Rider opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. Carlos never even turned around.
"When we get to Algeria," Imam Asula said calmly, "there will be weapons stashed on the aircraft brought in on the food containers. You will be informed of where they are, as well as each given a new roll of clothes and toiletries. With the death of the Transylvanian, Europe is hot."
"Hey, ain't no friends in this game, brother," Rider said. "We smoked masters from Africa, Asia, Australia, and Europe; and our boy, Carlos, who was representing the U.S. and South America, also got smoked, so to speak. So why is Europe any hotter than Africa or Asia right now?" Rider's gaze settled on Asula after it briefly scanned the group.
"Europe had been the most recent epicenter of world power, with other forces diverted to the Middle East," Asula said in a patient tone. "That was the dark empire's most severe blow, and where they will most likely reconstitute quickly, just as they will have to redress the loss to the U.S. territory. Therefore, you may be able to travel in relative safety on the mother continent and Asia, for now, but Europe and the United States are in total chaos after this most effective strike."
"Why does that make sense, but not make me feel much better?" Rider said, although he nodded to signal that he would relent. "Makes me want to just go fishing in the Caribbean and call it a day."
SHE HAD been prepared to melt under the hot water in the shower. She nearly passed out from the relief as Marlene massaged grime out of her scalp. She had been prepared to just want to drop from exhaustion and terrible cramps. She had even been prepared to feel the lump of anxiety forming in her chest as she got her nerves ready to say good-bye to dear Monk Lin in only a few hours once they arrived in Manila.
However nothing could have prepared her to see Carlos step out of the men's room, freshly showered, wearing a stark white-on-white satin embroidered knee-length dashiki, flowing white pantaloons, his feet shod in handcrafted leather slip-on sandals, his hair wet and slicked back under a crocheted skullcap, his jaw set hard, his eyes hidden behind dark shades and staring at nothing.
It was that blank stare that did her in. Suddenly it was hard to breathe, the slight hurt so badly.
Damali let her gaze roam past her all-white-clad team, soaking in their regal beauty. They looked like a wedding party. She wanted to weep, but refused to do so. Rider made her smile, as he looked miserable in the skullcap and kept fussing under his breath about not having anywhere to stash a weapon.
So she forced her mind to cling to the mundane, the inane, anything but the fact that the person she wanted to wrap his arms around her and lie and tell her it would be all right, wasn't all right. Carlos was gone. When he'd return, she couldn't tell. All she could hope was he would soon.
And in that small sliver of grief that she allowed herself, she felt gypped, truly cheated by fate. The Light had brought him back, but hadn't brought him back whole. She wondered if other women had ever felt like she did now, hoping and sending up prayers that their man would safely come home from wherever... prison, the service, some job far, far away, only to get back his body but a very different mind. She knew the answer as soon as it had slid into her consciousness. Unfortunately, she was not alone. She just felt alone.
There was nothing to do now but wait. Wait to get on the flight to Manila. Wait to get from Manila to Addis Ababa, wait to travel from there to Dubai, and wait for the interminable flight from there to Khartoum, and from there, more waiting to skip through Cairo, Paris Orly, then Algiers, to wait some more. Then they would have to wait for time to be alone to talk, time to readjust to being in the same space, they'd have to wait for her body to heal before they could be as one, and wait to see if that was even possible any longer.
As she waited in the cool hangar, Damali studied the seed pearls and intricate white beadwork on the front of the new gown Marlene had given her. She fingered the small cowry shells that rimmed her flowing bell sleeves. She'd only briefly glimpsed herself in the mirror as Marlene had rewrapped her hair in a clean, new, starched white cotton fabric. It had been too painful to watch Marlene's attention to her, as though she were a bride getting ready for her big day. She'd never have a big day, and not with the one she'd always hoped to. It felt so impossible now, and there had been so much they'd both taken for granted. Now that was all gone.
Damali pushed herself up from the soft lounge chair and walked over to Father Patrick and his weary band of clerics. Without saying a word, she gave them each a long hug, even Monk Lin and Imam Asula, who technically weren't supposed to accept one from her. But as an adopted daughter, they seemed to make the allowance, returning her hug warmly, with deep affection embedded within the embrace.
"Thank you guys so much," she said to them quietly, "for arranging all of this, even down to the clothes, shower, and food."
Father Patrick held her more closely and stroked her back as he spoke. "The churches, mosques, synagogues, and temples are wealthy beyond your comprehension, daughter. If we couldn't provide for the one who has been sent to help us save the world, then what are we doing this for?" He held her back and smiled tenderly. "You've given up a lot and deserve much. That has always been my prayer."
The other clerics nodded as the eldest in the group released her.
"And you have lost much... the rabbi, the ninjas, the-"
Father Patrick held up his hand and placed two fingers against her lips. "They have simply transitioned to the new place of peace. We will not mourn the dead and gnash our teeth over the fallen, not while we have been gifted with life and have still much work to do."
Damali kissed his cheek and slipped away from their small circle, knowing that his words had a hidden message within it for her to heed. She soaked in his wisdom as she found her teammates sprawled on the lush furniture. "You guys ready to roll?"
He thought he had adequately braced himself for this new surreal journey, the reentry into human civilian life. But nothing could have made him ready to deal with Damali's regal presence. Only twenty-four hours ago she'd worn a white sheath for him at the vampire's Master's Cup ball. Now she was standing in a full beam of sunlight that washed her golden bronze, the light catching in pearls, creating a dazzling display of light work against her. She'd gone from vampress to Madonna in one shower change. Street urchin to light bearer. A queen of light.
She'd been his wife, too, for a very short and unsanctioned time, when he had been a master of the night. Now, she wasn't that. Just like he wasn't what he'd been. She had more important titles to bear than that of Councilman Rivera's wife. She was the Neteru. He simply had to get with that.
He couldn't look at her in all-white. Not now. The wound was still too fresh and bleeding inside erratically, irrationally, hemorrhaging him to the core. And the fact that she and her team carried enough VIP weight to have the Vatican send a jumbo jet, outfitted like Air Force One, was creating a deeper conflict within him than he cared to address.
So, he took his time climbing up the steep incline of steps behind Shabazz, Rider, and Big Mike, with Father Patrick at his back. He was cargo, potentially dangerous cargo, in their minds. Or, perhaps, it was just in his weary brain that he was any of those things. He wondered if they viewed him as a HAZMAT that might turn, or combust, or whatever. Nothing could be certain except that he wasn't a real member of their team, just their ward to be handled with care.
"Oh, my God!" Berkfield yelled, hopping off the gurney and brushing past the cardinal and doctors. "You, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes!"
Berkfield rushed Carlos and hugged him so hard that all Carlos could do was chuckle. Tears were streaming down Berkfield's face and he pulled Carlos in a circle, his gaze darting between Carlos and Damali.
"In broad freakin' daylight! Look at you! You kids made it!" Berkfield laughed and did a little jig, and then ran down the wide aisle slapping the whole team high-five.
"Yeah, in broad freaking daylight, it's good to see you, too, man," Rider said, laughing. "You cool?"
"Just get me to my wife and kids, then I'll be perfection," Berkfield said, still giddy. He shook his head, smoothing his palm over the skullcap that clung to his semibald scalp. "I hope they have a fully stocked bar on this contraption, because a man could surely use a shot of something serious after all this bullshit."
All the clerics on board blanched, but reserved comment.