Part 7 (1/2)

” 'Nita. Just promise me you won't floss that blanket around her, okay? I know y'all have beef, but do that for me to keep the peace, boo? She's still a little salty about the fact that I insisted you have it, since it came off my bed... Women can be so superst.i.tious and territorial, but, uh, it's cool. However, there's a limit to what y'all will and will not tolerate, and a brother being AWOL first light, is one of 'em.” He kissed her quick and winked at her again. ”I'm out.”

She waved, smiled, even laughed a little, and then leaned on the doorframe and watched him jog down the path, but he picked up the pace to a flat-out haul-a.s.s once he hit the road. That annoyed her to no end. He was running for Juanita so the heifer wouldn't be p.i.s.sed. Damali briefly closed her eyes.

She had to let it go. But at this insane moment she didn't want to share him, at least not his laughter, or whatever. Then, she had to get real.

He'd braved being cut off and returned to monk status; he'd brought her his blanket, dashed to her house at dawn to deliver a message... five miles down the road, no car to wake up the house.

This was private, between them, another gift to be tucked away in her mental cedar chest, black box. This same man had let fate cut out his heart, but still was a soldier. This same man had ridden like a bat out of h.e.l.l on a bike to save her from said same.

This man had handed her a pile of ashes when it really mattered most, an act that he knew would probably change his world- but he did it anyway. He'd allowed her team to build a life on his land... had provided always when it counted most... didn't come home drunk. He'd sipped her iced tea, shared spit and shared a blanket, said he loved her, added the caveat about being her friend to keep it smooth, and then walked. Went home to where he was supposed to be, and didn't make a false move.

d.a.m.n... what a man. Juanita had better recognize. That s.h.i.+t Jose just pulled had wet her drawers. If that girl ever broke his heart... Oh, no, Juanita had better be clear; Jose was a gift from G.o.d.

With an exhausted sigh, Damali hugged the blanket closer and simply allowed herself to feel just a little bit sad.

She went into the house, glanced around at the open, bright s.p.a.ce, and still felt like she was imprisoned. She couldn't run far or fast enough from the feelings that had shaken her. As long as there was evil on the planet, she would never find peace. Peace was a hard commodity to come by, just like privacy and a chance to explore new things like a normal human being was... and the right to make a few mistakes along the way.

In this very moment, she hated sharing her entire life with the planet. Jose had made her wonder what it might be like to do something truly selfish, just for a little while.

Damali quickly banished the thought, but it crept back slowly, regardless. Maybe it was the effect of everyone living in close quarters for months? The house down the road had been a real nightmare of too many people under one roof. That had to be part of it. Everything had been so crazy it was laughable. Almost. She walked through her small house, picked up her mug, added fresh hot water to it, and went out onto the back deck to stare at the surrounding mountains. Her head felt like it was about to explode.

Marlene and Shabazz had one bedroom; Mr. and Mrs. Berkfield had the other. The team had quickly constructed two triple- level bunk beds and wedged a cot into one room for the guys. Necessity was the mother, or father, of invention and was all that was available for the formally unpaired men in the house, so that Carlos, J.L., and Jose could be on one side of the room in a bunk, Big Mike, Dan, and Bobby Berkfield could be on the other, with Rider's cot wedged against a wall in the submarine-size enclave. Ridiculous.

A brawl was imminent, if things didn't change. It wasn't much better for the ladies' room. She and Inez had been bunkmates, like an adult summer-camp arrangement, while Juanita and Kristen shared a double bunk bed.

True, that wasn't as intense as the guys' room, but the claws came out after the first week. What was personal s.p.a.ce? They might as well have rented out a matchbox, and after a while, everybody gave up protecting their small spot of territory. Sharing, coping, having one's s.p.a.ce invaded were constants; missing clothes, toiletries, combs, and brushes were standard. A black hole in the universe opened and swallowed things in the confusion. It was impossible to find anything, forget about going out unwrinkled or a quick change, and one virtually had to take a number and wait in the hall to pee. If you got hot water, you had to say thank you, Jesus. The guys gave up shaving, unless it was on the back porch using a coffee mug, hand mirror, and good judgment.

Sharing was the watchword of each and every day. Damali sipped her tea. What the heck were they being prepared for now?

Or was this it-the prelude to something even worse, like living in caves of huddled humanity during a planetary wipeout from On High? Anything this intense was always a sign. If they closed the portals, delivered the book, and got the job done, then what? There was always a reason more than the obvious.

But that was just the problem; she didn't feel like sharing, especially if the future looked so grim. Damali sipped her hot tea more deeply and watched the steam from it curl up from the surface with fury. As far back as she could remember she'd had to share everything.

While in foster care, she'd had to share clothes-hand-me-downs to be more exact. She'd had to share someone else's parents.

Ultimately, when she'd run away, she had to share a sofa in Carlos's mother's home, and Lord knows share a bathroom, share ch.o.r.es, meals, the one telephone in the house, share all. Then the Guardians found her, and she had to share living s.p.a.ce to a point beyond ridiculous. Had to share all her hopes and dreams and aspirations with the public through her music, and share her life and fate with the greater good of the world as a Neteru. Had to share her privacy with relentless, hounding media. She wasn't even going to think about the money they all shared. That was the only thing she didn't mind putting into the communal pot.

But there were some things that were still so difficult to share, like Marlene's attention and affection, the only real mother she'd ever known, was once all hers... after Christine became Raven. But now Marlene was to be shared by new, younger Guardians-and whatever was left was split between Shabazz and worry for Kamal. That was okay, she supposed. However, a sigh still brushed past her lips as she blew on her tea to cool it. At least Kristen still had her mom. For all her kooky, overzealous ways, Marjorie Berkfield was a good mom to have.

Her best girlfriend, Inez, was shared with a baby-but she'd never lost her friend in all that. Inez was always available to laugh and talk with, even if she'd never before told Inez about her crazy life. That was not what they shared; it was the love. A pure girlfriend-to-the-bone love that was very distinct from Marlene's mother-love, which never competed with the baby's needs- they both loved Inez's tiny boo.

Yet it was so odd that, with the little one safely stashed in Houston at Inez's mom's new place, and even living under the same roof with her best cut-buddy on the planet-who now knew all, and knew why she'd never been told about her secret life before, she felt further away from Inez than she ever had. Inez was now shared with her Big Mike, and although she was happy for both of them, she missed Mike's hugs, his doting concern, and most a.s.suredly his laughter that now seemed reserved for Inez. Mike had been her big teddy bear. Now, she had to give him up to 'Nez.

Truthfully, all her brothers had been shared away... J.L. was now Krissy's, Dan and Bobby were best buds; Shabazz and Berkfield were ironically getting tight as the two most-married men in the house with live-in wives. Marlene and Marjorie had that to share between them. Inez and Big Mike had the new bloom of love. Rider had a pain so deep that he nursed it in a bottle of Jack Daniel's... so gone were the days of the two-by-two details and solo talks they'd shared. And then there was Jose.

She tucked the thought closer to her as the wind caught the end of her blanket and made her hold it more firmly. She did not feel like sharing him, with of all people, Carlos's old girlfriend. She missed Jose enough to bring tears.

Morose thoughts continued to fill her head as she quietly sipped her tea and looked out toward the vast canyon walls. Why couldn't Carlos understand that she'd needed the s.p.a.ce to think all this out? She'd shared her mind with Carlos, her body with him, even her heartbeat and her soul. All she was asking for was a little time to make the mental transition to sharing the rest of her life with him. First, before she did that on a permanent basis, she'd wanted to see what it was like to not have to share every fiber of her being with someone. She had no concept of what it might be like to keep a little of self in reserve. Up till now she'd been a love-to-the-bone, give-it-up-to-the-bone, max-it-out kinda sister.

There had to be a way to find herself within all the layers of the shared one. Now the Covenant was telling her for real to share the world, and her man was drunk as a skunk, and she couldn't even share the burden with him.

It brought tears to her eyes to realize just how angry she was at him for being messed up at a time like this, even though, she knew it was irrational to feel that way. She just couldn't help it.

Sometimes there were so many people and priorities pulling on her, demanding a part of her that she felt schizophrenic or like she had multiple personality disorder. She didn't want to feel stressed like that when she became Mrs. Carlos Rivera. So, today, and for as many days as it took to reintegrate into a sense of balance, she wasn't sharing her living quarters. At least she could demand to keep her body to herself for a little while.

”Shoot,” she said quietly toward the canyon. ”I even shared my d.a.m.ned Isis long blade with a brother and lost it, for all the good that got me-giving up throat. Was I crazy?”

Damali shut her eyes, becoming peevish at the memory of having the old Neterus strip her of the only thing that seemed to truly be hers. The dagger being returned was a consolation prize, to her mind. But the memory of the long blade made hot tears rise to wet her lashes.

She'd even had to share her child with another female's womb... then subjugate her natural instinct for the good of the world to protect it, and cut what had once been hers out of Lilith's foul body.

Damali hurled her mug of tea over the deck rail. ”Don't you ask me to share another f.u.c.king thing!” she shouted and then began to sob. Oh, yeah, whatever had begun to seep into the earth's atmosphere was strong.

CHAPTER FIVE

He felt like s.h.i.+t. Somebody had mercy and had thrown a blanket over him on the outside porch swing. Stiffness riddled his body and connected to the pounding in his temples. He couldn't immediately open his eyes and face the blast of Arizona sun. But the fact that it was hard to breathe made him struggle to sit up.

Carlos eased open one eye and peered at a blurry image before him. Faded Navajo hues went in and out of focus. Rider was sitting on the steps, his head down and face hidden beneath a weathered, brown ten-gallon cowboy hat. An Indian blanket was wrapped around him, but didn't fully cover the rifle on his lap. Rider's chest rose and fell slowly with the steady rhythm of slumber.

As soon as Carlos stirred, Rider's index finger twitched against the gun trigger. He lifted his head slowly and stared at Carlos.

”Not bad for a tired old man.”

”Not bad at all,” Carlos said, his voice coming out like a frog's croak.

”I had your back,” Rider said, and then reached behind the post he was leaning against to retrieve a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He opened it with one hand, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the cap off with two fingers while pus.h.i.+ng the bottle between his thighs.

Carlos s.h.i.+elded his eyes from the sun with his hand. ”What time is it?”

”Morning,” Rider said bluntly. ”And too d.a.m.ned early for me to be drinking, so I've heard.” He shook his head and smiled, and offered the bottle to Carlos. ”Ain't for me. It's for the snake that bit ya.”

Carlos wanted to nod, but couldn't. The thought of moving his head brought tears to his eyes. He leaned forward by raising only his shoulders off the swing, and extended his arm to receive the bottle, wincing from the slightest exertion.

Just the smell of alcohol made him want to wretch, but he leaned over the side of the swing and took a shaky sip of it anyway.

The moment the liquor hit his lips, it burned, and the hard swallow sent an acidic scorch over his tongue and down his throat to smolder like liquid fire in the pit of his stomach. Two seconds later it was back up again, along with everything he'd ingested the night before.

He held on to the wicker, shuddering, heaving, his eyes closed, upchucking his guts, sweating, while Rider calmly struck a match and lit the end of a cigarette. Smoke curdled the smell of vomit under his face and set off a new wave of nausea until all he could do was dry heave.

”Marlene's method of cleansing takes too long,” Rider said, once Carlos had flopped back onto the swing. ”I'll get it before the flies do, sometime later today.”

Carlos lay on his back, breathing hard in short bursts, willing away the nausea. He didn't know whether to thank Rider or to attempt to jump up and kick his a.s.s. ”Thanks, man,” he finally said between pants, opting for the more reasonable choice.

”Like I said, I had your back.” Rider stood slowly, took another drag on his cigarette, and shook his head as he looked down at the porch.

”Damali call you?” Carlos asked with his eyes still closed.