The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  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 space? 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 space 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 chores, meals, the one telephone in the house, share all. Then the Guardians found her, and she had to share living space 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 assuredly 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 space 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 damned 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 fucking 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 shit. 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, screwing the cap off with two fingers while pushing the bottle between his thighs.

  Carlos shielded his eyes from the sun with hi
s hand. “What time is it?”

  “Morning,” Rider said bluntly. “And too damned 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 ass. “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.

  “Nah. Could smell you coming from half a mile away. Burnt ash and booze. Figured you and me had a lot in common.”

  Carlos attempted a slight nod, but didn’t open his eyes.

  “I used to show up at this very house like that,” Rider said in a wistful tone, moving downwind from the putrid mess Carlos had delivered on the porch.

  Carlos winced and pushed himself to sit up. “I’ve gotta get this up before Marlene freaks.”

  “She ain’t here, so no rush,” Rider said coolly.

  His mind wasn’t making synaptic connections, and it was hard to judge time. Scratching his head didn’t help jump-start his brain. All he could imagine was that it had to be late, if Mar wasn’t around. “Well, if Mar won’t bug, Marjorie sure will.”

  “She ain’t here, either,” Rider said calmly, sitting on the rail on one haunch and flicking ashes over it. “I’m babysitting today.”

  “Huh?” Carlos groaned, and finally swung his legs over the edge of the wicker swing, avoiding the throw-up by his feet.

  “Well … it’s like this,” Rider said in a weary tone, inhaling slowly and making the red embers at the end of the cigarette glow. “Last night, after the group powwow, which I’ll fill you in on in a moment, Miss Inez, as you recall, had left her usual kitchen magic under aluminum foil before she’d gone out of town again, made all these vegan dishes that Marlene has been insisting on. Actually, they were pretty good reheated. But then the girl messed up and made a rack of ribs with a side of potato salad to go with the greens and cornbread, especially for Mike—which is what sent Mike on a mission to Houston with her in the first place. Now what’d she do that for, I ask?”

  Carlos laughed, even though he had to hold his skull with both hands to do so. “Oh, shit. Chain reaction.”

  Rider flicked his near-dead cigarette butt over the rail with two fingers. “Kaboom. How long did it take Mike to be out and hop a flight to Houston with Inez?”

  Carlos smiled even through the pain.

  “I know you’re still in hurtin’ from a night out with the fellas, but I want to elaborate on the chain-reaction theory. Now, as you remember, dude cleaned off the last bone, dropped it in his plate, girlfriend reached for it to take it back into the kitchen—next thing you know, Mike stood up, grabbed his Hummer keys, and asked Inez to walk him to his vehicle. Ain’t seen ’em since. But I don’t think even a werewolf would mess with him last night.”

  “No doubt,” Carlos said, and leaned back against the furniture to keep the porch from spinning.

  “Next thing you know, after our late-running convo last night, Shabazz was saying, ‘Mar, can I talk to you for a minute?’ You know how smooth he rolls—made it seem like they needed to convene about the situation at hand, and those two were out the back door. Not sure if Marlene zapped them into another dimension or what, but they ain’t home.”

  Carlos didn’t say a word and just stared at Rider and then closed his eyes again.

  “Berkfields broke camp, too. Dude stood up, got a gun and his keys, and said, ‘Marj, let’s go.’ Didn’t think the man had it in him.” Rider laughed.

  “She went, just like that?” Carlos was incredulous, and it made him open his eyes to squint at Rider.

  “You missed it,” Rider said chuckling. “Her face got all flushed, and she hovered around the children, giving them instructions on what to do, her cell phone number, and then looked at me with these puppy dog eyes, and I knew I was the babysitter. So, I holstered up and told her I’d slow down on the Jack and things would be fine.” Rider sighed. “But not before I laid a hand on J.L.’s shoulder. That’s when Berkfield nodded and walked out the door.” He smiled at Carlos. “Some things don’t need to be said. They just boil down to a man-to-man understanding.”

  Carlos knew exactly what Rider meant. “Listen, the thing last night with my boy …”

  “I understand,” Rider said. He looked down at the vomit. “No blood in it, so I reckon you’re fine.”

  “No, man, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “You staggered your ass up these steps with my help, starting at twenty-five feet out in the front yard, and fell down so hard on the swing that somebody shoulda yelled timber. I’ve been there. Gets cold outside at night in the desert, so I threw a blanket over you. Every now and then I’d put my eye on ya, only because you were tossing and turning so much, like a man with a lot on his mind—and I didn’t get concerned until I saw a little fang crest … but, hey, it’s daylight so I didn’t dust you in your sleep. The fact that you actually did go to sleep at night helped me put things into perspective.”

  Rider pulled out another cigarette and allowed it to dangle from his lips as he searched for his matches again. “Me, Dan, J.L., and the kids had a great night of poker.”

  Carlos didn’t respond for a moment. Several things were competing for dominance in his cloudy mind. He noticed, too, that Rider hadn’t mentioned Juanita or Jose’s whereabouts. The one thing he knew for sure was that what was said openly was as important as what wasn’t said at all. He also hadn’t mentioned Damali. Big, obvious oversight. Major.

  “You need to stop smoking, man. Not like I can tell you what to do, but that’s like slow suicide, and I don’t wanna see you go out like that.”

  “Appreciate the sentiment,” Rider said, allowing a slow release of smoke to filter out of his nose. “Guess we’re all prone to relapse.” He stared at the end of the cigarette. “Haven’t done this in almost thirty years, but a lot of things are working my nerves.”

  Carlos let his breath out hard and shut his eyes again. “I hear you.”

  “Do you?” Rider said coolly.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Let me explain something very slowly, then,” Rider said, easing off the porch rail and stretching his back. He glanced at the rifle that was leaning against a post. “Me and the old guard have approximately one more month to finish training you, right about when your house will be finished, and then you’ll be a full-fledged Neteru. What you do with this second chance is your business. I’m a very simple man, with very simple requirements to live. I understand vices and make no judgments about what other folks do. I’ve accepted my fate. I don’t ask for a lot; I’m very philosophical in t
hat way. At my age, I avoid unnecessary stress; I don’t battle over bullshit. But every man has his limit.”

  Carlos stood with effort and went to find a mop. Nothing more needed to be said to Rider, except maybe thank you.

  Rider looked at him hard when he returned to the porch. “Did you or did you not hear me say we had a powwow, once? A meeting, twice?”

  Carlos just stared at Rider for a moment. “Everything’s fuzzy, man.”

  “Then, you need to clear up your head, pronto. Damali was here, after a demon attack.”

  Carlos dropped the mop.

  “Father Patrick said call on a seer-lock. Airwaves are compromised.”

  Carlos sat down slowly.

  “Your homeboy, Yonnie, watched the front yard, while Tara stayed on the porch to protect you … in case whatever tried to smoke Damali came for you—but let me add that the Neteru apex you’re beginning to trail sent a little red through her eyes. So, I sat out here with both of them,” Rider said, his voice tightening and escalating with every word, “to keep you from being turned into a Third, and then subsequently getting your heart ripped out by your best man, if she couldn’t help herself!”

  Carlos squinted as much from the volume of Rider’s voice as from the scenario he painted. What Rider had endured was too insane. “Man, I’m so—”

  “Don’t fucking say it!” Rider shouted, pointing at Carlos. “Damali was in there locking with Mar to see about the fate of the world. I’m out here babysitting you while watching my woman, who has already gone off with another vamp bastard, try to sip air and be cool in both his and my presence! We got kids in the house, and some crazy bullshit on our asses. Maybe a compromised were-human out in the woods nearby, a Zen master that knows this and is ready to turn the house out if Marlene breathes wrong—while my ace, Big Mike, who can body slam anything, is out in Houston eating barbecue and getting laid!”