Chapter Two
Damali rested her forehead on the steering wheel of her black Hummer. Berkfield's questions, the constant monitoring from the team, and now she was being followed to clubs? It was bad enough that Berkfield had rolled up on her in the streets, and had opened a horrible wound, a gash that wouldn't close - then poured Drano in it. But the look in the man's eyes was the last straw. He was afraid of her.
She could feel moisture build beneath her shut lids, and she sniffed hard, tasting salty tears. Damn, damn, damn! It was not supposed to go down like this. Carlos had saved a cop. A cop. Had saved her entire team, and her. Not to mention, however many people by dusting Nuit. The man had even saved her from a lecherous old bastard back when she had been in foster care... he'd done so much good; why wouldn't the light give a brother a break? It just wasn't right.
Damali pushed herself off the steering wheel and turned the key in the ignition. She reached for the radio and put on the loudest music she could find, 50 Cent worked, and she pulled away from the curb. Motion. She needed motion. She had to keep moving. What was done was done. Big Mike had told her about some of his experiences in 'Nam... that sometimes the good died young and that it always hurt when it was one of yours. Truth.
She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going; she was just driving. It wasn't about going back to the compound, back to the state pen. That's the last thing she wanted to do and the last place she wanted to be - where there were eyes.
Eyes.
She was constantly dealing with eyes. Had to deal with eyes that held pity and worry and a hint of fear for her state of mind. Eyes were everywhere. People stared at her onstage, prying when she went certain places. Eyes wanted things from her, a little siphon of fame.
Cop eyes had just stared at her like she was one of the monsters. Terror-filled eyes that didn't know shit about who she was. Eyes that had judged her. If Berkfield only knew. He was probably standing in the safest spot on the planet - right next to a fully matured Neteru. A f**king huntress! Eyes of the teammates watched for signs of weakness, signs that she might break down. Eyes had kept careful watch to be sure she didn't go to Carlos when he needed her... Carlos who had the most intense, wonderful, deep brown eyes before the vampires had turned him... but even after he had been turned they had been awesome. She would never forgive the vamps for taking him from her. She wanted blood.
Swallowing hard, Damali wiped angrily at the building moisture in her eyes. She needed someone who knew her before she became what she was - a rising star, the huntress, the savior of the freakin' world! She needed friendly eyes. Laughing eyes. Tender eyes. Nonjudgmental eyes. Marlene's eyes always saw too much. She needed girlfriend eyes. Eyes that didn't see monsters around every corner.
A bitter sob threatened to break though she held it tightly in check.
Damali jerked her wheel swiftly to the left and stepped on the gas, veering away from the beach. She had to get out of there, get away from the old 'hood. What had she been thinking to come there? It was like walking over a grave.
She blew through the red light. She couldn't stop, sit, wait. She'd done that all her life, and for what? The road was blurry anyway. Apartment buildings and houses all melted together as the tears began to form and threatened to slip down her cheeks. She would not cry. Never again. She'd done that all the way home from the Raise the Dead concert. Had done that for a month in her room alone. Tears did not bring back the dead, neither did prayers.
Finally sitting quietly at a curb, she allowed the bone-jarring music to stamp out all thoughts. She let the heavy bass line become her pulse. Right now she was so numb it was like the only one she had. Breathing deeply, she calmed her too-fast heartbeat. What was death like, she wondered. Had to be better than this. Yeah, being a Neteru was no way to live.
Then she laughed. It was a hollow, brittle, sad sound that bounced off the walls inside the vehicle, bonding with the music. She should have let Carlos just f**king bite her. The light didn't have shit to fight with, compared to the forces of darkness.
What did she have? A blade. A rag-tag team of old warriors and a few priests. All she was really was a sistah who hadn't even had a chance to fully live. This was their squad? Pitiful. The light needed to take a walk down to Hell with her next time and really see what was in the dark, then maybe they'd send in some serious reinforcement桽pecial Forces, not some crazy Neteru. This was bullshit. Matter of fact, Hell was topside, didn't they know? Could've just asked her, because she was living it.
Oh, God, you let the man die...
She covered her face with her hands and ignored the teenagers gathered on street corners and hanging on her girlfriends' apartment-building steps. Tinted windows were her only salvation while she struggled for composure as curious glances scoured her souped-up Hummer. She had to get it together. As soon as she stepped out, the neighborhood kids would make her - she was their star.
They'd rush her worse than vamps, seeking autographs, wanting her attention, just to touch a little bit of fame off her, to get close to what they considered a sister with serious bling bling... they'd want her to let the magic of new stardom run off her fingertips and onto their palms, hoping for instant discovery. They'd never understand that it just didn't work that way, you had to earn it, and even then there was no guarantee. Fame was a crapshoot, and all that glittered wasn't gold.
And she couldn't go up to Inez's joint all broke up, crying and wailing and sobbing her heart out about how her man had turned into something terrible. Another brittle chuckle escaped Damali's lips and flushed her hands hot with sudden breath. Her best girlfriend. The only one who'd had her back in foster care, and she couldn't even tell Inez about the worst heartbreak of her life.
But Inez would have kind eyes, a soft hug, some chips, some wine, a video, some laughs. That was sanctuary. The compound was just a hard reminder of what she really was - trapped.
Sucking in a deep breath, Damali let it out slowly, sat back, and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She touched up her light eyeliner, just using the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the damage the tears had done, and threw her locks over her shoulders. It was a performance. That's what she had to tell herself as she braced her nerves to open the door and prepared for the onslaught of kids.
"Yo," she shouted, jumping down from the Hummer and walking up to the building.
Recognition was instantaneous, and just as soon as she'd taken ten paces, she was mobbed.
"Hey, D! You back in the old neighborhood?"
"You got CDs with you? Can we ride in your Hummer?"
"That's bangin', gurl - go 'head wit your bad self!"
"Daaayum... will you look at the rims on that sweet bitch. Aw, man, with the fog lights up top."
"Your last concert was all that - the video is off da chain, sis!"
"Off da heezy fo' sheezy. Tight."
"Who you know up in here? Dey wit your band?"