Carlos looked on in horror as the swirling black cloud of harpies approached again, passed the bank of side windows, and dove beneath the plane's belly. Their impact slammed into the hull, taking out the landing gear. Their feral grimaces mocked the living inside the plane as their faces pressed to every window, bearing fangs. Smoke was billowing from a fractured wing. Flames had erupted in the other. Something tore at the skin of the plane, opening a vacuum suction through the conference-room wall.
Before anyone could draw a breath, weapons, debris, food carts, and furniture were instantly sucked up through the rip, hurling human-crew bodies into the void as oxygen masks dropped. Guardians linked arms and weighted themselves to teammates and seats that were straining against their anchors, making the Covenant a part of their lifting human chain.
Flashes of light immediately entered the cabin, and suddenly three large entities unfurled massive white wings, staying the suction and sealing the rip with light. The light emanating from them was so bright that the teams could not stare at them. Only Carlos could lift his head to see his reflection in their raised golden shields and glowing, polished broadswords, his eyes blazing silver against the metallic surfaces.
"Fear not," one entity said.
"We guard the dawn," another said.
"An army will be raised," the third said, as the plane began a dangerous spiral to the ground.
The light snapped back, receding like the passing sun and swallowing away the entities that had stepped out of it. But the seal on the aircraft's torn exterior held.
"We're going down!" the captain shouted, his voice laden with hysteria as his words broke up over the intercom and the engines went dead.
DAMALI STOOD and brushed herself off and looked around. The emotional pain of seeing and being separated so abruptly from her parents still lingered, but she had to do what she had to do and just suck it up. She'd fallen against the steps of what seemed to be a beautiful wooden house, but upon further inspection of the multilingual signage, she learned it was the Addis Ababa Museum.
Unsure of which way to go, she tried to get her bearings and organize the jumble of experiences in her battered brain. Museums kept popping up-there was a reason. As soon as she thought it, an inner knowing replied: Old history. Draw power from it. Lilith was old history, too.
Feeling steadier, she began walking away from the building, using her senses to guide her.
Unlike the other structures, nothing in this one particularly called out to her or jettisoned her through its doors. She stopped walking. Her sensory awareness was slowly coming back. The sensation that washed through her created as much joy as recognizing an old friend. It gave her energy, made her want to laugh, and she continued along an unknown street with a satisfied smile on her face. Perhaps something was starting to go right in her life. She could only hope that her team had stayed the course and would be on their way to Ethiopia soon.
A certain confidence filled her, even though her stick was gone. If she could manage to barter using the silver in her ears and whatever gold was tucked in her hair under the fabric wrap to eat and hang out at the local holy shrines, she'd last through a few nights until she could search for her team. Meanwhile, if she could only get to a phone... Then it dawned upon her-none of them had a cell phone on them since they'd been in the battle at Sydney. Very strange.
It was as though all normal means of communication and resources had been cut off. But she took heart in the fact that she knew there had to be a reason. She stopped walking. The gifts and the number thirteen slammed into her brain. Yeah. She rattled the abilities off in her mind like a laundry list, taking none of what she'd originally been given for granted.
Five senses. As a Neteru, she had heightened awareness in all areas, and that had been severely damaged. If it was coming back now, the added bonuses might also. All Neterus had bodies designed to take a blow, plus preternatural endurance. They had the ability to withstand a bite in battle and not turn. Immunity. Visions, extrasensory awareness. Excellent battle tactics, gleaned from the Akashic Records of all generals before them. Ability to be a healer... yes, she remembered how she'd helped Marlene in Brazil. And how could she forget the twelfth gift that had almost been her ruination-the ability to lure master vampires to a state of frenzy from her scent.
The Isis blade was a tool, not a gift, when put in context with all the others. She was clear about that now, and knew the queens wouldn't have taken it away if it were. Not with what she was facing. Although she sure wished she still had it on her, regardless. But what was the thirteenth gift she was supposed to be looking for? If she couldn't figure it out as a more seasoned Neteru, then how was she going to help Carlos find it? She was missing a critical piece of the puzzle.
Damali shrugged away her doubt as she began to aimlessly walk down the streets. She refused to allow the question to lacerate her. She tried to get a sense of time and date. Was it October thirty-first, November first? Going through the purple light left her unsure. But one thing she did know for a fact, all this went down and had started seven days before Carlos's birthday-something she hadn't even entered into the equation until the strange cabbie had approached her in the streets of Philly.
There was a link. Dates, numbers, locations all had meaning. She knew that like she knew her name. So what was the deal with being thrust into Ethiopia? Questions swirled in her mind as she walked, and she took pleasure in what she now could tell was the early morning beginnings of a sprawling, dusty city of vibrant colors coming to life. The air was cool, temperate, for what she'd believed Africa to be. As she continued onward the huge market she'd stumbled upon awed her. She people-watched and enjoyed the early vendors creating a clamor of chaotic activity as she strolled past their stands while they set up for business.
The hubbub of activity was fascinating. Incense and vegetables, meats and jewelry, everything was there that one could imagine. She stopped at several jewelry stands, marveling at how the earrings she wore so resembled what many of the shopkeepers offered. Once again, it gave her pause. The old queens had adorned her to be able to barter in a place without cash. Damali smiled.
A table with a tent and an elaborate array of finely carved walking sticks made her stop and gape. One cane reminded her of Marlene's, and in the row of beautiful ebony woods, she saw a very plain stick gnarled in the same spots as the one she'd lost. She reached out to touch it, and a man came from behind his truck bearing boxes, which made her draw back her hand.
"Tenanastellen. Dehna Neh?" he said with a wide smile that broadened the one on Damali's face.
She shook her head and gave him a shy shrug to try to tell him that she didn't understand a word he'd said. She stared at his dark, long, handsome face, judging him to be near forty. He wore a plain, dingy, khaki pants, woven straw sandals, but a brilliant turquoise African-cut shirt with elaborate satin embroidery of the same hue that added magnificent color accents and intensity to his chiseled features. His shoulders were held back straight, his carriage impeccable, and his head held high and proud, but there was a very accessible warmth about his attitude as he came nearer to her.
"Hello, how are you?" he said, restating his greeting. "You are not from here, I can tell."
Damali chuckled. "No, and thank you so much for speaking to me in English. I wish I knew your language, though."
"To say thank you, in Amharic, it is,amesegenallo ." He offered a slight bow and then rounded the table. "So beautiful and no one to escort you?"
Damali laughed harder and shook her head no. African men were such a trip, persistent. In an oddly sentimental way, although she was not sure why, he reminded her of the African master when he took her hand, swept the back of it with a respectful kiss, and glanced up.
Maybe it was the regal flourish in which he did it, or the ever-present magnetic sexuality that seemed to just ooze from men from the region. There was an "it" factor that they seemed to possess, and she studied him as he looked up and smiled, asking a mischievous question about her availability with his eyes. She wondered if she'd become so accustomed to battling dark forces that she'd lost her ability to see the basic nature within regular people. Given what she'd experienced, the vendor's slight gesture and his resemblance to something she'd just fought should have sent off alarm bells within her. But she knew this man wasn't anything to fear. It was simply his way, and it tickled her no end to realize that the refinement of approaching females hadn't changed in several thousand years.
"It would take many,many years to teach you our languages," he said with pride. "There are as many as the people, and the script of Ge'ez, the one used in the churches, has two hundred and thirty-one letters. But many of us have learned English in school." He gave her a wink and waved his hand before his table of wares. "So, you have seen something here you like?"
Damali nodded and affixed her gaze to his table as she considered what he'd said. She did the math, the language used in churches... with as many peoples as the languages... and he was fluent in hers, thus they could communicate. But he was also letting her know he'd received some formal education, a point of pride. Damali offered his comment a gracious nod that seemed to please him. She also knew why she'd instantly recognized his language to be Amharic. It was used in the old liturgical services. Yeah... Marlene had told her that.
"I noticed you had a plain one on the table," Damali said, her thoughts leap-frogging as she stared down. "Why is this one so plain, when all the others have designs on them?"