CHAPTER SEVEN

The Guardians who were still in the house sat down slowly as Damali spoke in gentle, soft tones. J.L., Krissy, Dan, and Bobby stared at her, unblinking. Big Mike folded his arms and drew in shuddering breaths, then pulled Inez into an embrace as silent tears streamed down her face. Rider kept his chin up and his gaze fastened to the window as he dragged on a cigarette. Jose stared at his fist - he had given a welcome-home pound to Mike - then glanced at Juanita, who simply appeared numb. Carlos leaned his head back on the doorframe and closed his eyes.

"Marlene and Shabazz, Marjorie and Berkfield, are the only ones, besides me and Carlos, who aren't infected," Damali said quietly. "But, there's no way they won't be, eventually." Her gaze drifted out of the window, as she spoke. "I've already mentally alerted Mar, and she's breaking it to Marjorie and Richard as we speak." But, in truth, how was she going to split up the team? Human touch was so automatic, such a reflex that sooner or later, when someone is in tears, when food was being served...

Father Patrick's voice came through the speaker in heavy, fatigued jags. "All of us have been infected, too, Damali. We're just finding out that the only cleric available to come to your team for assistance is Monk Lin. The rest of us are quarantined."

"Then don't send him here," Carlos said, pushing off from the doorframe. "The man is safe, and - "

"He's the only one among us who has not been fully compromised. Therefore, his judgment is sound. He is seasoned, his many issues are resolved. There is not much within him for the darkness to dredge from his soul to turn his mind. His code is to serve; his life is one of selfless commitment to humankind. There is nowhere to hide from this, nowhere to run. He will accompany you to wherever you must go."

"What do you suggest, Father? Beyond the obvious," Carlos said calmly, not opening his eyes. "We can't stay here quarantined if we have to move around the world to find the Chairman and Lilith. We're all walking biohazards. Every hotel we check into, restaurant we eat at, plane we fly on, limo we take, we're potentially bumping people in airports, train stations... How do we move without spreading this shit?"

"Live your lives as normally as you can and find the antidote... close the portals. Every human being may potentially be already infected; it could be dormant and resident everywhere worldwide. That's the issue; we don't know, because they have been moving about as you indicated."

"Then why don't we do this all together, Father, one last time, like old times?" Carlos asked, beginning to pace. "If it doesn't matter now that this shit spread, then, what difference will it make if we're all strapped and go out in a blaze as one?"

"Because," the elderly cleric said, his voice a shaky murmur, "those of us affected earlier are already beginning to show deteriorating signs of change."

Damali and Carlos stared at each other as the mute team passed terror-stricken glances.

"We're sending you an unaffected spiritual warrior... who, by the time he reaches you, may have been bumped or touched just handing his plane ticket to someone. It doesn't matter. But for the moment, he's the one that is strongest."

"How much time we talking, Father?" Rider asked, looking at Damali.

"Your team has maybe thirty days until it begins to implode like all the others. We aren't concerned any longer about the spread�that's imminent, whether your team does it, or it happens organically from others. What has to happen is you all must work quickly while you have time and your minds are still functioning correctly. Stay steeped in prayer; if you can find the book, all the better. That way, if any of us must be put down... then at least we'll know we'll see each other one day in Heaven."

"My baby girl," Inez said through a hard swallow. "My momma..." Her voice trailed off with a thick, stifled sob.

"Oh, God, 'Nez," Mike whispered, holding her tighter and rubbing her back. "I didn't know I was a carrier, I was just trying to - "

"It wasn't your fault, man," Rider said, and stood. "Wasn't nobody's fault."

"Listen to Rider," Father Patrick replied in a gentle voice.

"We'll find the book and the antidote. We'll take Lilith's head off her shoulders, trust me," Damali said, her hardened gaze roving the team. "My people ain't going out like this."

Carlos nodded. "Not on our watch."

As soon as her defeated team waved good-bye, Damali flipped open her cell phone. She had walked out of the house so upset that she hadn't even spoken to Carlos. Motion had jettisoned her through the door. The need for head space to think, develop a strategy, and get in touch with her Neteru Queens had put rigid purpose into every footfall. She had blindly gotten into the car, fired up the engine, and had driven off, heading back to her house. The blackened spot in her yard had been her destination. She had to get more info. Carlos's mind was still murky and polluted with alcohol residue. A mind lock was impossible. Her fingers hit speed dial.

The first time she placed the call, it went right to Carlos's voice mail. She tried again, even though the family house was right down the road, but that was the last place she wanted to be. She knew what would happen. Going there was like getting trapped in quicksand. She couldn't stand around consoling people or wringing her hands. This man's system needed to be purged, he had to be clear - they had work to do. On the third attempt, he answered.

"Be ready in twenty minutes and pack a bag. I'll meet you by the side of the road."

"I know this sounds crazy, but I don't feel so good, D, no bullshit. But give me a half hour, and I'll be ready."

"Peace." She flipped her cell phone closed and leaned back against the seat, gripping the wheel.

Carlos stood on the side of the road away from the house, wearing a faded blue shirt, old jeans, scuffed-up Tims, and dark shades, looking like a bewildered hitchhiker. All Damali did was lean over and open the passenger side door. He jumped into her Hummer, dropped his duffel bag at his feet, and closed his eyes.

"We need to be one team, gotta lead this with authority," Damali announced in a sharp tone. "There's too much at stake for you not to be straight. Your system has to be righteous and on fire. So, you're coming with me so we can do this by the book. Mar is gonna be holding down the fort at the house, as soon as she and 'Bazz get back."

"I think I'm gonna throw up," he said, shielding the sun from his eyes beyond his dark glasses.

She surveyed his color. The man was practically gray. Served his dumb ass right. Damali pulled away from the side of the road and drove back to her house. "Did you eat anything today?"

Carlos shook his head no. "Don't mention food."

She was beyond through.

Damali turned off her motor with attitude and jumped out of the car. She rounded it, flung open the passenger-side door, and stepped back, arms folded. "If you're gonna barf, do it in the dirt, not on my leather interior."

Carlos nodded, leaned over, and obliged her.

"I've got mouthwash, toothpaste, hot water, and towels inside. Some roadie. Damn." She strode ahead of him, swinging open the screen and inside steel door so hard that both slammed.

This was why she wasn't trying to get married. At a time like this, and he was sick from overindulging with his boy? For better or for worse - yeah, she could tolerate vampire status as worse, more so than general-purpose man-stupid. Being a vampire was a condition, like a disease, but this mess didn't make no sense! For richer or poorer - hell, she'd gone out with this fool when he was scuffling in East L.A. and she didn't have a dime, and was happier. Forsaking all others - shit, she'd only been with him. Till death do you part - shooot, she stayed with his behind even after he'd died, and even slept with him, so whateva. He had some nerve challenging her commitment. And this yang wasn't how he needed to be handling his business.

Damali yanked down fresh towels, an unopened toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash from the linen closet and thrust it at Carlos as he slowly came down the hall.

"Thanks, baby. I really appreciate this."

She didn't say a word as she watched him meander to the bathroom and begin stripping off his clothes. No, no, no, see, this was another reason why she wasn't even trying to get married. Yeah, when it was all romantic in the castle, it sounded good. But the old dolls were right. Once everyday reality hit, and all the magic was gone, the wife would be the one picking up funky-drunk clothes and whatnot, when there were serious matters at hand. Uh-uh. And, yeah, they had money, but maid service wasn't an option. It wasn't like they could just hire some innocent lady to come in daily to sweep up, pick up, dust and polish around weapons, and do toilets with the undercover lifestyle they lived. She hadn't been able to do that in L.A. when they did have a compound.

All this bullshit, when they had really tough situations to attend to? And he had been whining about not liking his fate? She'd give her blade arm to go back to the old compound days of just fighting regular demons, and being able to quell a night-crawler disturbance by the easy swing of a sword.

He didn't like the old mundane arrangement? Everybody had a round of chores - but as a wife, she knew how the thing would go! Just like all of a sudden, Big Mike had been acting like his legs were broken now that Inez was putting plates in front of him and doing his dishes. The new terror at hand would change all that, she bet. Like how Shabazz took liberties with Marlene, and Berkfield was the worst offender of them all. Yeah, everybody just got a wake-up call.

Before this recent serious turn of events, all Jose had to do was look toward the fridge, and Juanita had a beer in hand, dashing in his direction... and poor Krissy had been spoiling J.L. rotten. That's why she had to get the hell out of that house. The dynamic had changed. It was like sex made people stooopid! All bullshit aside, when it came down to a firefight, and it got real, wasn't no gender in the game - so why in the hell should it be all rosy-cozy during so-called normal hours of operation? The only ones who had sense were the brothers who weren't getting any. Maybe the clerics in the cloister had the right idea.

Damali cringed as she heard Carlos upchuck again. For a minute she wished he could still wave his hand, snap his fingers, and change his environment. Cleaning the toilet behind some man was not her role as the Neteru, and the wife gig wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. No, why trade in a perfectly reasonable title to be a babysitter, nursemaid, chambermaid, and cook? There were no words. She'd hand his ass a mop, bucket, sponge, and some Lysol and be done with it.

Damali went outside and leaned against the deck rail. Some first weekend alone. All because she'd held her ground, and was sick of his tight jaws, bad vibes, and attitudes for the past several months, he gone and gotten himself totaled? Right now he was useless.

She'd been very understanding, allowing him to grieve, go through all the changes necessary, readjust to the group situation. She'd practically kissed his behind to keep the peace. But did that matter? No. He'd allowed Yonnie to take him out and get him wasted like that, with so much pending? Oh, so how was he gonna act when they had a really big fight? The Armageddon was about to kick off any day now; in fact, it might have already started. Carlos had to be razor sharp, and ready to rumble when the going got tough. That was what was panfrying her brain.

What he'd been sulking about had been relatively minor, truth be told. But was this how it was gonna be? What had possessed her to go get that man? She could have handled this as team leader herself. The next time, if there was a next time for her to feel compassion toward a dumb bastard, she'd kick herself first.

"You okay?" she yelled back into the house.

"Yeah," she heard him yell back.

"Whateva," she muttered and stared out at the canyon.

The late afternoon sun had begun to color the horizon burnt orange and deep, pastel rose. Thick cumulus cloud formations soaked in the hues within a shocking blue sky.

"What am I doing out here on Indian reservation lands?" she whispered, briefly closing her eyes. "I should be staking Lilith right now in whatever hole she slid into."

Damali opened her eyes, expecting to see the same landscape before her, but instead, she was looking at herself earlier that morning.

It was disorienting and fascinating as she stared back up to the deck from a bird's-eye vantage point. She saw herself holding a mug of tea, nursing it slowly, Jose's blanket around her shoulders, the fragrant steam curling up from the mug under her nose. The surreal blended with the real as she remained still and watched. Then the steam turned dark and angry, became billowing black smoke that entered her nostrils, violating them, knocking her head back... and when her head lowered again to take another sip, her eyes were not her own.

"D, you got a bucket?"

Damali snapped out of the vision and placed her hand over her heart. "Yeah, I got it," she yelled back, and began to run toward the door.

Something definitely wasn't right. These bouts of rage, weird energy, even the feelings she'd had while Jose was with her... and his very sensual dance down the line of propriety. No. Something wasn't right. She knew she'd been affected. Maybe Carlos had been, too. She had to lay off the rage at him, become centered as one. Father Patrick tried to warn her, warn them all, but it was such a very subtle change that it was hard to know what was justified and real, and what was not.

When she entered the kitchen, Carlos was there, standing in the archway to the hall with a towel wrapped around his waist. His well-sculpted body was damp, and she watched rivulets of water course down him. What disturbed her was that there was no attraction whatsoever. Even sick with a hangover, the man was fine, and he was hers, and they loved each other, but she was nearly revolted. Instead of continuing to stare at him, she quickly bent and began hunting under the sink for cleaning aids.

"I got it, D. It's pretty nasty. Been cleaning up all day."

"Why don't you go lie down, and let me do it. You sure you're all right?"

"I haven't been able to keep anything down, much less smell food. Maybe I've got the bug on top of everything else we're dealing with... I've been out drinking before, but I can't ever remember feeling like this."

"Baby, go lie down. I'll get the bathroom," she said quietly, and gathered up a sponge and disinfectant.

The flu? It was May. Carlos had a constitution of iron. So did the rest of the squad. And his statement didn't make sense. The flu? After what they'd just been told? Living in close quarters, if it was something communicable like that, then everybody should have been feeling under the weather. But he'd passed Marlene's inspection... hers, too, as far as any traces of returning vampirism was concerned. No. This was so much more. The infection. Damali watched him walk down the hall, and she glanced at the bathroom mirror as he passed it. He still had a reflection. If the dark energy was affecting him, then the only thing that should be coming back would be the vamp virus. Strange.

Father Patrick had given him the once-over thoroughly before being called back to Rome. Imam Asula had seen him before Mecca requested his presence. Monk Lin had also done his divination on Carlos before heading back to Tibet, and Rabbi Zeitloff said things were cool before he took off for Israel. The ground they were on was hallowed, Yonnie didn't nick him... It was daylight, but Carlos was puking up his guts. There was only one explanation.

Damali screwed up her face as she went into the bathroom. She made a yucky pile with Carlos's cast-off clothes, which were destined for a garbage bag, and then the laundry. She peered into the toilet and at the splatter where some of the refuse had missed. Green bile confronted her, but that made sense. If the man hadn't eaten all day, and had been projectile vomiting all day, then that would be the only thing left in his system. But it wasn't the sight, it was the smell.

She covered her nose and mouth with her hand and opened the window. Naw... she'd lived with men long enough, and had seen them come in after a binge, especially Rider - who didn't lose his lunch like this, and it never smelled so foul.

All of her Neteru attributes kicked in and surrounded the stimuli. She opened her third eye and looked at the mess. Within the dark, green slurry were thin threads of blackness, almost like filaments running through it. She edged closer and put out her hand, and allowed her palm to hover over the nastiness. Heat. Serious heat was wafting up from the splatter. She uncovered her nose. The smell almost made her dry heave. But it wasn't sulfur. It was something worse, almost metallic... like burning metal, aluminum. Gooseflesh rose to her arms. Mentally, she replayed the sound of his distress. A high-pitched wine was buried in the guttural sounds as he'd vomited... "Just like the tea kettle," she whispered.

Damali hurriedly cleaned up the mess and balled up his clothes with the sponge, careful not to touch any of the bodily waste. She ditched it in a white kitchen trash bag, and went into her cabinets, pulling down the stash of real housecleaning aids that Marlene had left; holy water and purified sea salt, and then went to the front yard.

She flung the bag down on the dirt next to where Carlos had left another splatter of bile. Carefully, she uncorked the bottle and began dousing the site, and then flung salt on top of that. Instantly, black smoke billowed up from the spot on the ground where he'd thrown up; a small gap in the earth groaned open, and sucked into itself, taking the bag of clothes with it.

"Oh, shit!" Damali jumped back and flung purified salt at what had disappeared. The ground shuddered, and then the spot covered over with dead grass again, as though nothing had ever been disturbed. She ran into the house, added anointing oil to her arsenal, and dashed toward the bedroom. He was a Neteru. He was supposed to be immune, not a carrier!

Carlos was resting on his side, under Jose's blanket, shuddering and beginning to convulse.

"D, baby, I'm sorry I'm so sick."

"Carlos, listen to me," she said quickly, brandishing her bottles. "I don't know where Mar is right now, and I'm gonna call her again, okay? This isn't a hangover."

He peered at the sun. "Close the drapes? I feel like shit."

"No, you need the sun," she said, and went to his side. In a flash she had put oil on her fingers and then touched them to his forehead.

Immediately, he flung off the blanket, sweat forming on his brow and then coating his chest and abdomen.

"It's so fuckin' hot in here - I'm flashing hot and cold, can't get comfortable, can't - "

"Shhh... be still," she said, dropping salt around the edge of the bed as she walked and quietly prayed. She watched him slowly begin to stop shivering as the room darkened. Daylight was waning and she circled the bed with liberal splashes of holy water, and removed Jose's blanket from him, replacing it with her duvet.

Unsure of what had just transpired, she knew enough to know that Jose's grandfather's blanket held some serious shaman charge. Whatever was going on with that, it was not the thing to have covering Carlos, until they were all sure what they were dealing with and how it would individually manifest. She watched him slip off into a mild slumber as his body relaxed, his temperature normalized, and the shivers abated. She stroked his mussed hair and anointed his forehead again with oil, and then kissed his temple.

Finding the night-light by the wall switch, she clicked it on and stood by the door, watching the sun finally go down and disappear. After what felt like forever, Carlos stirred. It had only been a half hour, but while one is hoping and praying, thirty minutes might as well be thirty years.

"Hey, baby," he said, opening his eyes slowly and rolling over to face her. "You have my word, I'm never going out drinking with my boy like that again. I swear."

"I believe you," she said, her voice devoid ot emotion. Panic had made her eerily calm. "What did you drink when you were with Yonnie?"

"I told you last night. Too many vodka martinis and a bottle and a half of Remy to chase it."

Damali remained fixed in her position against the doorframe. "Did he put any color in your glass?"

Carlos sat up slowly. "No. Why?"

"Before we knew what we know, we'd relaxed and were all using cell phones lately, since we'd mistakenly believed there'd been no real threat for months. But we weren't dealing with the fact that the Chairman is still out there, and we know we haven't heard the last from Lilith. So, I'm opening my third eye, and you're going to open yours, right now," she said too calmly. "Then, I'm going to ask you again. Did Yonnie put any color in your drink?"

"Okay, okay, okay," Carlos said with a weary sigh. "He didn't, but for a second, I sorta had a relapse and asked him for a hit." He stared at her intensely. "But my boy had my back, and told me no. That's when he brought me home to you. All right? Satisfied?"

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed with effort when she didn't reply, and stood, seeming indignant.

"I want to ask you another question - because I'm worried."

"Yeah, all right," Carlos grumbled.

"Have you ever considered what just thinking about a blood hit could do to a Neteru?" She kept her voice calm, even, and very psychiatric. "You're about to go into the male version of my ripening. That is a very powerful transitional time. If you are unclear, in any way, about what your leanings are, you could do metaphysical damage to your gifts... especially with the dark energies that are polluting our topside environment."

Damali pushed away from the wall and entered the room. Yonnie making a pass at her, Jose's quiet way of sending her an open invitation, Tara's near fang drop, every strange behavior within her team family slammed into Damali's brain at once.

She stared at Carlos. Her gaze was unwavering, but her voice was tender. "Baby, I know this whole Arizona thing isn't you. Honestly, it isn't me. All of it has shredded everyone's nerves. I'm not trying to push you away. I just needed space. We have to work on this big problem together. One unit. Really, what we both need, once we conquer this together, are environments suited to us, not this training camp mess that we're dealing with now. We are supposed to be out in the world, but not of it, and unafraid, dealing - not sequestered. But, until we just learned about the new threat, all I was trying to do was make sure the others could fly... It's like, I had this sense that something crazy was on the way. It had been giving me nightmares for months. Now I know why. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "I know. Intellectually, I know," he said, tightening the towel around his waist. "Some days, I could be really cool with the new powers, or the lack thereof. I could intellectually deal with you running the show, until I could step up and we could do this thing side by side, as equals. I could deal with being equals." He shook his head and set his jaw hard. "But being less than that around you is fucking me up. I ain't gonna lie. Some days, I'm just so damned mad, and I don't know why."

Carlos looked at her in the dim light, his eyes searching hers. "It's so much responsibility, D. When my brother and my boyz died, then it was just me and you. For some crazy reason, I could deal with that. But, now I'm tight with a big family, and I'm a nervous wreck half the time, worrying about the kids, worrying about Mom Mar, Marj, my brothers... like, if any of them go down, I'd wig. And then they all got infected. My worst nightmare came true. I couldn't do shit about it, couldn't just go handle this shit in a cloud of black smoke and save them all from this heartache." He stared at a point on the wall and continued. "Did you see Mike's face when he knew he'd brought the infection home?"

Carlos shook his head. "The man was doing the right thing," he whispered. "He'd beat down a demon, saved his woman and her baby, and made love to her - which is gonna kill her. Then came home the conquering hero and slapped everybody in the house a high five. Tell me how to wrap my brain around that, Damali? All I keep thinking is, if I was still a Council-level vamp, I could be the team's front line of defense, walk back into Hell, and go get this shit right. At least I could go get y'all some decent information. North America was my zone, girl. I'd know what was going down on American soil before the fucking government, believe that. I hate this new shit, D."

She came to him and placed her hand over the brand scar he'd always wear on his chest. "I know. It is a lot of responsibility, a lot of weight to love all those people. But that's part of being a family, baby. Love is risk. The harder you love, the greater the risk, but I wouldn't want to go through life without having experienced that."

His arms enfolded her and her head found his shoulder.

"The thing I love about you so much is, you would walk into Hell to make it all right, if you could," she whispered. "But your role has changed, baby. You have to stop looking backward. We have a month, maybe, and time is our enemy. I know you love every single soul on the team, but you can't play God. Neither can I."

"But it's more than that. I feel connected to them beyond words - like they're my skin. And, I find myself hardly able to watch the news, because when somebody is shot, some kid is killed, some part of the world blows up, I live with the sadness for days. I never used to be like that, or care like that, and it feels... it feels..."

"Like the weight of the world is on your shoulders?"

She smiled. He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Yes. That's exactly what it feels like."

"And I bet you get really pissed off when you see injustice and corruption." She kissed his cheek as his head found the crook of her shoulder.

"Oh, baby," he murmured against her neck as his arms enfolded her tighter. "I can't do this... be squeaky clean, always making the right choice, always answering the call to arms for some crazy shit in the world that's bigger than all of us."

She rubbed his back. "This shit is scarier than being a vampire?"

"Most definitely," he said with a sigh. "It was go for self. They was ruthless, I was ruthless, what-the-fuck-eva, wasn't no friends in the game. That shit was easy. The only person they could take as a hostage that woulda made me slow my roll, was you - and since you can hold your own, hey. But now. Damn."

She nodded and hugged him harder. "You're gonna be all right. We're gonna do this thing."

He lifted his head and stared at her, his eyes glistening in the semidarkness. "That's what I'm afraid of," he said quietly. "You were never ruthless. You never played games to the bone. Never lived some of what I lived. That's as much a part of me as this new thing I am. There's a part of me that misses the adrenaline rush of rolling like that... and the power. You never sat on a throne, and you cannot know what it is till you've done it."

She listened to his quiet confession without judgment, applying the balm of healing through silent understanding. "Baby, you'll integrate all of that over time, after we get through this major job we've gotta do. Like I've told you before, you have to take all of that cunning, and all of that master-of-the-game drama you have inside you, and use it for the good. If the Light spared you with this madness developing, then they must have had a higher purpose for you. They don't make mistakes and do things by accident, but they will use an accident that has occurred in the most awesome ways."

"You keep telling me that, and I keep hearing that, but... y'all don't really know what goes on inside my head sometimes."

He gave her a sly smile, followed by a deep kiss. "Like, I miss this for instance," he said, kissing her neck and making her chuckle. "And I miss that, for instance," he murmured, fondling her backside. Then he outstretched his arm and snapped, and looked over his shoulder and sighed. "And I damned sure miss being able to change a room to go with my mood." He chuckled sadly. "Right about through here, there should be torches in the joint, you naked and sprawled in the center of my bed, in my lair; then I could get creative. Then I'd let you recover while I took underground limo service and work a deal to shut down the slime creeping out of the realms... then I'd come back before dawn, and, you know... we'd celebrate." He shook his head. "I don't do Navajo prints, okaaay."

She laughed through the worry, and pushed him away with a teasing shove. "So, okay, we'll have to do some things the old-fashioned way. Once all this is over, tell the builders to funk your place out the way you want to, and I'll promise to stop by and get naked in the center of your bed. A sister can do that, and sprawl, if that will chill you out."

"Yeah, but damn, ain't nothing like doing this," he said with a snap of his fingers, gazing at her fireplace, "and starting an inferno." He offered her a sheepish smile. "Be honest, D. You loved it, didn't you?"

"I loved you," she hedged, not willing to give into the dangerous fantasy.

"You had instant maid service," he said, coming closer to her.

She looked away and began folding the blanket. "I'll live."

"But you liked some of the trappings of - "

"Carlos, baby. Let it rest." Her tone had come out a little more forceful than intended. She made a tight, neat, pile of her duvet and put it on the chair across the room. "That was then, this is now. Don't forget about the dark energies that are a real threat. Focus on that and any solutions you can come up with. That's the priority. Me and you need to lock, develop a quick strategy, and then roll it out to the team within the next day or so. Even if we don't turn, as Neterus, we're not immune to the effects. We've gotta be careful."

When he didn't answer, she looked at him hard to be sure he was clear. "Your mind is a weapon, and you'd been dwelling on the old powers so much that it gave you the blood hunger for a minute while you were in transition. The result was that when you drank alcohol, hanging out with a vamp buddy and probably hashing and rehashing the old life, it made you sick as a dog - almost like you'd gone out and fed. You understand how dangerous something like that can be?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, losing all mirth in his tone. "I know. My boy said the same thing, but, like I said, we ain't going out like that no more. I've felt like shit all day, but whatever was in my system passed. So, I'm cool. No need to get Marlene to posse up and get everybody in the house bugging me about potentially being infected or my judgment being compromised."

He looked at her; she held his gaze, considering. Tonight, all right. But if he had any more signs of flux, Marlene would be the first person she'd consult. Then she'd call Father Pat.

Several questions continued to nag her as she stared at him, though. One was, if he was going through a Neteru chemical flux and smelled as fabulous as he did last night, how did Yonnie countenance that with Tara present - especially with dark energies swirling that should have made Yonnie act off da hook? Even though they were boys, a male master vampire would go nuts and into instant battle bulk from just a whiff of male Neteru pheromone. Conversely, if Carlos was fluxing to vamp, she should have picked up that vamp tracer the second he was in her presence. Scratch waiting. As soon as Marlene came back, they needed to talk.

Then there was also the issue of her libido being on low tide when it came to him - even while he had a near apex going on. If there was dark energy afoot, and lusting for Carlos was definitely one of her weaknesses, then she should have been all over the man. What was wrong with her? Every overture he made toward her didn't even make her stir... except for when she thought back on their old nights together. Yet, earlier that same day, when Jose had neared her, he'd made her so hot she was ready to jump out of her skin.

Carlos cocked his head to the side. "I thought we were supposed to be opening our third eyes to each other tonight?"

Damali glanced away. "I just did it when I asked you about the blood hit. I respect your privacy, and wasn't trying to probe beyond that, uninvited."

"D, maybe it's me, but you've seemed a little distant, lately... like, no matter what I do, I can't break in." His eyes held hers captive. "You're talking about being honest, hiding nothing from each other so we can do what we've gotta do as a team to address this new threat, and not looking backward - but I know a black mental box when I feel one. Talk to me."

She swallowed hard and sent her gaze on the floor. She hadn't been able to see the flicker of silver in his eyes, much less the gorgeous solid ray they cast when he was thoroughly turned on. More than that, his skin didn't ignite under her palm any longer. The hardest question to ask herself was, why not? How badly was he infected? How badly was she?

"It's stress, baby, given the circumstances," she said, hoping that her quick diagnosis was accurate. "That's what's creating the box. I haven't been able to focus on my music, either. All the moving, running around, coming up with long stories to soothe insurance companies, negotiations to get the new compound built on safe lands, I mean, all of it was just probably catching up to me - then we just got whacked over the heads by this new, horrible, mad-crazy shit... Carlos, that's the only reason I can't focus to open up that private cell right now."

"Yeah, okay," he said quietly, glancing around the room for his duffel bag. "I hear you, D. Stress. That's why we didn't mind lock anymore before we found out about this new drama, or your voice didn't shatter glass when I was with you, like it used to - okay. I know what's in the box now; we heard it late last night and this morning with the teams. New threat; that I can deal with as a reason. But before, what was that? Even now, truth be told, if that's all that's in there, I thought you said we'd tackle it as one?"

She wrapped her arms around her waist.

He began walking in a circle, looking on the floor for what wasn't in the room. "Stress. I got you."

"It affects women differently than men," she said defensively. "I was stressed before, too - since Philly."

"Yeah, so I've been told," he said coolly. "All I'ma say is this, though - stress is being dead, in Hell, and having six levels of bullshit chasing you, without daylight as an option."

He looked at her hard, then stared out the window. "Get a total mind lock on with me now, then - since we're a so-called equal partner team."

Damali closed her eyes, her body tensed. She couldn't do it. There was something inexplicable revolting her. "Baby - "

"Do it now, or I'm walking!"

They stared at each other.

She shook her head as tears filled her eyes. No. She was not allowing him into her head with something she didn't understand within him. "I'll get your clothes. They're in the living room."

"And, as I recall," he said, not budging, "with all that chasing you, an Isis blade raised, and a whole house of Guardians in hot pursuit of your whereabouts, a sister didn't allow stress about real estate and insurance companies and a new CD to cool her off. Maybe I'm not remembering things right?" He brushed past her and paced toward the living room in search of his bag. "Yeah, D," he yelled over his shoulder. "We're both under serious stress."

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