"They know where we are now?" Val asked in a horrified murmur.
"No, I don't think so," Carlos said. "Because if they did, they wouldn't have stopped with a coupla walkers, some bad-ass sharks, and jellyfish. Hate to break it to you, but some ridiculous shit would have come up from the ocean. Think tsunami, typhoon, Poseidon kinda drama. What went after us was just general, regulation demon energy on autopilot to take down people who ain't diseased."
"That makes me feel better," Rider said, and then got up to hock and spit over the rail. "You're just full of comforting anecdotes." He cut Carlos a glare. "But the ladies-in-waiting . . . c'mon, dude. Not so graphic."
Berkfield laughed. "Go easy, Carlos, it's Rider's first."
"My bad, just trying to keep it real," Carlos said, weary. "I can't tiptoe over some of this. It is what it is."
"But maybe that's why they said the world is gonna end by the fire this time, C," Bobby said out of the blue, making all eyes go to him. "Like . . . before, in Noah's time, it was the Great Flood. But this time, they're talking brimstone and whatever. So, water wouldn't get rid of all the diseases, but fire would burn it out."
"If we make it that far," J.L. said, slumping in his chair and closing his eyes, "we only got like a few more years, if that. Our kids will be toddlers when everything goes black in 2012." He sat forward quickly and held his head in his hands. "It was in the Bible code, the Mayan calendar ends on that date, December twenty-first, 2012, Nostradamus predicted it, and the sibylline prophecies said so ... the ching called it the end of history, Lakota Sioux ghost dancers have it orally in their tribe—"
"Black Elk spoke on that," Jose chimed in. "The Hopi—" "Albert Einstein predicted the polar shifts at that same time," Dan said, his gaze nervously ricocheting around the group. "The prophecies of Malachi, even the oracle at Delphi—"
"Okay, okay," Damali said, walking back and forth waving her arms. "Stop! Energy is going in a real nonproductive direction. Carlos figured out the key to this—so now we know how all the contagion has really been spreading. Genius. Half the battle is knowing what you're up against and how it's coming at you." She motioned to Yonnie. "Do me a favor and open that water, Monty you bless it, and lemme dunk my pearl."
Although the process to bless the water jug, get a bowl, and submerge her necklace at a top deck table only took a few minutes, it felt like it took forever. Marlene sat across from her with Carlos on one side and Shabazz on the other, with everybody else closely crowded around.
Damali waited as her pearl got acclimated to the spring water, her rosy pink glow finally lighting and a small stream of tiny air bubbles made their way to the surface.
"Pearl, you there, you okay?" Damali asked gently.
"My word, Damali," Pearl said, sounding breathless. "What just happened?"
"Long story," Damali said, letting her breath out hard.
"Horrible and I already know," Pearl murmured. "You all feel like you need rest—your energy isn't good at all."
"I know," Damali said, glancing around. "The stress is wearing on people."
"Very dangerous at a time like this. People must heal." Damali's gaze met Marlene's. "Yeah. I know. But before we draw straws for who gets the first shift and showers, we need some navigational advice. You said to lock in on the pyramid that's in the center of the Triangle, right?"
"Yes, but draw your lots first," Pearl replied. "Those ladies have to be clean, bathed or showered, so that nothing from the recent battle goes toward the Atlantean crystals within the pyramid. The stone structure will give you a steady compass point, but the Guardians will get back one of the healing rays. I cannot specify what ray any particular individual will receive, but it will sense the child she carries and give her crown chakra vibrations of Divine insight, or second-sight intensity, or charismatic speech from the throat chakra, or a lion's heart, or something from the chakras of gall and indignation over the injustices of the world, hence courage or gut instinct, or significant primal reflexes. Each female will come away from her post with her child's gift amplified, as well as her own."
"Whoa," Carlos murmured. "Pearl, that's some serious mojo."
"Indeed it is." Pearl giggled. "But may I make a suggestion?"
"You are the oracle, sis," Damali said, growing peeved at the way Pearl always flirted so outrageously with Carlos.
"If it's not too much of a hardship, why not allow Marlene and Shabazz, Marjorie and Richard, and Mike and Inez to take the first watch with Mr. Sinclair at the helm. Those are the only couples not expecting, even though the strain on Inez is great. . . but tell her not to worry, her mother and baby are in solid Guardian hands. I would not make this suggestion if it were a time for Inez to grieve." Inez covered her face with her hands and breathed into them, as Mike rubbed her back and then pulled her into a deep hug, "Those mothers-to-be need to bathe, to wash any possible contagion from them, as do their mates," Pearl said pleasantly.
"Use the additional salons as bedrooms for now . . . pull out the sofas and use them for rest. Everyone should be hydrated and eat while they can, sleep while they can, so they are refreshed in the event of emergency. Marlene and Marjorie and Inez can hold the trinity polarity of the vessel, guiding it past all calamities, while Richard and Shabazz and Mike can learn to pilot it, as well as provide security. Mr. Sinclair can take brief breaks by dozing on the pullout sofa in the pilothouse, if the other gentlemen simply hold his course. Once the night falls, Mr. Sinclair will need to be at the helm as the most experienced captain, and the seven couples can relieve the three. This is my advice, take it or leave it." Damali was so grateful to her pearl for her advice that once in a cabin alone, she simply kissed her necklace repeatedly until it giggled. Fatigue made her entire body feel as if she were walking through molasses, and after an insane morning, her stomach was growling and her eyelids were so heavy that she could barely keep her head up.
She didn't care who got what room, as long as she could shower and then fall down on a soft mattress. Carlos had ransacked the hotel gift shop back on the island with a straight energy jettison without leaving the yacht, bringing in clothes for everybody, except Big Mike—for him he just pilfered the British Navy's base, and even then, the pickings were slim. But she should have known that her husband would have wrangled the master suite out of the deal. Part of her appreciated that he did, while the other half of her felt slightly guilty.
When she stepped out of the tiny shower, she was surprised to see him leaning against the door with a smile.
"You feel better?" he asked, not going near her.
"Have you been standing there the whole time?" She squeezed her freshly shampooed dreadlocks out, and gave him a half-smile.
"Yeah, I figured I was on those foul-ass cruise ships, no telling what funk splattered me. Didn't wanna sit on the bed with it or touch you to get it on you, so, if you're done, lemme jump in real fast, change, throw our duds overboard, and I'll go get you something to eat."
"How about you go get washed and I'll go get you something while you're in?" she said, loving him for just suggesting that he'd do that. "I wasn't on those ships, and I didn't see half of the gore, or fight it. I'm just glad you guys made it out alive."
"You're gonna make me kiss you and use up our sleep time on something else," he said with a grin. "But, seriously, why don't you just go lie down and I'll go. In fact, I insist, because as it is, I've gotta light blast this door where I've been leaning, just in case."
"You drive a hard bargain," she said, yawning as she sat down heavily on the side of the bed.
He motioned toward the wicker chair in the corner of the room with his chin.
"Brought you a cotton sundress . . . thought it might be comfortable to sleep in. Some more jeans and a couple of tanks, some sneakers, flip-flops, undies ... I wasn't sure what all you wanted. Pretty much cleaned out the store for everybody and left that on the top deck for them to sort out—so if you don't like what I picked, there's more stuff up there."
"If you weren't dirty, I'd kiss you," she said with a gentle smile.
"Then lemme go clean up," he said, pushing off the door with a sly grin. "Be back in a flash."
She followed him with her eyes until he closed the door behind him, but the moment he did, she realized just how exhausted she was. The sundress now seemed sooo far away. All she wanted to do was lie down for a few moments, shut her eyes, and curl into a little ball.
He was in and out of the shower like greased lightning, but by the time he opened the door, Damali's peaceful breaths made her chest gently rise and fall. His poor boo was wrapped in a damp towel, hair all over her head, nearly passed out from all the drama, and hadn't even been able to change into her sundress. Carlos kicked his soiled clothes to the side, walked over to her, and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. How during the extended war of the Armageddon did he keep that serene expression on his wife's face? He couldn't even begin to figure that out. Rather than try, he walked over to the chair and found his sweatpants and a pair of flip-flops. At least while she was asleep, he could find her something decent to eat. The bitch of it was, she was vegan and everything good, like fresh fruit and vegetables, was potentially tainted. So he'd have to concoct a meal for her from frozen stock . . . maybe some kind of stir-fry, who knows. On a mission, he light cleaned the door, the doorknob, and any surface he'd touched, just for good measure, taking their soiled clothes out with him to fill in a garbage bag and then dump. As he stood at the bow rail alone, holding the plastic over the pristine blue sea, the political incorrectness of just dropping it into the ocean made him jettison it back to the already destroyed marina. "Be kind to the earth," a familiar male voice said. "You'll need her one day, so will your children." Carlos whirled on the sound, his heart beating hard. "Father Pat," he whispered, emotion catching in his throat.
"We didn't forget about you," Father Pat said quietly, his translucent form moving with the gentle Caribbean breeze. "It has only been three days since D.C. The Neterus will return to your side."
"But, you were the one I missed the most, man. I'll get them back for what they did to you—you know that, right?"
"I do . . . but not at the expense of your family or team. It is glorious here." Carlos nodded and briefly looked away. "They got your boys, too. The other clerics."
"I know," Father Pat said softly. "Son, I know."
"But what do we do now without you?" Carlos hadn't meant for his voice to waver or for his tone to sound so forlorn, but the sight of the man who'd been like his father tore open a wound in his soul and poured salt into it.
"You go on," Father Pat murmured, producing a Templar blade. Slowly, before Carlos's eyes he became younger, his clerical robes turning from black to royal blue. In the center of his chest was a large silver cross with a medallion centered in it, a bleeding heart pierced with a dagger and a crown of thorns.
"Easier said than done," Carlos replied quietly after a moment. But then he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "You look good, though. I'm glad all the suffering is over."
"I will never, ever leave you, son," Father Pat said quietly. "And you know old warriors never die."
Carlos smiled and shook his head. "That's what I always loved about you, man. You were a tough old dude."
"Had to be—to go out and find a young vampire to turn into a Neteru, yes?" Carlos's chuckle deepened as warm memories poured into his spirit. "Yeah. You were crazier than me. I'da left my ass in the desert at the first sight of fangs . . . and I was ornery and bloodthirsty, too."
"I recall," Father Pat said, coming closer. "Do you trust me now: Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Sorta, but the blade in your grip is making me nervous. If I messed up with the Light, can you give a brother warning?"
"I know this isn't your style," Father Pat said, chuckling. "But can you go down on one knee?"
Carlos just stared at him for a moment.
"So I can knight you?" Father Patrick let out an exasperated breath.
"Knight me?"
The deceased priest walked away shaking his head and then came back to Carlos.
"You have always asked too many questions and that, my friend, has always gotten you in trouble. But, if you must know—I cannot share any Templar secrets with you unless you're one of us."
Carlos slowly dropped to one knee and looked up with a sheepish grin. "My bad."
"Listen to me," Father Patrick said, laying the transparent blade on Carlos's shoulder. "Right now, goods and weapons are what you need. Money is worthless. But we also have gold and diamonds, other means of exchange. Wait to trade these until the time of the mark of the beast. Right now, be sparing on your use of grains and water . . . when the economy comes back online, you will have resources. It's in the tunnels . . . our consecrated tunnels where no demons can enter."
"Thank you," Carlos said quietly, looking up into Father Patrick's wise, aged eyes.
"I'm gonna miss you not being here like old times, you know?"
"I will be here to christen your children, to follow you in battle. I will never leave you, that is my vow."
Carlos nodded and held Father Patrick's line of vision as his wisp of phantom blade touched each of Carlos's shoulders.
"I am proud of you," Father Patrick said quietly. "I watched you go from an angry kid from the streets into an honorable man. See with my eyes where your resources are hidden when you need them. I have also shared this with Cordell so your teams on the mainland and around the world can eat." As Father Patrick backed away, Carlos stood. "I don't know what else to say but thank you." The urge to hug him was so great that Carlos had to ball his hands into fists, lest he made a fool of himself by trying to give a warrior hug to thin air.
"The honor is all mine," Father Patrick said, obvious pride glimmering in his eyes.
"To watch your development, Damali's development, was the greatest gift of my life. Remember these words from Revelation, son, 'and I will give power unto two witnesses, and they shall prophecy a thousand, two hundred, and threescore days .
. . these are the two olive trees and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth . . . and if any man will hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouths and devoureth their enemies.' Carlos," Father Patrick whispered. The fading priest stepped in closer, his words urgent as his form began to disappear. "Your wife carries the strongest Neteru ever born. Go to Megiddo after you collect Ayana, her grandmother, and the Weinsteins. Find the place of Revelation 16:16, the water tunnel southwest of the mound. There is an underground spring there with water that is untainted, and the tunnel is a one-hundred-and-five-foot drop cut into bedrock by the sheer will and bare hands of people with no modern machinery—that is what humans can do, Carlos. The iron tunnel that leads from it is two-hundred-and-ten-feet long. This place is packed with things you must know in the final battle— ask Solomon, it was his center of administration. Ask Akhenaton, there were six letters sent to him from there, and it is spoken of on the stele at the Temple of Karnack. This place that overlooks the Valley of Jezreel in Israel is prophesized. It is called Tel Megiddo in Hebrew or Tell al-Hutesellim in Arabic. Ask the Neteru Kings of old, they will guide you. Be well, my son ... I must go."
Carlos turned away from the now-empty space before him and stared out at the endless blue surrounding the ship and closed his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Even in death, the old man had his back.
CHAPTER NINE
Deep, soak-into-your-bones warmth surrounded her. Heavy exhalations painted the back of her skull and the nape of her neck with moist heat. Damali stirred and snuggled in closer to Carlos's spoon of her body. A perfect fit; a divine design. Heaven on earth, if just for rare glimpses of this peace that surpassed all understanding. She'd learned long ago never to take something so profoundly simple and so wonderfully exquisite for granted.
His hand loosely cupped her breast, causing the sensitive nerve endings at the tip of it to tingle every time his palm gently grazed her tightening nipple. She'd beco
me so relaxed that her body felt like a lump of clay, molded by the shape of his, and now dampened by his touch. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, nor did she care at the moment. Tranquility permeated her senses, melted her bones. They were adrift on an azure-blue sea, and with her eyes closed she was floating on a sea of comfort, navigating between semi-wakefulness and the depths of heavy REM.
But soon the throb between her legs nagged her to full consciousness. Carlos's all-pervasive warmth pressed to her bottom enticed friction . . . just a slight undulation like the gentle waves that lapped the ship's skin. Then her long, deep breaths hit sudden shallows, causing her to sip air through her mouth. He felt so good and smelled fantastic . . . clean with just his natural scent. His thumb absently slid past her nipple, making her breath hitch. She wondered if her personal captain heard her. Damali smiled with her eyes closed and willed herself to allow the man his rest. A gentle kiss against the back of her head told her he had.
They lay like that for what felt like a long time, him slowly waking up, her enjoying being surrounded by his endless sea of warmth. Talking would have ruined it. Sensation, skin contact, was the only form of communication needed. They stretched as one, her legs slowly lowering from their sleepy bend, his seeking a space between them without breaking the integrity of their spoon. His hand was a slow, steady stroke of pleasure-filled heat down her arm, then her side, and over the swell of her bare hip and back again. The towel was gone, lost in the sheets he'd covered her with while she was asleep. His breathing didn't change, but his body did, responding to the tautness of her nipple and the slight shudder his calm ministrations had caused.
Somehow during her sleep, she was sure her joints must have dissolved. Her body felt like liquid heat as his touch flowed over her in gentle waves. And yet everything about him, other than his touch, had become solid mass. To ground herself, she slowly reached for his hip, flowing touch down it, taking sweatpants with it, washing away fabric with the insistent surf of her hand. His breathing stopped for a moment as her warm, wet waves pelted pure stone behind her. Just as water wears down rock, it was only a matter of time. She could feel him begin to dissolve into sand ... his erosion started with a quiet moan that he swallowed to preserve her dignity. Then a quick feral kiss that he pressed against her temple, his arms gathering her closer to brace against the inevitable.
L A Banks - [Vampire Huntres Legend 12] Page 13