The murky thought made her weary. But the strained expressions on everyone's faces really wore her out. It was time for a change. She'd been a lightning rod, bringing all sorts of calamity their way. She needed space, not the group-home living arrangement. Once they got back home, she was moving out. They needed peace; she needed peace. There was nothing left to fear now. Her aging team didn't need to be put in harm's way, and she wasn't afraid of the dark.
But even a bad ass needed a mom at a time like this. God bless Marlene. Damali briefly shut her eyes as they entered the tight confines of the bathroom. Marlene hadn't said a word as she lowered the toilet lid and climbed up to stand on it, motioning for Damali to step into a small plastic food container from the jet's kitchen that had been placed on the floor.
She needed to cry so badly, but no tears would come. She was all cried out. Determination filled her. A crippling contraction almost doubled her over. She would slaughter the chairman first.
Her mother-seer filled the sink with warm water, making suds from the liquid hand soap on the wall. She placed paper towels and a new kitchen sponge on the sink. Damali carefully laid the Isis dagger on the edge of the sink as well and removed her blood-soaked clothes. Marlene took each piece from her before it hit the floor. Each woman worked silently in unison with complete comprehension.
Then as gently as though she'd just been born, Marlene dabbed cleansing water on Damali's face, her throat, her hands, and her arms, intermittently breaking the silence with a soft murmur as she rinsed off her back. The older woman's voice was a soothing balm, reinforcing with gentle whispers that this too would pass... the Father had a plan. Damali desperately needed those words, just as she needed Marlene's gentle ministrations and the light cluck of her mother-seer's tongue while older female hands passed a nasty war gash, wiped away demon gook and splattered innards, battle residue, and took away the ache from the surface of her skin.
"The next plane has a bigger bathroom. I'll wash your hair once we're on board, baby," Marlene reassured her. She paused then said into the silence, "It's gonna be all right. If this happened, then something was wrong with what you carried, and this was the most merciful outcome. If it were normal, the Light would not have allowed it to be taken."
Damali stared at Marlene for a moment. "I know," she finally said. "Make sure you burn everything when you're done."
"Don't worry. We've taken further precautions than mere fire. We've prayed over every drop. The darkness will not reclaim it, or be able to resurrect it."
Damali simply closed her eyes again as Marlene refilled the sink . with fresh water, patted her with the sponge, cleaning that only someone who has given birth to one should. Yes, God bless Marlene for serving as midwife to a miscarriage. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. What had transpired in Sydney was her miscarriage of justice as much as it was her miscarriage of flesh. With that thought came the first wave of real tears since Carlos had bubbled back to the surface in a new crimson beginning. The Light had been kind; had heard her cries... but the trade still seemed so terribly unfair.
Silent tears coursed down Damali's cheeks, and the older woman who knew healing told her to let them fall like rain to wash it all out. It was done. Soon Marlene applied creams to her skin as though that could smooth over memories... Marlene kept talc in her bag, but it smelled like what a baby would have, and knowing that made her cry harder, but more privately, as the pure scent became almost too much to bear. She knew Marlene must have seen some of this coming. Marlene was always prepared; her bag was a deep, magical chasm, like a reservoir that contained whatever was necessary to heal the fallen. Now they shared yet another female loss that bound them more tightly, the loss of a child.
And as Marlene worked on her body, and by extension her spirit and mind, she also knew that Marlene's loss of her own child was much more profound than what she was experiencing now. How did a woman cope with losing the flesh of her flesh after nurturing it in her womb, bringing it forth to the Light, suckling it at her br**sts, watching it grow? That was so different than it being taken before ever feeling it stir within. But that was intellectual understanding; it was a knowing that didn't completely remove the sense of grief that quaked her with each ebbing contraction.
Damali sucked in a deep breath, allowing newfound respect and understanding to strengthen her. Even with all that she'd been through, her mother-seer had been through so much more and had kept the faith. Damali drew on that strength, watching Marlene's wise eyes. No words were necessary for the telepathic transaction; one woman's mind and eyes said,Thank you, I'm blessed, despite it all . The other's said,Ashe, I love you, dwell on it no more... pain is relative. I am your mother, and this hurts me for you more than you can know . They both nodded.
When Marlene offered her a pair of clean, white cotton panties and a pad, Damali accepted the items as the gifts they were. She kissed Marlene's temple then her hands. "Thank you," Damali said quietly. "Guess you're never too old to need a mom, huh?"
Marlene just stroked her hair as she pulled on the shield.
"I have a dress for you," Marlene said in a quiet tone, offering yet another balm to her senses.
Damali accepted the soft Egyptian linen from Marlene and donned the long sheath with bell sleeves. Marlene dried her legs and feet, dropping a towel for Damali to stand on as she dumped the red water from the food container into the toilet, said a prayer over it, and flushed it away.
"Put on these sandals," Marlene murmured as she handed Damali soft, butter-almond-hued leather, and then fetched a long, white gauze wrap from her bag. Moving methodically, Marlene wrapped Damali's hair in a regal twist of fabric. "Queen daughter," Marlene whispered, "today you wear unbleached white. It is a new day. We are about to go into lands where women wear their hair covered, their arms covered, their legs covered. We will honor the traditions of old in a very old land, where a people have been independent for two thousand years. Rest and I will guard the Isis blades until you need them again."
There was no struggle in Damali's countenance as she allowed Marlene to do what was culturally correct. There was no more fight left in her, and she didn't want to think about why women had to cover the natural gift of their bodies, why men got to do whatever they liked, and why there was so much injustice in the world, much of it aimed at the majority of the species. Women.
Battle weary and near broken, she put on the flowing gown that had replaced her torn, vampiric one, and stared at the bathroom door. She refused to contemplate the depth of her rage and heartbreak. Mending would come later and would take time; that much she'd learned from Marlene's quiet brand of strength. Right now, all she wanted was to get horizontal.
"I have to lie down," Damali admitted in a subdued voice. A slight shiver ran through her. "I feel like I'm going to pass out."
Although her movements were steady, Damali could feel a level of frantic energy just beneath the surface of Marlene's skin as the older woman ushered her from the bathroom and into a seat beside her. She didn't question Marlene's seating choice as Marlene lifted a window shade to put Damali in the sun beside her.
Clasping Damali's hand, Marlene reached around her, fastened a seat belt and reclined the chair for her.
"I'm going to bring you some special tea, an herbal mix from the motherland." Marlene stood and left Damali's side, and returned quickly with a piping hot brew.
"Sip it slowly," Marlene said, stroking her back. "Then, if you can hold that down, water, plenty of it, and then we'll clean you out with fruit."
Damali took the porcelain mug and did as she was told, her gaze never traveling toward Carlos. Her mind could only focus on one problem at a time. The sweet elixir had a hint of ginger in it, but she knew Marlene had more in the concoction than that.
When Yonnie opened his eyes, he was looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. Exhausted, he gave into his fate. Extinction was eminent, and death by hallowed earth-packed shells was far more merciful than being torn limb from limb by werewolves.
"Just do it," he murmured to the female staring at him, her finger flexing on the trigger.
To his amazement, she lifted the barrel and stepped closer to him, and then offered him her wrist.
"We have an hour till dawn. Feed quickly and then transport us to a place I'll show you. Look in my eyes to see where."
Confusion forced him to stand. True, she had silently rolled up on him as only his kind could, but how did she dare to carry hallowed earth-packed shells? Even more troubling was the thick silver-and-turquoise necklace she wore. No vampire could wear that without it burning a hole into her chest. For a moment, neither moved. Yonnie allowed his gaze to ruthlessly assess the woman who stood before him. She appeared to be in her early forties, her long black hair streaked with strands of silver-gray. Her dark eyes smoldered with the knowledge of his realms. Her body was lithe, curved, yet was sleek with muscle. The body of a soldier.