She thought of Inez's precious little girl, asleep down the hall from her frantic mother. No more.
She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was clear to her now. Carlos had lied, had blocked this from her. Her guardian squad knew - but hadn't trusted her to be ready to fight. The truth stabbed her. They had been right.
"Inez," she said slowly, "I'm going to send you a large check. I want you to put whatever family you have over there on a plane and bring them stateside for a few weeks - on me. Don't argue. I've got their food and hotel; just bring them here. When I get back from tour, I'll come see you. It's gonna be all right."
Fuck all this. It was time to go to Brazil.
In the dark, where you do what you do what you do to me, baby . . .
in the dark... blood running through my deep rivers, baby
- "In the Dark," Damali Richards
Chapter Twelve
The sun was so bright, Damali squinted as she tried to peer out the plane's window. She gave up and lowered the shade. She blinked and finally closed her eyes, the sun's golden glow permanently affixed to the insides of her eyelids. Carlos hadn't answered her calls. After the incident in the woods, had he just walked? Even when she'd left word with Father Patrick that it was urgent, and had told him that she was heading to Rio on tour, Carlos had actually gone AWOL knowing she was going to Brazil - when they both knew that something serious was lurking there?
It was over, big time. She didn't care what Marlene had said about the man being worried for her safety. That was bullshit. Marlene didn't understand that she'd opened herself up fully, had let Carlos into every section of her mind, her being, her very essence. She'd had nothing to hide, no fantasy or secret that she had been ashamed to share with him. But his brain had dark corridors, entire compartments blocked to hers. Now she knew why.
His shutting her out, keeping critical information from her, keeping her from a hunt, maybe even costing a few innocents their lives, was a betrayal to everything she was as a Neteru. Before she'd become his lover, she was the Neteru! Still was, and she'd let the team know how much she seriously didn't appreciate them not pulling her coat. Yeah, Marlene had said that she'd divined that no innocents would be harmed if Damali came to these conclusions before the next full moon. But the simple fact was, all of them still thought of her as a child to be led in baby steps, not as the Neteru who must lead. And the truth was, she had been acting like a child, a silly young girl, blind to everything except the boy she loved. They should have called her on it, as they would have for any other member of the team.
But it was Carlos's lies that hurt the most. Her team had waited for her to wake up and trusted she would do the right thing when she did. Carlos had deliberately kept the knowledge from her, taking advantage of her feelings for him because he didn't believe in her abilities as the Neteru. He didn't believe in her ability to handle what was going on in Brazil, and he didn't believe in her ability to handle whatever burdens he was carrying. How could she be with a man like that? Shabazz's philosophical rhetoric about every man having some things better left in the dark had truly pissed her off. The fact that the team's rock had come to her, quietly trying to fix what was too broken to glue back together had unnerved her. Every damned body was all in her business. She was just thankful that Dan had played a hunch and played it right, and had booked this venue first... then, again, Dan was probably already hip and following Mar's lead, which really irked her. The most junior member on the squad even had insight for a while that she didn't!
It was time to regain control of her title, her mission, her life, and her private mental sanctuary. That was the only thing Marlene had been right about.
Hurt and anger shared the same space within her. They took up inseparable residence within her soul. No, she didn't care what Father Patrick said about having faith, and it still burned her up that he refused to say more, regardless of his vow to honor any confessions. If he wanted her to have faith, then he needed to tell her where Carlos was, if he knew. Period. She needed closure, needed to tongue-lash that bastard.
Damali willed away the tears. They were useless anyway. She'd never let some man take her there again; she had things to do.
Damali listened distantly to the airplane captain announce their pending arrival into Rio de Janeiro, his Portuguese phrases dipping and turning, being translated into English by a stewardess, while their jumbo jet descended into Aeroporto Santos Dumont.
She opened her eyes and took in the spectacular view of mountains carpeted with lush, emerald green, valleys with inlaid ribbons of white sand beaches, and jewel-toned waters below her. The cariocas梬hat they called the ten million citizens of Rio she'd been told梬ere right. This was "the marvelous city," the cidade maravilhosa. But Carlos would never see it by day, and perhaps never by night. So be it. It didn't have to happen like this.
She had to shake this feeling of dread as the plane touched down. She'd been over it all a thousand times in her mind. He had never come back. He left no message and no trace. Not even Father Patrick knew where he had gone, supposedly. Just like before, Carlos had vanished into the darkness. But this time was different; she didn't care.
Answering only perfunctory questions, she remained quiet as her team disembarked and entered into a hot, not-so-scenic urban chaos that shamed Manhattan in terms of its utter crush of humanity. It was only a matter of minutes before her natural, Egyptian white linen slacks and matching sleeveless duster were clinging to her skin. Her sunglasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose, and her sleek, gold-toned shoe-boots felt like they were asphyxiating her ankles. She adjusted the spaghetti strap of her white silk camisole and lifted her chin, resigned to the long internment of heightened airport security exit protocols.
Languages from all nations spoken loudly, vibrant colors, pungent body scents, and every hue of skin imaginable filled the teeming airport as people fought to claim luggage and go through customs checkpoints while enduring the heat. But the traffic outside the airport was a scene in and of itself. Even her rugged warrior team seemed skeptical about the prospect of ever driving here.
Brazilian traffic was outrageous! Cars ignored traffic lights, drove at maddening speeds, cut off pedestrians and other drivers. Wild. Instead of braving it, all agreed to have two minibuses ordered for limousine service to collect them. She hated that it reminded her of the vamp drag race, and chastised herself for wishing she was riding with Carlos through the mayhem at night so they could fight side by side. She had to stop going there. Had to get herself in check.
A blur of noise, insane motorists, sandal-wearing pedestrians of all ages swept past the windows of the vehicle while she looked on, mentally removed. She watched an old couple, both had to be past their sixties, leisurely stroll through what looked like downtown New York wearing only the thong-like bathing suits called tangas. Rio was definitely deep. She'd never grow old with Carlos. He wouldn't age. He was history. She averted her gaze.
The vans carrying her and the team precariously dodged in and out of traffic along Avenida Beira Mar on the way to the luxury beachfront resort area, Copacabana, carting the team and their equipment to the ritzy Avenida Atlantica. If she weren't so numb, she would have sobbed. Her man should have been here with her. He should have been honest, and they could have fought this new threat together... he shouldn't have sided with the vamps against her. He'd succumbed to a call that wasn't hers. Damn...
Yet, everything Carlos had told her about this section of his territory had been truth, straight without a chaser. Rio was sensual, wild, seductive. Her erotic music threaded through you the moment one got off the plane. Pan pipes, reed flutes, and birdcalls were infused in the vibrations to combine nature with man-made percussion sounds. The rain forest and jungle permeated Damali like the humid air seeped into her pores carrying the berimbau.
In her mind's eye, she could see the instrument's bow and string made of wire, or leather, and hear the twangy sound it issued when tapped with a stick or stone. A perfect weapon for disguise; a proficient archer's delight. Just like the cuica box could be alternatively used for defense, as it was covered with a sheet of skin on top, perforated by a small stick that could double as a stake. She could hear the cuica instrument wail from somewhere she couldn't detect, imitating the call of a jaguar with reed pipes blended in. This was no way to live, thinking about weapons and battles in this paradise. But she had to.
Damali released a bitter, quiet chuckle and settled back in her seat. Two reasons she had to keep her focus on going to war: one was because she wanted to kick Carlos's ass in the worst way right now, and secondly, because there was something out there dropping bodies. All right, she hadn't totally lost perspective.
Wide mosaic sidewalks, cafes, hundreds of bars, choperios issuing spicy exotic smells that made her stomach growl, lounges, vendors walking, hawking, in a city that also never slept. Until now, she'd believed New York held the title, but Rio was something else. Good thing Dan and Marlene had teamed up on her, had signed contracts, and begun promo way before she'd come out of her daze. At least somebody had been handling her business, even if she temporarily hadn't been. Now that was deep... she hadn't even known what was going on in the compound all around her. Stupid. How could she have been so wrapped up with Carlos that she didn't even know what venues the group had slated?
She tried to wrest her mind from the clutches of worry. Homeboy would be cool. Maybe something else had gone down, and he was handling things... shit, maybe he was out there hurt? She shook it off. She wasn't going to be a really blind fool and begin making excuses for the man. It was what it was, abandonment. Betrayal. She didn't feel danger around him when they parted, just a constant nagging erotic pull.
Her guys were experiencing visual stimulation overload. Every female that walked by looked better than the next, and wore less, and drew their attention. Damali shook her head. Just like Carlos. The guys were gonna get whiplash before it was all over. Rider practically had tears in his eyes he seemed so happy, and Big Mike appeared faint. The two of them held each other upright as devastating beauty after devastating beauty passed them by with a smile. Her boys were done. She overheard Mike say something about this being better than New Orleans. She couldn't even laugh. Yeah, brother... Finally she truly knew what that look in a man's eyes meant. Hated it every time she saw it, now.
Shabazz's eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark shades, but she could make out that pulse in his jaw. Yeah, he was into it while trying to maintain some level of cool in front of Mar. Men...