's arm tighter.
"Oh . . ." Mom Delores sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I feel likeAlice through the looking glass."
"I feel like that a lot of days myself, Mom," Damali said, keeping her moving toward their destination tables in the back.
It was like walking a skittish racehorse to the starting gate; one needed blinders to accomplish the task. Hells Angels bikers were parked out front. Couples sat at the long, family-style picnic tables set haphazardly outside on the sidewalk, waiting to get inside. The bar was packed, seven to eight deep, with high plank wood tables in clusters that encouraged one to talk to people they didn't necessarily already know.
Between the music thumping and the servers running mega platters from the kitchen to the tables, not to mention the volume of conversations, one look at Mrs. Filgueiras and the word overstimulation came to mind.
"I think I'm going to be sick," she said quietly to Damali.
"Y'all go sit with the team-lemme get her to a ladies' room."
Hustling past a shoulder-to-shoulder press in the bar, Damali broke through with Inez's mother in tow. She hit the door and whirled around, just in time to catch Mom Delores before she screamed.
She clapped her hand over her mouth and held her tight. "Breathe," Damali said softly in her ear. "It's just wall art. You okay?"
Inez's mother nodded as Damali slowly lowered her hand. Both women stared at the wall for a moment. Every inch was covered with bold graffiti, scribbles, splashes of red paint, you name it. But what had drawn the near shriek was the life-size, buxom, female demon riding a motorcycle on the back of the open stall.
"What would possess them to put something like this on thewalls! " Mrs. Filgueiras gasped, fanning herself.
Damali turned on the tap. "After a while at this, people get a little twisted. Sorta like painting shark teeth on the nose of a WWII fighter plane when you know you have a fifty-fifty chance of crashing in theAtlantic Ocean , I guess? The name of the restaurant is Monsta Burgers, Mom . . . so I think it's a play on words-you know, we eat them for lunch and dinner . . . er, uh, the way they try to feed on us. I'd put money on it."
She handed Mom Delores a wet paper towel. "You'll feel better in a little while, and I want you to talk to Marjorie Berkfield. She had this happen to her and had to leave the suburbs and join the team with her two teenagers overnight, along with her husband. I think she'll be able to share some of her early fears and how she coped best."
What else could she say? If she sat the poor woman down with any of the old heads, or even some of the newbies, they'd terrorize her already embattled mind with war stories. Hell, even Jasmine would be talking about growing up in Philippine brothels and being indebted to a witch who became a vampire after being bitten by the Devil's wife.
Damali tore a paper towel from the rack and wet it for herself, leaving it on her face for a moment.Juanita-nope. 'Nita's visions even scared her sometimes.Heather, aw hell no . . . a Stonehenger? Krissy . . . maybe-a telekinetic wasn't too bad. But any wizard stuff in that line would freak her out for sure. Marge and Marlene; someone who'd been in her shoes, and an older sisterraised in the south, whom Mom Delores could relate to.
"Baby . . . can I ask you something?"
Damali took the paper towel off her face as though suddenly remembering Mom Delores was even in the room.
"Sure, Mom."She leaned against the sink and stared at the woman's tear-glistening eyes.
"That day you ran away from my house . . . because of what my husband tried to do to you . . ." She looked down and hugged herself, her voice faltering. "Did he kill you and you came back as an angel? Is this why I'm being punished . . . because I didn't see the signs and-"
"No, no, no, no, no. Oh, Mom," Damali whispered, going to the woman and hugging her. Soft sobs pelted her chest. "I never died. I'm alive. And this isn't happening to punish you-you aren't responsible for what he did behind your back."
"Then why do I feel like maybe I never really woke up this morning or that maybe I had a heart attack in the kitchen while making lunch for Ayana . . . and this is how it is when you cross over? I keep asking myself if I'm really alive, not dead . . . not trapped in hell like you hear about lost souls, not realizing I'm already gone?"
Tight fists clutched the back of Damali's T-shirt as bitter sobs rained on her neck and shoulders. All she could do was rock the woman, understanding exactly where she was. But there'd be no waking up from this reality, and all she could do was ride it out with her.
"Everything I believed, everything normal is gone," Mom Delores wailed. "I feel like I'm losing my mind and the only thing keeping me glued together is prayers in my head and seeing you with angel wings."
CHAPTER SIX
Carlos stared down the long wooden table, listening to the conversation, but not. His focus had shifted for a moment to the tension in the ladies' room. To tell Inez's mother it was gonna be all right was a trivial use of words. Itwas not going to be all right-it was going to be whatever it was. But "all right" didn't begin to cover it.
Still, the old woman's wails cut through the noisy crowd in a way that only he could hear in his mind. It was even out of range for Big Mike-either that or he was doing a really good job of letting it ride. Carlos cradled his skull for a second, his elbows on the table. Her cries might as well have been his mother's sobs. He tried to pull away from the memory of her loss, but couldn't.
The eddy of thoughts had him, the emotional current swift. He glimpsed Dan, remembering meeting his parents-a nice older couple living in the safe bubble of unknowing. Should he bring them in, too? There was no way to know. The person he might have asked was dying from a black-charge hit he should have never gotten where he was. The man had been in church! Carlos's hands left his skull and became fists.
A thick-bodied brother heading their way with static rolling through his locks cut a swath in the crowd. The distraction was needed, was a relief. Carlos had to keep himself from slumping once the wave of rage receded.
"Welcome, family-you met Mo, Oscar, Keith, and Ty in the kitchen . . . well, I'm Phat G," he said, reaching across the table to shake everybody's hand. "Y'all also met the Minister already, Rod, plus who we call the Pharaoh, that would be brother Ant, and the Professor, Rene-our security core.Then our badass seers, Miss Chantay, Adrienne, Lisa, Nyya, Carmen, Annette, Ro, andTay . LaShonda is on street lookout. The girl is fierce military with a body to go with it-making sure nothing snags innocents coming to or leaving this joint. We're still building after a few firefights, recently . . . you know, trying to get the number back up to twenty-one. But we ain't gonna go there,may they rest in peace. Whatever you want, food and drinks on the house-that's how we do up here."
"Yo man, the hospitality is over the top. Thank you," Carlos said, giving Phat G a slight bow from where he sat. "But you better let us pay for Mike's plates-plural-and Rider's bar tab, or you might not wanna have us back."