CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Carlos immediately picked up Damali's energy signature at the Methodist church on Germantown Avenue and Haines Street, and then followed it across the cobblestoned road to a new white-light enclosure that had to be the safe house she'd taken the team to for sanctuary. As soon as he stood in front of the storefront, he opened a direct telepathic channel to her to be sure it was cool for him to enter. Neteru or not, one didn't just whirl into a Guardian encampment unannounced; it was too easy to be mistaken for a demon entity and get smoked by friendly fire.

Oddly, it took him several minutes to get Damali's attention because it seemed that every seer on the team was blowing her head up with a private instant message. Her mental capacity to manage the incoming was nearly fried.

Carlos stared at the front door of the Nile Bookstore and Caf�, wondering whether or not it would be just easier to ring the bell. The way rapid-fired questions were coming at Damali reminded him of watching kids in the street playing hard-core double Dutch jump rope-but this was championship level.

Sometimes there were two or three Guardian seers in her head at the same time,then one would quickly exit only for another one to hop in before he could, and then that person set a new tempo. Getting her to be able to acknowledge and recognize his signature pulse was going to require a spousal override, but he didn't want to panic her with an SOS.

After a few moments longer without success, he simply rang the bell. The chatter in Damali's head went still. Beaded drapes got moved to the side with a 9mm muzzle. Carlos let his breath out hard.

"I'm looking for my wife, man," he said loudly, losing patience.

Locks quickly got turned and he could hear heavy tumblers engaging. In a few seconds the door opened and he and Damali's entire squad could be seen behind a young Guardian male wearing white pantaloons and no shirt.

"Why didn't you call me, baby?" Damali said, slipping around the sentry at the door. She glanced at the local Guardian, who didn't appear to be ready to stand down. "Mehki, he's cool. It's him. I scanned him."

"All right, then. Cool," Mehki said, unsure. "Welcome."

"I tried to third-eye call but couldn't get through," Carlos said, stepping inside and pounding the local Guardian's fist. "Rivera. Carlos Rivera."

"Brother Mehki," the local Guardian replied and then glanced back at the team. "I'm sosorry, there's been . . . some issues."

"What issues?" Carlos said, glancing around at the faces that blankly stared back at him.

"We have children here," Mehki said. "I know this is new for Guardian compounds, but we're getting children sent to us like never before. The house elders over in the dormitory section are concerned . . . given all the weapons, the war vibrations, the recent extreme violence in your auras. Don't get us wrong, our local team eldersknow your team is above reproach and we're honored to have a visitation from the Neterus in this era . . . and we most assuredly don't think you all would do anything intentionally to jeopardize our precious futures, the children-but rather that if something's hunting you or stalking your team, it might track it back to this place where the children are. This is our dilemma. We want to support you, but . . ."

"This place is a lighthouse, Carlos," Damali interjected quickly, her gaze going between Carlos and Mehki. "We don't want Mehki or the mother-seer or father-seer of this compound to feel some type of way or to think we don't understand their position. They just started taking in children because the need in the neighborhood was so great . . . and they opened a school-but, Carlos, if something follows our team here and were to hurt any of their students, nobody on this team would be able to sleep at night."

"She's got that right," Marlene said, wiping her hands down her face to stave off fatigue. "That's why you couldn't get a mental word in with her, because all of us were blowing up her head with that same sentiment."

"I'd rather go up the street to a doggone hotel and take my chances with an Uzi under my pillow, C-rather than think we led Vlad's army up here to these kids, or worse. Feel me?" Big Mike said, running his palm over his bald head.

"I feel you, man," Carlos said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Then, we be out, man," Yonnie said, shaking his head. "Ain't trying to have what I saw in Detroit come for no little kids. I never even went there while I was on the other side . . . but seeing hopscotch chalk lines and jungle gyms . . .maaan . That would make us no better than those stupid, punk-ass, young boy, drug thugs who ain't got cojones enough to step to their problem directly-but who do those Wild West school yard shoot-outs, spraying everybody, even kids that didn't have nuthin' to do with the bull.Naw. Ain't worth it, C, no matter what."

"We are glad you understand," a tall, regal man said as he parted the gathering of Guardians. "Hotep," he murmured, surveying Carlos and Damali, then their team.

All eyes went to the elder gentleman who spoke ina calm , but firm tone, as Mehki stepped back with a slight bow of respect.

"This is our house father-seer, Urhra," Mehki said with deference, motioning with another bow. "This is the legendary, new millennium Neteru team."

"Good to meet you," Carlos said, inclining his head with respect.

"Hotep," Damali said with a slight bow.

The man lifted his chin, his bronze hue set off by intensely dark eyes and a thicket of jet-black hair. His white-and-gold embroidered African robes crackled quietly with tactical static charge as he moved, gesticulating slowly with his hands as he spoke.

"Amen tua en hetep-peace.Ausar tua en aungkh-life.Tehuti tua en Tchaas-wisdom.Seker tua en aungkh hen-life eternal.Ma'at tua en aungkh en Ma'at-truth.Geb tua en khab-strength.All this I pray for you in the name of Neter," he said with an unblinking gaze. "Aquila and her sister are with the children and must remain as their sentinels, but send their deepest love to you. But I wanted to greet you myself and to confer the fact that there was no slight intended by our painful decision . . . yet, we cannot grant you lodging here."

"We understand, brother," Carlos said, clasping the local team's father-seer by the forearm in a warrior's grip.

"But we will not abandon our own," Urhra said, staring Carlos directly in the eyes. "We have made provisions for visiting teams-this is, after all, the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection, no matter the current murder rate. Philadelphia's tactical warrior Guardians will cover you while here."

"We keep a location for visiting dignitaries, based on the Qi Gong principles of men being electric and women being magnetic . . . this space is very, very safe," Mehki added with hope in his voice. "We would never just turn you away from our doors without an alternative."

Urhra landed a solid hand on Carlos's shoulder. "Mehki speaks the truth of Ma'at. To leave our family out-of-doors in the path of certain danger would be unjust and would violate all that we stand for. There are three houses on a small street. Share the vision with me, brother. They look like normal row houses just off Haines around the corner, but the insides have been gutted, the walls between them knocked out so that the houses are conjoined like Siamese twins."

The elder Guardian glanced around at the Neteru team, his voice filled with confidence. "You cannot tell this fact from the outside, but there is unity between the structures on the inside. Libations have been mightily poured and security measures taken . . . a full larder of revitalizing vegan food awaits in the adjoined kitchens, and there are enough bedrooms and linens for each of you to rest well. Hallowed earth and silver sealant have been spread across the basement floors before the concrete was again poured. All windows have been charged and anointed, as well as the vents. We have asked members from the Rowdee Black Giants squad in north-central Philadelphia to serve as sentries while your team rests."

"We fought with them before," Carlos said, nodding. "Good squad."

"No doubt," Damali said, nodding with agreement.

"We even have two very serious female warriors who will watch your backs here," Mehki said proudly. "Zulma and Kenyetta are the best seer-tacticals we have."

"Works for me," Carlos said, nodding.

"Excellent," Urhra said with a warm smile, finally relaxing now that his alternative offer of hospitality had been graciously accepted. "Inscribed in the door knockers of each house you will see a cross surrounded by a circle-this is the angel Sebek's symbol, as you must know, and these houses are guarded by the Light."

As they passed a black Escalade on the street, a large, bald, ebony-hued brother that could have passed as Big Mike's body double gave the Neteru team a nod and flashed them a nickel-plated Glock 9mm. Another tall, lean brother with dreadlocks meandered down the opposite side of the street and then stopped to give the team a nod as he opened his army fatigue jacket and gave them a glimpse of a handheld semiautomatic. Two more Guardians discreetly saluted the Neteru team from the street as the squad mounted the steps to the row house compound. Two attractive, ebony-skinned women with blue static crackling through their locks stepped out of the shadows with a nod,then seemed to vanish back into the nothingness that had surrounded them.

"This is beautiful," Rider murmured with rare awe in his voice. "In plain sight if ever I saw it."

"I'm gonna stop talking bad about Philly," Jose agreed quietly as Carlos managed the door locks. "This is all that-right in the 'hood and who would know."

Everyone else withheld comment until the full team was inside and the space was double-checked for security. Once the full squad reconvened in the massive central portion of the house, only then did gazes wander to begin to take in their environment.

Gleaming hardwood floors washed with ceremonial bluing peeked out around the edges of hand-loomed Moroccan rugs. After the widened foyer, large, sandstone-hued sectional furniture draped in African fabrics created a comfortable seating gallery in the middle of the house. Silver-framed photos of visiting dignitaries from other nations, each bearing their Sharpie signature, graced the eggshell white walls. Lush plants soaked in stained-glass prisms from the huge bay windows that were flanked by heavily cushioned window seats.

The team looked around at the tasteful yet spartan display of African art, handcrafted stools, intricately carved buffets, china cabinet, and the long dining-room table that was draped in ceremonial white-complete with a thick spray of white roses in a heavy crystal vase of water.

"They keep the joint at the ready like this?" Yonnie said in amazement, finally breaking the group's silent thrall.

"I know," J.L. murmured, studying pictures of national figures in old black-and-white photos posing with Urhra.

"Just like our team," Damali said quietly, "a lot of teams have been holding the line for years . . . but we've gotta take away a serious lesson from the way these folks have just blended right into the scenery of the community."

"Youain't never lied," Inez said, walking into the kitchen with the group following her. "Look at this."

Stainless-steel appliances gleamed at them from a fully loaded, three house-wide, renovated commercial kitchen. Cast-iron and copper pots hung over the center stove galley. Huge industrial sinks took in slivers of moonlight beneath the wide windows.

Inez peeked out the miniblinds. "Three house-wide decks and carports under them."

"Security hazard," Shabazz said, his gaze quickly locking with J.L.'s.

"I'm on it. We'll get a tactical charge to reinforce those back windows, the doors, and bay windows up front," J.L. said.

"Yeah, we'll get on it," Mike said, opening the refrigerator and then sighing. "Fully loaded with all fruits and veggies . . . gonna be a long three days." He turned to glance at Dan and Bobby. "See if there's any real food in the cabinets."

Dan and Bobby immediately complied, sacking cabinets, but after a few moments looked at Mike, shaking their heads.

"All whole grains," Dan said with a lopsided grin. "But there's some gluten-free cookies up there," he said, tossing a pack of oatmeal raisin bars to Mike, who caught it with one hand.

Marjorie yawned. "I don't know how you guys can be hungry. All I want is a hot shower and a place to drop."

"You can do that, honey," Berkfield said, going back to the UV-lit basement entrance. "They've installed commercial-sized hot-water tanks down there, same deal with washers and dryers. We could take turns covering for team members who were in the shower getting cleaned up, do cold-water laundry loads in between, this way folks can sorta get back to feeling normal . . . get some of the battle grime off of us." He looked around. "I don't mind doing the first laundry load and watch-they've got a big-screen TV down there, plus a coupla pool tables. I'm in Heaven. Whaduya say, Bobby, Dan . . . can you kick this old man's ass?"

"Rack 'em up, Pop," Bobby said with a grin, looking at his father.

"Me, Tara, and Heather can cover for the first crew to hit the showers," Juanita offered, checking her clip. "We can sit on the closed toilet seat, weapon at the ready, like old times down in Arizona, or wait outside in the hall-makes me no never mind." She shrugged when her Guardian sisters nodded their agreement. "Then we can switch."

"Works for me," Tara said as Inez started rummaging in the fridge.

"I take it you're on food detail with me?" Marlene said with a smirk, glancing at Inez's back.

"You know it," Inez said with a chuckle. "If folks are cleaning up-gotta feed 'em and fix some grub before they wanna start trying to order in Philly cheese steaks."

"Baby . . . dang-that is so cold," Mike muttered. "Guess I'm on first perimeter watch then, because I can't fall asleep till I eat."

"Good man," Carlos said with a weary smile, landing a hand on Big Mike's shoulder as he passed him. "Just like old times."

"Do you think we could ever have something like this?" Jasmine said quietly, making the entire team stop moving about to look at her. She glanced around, her eyes large and sad. "Imean, a place where kids can run and play in the street and you have neighbors and can walk around the corner to the store?"

"Would be nice," Tara murmured, touching the sheer tie-dyed yellow-and-white curtains at the window. "To me, strange as it may sound, this is nicer than what we had in San Diego . . . environmentally. This reminds me of home-how I grew up. San Diego was such a fantasy . . . but this . . ."

"I know what you mean," Juanita said softly, glancing at Jose before her gaze sought the floor.

"Maybe if the local Guardians figured out how to do such a thing, we could?" Val said, hope weighting each word. "Do we dare pray for something like this?"

"Walking up the ave," Shabazz said in a faraway tone, "kicking it in the corner bar. Going to the barbershop up the street . . . all that regular stuff is something for normal people-a gift, that as a Neteru team, we don't have the luxury to even fantasizeabout. Because, in the end, folks, when it's all said and done, we're like the plague . . . anywhere we stay for too long gets blown up. We've gotta keep moving to keep civilians from being caught in the crossfire between good and evil."

"Yeah, but isn't humanity in the crossfire of all that anyway?" Krissy said in a tear-thickened murmur. Moisture glistened in her big blue eyes as she stared at Shabazz and challenged him. "Even the Neteru team has to have hope, has to have a prayer, 'Bazz . . . otherwise, how can we, as humans, go on?"

"I, for one, can't go on without the hope that one day this will all be over," Juanita said, closing her eyes against a fresh onslaught of tears."Even if I'm just temporarily lying to myself."

Jasmine nodded. "Then, tonight, I'm going to lie to myself and just go take a shower."

Marjorie slung an arm over her daughter-in-law's shoulder. "Good idea, Jas . . . then for a little while, let's not think about any of this."

Eerie silence filled the kitchen, pain and trauma laden in the air.

Dan raked his fingers through his hair and let out a hard breath of frustration. "Carlos, man . . . do you think you can bring in those duds they gave us up at the Shrine in Detroit? We'd all picked out sizes and everything, and they'd packed them in individual bags, but we left the whole lot of it when we had that immediate call to arms. Might be nice to walk the streets tomorrow looking like a normal person rather than a soldier, know what I mean? Then we can go to those stores we saw on Germantown Avenue, maybe, and get some regular gear-like jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers, and whatever."

The team remained very still waiting on Carlos to respond; Dan's eyes held a silent plea as he stared at Carlos. "I know you're probably energy-tapped to the max, but if you think it's safe to drag in some fresh clothes, I think all the ladies could use 'em."

"Hell," Berkfield said, folding his arms and releasing a weary sigh. "All of us could use getting out of these damned demon-gook-splattered fatigues and into some casual cultural gear. Woulda been nice to just do something normal like go to the jazz fest . . . butnooo , it never works like that."

"Yeah," Carlos said quietly, his gaze seeking the window. "That's a good idea. Pick your rooms, I'll drop your bags, and people can get cleaned up, eat, and crash. Tomorrow is another day; we can hit the street and buy whatever. Two days from tomorrow will be the funeral-and I've gotta get a dark suit, anyway."

Damali watched the team's collective body language seem to instantly remember the loss of Father Pat. She knew they'd meant no harm. It was just that the things affecting their survival had come so fast and so furiously that even the death of a beloved team member had temporarily taken a backseat to the immediacy of security. Logistics were always paramount-where to go, how to hide, how to secure the new location, how to camouflage themselves amid civilians, how to get in clean food, water, supplies, and more artillery, how to steal a necessary few moments of regenerative sleep . . . all of that took precedence so they could live to fight another day. All of that was wearing. Living under constantly traumatic conditions didn't even begin to describe it.

Further demoralized by the renewed awareness that Father Pat hadn't made it through the siege, shoulders slumped, heads lowered, and bodies thudded against the walls, appliances, and countertop edges. Her hand sought Carlos's back, but he didn't move or look at her for a moment, just stiffened against her touch.

"All right, let's move out," Carlos said flatly, not looking at any one Guardian in particular. "Everybody knows the drill and has picked their watch. Those of you who are gonna take the first shift of showers and shut-eye, do it. Whoever's hungry, I suggest you bust a grub now, before some more bullshit jumps off. This house has been cleared."

No one said a word as Carlos walked out of the kitchen. All eyes sought his back and then Damali. The team listened as his footfalls crossed the floor and then went up the stairs to the second floor. No one had to tell her to go to him. She just silently left the room and followed the sounds of his movements through the house.

She found him in a room down the long west end of the hallway. The door was open, he was sprawled in a chair, head back against the wall with his eyes closed, breathing slowly. Two mud cloth satchels of clothing from the Shrine in Detroit sat on the floor beside him, evidence that he'd already dragged in each team member's previously abandoned gear. Carlos's pain was indeed her pain as she watched him fight against fatigue, trauma, heartbreak, and defeat.

Damali glanced around the pleasantly minimalist space before she shut the door behind her. She understood why Carlos had taken to the chair-besides just being utterly done, the pristine white cotton linens on the queen-sized bed would have been ruined by battle grime and the heavy, carved mahogany bureau and dresser from the motherland had the clean scent of lemon oil on it that defied one to sully it with dirty hands.

The poor man didn't appear to have the energy to move a limb, much less do more than pass out in a chair. It was as though he'd confined himself to a single place in the room where his grubby condition wouldn't leave as bad of a trail. Even the walls were white and the windows were flanked by ivory sheers. Just looking at the glistening floors she knew that the team should have removed their boots before entering the sacred enclosures, but it was too late for that now. They probably would have initially balked about doing that, anyway; they were all still wired.

Kneeling between Carlos's legs, she began working on his bootlaces, speaking in a gentle tone. "I'll cover you while you're in the bathroom. You take first shower and shut-eye this time."

He shook his head, but his body didn't resist as she began to slide off his grime-encrusted boots. "Uh-uh, I'm cool. You go ahead . . . you're the one who needs the rest and recovery."

She laid her cheek against his dirty pants leg for a moment. "No, baby . . . this time you give yourself a break. I'm all right." She pushed herself to stand before he could argue, bent to kiss the crown of his head, and then deftly unbuttoned his SWAT fatigue shirt. When he didn't resist, she slipped it off his shoulders, and then tugged at his T-shirt until it gave way, sliding it up his torso and over his head. She stopped his protest with a thumb pressed softly against his lips the moment she felt him inhale to release an objection. "Just do it for me, then, if you don't need the break," she murmured, cupping his cheek. She took him by the hand and made him stand, then unhooked his pants and unzipped them. "Get in the shower. I'll bring you a towel."

Extracting a 9mm from the back waistband of her jeans where she'd stashed it, Damali carefully set the gun on the dresser, her gaze holding Carlos's. Without a word she went back to him and slid off his pants and boxers, and made him step out of them.

"Let me find you a towel," she said in a gentle tone, hugging him for a moment. She laid her head on his shoulder, trying to send waves of empathy into his body through her touch, through her palms, through her soft nuzzle.

"You should be getting in and relaxing first with me covering you," he said in a pained voice with his eyes closed, and then slowly released her. He bent with a wince to sweep up his dirty clothes when she stepped away from him.

She stared at the multiple contusions and bruises on his body that were now beginning to angrily show. But she didn't say a word; it was that way with them. As long as they'd be in battles, one or the other of them-or both-would be coming home with wounds, if they were lucky. She was just glad that he didn't further protest as she handed him a fluffy white towel that she'd found in a hallway closet . . . his body would heal, that she could fix. Only, this time, the thing that the darkside had injured most was his heart.

Yonnie sat on the toilet seat lid with a gun dangling from his fingers. His shoulders were hunchedforward, his head hung low, as he leaned his forearms on his thighs and stared at the white bathroom floor tiles that were slowly disappearing in the steam.

"I'm worried about my boy," he said quietly to Val as she turned off the shower spray and stepped onto a small white rug beside the tub.

"I know," she replied gently, twisting excess water out of her platinum locks and then beginning to dry off her wings. "Maybe you can talk to him in the morning . . . maybe after he has rested a while . . . after Damali has tried to heal his heart?"

Yonnie looked up, his gaze holding hers. "I love to watch you do that . . . dry your wings and then spread them."

She glanced away shyly and covered her nakedness with them. "You'll have to make them invisible again so I can go out amongst the humans later."

"Yeah . . . but later," he said, allowing his gaze to take in her smooth, dark, ebony skin that damply glistened beneath her walnut-hued feathers. "They're beautiful. You shouldn't have to hide them."

"People wouldn't understand," she said quietly, looking down at the floor.

"None of us should have to hide what we are," Yonnie said quietly. "I wish I could give you this-somewhere permanent to be . . . somewhere safe. But I can't."

"That doesn't matter," she whispered, swallowing hard. "You tried. The gift is that you cared to even try."

He stared at her and set his 9mm down carefully on the sink. "You're the gift," he whispered. "You make this whole ugly war of the world go away when I see you like this. I take that image with me on the battlefield every time."

Yonnie stood and slowly walked over to her and then traced her cheek with his thumb, careful not to brush her body with his dirty SWAT fatigues. "Figure, if I die, if the darkside comes for me and the Light can't get to me fast enough . . . I'll have an angel in my mind's eye.Will see her, my woman, naked, and beautiful, and clean, and pure with her big, beautiful, sad eyes holding only me in them. I could die like that, Val . . . with that image, and not care."

"Don't die on me, Yolando," she said in a quiet, urgent tone. "Please, for the love of God, don't you die onme. "

She tried to close the space between them, but he held her away with a gentle grasp of her upper arms and yielded only to take her mouth.

"I'm dirty," he whispered into her mouth. "Just touching your arms put smudges on you again. Let me hit the shower."

She held his face between her palms. "I don't care if you've showered or not when you hold me . . . I'm just thankful that you're still alive to do that-don't you understand?"

He rested his forehead against hers. "Do you remember the one thing you said to me after we'd first met . . . the thing that destroyed a brother?"

"No," she murmured, lifting her head to look into his eyes.

His gaze drank her in, noticing that gooseflesh pebbled her arms. Trembling slightly he also noticed her breaths had become shallow like his. The sound of intermittently dripping water echoed in the small, warm confines of misted space. Suddenly, as though her cleanliness could wash away the stain of every human and inhuman horror he'd witnessed, he wanted to wash himself with the totality of her.

"You told me to be valiant, be victorious," he replied in a gravelly voice. "No one had ever asked me to be that in my two hundred years of existing. I want to always be that for you, baby . . . at least that."

"Then be valiant, be victorious now," she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, and sealing the moist space between them. "Dirty or not, conquer me."