CHAPTER ONE
Uamali rolled up the legs of her jeans, stood up, and absently ran her fingers over the stones in her silver divining necklace as she gripped it tightly in her left hand.
Then she opened the deck doors and walked barefoot out toward the deserted beach. Even with a lightweight, white tank top on, the early morning sun beat down hot rays on her scalp, face, and shoulders. She squinted toward the beach and lifted her dreadlocks up higher in a ponytail scrunchie, searching for Carlos, then let out a hard breath of frustration when she didn’t immediately spot him.
Why did everything on the team always have to be done by committee? Okay, sure, every man in the house whose wife was pregnant was freaking out, and the Berkfields were having a fit because their daughter, Krissy, and daughter-in-law, Jasmine, were carrying their first grandchildren, but she and Carlos couldn’t just do an energy fold-away this close to the Bermuda Triangle! Basic quantum physics made that impossible. The Triangle was magnetically unstable. J.L. knew that.
Every tactical Guardian on the team should have been able to grasp the implications. Why they had to argue that fact with the team was beyond her.
It was simple, at least in her mind. Deviations in the magnetic field around the phenomenon were caused by micro-wormholes, otherwise known as transit tunnels—the same tunnel system that the team seemed to have forgotten that Cain had used to lead a full aqua-demon army out of Nod before.
Damali blew a stray strand of damp hair up off her forehead, exasperated. The damned Bermuda Triangle, just like all the other vortexes on the planet, was filled with rips in the cosmic fabric, some only a gigafraction of an inch—a tear so small that it could be represented by a decimal point and the number one preceded by something crazy like thirty-three zeros, where unstable mini-black holes of virtual matter and mini-white holes of virtual antimatter fluxed on a dime in and out of the geometry of space.
Only Cain was insane enough, and driven enough, to risk bringing his armies through a temporary black hole flux… just like the angels must have jettisoned the team through a quick flicker of white hole opening to get them here. But neither she nor Carlos was down for chancing that. Hell, no—that’d be like trying to jump into a millisecond-turning double-Dutch rope that was changing from black to white and white to black and hoping they could snatch the entire team through on white. Not. Pulling a team through that, where one burp in the interdimensional vortex could land them God only knew where, was not an option.
No wonder Carlos was freaking-out.
After a moment of walking to calm down, Damali steadied herself. The team was panicked, and her gut told her that was why unity was so hard to achieve right now. Everybody had to chill. Marj and Berkfield had their parental worries about Krissy and Bobby, as well as their kids’ spouses and unborn grands… just like Marlene and Shabazz were no doubt scared to death for her and Carlos. Maybe Yonnie and Val, along with Rider and Tara, would be the balancers of sanity this time out, she prayed. Inez and Mike were too freaked-out about the whereabouts of little Ayana and Mom Delores, rightfully so, to be of much help. But Bobby, J.L., Jose, and Dan would probably have a cow once they finally learned she was pregnant, too… which was why she knew Carlos needed to go take a long walk before he’d said something about her state that had been forbidden by the joint Neteru Kings’ and Queens’ Councils. Why was everything always so hard?
She’d left the team to its collective squabbling about the potential next steps to take without looking back. They’d still be at it by the time she got back, she was sure. This was the part of communal living that Carlos couldn’t stand; she knew her husband well. After the team meeting, that Scorpio was going to need a private, quiet place to get his head together. Fury waves had been coming off his body so intensely that they were threatening to either fuse the Turkish rug to the hardwood floors around him or start a blaze. That’s when he simply got up and left the villa.
Yeah, Carlos had to get up, get out, and walk it off. It was easy to understand. The darkside had jacked with Carlos Rivera’s cash flow, which represented major disrespect where he came from, and she knew his old street ways were wrestling within him. That part of him would never fully die. It would always resonate in his being, no matter what. Once from the streets always from the streets. Mess with a brother’s money? Oh, hell to the no. Damali just shook her head as she searched the beach for him. Some things were simply embedded in the man’s DNA.
Armageddon notwithstanding, with a wife and a baby on the way, the darkside was playing to all of her husband’s deepest fears—all of which centered on basic survival. For Carlos, she knew cash meant flexibility, maneuverability, strength, a backdoor escape. If he was liquid, he could flow like the water sign he was and get out of whatever. But they’d taken that option away and Senor Rivera wasn’t having it.