"Oh, shit," Yonnie said, gagging and backing away while covering his mouth. "Smells like pus to me, man. I don't know how you deal with it!"
"An hour in a white bath, a half a gallon of holy water to wash it through my system, and a brother will be good ta go."
"Nasty... holy water... you gotta drink that? Damn!" Yonnie shook his head and looked like he was about to dry heave. "That's deep science, man," Yonnie said, going to the alley exit and then taking a deep gulp of fresh air. "But you're gonna have to whirl your own ass home. You my boy, and all, but I can't touch you with the silver leaking like that. Don't even pound my fist with that shit on you."
Carlos nodded, looking up at the beauty of the night sky, remembering and then jettisoning the thought. After a battle like this, if his woman would just be halfway reasonable... show a brother a little affection. Then he remembered they weren't speaking.
"It's cool. It's all good," Carlos finally said, grabbing the invisible edges of the darkness around him and enveloping himself with it. "Need the air, got some soul-searching to do, anyway. Catch you later."
"Later," Yonnie said, and then hocked and spit. "Crazy-azz Neteru."
With effort, Damali finally pushed the argument with Carlos out of her consciousness, telling herself that she refused to let negativity rule her. Later for that. It wasn't about allowing perpetual man-drama to take her off focus and away from her inner light. Juanita had always been a nut case anyway, Guardian or not, so what else was new? There was no stated rule that she had to like everybody in her Guardian family. Just like any other family, there were those who were favorites, those most cherished, then folks who simply got on your last nerve.
The drive had cleared her head. Her mind was on creative fire. Maybe it was the welcomed proximity to a club. It didn't matter. Lyrics, harmonies, keys between keys practically sizzled within her--something that hadn't freely occurred in almost a year. Conceiving new music was the closest thing to natural conception that she'd ever experienced. It felt so good, so comforting, so real that it produced a heady, natural high.
She couldn't wait to be alone, quiet, and cloistered, so that she could release the building creative flood of composition within her. This was so much more productive than staying enmeshed in anger. Developing artistically blocked pain, even if surreal emotional trauma often inspired it. That made sense to her way of looking at things. Most artists' best works had come from bone-deep pain or knowledge from hard-learned experiences, sometimes both. She certainly had enough to give her music a razor's edge for years. She'd use that and work with that--a much better option than cutting out Juanita's and Carlos's gizzards.
Music was the answer. She reminded herself of that as she went into the house. This outlet was from the strong side of her being, rather than the weakness that took root in rage and jealousy. And there was something about the artistic process that was so intensely private that this part of who she was couldn't even be shared with Carlos. He was many things, but an artist he was not. He couldn't take that from her. Damali smiled and sighed. This gift was hers.
By mutual respect, before the Juanita thing went down, they gave each other space when she was grooving on the universe like this, even though it had taken many conversations and heavy negotiations to bring about that understanding and change. His resistance to her need for a creative envelope had initially evoked a reaction from him at a level of jealousy that was nothing short of primal. That, she'd never understand, but had agreed to let it rest when he'd relented.
Come to think about it, there were a lot of things about this brother that irked her, but she'd let them all ride--up until now.
Damali closed her eyes and lolled her shoulders, dropping her clothes in a lazy trail as she walked across her bedroom. Peace filled her and made her contented, relaxed, and balanced in spirit. For the first evening in as long as she could remember, she was home, in her own space, alone.
After a half-day of training newbies, a four-hour, hard physical workout of putting the team through its paces before she could get Dan to part with his ride, but not before spending more time than she probably should have first thing in the morning arguing with Carlos, she was finally able to enjoy the meditative solitude of silence.
Her music was crying, begging for her to return to it. Tonight she would. A white bath soothed her frayed nervous system as she slid into the large oval tub and sank into the healing salt water. Music swirled within her at the cellular level, and she hummed softly as the water buoyed her creative purpose. Oh, yeah, she had enough pain to create something really deep tonight. Wounded lover... let me explain how this all went down . . .
Incense leaked from Tibetan pots, the smoky trails quietly infusing the healing mint-hued sanctuary with calming aromas. Long white tapers added gentle illumination to the room burgeoning with ferns. Prayers protected her like silent sentries. Starlight and a full blue moon sparkled through the stained-glass skylight, sending prisms of color all around her. Heat emanated from the bath's surface, covering her body in a blanket of wet warmth. She thought of Jose's color-splashed quilt, now languishing in her cedar chest at the foot of her bed. Tonight would be the perfect night to pull it out and wrap it around her. Wounded lover . . .
Life was good. Yes, there were horrible struggles still battering the world. The earth was weeping. She'd prayed for the healing of the planet and all who faced any pain on any level before she gave homage to her inner song spirit. But for this momentary slice of time, it was as though she could slip between the dimensions of it to make reality cease for just an instant, a fraction of a second, to allow her to experience stillness. In that regard, life was good... the water was warm, her family safe, and her man was a pain in her ass but alive. These blessings and more she cherished as she quietly dozed in light mediation, whispering to her muse to please return.
It wasn't about stressing over the need for another CD, or the demands of her profession as an artist, or even as a Neteru... no. Not tonight. Pure music, the healing balm for the soul, was where she'd reside. Total appreciation for every gift she'd received, every lesson learned, even the hard ones, the extraordinary ones, became her inner mantra, for there was only now, this moment-- no past or future when time stopped like this for the birth of new music.
"I agree," a low, gentle, male voice said. "And that's a beautiful gift, too. Embrace it."
Peace instantly evaporated. Damali struggled to sit up, but her limbs were sluggish. Then she remembered that she'd been dozing in the tub. Common sense told her that she was thoroughly protected by every conceivable white-light barrier, but still, the sound of a male voice in the bathroom with her had shot panic through her.
No weapon on her, her mind began to process a thousand variables in lightning synaptic waves: the portals had been closed, all major vampire threats had been wiped out, all were demons had been sealed away, in-cubi didn't have enough power to encroach, she'd barred herself from astral plane projections... the voice was unfamiliar. Male. The imperative was immediate: Get out of the tub.
"Time stopped," the voice said in an easy manner. "You called for your muse. So, let's talk."
Bullshit. Her muse, if there was such a manifestation, had to be female, just like her Neteru Council. War swept through her bones. Her senses immediately keened. But oddly, the hair wasn't standing up on her neck. She wasn't bolting out of the tub, either. Nothing Neteru within her sounded an internal alarm, and there wasn't anything natural or supernatural that was registering as a threat.
"Show yourself," she said, sitting up in the tub unconcerned with her nudity. If there was a fight to be had, saving her life was way more important than that.
A form slowly took shape at the foot of the tub. She studied it, nearly squinting as she tucked her legs beneath her and prepared to defend herself. She watched the air move in heatless waves as something stepped between what appeared to be folds of invisible fabric. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it definitely wasn't an older, extremely handsome male being.
He sat down on the side of the tub with a casual smile, but his dark eyes burned with intensity as they roved over her damp br**sts. A slight blue-white electric charge ignited the surface of the water, producing a tingling sensation across her skin.
Sudden modesty failed her. She couldn't take her eyes off him to even cover herself. His skin was the color of deep copper. Within his strong features, she could see many nations, and his ethnicity was impossible to judge. His hair was a jet-black profusion of thick curls inter-
spersed with waist-length locks and a bit of silver gray that seemed to kiss his temples. His jaw was square, solid, and her eyes carefully appraised it for the slightest trace of fangs, but her assessment came away wanting. He wore a long white cotton robe, as though just coming off a pilgrimage, and his feet were bare. His body was so symmetrically toned that the word perfection came to her mind. And his voice was smooth... easy, melodic, and didn't inspire fear. The sound of it continued to ripple through her gently as though it were water. He was an enigma; she didn't know what to make of him.
"Say the Twenty-third, or you're outta here," she demanded, testing him. "As you wish. I know it by heart," he murmured, and then indulged her, not taking his eyes from hers.
When he concluded, she immediately covered herself, not sure what else to do. If he could say biblical prayers, he definitely wasn't anything she'd encountered before... instinct kicked in, telling her it could be a guide, an angel, a Heaven-sent spirit... then her eyes became wide enough to split at the corners. "You're... you're not... are you?" She almost fell as she stood, clumsily hiding her body and grabbing a nearby towel.