The Forbidden (Vampire Huntress Legend 5)

Carlos nodded as Marlene's hand fell away. "You had a vision, or is it wishful thinking?" he asked, forcing a strained smile.

She saw the fragile hope his bravado contained and stood so they could look eye to eye. She placed one hand on Shabazz's shoulder, the other on Carlos's. "Both," she said after a moment. "It has always been both. I have seen the best in you and wished the best up out of you."

Her comment seemed to satisfy him for the moment and he nodded and then looked away. "You can count on me, Mar. I'm not going to stop praying for her until you wake up and take over. I gotchure back, got hers, too."

Shabazz offered Carlos his fist, and they exchanged a pound. "You family now, bro. Marlene don't turn over a prayer vigil to just any ole body, and she passed four ironclad clerics to give it over to you. That means something real." Shabazz paused as he looked up at Carlos, both men holding respect in their lines of vision. "Thank you for spelling my woman so she doesn't collapse from exhaustion. And thank you for all those times you had our backs. I'm with Father Pat. Fuck it. If you drop fang, you're still one of us, we just have to figure out how to feed your ass so we can all stay cool."

Carlos smiled and withdrew from Marlene's hold. It was the first time since he'd been on the plane that a sense of peace and camaraderie had actually filled him. The feeling was disorienting, and was so strange at a time like this, a time when his worst nightmares were possibly being realized-losing Damali.

He looked at Shabazz and then Marlene. "Get some rest," he said, wondering when this new family had claimed and included him.

NERVOUS TENSION riddled the teams as they watched the crew and pilots hurry off the plane. All eyes stared beyond the windows, waiting, watching as a small refueling vehicle hooked the nozzle up to the huge jumbo jet in Manila. They sat silently watching the new crew come on board and begin to prep the plane for takeoff. New food and drink inventory was loaded by oblivious airport workers, who also added a fresh stash of blankets and pillows. An airport official walked through the aisle, his expression grim as he checked all passports and identification and then stopped.

"My manifest says there's a Damali Richards on board." He waited.

The team waited.

"She's had a lot of bleeding and is in the ladies' room," Marlene lied. "I have her identification, though." Marlene produced Damali's passport and visa from her bag.

The official looked at it and then toward Father Patrick.

"She should go with us," Father Patrick said, his tone calm but filled with authority. "Unless you want to be responsible for her? I can phone the Vatican-"

"That won't be necessary," the official said, and backed down the aisle.

"Thank you," Father Patrick said, feigning submission. "It is our goal to get her to sanctuary as soon as possible."

No one relaxed until the exterior door of the plane was locked and the aircraft began to turn on the runway and move into a new taxiing position. Silent glances containing hope passed between the seated groups of exhausted warriors. When the crew came out to review safety instructions, shoulders dropped two inches in relief.

They listened to the instructions and the captain's announcements with deaf ears, each knowing that the eight-hour flight to Dubai would take them hurtling into the night. As soon as the suction of taking off pushed them back into their seats, the chilling reality spread like a silent threat that connected people on the plane. Carlos could almost feel the tension in his hands like a static charge, but tried to stay focused on whatever unanswered connection he had to Damali.

The moment the plane stabilized, the cabin crew nervously stood, made weak excuses, and then went up the spiral staircase and barricaded themselves within the conference room.

"You think they're nervous?" Big Mike said without a smile.

"Ya think?" Rider shot back, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat.

"Whatever," Carlos grumbled, and then looked at Marlene. "We need a strategy to brace for nightfall."

"Why? You feelin' funny?" Shabazz asked. His tone wasn't glib. His expression was stone serious.

"No," Carlos muttered. "I just know that where I came from, they don't do variables. A search party is likely."

Shabazz nodded. "Cool."

"You went to ash and have the coverage of the Light," Father Patrick said, trying to keep panic at bay on the plane.

"Indeed," Imam Asula said. "This aircraft is anointed and covered, as is its crew."

"If you say so," Carlos said, sounding unconvinced. "I just don't like leaving anything to chance."

"Neither do I," Shabazz warned. "With no weapons on board, I ain't feeling right."

"They've got water on board," J.L. offered. "We could dump out the liquor and the clerics could bless it."

"Perish the thought," Rider said quickly. "Use the pop bottles and water bottles, son. Let's not get crazy in here."

"So be it," Imam Asula said. "We can create holy-water flasks so that each one of us has several at his or her disposal."

"Now you're thinking," Carlos said and stood. "We need to rig upsomething ." He walked down the aisle making everyone's eyes follow him. "In the conference room, the arms of the chairs are wood. Stakes. In the medical room, we've got scalpels that could be tied together with medical tape, if it comes down to hand-to-hand." He glanced at Marlene. "You've still got your walking stick, and need to keep that in reach."

"The man is on point," J.L. said, standing. "I bet they have alcohol, which I can rig a wick on using medical gauze, not to mention vodka, if I need to rig Molotov cocktails up in this tip."

"Two bottles of holy water on the ends of a long tether, like Ace bandage, would give me and Big Mike something to hurl... and with Ace bandage, I might be able to rig a slingshot-add a few hypodermics loaded with holy water and dead aim-see where I'm going?" Dan asked as he stood.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Carlos said. "I ain't trying to wait for nightfall to deal with anything that might try to breach this vessel. We need to be strapped enough to deal with an onslaught."

"Hold up," Berkfield said. "I agree and everything, and I'm all for a state of readiness, but what exactly are you laying for? What do you think is coming?"

"I don't know," Carlos said, his gaze drifting toward the window. "That's my issue. I just don't know, but I'm jittery as shit. We'll be flying over the damned Indian Ocean all night long, up in a tin can with a few prayers around it, and I know who definitely wants to be sure I didn't come back. Not to mention, with Damali gone, my greatest worry is they haven't already found her. Because if they have, they'll hold her hostage for the next six years until she goes into phase again. There'll be no negotiation, and girlfriend left outta here without her blades on her, feel me?"

"Yeah, I feel you," Shabazz said.

"Just when I thought we might be able to get some real shut-eye," Rider said, standing to come into the aisle. "But good looking out."

Berkfield held out his arm. "According to Father Patrick, I'm packing a lethal weapon."

The group stared at him.

"You've got needles in the back," he said, motioning to the medical room. "Take some blood out of my arm and lace the edges of blades and whatever projectiles you design with it. If you go hand-to-hand with a demon, a simple scalpel will make 'em laugh at you and rip your throat out, right?"

"No lie," Carlos said with a tense smile. "A scalpel cut ain't nothin' but a love nick."

"Shit," Rider said, running his palms over his jaw. "I vote for long-distance designs, J.L. You got that?"

"Yeah, I got it," J.L. said.

"And what if homeboy has a problem when the sun goes down?" Big Mike said, looking at Carlos. "Not trying to play, just being real."

"No offense taken," Carlos said. "Truth be told, I'm half hoping that I do get back to my old self. That way, at least, I could get off this potential death trap and find Damali."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Shabazz said in a tired voice. "Like we all know, any of us mighta gotten nicked and the signs just haven't shown yet. With crossing international datelines and whatnot, I don't even know what day it is or how many nights have really passed. Do you?" When no one answered, Shabazz nodded. "The virus could jump out of any one of us once the sun goes down, so we all need to be real clear about that, and keep a personal set of artillery in reach."

"We work while we have light, then," Jose said. "Me and Monk Lin can probably break down a few of these seats to yield some long metal. Everything can't be plastic."

"Once we compile our arsenal, we should take shifts. The fatigue will rob us of strength. It will not be wise to have the entire team in that condition," Monk Lin said with a slight bow.

"Smart man," Carlos said, moving down the aisle toward the medical area. "Jose, break these stirrups off the table. There's metal rods in the gurney, too. In fact, pillage this room first."

Juanita knelt by Mrs. Rivera on the ground, her face streaked with tears as the house burned. Neighbors had gathered a block from the home, and good Samaritans tried to comfort the older woman who clutched at Juanita with shaky fingers. Ambulances could be heard in the distance and fire trucks screamed into the street along with news vans.

"El Diablo," Mrs. Rivera cried. "Momma! Oh, Momma!"

"We couldn't get to her," a neighbor said, his clean-cut hair smoldering as ash and debris clung to his jogging suit. "Lady, I tried," he said weeping. "God knows I tried, but the flames."

"It was a gas explosion," another neighbor yelled, pointing at Mrs. Rivera as an ambulance careened to the scene. "Help her! She was blown through the front window. But the grandmother..." The woman turned her face away and sobbed. "They were such a nice family. Thank God in Heaven their daughter was on her way home from work and not home, too."

"Listen to me, child," Mrs. Rivera said, her eyes glassy and disoriented as she pushed away the ambulance paramedics. "You cannot run from the devil. I tried to tell you that you must stand and fight him. Find my son, Carlos. He will make this right and will take care of you." She slapped at the helping hands that tried to roll her onto a gurney. "I saw my son! He is not dead! No,por favor , listen! My child is alive and he has come back to help us."

Juanita brushed the bloodied, thick strands of hair away from Mrs. Rivera's face. Her voice broke with sobs of anguish. "Be still and fight to live, Momma Rivera. Please. All your children are gone, but I will never leave you. Go to the hospital now and don't fight these men."

The older woman closed her eyes, and clutched Juanita's sleeve so tightly that the emergency medical team couldn't pry her fingers loose. "I have a number to give you. All that I owned, all that he left me and Momma go to you-but you must see that my son gets all but ten percent back. He will take care of you, don't rob him." She made Juanita lean in close and she spoke a number in her ear. "Write it down in your hand. Give her a pen. If she does this, then I will go."

"Get her a pen," one of the paramedics said with annoyance.

The panic of the situation and chaos of firefighters battling the blaze beyond them seemed to make the paramedic's nerves fray and snap under the duress of an old woman's unreasonable request. "Miss, do as she asks. Her pressure is dropping and she's going into shock."

Quietly, Mrs. Rivera spoke the numbers to Juanita with slow care. She watched the young woman scribble them in her palm and smiled, finally releasing her hold. "I love you, sweet one. Call the priest. Do not come to the hospital. Sleep in a church tonight. Then go to the bank-Swiss Bank,comprendo ?"

"C'mon, man. We've gotta get this lady into the ambulance. She's lost a lot of blood and is delirious." The ambulance team looked at Juanita as they covered Mrs. Rivera's face with a mask. "You can ride with us, but make a decision quick."

Juanita clasped Mrs. Rivera's hand, her eyes going from the injured elderly woman to the burning house a block away as she ran with the team beside the gurney. There was no way in the world she would abandon Carlos's mother. Not while she was on her deathbed, not when everything and everyone dear to her had been lost.

Stricken, Juanita made herself very small as the team checked Mrs. Rivera's vital signs and worked on her, everything moving in slow motion and at the same time a blur.

"Momma, please hold on, Momma Rivera," she murmured as the older woman's eyes rolled back under her lids and her jaw went slack.

"We're losing her!" a paramedic shouted. "Bring out the paddles. Gimme room to work, folks."

Juanita scrunched her body against the wall, and looked away as electric-shock paddles touched Mrs. Rivera's skin. Her body 'arched and lifted off the gurney, and then dropped, but the line on the monitors never moved. From the corner of her eye Juanita saw a strange glow within the eyes of the paramedic standing behind the one working on Mrs. Rivera. It was only a fraction of a second, like a quick flash of yellow lightning. Something was also wrong with his mouth. She watched a mist come up from the center of Mrs. Rivera's chest and hover over her lifeless body. A scream froze in Juanita's throat as she eased toward the door during the commotion. She watched the men work on the woman who should have been her mother-in-law. Her eyes went between the eerie, mesmerizing mist and the chilling flashes she glimpsed in the profile of the men's irises.

"He is not dead," a light female voice whispered so close to her ear that she almost passed out. "He is not dead. Run!"

Instantly, both paramedics looked at her. Their eyes narrowed and elongated fangs ripped through their gums. "One more, and that cleans up his territory," one said.

"You wanna do her before we do her?" the other asked, moving toward Juanita as a scream broke free from her throat and the sound bounced off the metal within the ambulance.

She was on her feet in an instant, and in two steps the beasts were on her. The ambulance swerved and hit a tree. The back door opened, jettisoning Juanita in a roll onto a church lawn.

"What the fuck!" one beast snarled.

"Run!" the ambulance driver shouted. Her voice was shrill as she materialized outside the vehicle and a large male materialized by her side.

Juanita ran and huddled against the locked doors. Her mind couldn't comprehend what her eyes were seeing. A young African-American male with massive body strength drew one of her attackers toward him, ripped out his heart, and allowed the body to combust just inches from him. The woman who had been driving the ambulance pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from someplace she couldn't see, leveled it at the other paramedic, and pulled the trigger, scattering burning embers and ash everywhere.

"I told you Carlos's territory was under siege," the female ambulance driver said, cocking back the barrel. "Those were territory sweepers."

"Yeah, baby, I know," the bulked male said, his focus now on Juanita. "Okay, you've made your point. But she has the digits to get in touch with Carlos. You heard what his momma said. Brother ain't dead."

Juanita covered her head and began screaming as the two things she couldn't describe walked toward her, but stopped just short of the lawn.

"We didn't come to harm you," the woman said, her mouth filled with long, white teeth. "But we do need information."

Papers and pens from the ambulance swirled and flew at Juanita.

"Stop screaming!" the male ordered. "Write the digits down before you sweat that shit away."

Trembling, Juanita looked at them and grabbed the papers and a pen that had landed at her feet. She'd do anything to live. "Please don't kill me," she whispered, her eyes darting between the man and woman, a new scream forming as she watched them normalize into what would appear to be an ordinary man and woman.

"Write and we won't," the woman said in a gentle voice. "Stay inside the church tonight, or at least on the steps if it's locked."

Juanita nodded and quickly complied. "Is he really still alive?" she asked, flinging the paper at them but staying affixed to the door.

"You can see spirits," the male said. "The one that was going toward the Light, we couldn't see her because of that. What did she say?"

Juanita swallowed hard, willing herself not to pass out. "Momma Rivera said, 'He is not dead.' She told me to run."

The male nodded. "My boy, yeah... You go!" He began walking away into the night, chuckling.

"Tell no one about this," the woman warned. "Get in touch with him and seek his shelter. He needs his resources. When you do find him by day, tell him two of his own that were supposed to be Guardians are on the run in his zones." She began walking into the nothingness of the night in the direction the disappearing male had come from. "You're one, too,chica . If you can see Light spirits, they need you. Time to wake up and face your destiny."

It was just too quiet. Carlos fidgeted in his seat, unable to sleep. Two men on full guard for two hours, then the shift would change. Whatever. He wasn't about to go to sleep. The most he would allow himself was to close his eyes so the burning itch would stop. It felt like sandpaper was scoring the insides of his lids each time he blinked. Hehated being human. The night was supposed to be his, not drug him making him sleepy and possibly sloppy if Hell came to call.

He watched Jose fighting it, too, twitching and turning in what seemed near agony, trying to stay awake but unable to. Dan's head was bobbing up and down so hard that Carlos was sure the young gun would ultimately snap his own neck if the plane hit a turbulence bump. Big Mike was sprawled out, head back, snoring so hard he almost drowned out the plane engines. But he liked how Marlene slept, just like Monk Lin-like cats. Their third eyes open, the other- two closed in a light but steady doze. He knew in an instant those two would be on their feet. Rider was also good, slept like a soldier, practically standing up. All he needed was a ten-gallon cowboy hat to put over his eyes.

Carlos nearly smiled as he looked over at Shabazz. His Guardian brother had made a tent with his fingers, his breaths slow and controlled, asleep but not really. Of them all, he slept most like a vampire-always ready. Marlene slept like that, too. Quiet repose, almost as though she was dead. But he knew sister could bring lightning in an instant. Serene ambush. Very cool, very wise. Unshakable. All of it gave him a new level of respect for Damali's squad and those that had schooled her. If these were her teachers, then his woman was more awesome than he'd come to know.

Lopez's sleep was fitful, just like Jose's, though. That concerned him. Both those guys had a thin line of vamp in their DNA, and their not being able to rest truly made Carlos worry. Asula was stretched out, like Big Mike, but Father Patrick's breathing would hitch, stop as though impacted by sleep apnea, and then resume, making Carlos wonder if the old man's heart would give out one night from it all.

His gaze intermittently roved the cabin, every now and then connecting to J.L.'s bleary-eyed expression, then they'd nod and acknowledge the clean sweep, and start the process all over again. It would have been so much easier if he could just read minds, sense things again, and could get a lock on his baby girl. Carlos gave up the foolish wish. It was what it was. He settled back in his seat and stared out at the gorgeous full moon. She was flossing tonight, strutting herself over the wide Indian Ocean, and had things been different, he might have gone out to dance under her on the wind.

His gaze went to Jose as he arched in his chair. Something was wrong. Carlos trained his eyes on his fellow Guardian brother and listened intently. Jose's breathing wasn't right; it was coming in short, uneven pants. When Jose groaned, Carlos relaxed and shook his head.You thinkin' about that, at a time like this, hombre ? he thought, becoming annoyed and not sure why. But when Jose murmured Damali's name, he froze. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair as he fought not to rush Jose and start beating the shit out of him.

True, a man couldn't be held accountable for his dreams, but if they were going to be teammates, some shit was just unacceptable-even in one's sleep. Carlos forced his gaze back out the window. But what could he expect? He'd actually told Jose to step in for him, to be with Damali, should anything happen to him. And Jose had had his back, with Lopez, had collected his ashes and had joined in prayer with Damali for his return. Plus, somethinghad happened to him. He wasn't right. Without his powers he was crippled. He and Jose were now equals. But if homeboy didn't stop dry humping the arm of the chair with his woman's name in his throat, he was fairly certain that he could still rip out his heart.

In all his life he never thought she'd come to him like this. It had been a dream, a fantasy, but now that she was so close, Jose held his hand out to Damali. Her eyes were sad as she dabbed at his mouth with a damp finger.

"You've got some sauce from dinner on your chin," she said with a smile.

He leaned against his bike and glanced out the garage door toward the waning sunlight. "You wanna get out of the compound go down to the beach?"

She nodded and kissed the offending stain off his chin, licking it as she drew away, but she stayed so close that he could smell the sweetness of her deepening breaths. "Or, we can go to your room?"

"You sure?" he asked, his hands trailing down her arms and back up again. He watched her nod, her nipples hardening beneath her favorite peach tank top as his hands gently caressed her arms.

"He's been gone a long time, and it's time for me to move on. I miss him, but..."

"I miss him, too," Jose said. "But I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it. I care about you too much, if-"

"Shush," she said, placing her fingers over his lips. "We've both wanted this for a long time."

She covered his mouth with her own, deepening the kiss, her tongue finding his, stroking it until he groaned. She pulled back, and he moved with her until he was crushing his mouth against hers. His hands slid down her back to cup her behind.

She pulled away again. "Tell me you don't want this," she murmured thickly in his ear. "We can always stop."

"No," Jose hissed into her ear. "You know how long I've wanted you."

"Then don't stop," she murmured against his throat, licking a trail down it, then nipping her way back up. Her body moved against him, causing his hips to match the same rhythm as hers. "Let's go to your room."

"Okay," he said, unable to breathe. "We shouldn't let the house see us, though, you think?"

"Why do I care? You're my man, aren't you?"

He stared at her, tears filling his eyes. "I don't know. Am I?"

"Yes, ever since you saved me. Jose, you risked your life for me, went against harpies. How could you not be?"

He kissed her so hard he thought he'd chip one of her teeth. His bedroom was so far away that he wasn't sure if he could walk the distance-desire weighed on him so heavily. The garage was just fine... But he wanted all night with her, no interruptions. Wanted it to be right, so she'd never say no again.

Her palm flattened against his hard length, making him shudder.

"I can't wait, either," she whispered. "I want you now." She looked at him hard and pulled her top over her head, allowing her bare breasts to fill his hands. "Take off your pants."

He couldn't stop touching her even to unzip his pants. "You sure?" he panted, nipping her throat, working at the fastening, stroking her hair, kissing her as he tried to strip the jeans from his body, and cried out when she melted against him like hot wax.

He'd only imagined what she'd feel like against him, but the sensation sent a hard shiver through his body down to his bones. The sudden burn of skin against skin brought tears of pleasure to his eyes. "Take off your pants, baby," he rasped against her throat, his face damp as her skin seared him.

"Remember when Carlos died?" she said, opening her zipper slowly.

He nodded and swallowed hard, she felt so good it was ridiculous. He couldn't even speak. His focus was singular; she had to get her pants down.

"What did the Guardian team ever do with his ashes?"

Jose blinked. She knew what they had done with his ashes. Something wasn't right. He watched her slide down his body to kneel on the cement floor.

"Tell me, baby," she murmured. Then she drew him into her mouth slowly, his eyes rolled back in his head, and everything began to feel right again. "Jose, you know, don't you?"

When she drew her mouth away, his stomach clenched. He looked at her lush mouth, the cold air kissing his ass and his wet, throbbing member. He knew he had to be out of his mind. But something was telling him she wasn't herself. She didn't really want this as much as he did. It took everything in him to reach down and hold her by both arms. She smiled as he held her, staring into her beautiful hypnotic eyes, breathing hard, wanting to cum inside her in that moment more than he wanted to live.

"All you have to do is tell me," she said, her hot breath flowing over his hard shaft.

"Damali, baby, I love you, you know that... but you're scaring me." He sucked in a long, shaky breath, and caressed the side of her face. "I don't want to talk about that right now while I'm loving you. Let's go back to my room and-"

"No," she said, standing suddenly. Her gaze narrowed on him as she folded her arms over her bare breasts. "I'm going to my room. If you decide you want to communicate with me, then knock on my door. You have ten minutes. Otherwise, you can forget it."

He watched her walk away, his pants down around his ankles. Conflict tore at his conscience. How many nights had he been so hot for her that he'd used his hand to relieve the ache? How many nights had he awakened alone in his bedroom just down the hall from her, twisted in his sheets, sweating and dying for her? Now she had come to him, stripped him down, offered her mouth, her body,everything , if he'd just talk about a situation they both knew.

Jose pulled up his jeans with a wince. He was only human... then he remembered, yeah, but girlfriend had also once dropped fangs. What if she had gone dark again? What if that's why she could no longer sense where Carlos was, now that he wasn't a vamp? Then it hit him.They were supposed to be on a plane . Carlos hadn't died. He was alive and sitting a few rows behind him when he'd fallen asleep!

Sudden terror jolted him awake. Jose glanced around hoping he hadn't given himself or his dream away. The erection was killing him. What had been on his mind? Dreaming about Damali, like that, now? All he could do was take deep breaths and try to will the tremors away. He glanced at Carlos, who turned slowly, his eyes glowing silver. Jose froze, the sweat on his brow chilling beneath that gaze.

"We need to talk, man," Jose said quietly.

Carlos nodded. "Yeah, motherfucker. We do."

"THIS IS one of only three like it in the world," the cabbie said as he left Damali on the curb.

Damali marched up the stone steps and peered at the wide, wooden door. She touched it with her hand and glanced around. Nothing happened. Becoming more confident she touched the door again, this time with both her hand and the stick simultaneously. She closed her eyes and walked forward the moment her hands began to tingle, thoroughly expecting to bump her nose.

Giddiness entered her as she realized she'd done it again. Her mind continued to hammer away at the possibilities while her eyes swept the interior. Everything was land-of-the-giants scale. A huge oak reception desk protected the Mason Temple guard that greeted her. The fact that he was calmly sitting behind the desk gave her a start. He smiled as though expecting her, which she definitely wasn't ready for.

He was a merry little man, with a kind, round face, pudgy build, and unkempt fawn-brown hair that was thinning in spots. His gray eyes twinkled as though he knew a secret. Behind him, on the wall, was a massive lithograph of the architectural layout for King Solomon's Temple. Damali stared at the wall and then at the man, so many questions running through her mind that she didn't know where to begin.

"You're very early for the eleven-o'clock tour," he said in the tone of a very well-mannered gentleman. He stood and hitched the pants of his blue uniform over his round belly as she approached the desk. "Or, are you just here for the museum and library?"

They both stared at each other. The outer door was locked; she'd just walked through it like it had been wide open. This guy had to have seen her do it, but he acted as if walking through doors was a normal occurrence. Her heart beat a little faster.

"Just the tour," Damali responded pleasantly, "and perhaps a peek at the library later."

Motioning for her to follow him, he rounded the desk and smiled. Damali's line of vision swept every facet of the rooms they passed. She could feel electric excitement pass through her.

"I'm Druid, you know."

She smiled politely, not sure how to respond. "That's very nice. I'm just in from L.A."

He laughed, his voice creating a joyful echo within the large room. "We go way back, and have suffered much, too. We've heard you've taken one of our own in under your wing." He stopped and gave her a little bow. "So, for that kindness, you receive thegrand tour."

Damali smiled and nodded, while her mind scrambled to figure out which team member he was talking about. They'd had a lot of additions. Dan? Berkfield? She hurried behind him, amazed at how fast the chubby little man could walk.

"Did you know that George Washington was a Mason, as well as most, if not all of the founding fathers of this country?" The guide winked at her as he whispered the information like a schoolboy telling a secret. "They have his Masonic apron right here in the museum."

"Yeah, the guy in the cab was telling me," Damali murmured, her eyes darting around the glass cases that lined the room. What else could she say? Each case held emblems, shields, swords, rings, coins, and other artifacts that seemed to go as far back as the Middle Ages. Okay, so who was this guide and how did this building get her to Egypt?

Scanning the room, she noted the fine woods and Italian marbles that supported what appeared to her to be fifty-foot ceilings. Nothing Egyptian leapt out at her and the exterior of the building looked like hand-sculpted granite from Westminster Abbey.

"Right you are." The tour guide chimed in with a proud smile in response to her thoughts, "Actually, fashioned after St. Mark's Cathedral in Venice."

Damali didn't say a word. This old guy had read her mind, something only Marlene and Carlos had ever been able to do. It was unnerving.

Her guide nodded and smiled. "Correct again. It would appear that you are now ready for the real tour, now that you've loosened up a bit."

A hundred questions tripped over themselves in her brain as she followed the blue-uniformed gent into the next room and waited. Her mind was on fire, trying to make critical links between the spectacular show of power and wealth that surrounded her, and her own paltry existence as a disinherited Neteru with a magic stick. The fact that her guide reminded her of a leprechaun made her smirk. Now sheknew she had to be losing her mind.

"Ah, I am not one of the wee folks," he said merrily. "Actually it was a coven back then-a good one," he added quickly. "People get semantics all confused and get weird about it, so I detest the word. We learned most of the mystical arts from the Egyptians. They were the true masters." He smiled broadly and clasped his hands. "I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to have a master in my midst, dear young queen. Oh, let us resume the tour!"

She almost ran in the other direction. In her mind, coven was synonymous with witches and black magic. He was right; the word coven had nearly stopped her heart. She planned to ask Marlene about this later, if she could ever get to her. For now, Damali held her peace and just allowed the man to babble on as she followed behind him at an appreciable distance.

"Each of the presently alive grand masters are represented in the life-sized portraits of this room," the guide said with a sweep of his hand, "and behind these two-ton brass doors, you will find portraits of our past, and now deceased, grand masters. These eighty-foot, vaulted ceilings have been lowered to fifty-two feet to accommodate the advent of electricity, but later during the tour, we'll see how the original structure was kept intact, and its grandeur preserved by the skillful use of skylighting. These ceiling frescos are gilded in actual twenty-three-karat gold leaf," he added, motioning for her to pass through the doors to stand before an impressive rear staircase.

"These doors have been hung with such exactness, that they open with the push of a finger, and haven't been rehung since they were originally installed well over a hundred years ago." He leaned in toward her. "Did I tell you how impressive the mathematics were that came from Egypt?" He laughed at his own gushing. "Oh, but I don't have to tell you what you already know in your bones."

Losing patience, Damali edged near the strange tour guide. "Really awesome, but I don't see the point. I was told that if I came here-"

"Patience," he said calmly. "Remember these points. If I take you through sections too quickly you'll experience vertigo."

"Vertigo?"

"Yes," he said, his voice becoming mildly strained with annoyance. "Now pay attention. The lights can interrupt one's depth perception."

"I'm sorry," Damali said. "Thank you for taking your time with me. I've just been very worried about my family."

He smiled and bowed slightly. "We understand, and are not offended."

Damali glanced around to see who thewe he was referring to might be. But the vast hall appeared empty except for the two of them.

"May I go on?" he asked in a recovered, eloquent tone.

"Yes, thank you. I'd be honored," Damali said, feeling very much like Alice through the looking glass. She was almost sure that she saw a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision. A strange white blur, and then it was gone.

"There are seven lodge halls within this temple that we will see during the tour. We are now going to enter the Oriental Room." Her guide motioned for her to follow him through a wide door and he waved his arms as he made a slow circle, pride clear in his expression. "This room is an exact replica of the many impressive rooms within the Moorish empire's architectural palatial achievement known as the Alhambra."

Damali's line of vision fastened to the magnificent hand-cut mosaics and thick burgundy velvets that covered luxurious ornamental benches. "I'm home. And, I remember when it all fell... Granada, Cordoba, Seville... This was the Hall of Dames, and, parts from the Hall of the Ambassadors..."

"Yes," the tour guide remarked with obvious delight, "I see that we have a historian in our midst."

Damali was speechless as her mind drank in the splendor. It was as though she knew this place from firsthand knowledge and the impact of the rushing impressions made her have to sit down on a long, polished bench. She didn't need the guide to explain that each layer of mosaic work had been reproduced from various sections of the palace and brought together into one spectacular fusion of riches.She knew it .

"See," he said triumphantly, "the vertigo happens when it hits you quickly. Memory is one thing, accessing the Akashic Records for the history of empires is quite another."

"Much respect," Damali said, swaying slightly and then stabilizing herself with the stick.

"The first time you pull down the knowledge can literally be mind blowing."

She nodded and tried to stand.

"Patience," he warned with a warm smile, "we have time. Wait until you see the knights of Templar and the Scottish Room... we have each section of the known world to cover before we go to the most impressive one of all."

Damali shook her head and this time when she attempted to stand, her legs held her weight. "No, sir, I really don't have as much time as you think. I have to go home. Soon." But the Templars... yeah. Maybe there was something here she needed to see.

He sighed and bid her to follow him with a simple wave of his hand. As they approached the enormous staircase again, she was forced to hold on to the rail. Her grip seemed precarious, at best, as the tour guide happily went on about how the forty-ton, five-story, spiral monolith was actually welded together in the building. Her vision blurred again, and that white glimpse haunted her. It floated lazily between the spirals. But it didn't frighten her. A place this old would be replete with ghosts.

"If you look down at the blue rug at the bottom of this impressive masterpiece," the guide lilted, causing her to peer over the rim of the railings despite her better judgment, "you will feel like you are spiraling into the Nile River. The Bailey statue at the bottom of the first landing guards the foyer. She is a masterpiece, and represents the virtue of silence-worth between three to five million," the tour guide added with obvious pride.

"And, the Bohemian stained-glass window, which has a depiction of Moses approaching the Burning Bush, also represents the four cardinal virtues of temperance, fortitude, prudence, and justice, at the bottom. We have other statues of near value, angels, carved by William Rush-brother of the famous Mount Rushmore sculptor, and all the murals that we've passed have been created by Herzog."

"It'll pass, soon," she heard the guide murmur as a thin sheen of cool perspiration beaded on her brow. "Don't look down," he advised.

"I'll be fine," she wheezed while images and information from thousands of years of history poured into her brain. Snapshots like freeze-frame still video flitted in her mind's eye, giving her understanding, making her know why certain wars had been fought, what was at stake, and the battle strategies employed to shift power, realign empires, and redistribute wealth. "I just need to go home."

"Since you are so impatient and determined to push yourself to the limit, if you will follow me, next we shall enter one of our most impressive rooms, the Egyptian Room." He stopped and sighed. "It's a shame you won't let me take the time to show you the other rooms, but I guess you'll see what you must along the way."

The guide paced ahead of her and then waited as she slowly followed, a throbbing headache strumming in her temples. The floating white mist was back, wafting near her. The hair on her arms and neck was standing up. What did this presence want? She could detect curiosity in it. But also deep sadness.

"This room is so architecturally and historically accurate, that Egyptologists can even transcribe the hieroglyphics on these walls," he said, smiling broadly now as he ushered her through the door. "It is so perfect in replication that scholars from around the world come here to study the mystic symbols and designs. It took three years of Mason-brethren study to do the research abroad, followed by twelve years to build and complete the room. Each segment of the hand-carved pieces of furniture is of the highest-quality ebony wood, with twenty-three-karat gold leaf."

Immediately she felt like the only proper thing to do would be to go down on one knee, not due to the involuntary effect of the vertigo, but as a salute or gesture of respect. However, the guide's presence seemed to prevent her from doing that just yet. That was something she needed to do in private. She knew it, although wasn't exactly sure why, but she was prone to follow her gut at this point.

Growing deeply concerned as his gaze fixed just above the Lesser of Three Lights Altar toward the ceiling, she was overcome by a nuance in the odd sensations she was experiencing.

A distant buzzing in her ears began to increase in tempo and volume, making her dizzy. As the tour guide spoke, she half-collapsed, half-sat down on one of the side benches to regain her bearings.

"This is Hathor, above the main grand master's throne. She was considered goddess of wisdom and fertility, often represented with a cow's head and a woman's body. Note the ceiling fresco of twenty-three-karat gold rays emanating from the sun and holding the sacred Ankh fertility symbol out before her. Here she has been depicted-as in only one of the main Egyptian temples-with a woman's face, but cow ears to represent her considerable ability to hear that which is not being said-a foundation trait of wisdom."

It was like looking in a time-distorted mirror. The rounded, heart-shaped face, skin coloring, eyes... coiled hair. Damali's vision momentarily blurred from tears of distant recognition. Indecipherable memories began to slam into her brain in spontaneous flashes, and soon the buzzing sounds evolved into what she perceived to be the low resonance of old men's voices chanting. Unnerved, she stood and slipped outside of the room away from the vibrations, unable to listen to the tour guide and the voices in her head at the same time.

"You should see it all, and then come back to this room," the guide said, offering her his elbow.

She was slow to touch his arm, not sure why, but she wasn't too sure of a lot of things. He seemed to understand her hesitation, however, and took it in gracious stride as they walked in silence. What she'd just experienced defied words or explanation. Yet, she had no vocabulary to quickly pose a question. Too much was running through her mind just now. The silence suited her better.

When they approached the grand foyer, the tour guide described the architectural feat of the skylighting eighty-feet above them, and she watched with tears in her eyes as the man shut off the power to let the sun filter through. Tiny stars in the man-made constellation had been cut into the granite surface, which allowed one to walk among the stars on a Carrara marble floor.

"Concluding our tour," her guide quipped enthusiastically, "is our main entrance, which remains closed by day to the general public. Between five o'clock and five-thirty P.M., we open the doors to Mason brethren and their guests only, and throw the main power switch to ignite approximately fifty-one-hundred lights."

Something in Damali's brain also ignited with the mention of the lights, and she glanced in the guide's direction and made eye contact. His expression seemed to say,not now, but later .

"The interior of the main doors are guarded by two hand-cast, brass Sphinxes, and as you will look up to the center arch, there are symbols of the zodiac, and symbols from all major world religions. But," her guide continued, "we want to draw your attention to the cornerstone of the building, which was laid around the same time as that of City Hall's, and the old John Wanamaker Building, forming a powerful architectural triangulation of spectacular construction. In addition, the cornerstone in this building seals off our Masonic time capsule, buried in a vault under this structure. Unfortunately, some years ago the original one was cracked and damaged when the subway lines were installed under Broad Street."

"And the seal was broken. They put a thirty-one-foot concrete wall in front of it, for the subway, but the original cornerstone seal was broken," Damali murmured, finishing the man's sentence and drawing his undivided attention.

"Absolutely correct!" the blue uniformed man shouted merrily, his voice echoing in the vast marble halls. "In that day, they tried to use X-ray technology to avoid hitting our cornerstone, but, alas, there's nothing like those old artisans. I must implore you to visit our library one day, and most assuredly, our museum-if you have not already availed yourself. Did you know that there are more Masonic symbols hidden within the alcoves of City Hall, than even in this building? After all, the seat of this city was the unparalleled seat of world power for the burgeoning New World-and Philadelphia was the founding city of the newest, soon to be most powerful, nation on the globe, that also hosted the wealthiest, most influential families of the day. It was the new Rome, so to speak. Oh, you must try out our library and see for yourself."

"Thank you, I will try to come back here with my family," Damali said quietly, looking at the refurbished stone and shaking her head. "That was a crime. A true shame what happened. The seal wasn't supposed to be broken, especially not underground near the vents."

"Indeed," her guide quipped, concluding their tour with a glance at his watch. "We invite anyone with interest to visit, tour as many times as you'd like, and to stop by our gift shop on the way out."

"May I just walk through the Egyptian Room one more time?" she asked quietly. She gazed at him with a plea in her expression. "Alone?"

"It's not policy," he said, but smiled and glanced at his watch. "But if you are quick and absorb much before the dayshift changes, I can see no harm."

He motioned for her to follow him, and she had to almost run to keep pace with him. The moment he opened the door for her, he bowed, and then quickly shut it behind her. She didn't look back as she advanced to the highly polished ebony throne, knowing that he was already gone. During the long walk across the room, she stopped at the Lesser of Three Lights Altar and went down on one knee, then pointed the stick in each cardinal direction.

A lonely, disembodied female voice whispered in the room as a cool breeze washed across her shoulder. "I want to go home," it moaned. "Please. Help me."

Damali's head jerked up and she scanned the room as she stood quickly, stopped, and listened. "Who are you?"

"Oh... take me home," the voice wailed. "The portals are open. She'll never trust me."

Damali stood very still, allowing time to catch up to her mind. Everything the guide had shown her was connected. The broken subway seal was a metaphor for the broken portals. Each room, one of the thirteen flags. The Templars were involved, so were the Druids. Now this eerie, ghostly voice that was almost childlike was begging for her help. "How can I help you? What do you want?"