BLOW THE ROOF OFF THE MUTHA

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Damali peered around the huge, marble-ensconced edifice of the Thirtieth Street train station, her gaze roving up toward the glass and brass pathways of the ancient, majestic structure that linked north to south sections of the building along the western wall. The last time she'd been even near the place, thousands of demon bats and Harpies had shattered plate glass to whirl after her squad in a deadly funnel cloud. That night, they'd lost Padre Lopez. She could tell every Guardian on the team was revisiting the memory, and she was just glad that the building had been repaired so there was no outward memory trigger of that very bad night when Lilith was on their asses.

As she watched the central information board intermittently flip down small black panels to update train arrivals and departures, she wondered if going by rail was a good idea. Fold-away was best, but Rabbi Zeitloff was right-she and Carlos needed to preserve their strength. Going by car was just as perilous, maybe more so. An eighteen-wheeler could be sent to squash them like a bug, and the poor human driver that would have been temporarily possessed would be collateral damage. Then again, riding the rails meant putting hundreds of innocent passengers at risk, if evil decided to rear its ugly head while they were on board. But that was also true of highway motorists. A crazy chain-reaction pileup was no less dangerous.

Damali closed her eyes as her stomach growled. Auntie Anne's pretzels were calling her name, along with all the luscious, forbidden butter they were drizzled with. She could practically taste the tangy, pungent flavor of honey mustard sauce on her tongue . . . that anda lemonade .

Carlos stood up from the long, gleaming wooden bench. She looked up at him with a slight frown of concern.

"Everything all right?"

"Be right back," he said with a half smile.

Big Mike was right behind him. "Anybody else want anything?"

Dan headed to the Au Bon Pain. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

"Toffee cookies," Heather said with a grin."Lots. And milk."

"Done," he said, pointing at her, and then whirling around to jog toward the store.

That was it, the team scattered to whichever food emporium was calling their names. Even Marlene was up on her feet with Shabazz checking out the Amazon Cafe smoothie bar. Resistance was futile. The team needed to eat, get a good base on before whatever kicked off-because who knew when something so basic as eating a decent meal might happen again.

Carlos was back before the others and he handed her a greasy bag loaded with pretzels and dip, along with an extra large tumbler of lemonade. "Already blessed," he said, sitting beside her.

She took a deep swig of the very sweet lemonade and her eyes crossed with ecstasy. "Thank you. How'd you know?"

"Same way you knew to put a pain siphon in that mental convo we had on the way back from the funeral."

For a moment she just looked at him.

"Thank you, baby," he said quietly. "I needed that . . . just like you need to put something in your stomach. Want a salad or fruit?" He glanced around the train station and then back at her.

Damali just shook her head. "Thanks, maybe later . . . wrong as it is, this was what I had a taste for."

Carlos took the huge plastic tumbler from her so that she could ferociously dig into the bag of buttery pretzels and he chuckled as she popped a large piece of sesame pretzel into her mouth with a moan.

"I should have gotten you something to eat," she mumbled. "You haven't eaten in days."

"Oh, don't worry-I always get mine," he said with a sly grin and sipped her lemonade.

She smiled as he dug into the bag and opened up one of the little mustard dip containers and then sat there holding her lemonade with one hand and a dip in the other as though he were a human tray. She broke off a piece of pretzel and fed him and they went on that way in companionable silence, both eating and coordinating the meal so that the butter from the bag didn't soil their clothes.

Before long, Big Mike was back with Inez carrying large Styrofoam trays. The aroma that wafted off them screamed great soul food. Damali and Carlos looked up and had to laugh.

"I don't know what's in the containers, and it isn't my business, but you know Shabazz and Marlene are gonna get on your cases," Damali warned.

"That place over there called Delilah's is off the chain, D," Mike said with a wide smile as he plopped down on the bench and opened his meal.

"You let him go to a place called Delilah's?" Carlos said, teasing Inez. "You know what happened to Samson, right?"

Inez smoothed a palm over Big Mike's bald head as he hungrily bit into a crispy piece of fried chicken. "He's got the jump on Samson-no hair . . . so what could I do?"

"Greens, mac and cheese, candied yams, corn bread, fried chicken, humph, humph, humph!" Mike declared, shaking his head as he devoured his platter. "Three days and three nights of vegan food and a brother just got broke down when I passed the place."

"I'm jealous," Inez said with a smile as she tore into a golden fried wing."Might have to step to that sister who owns the joint for making my husband get that look on his face."

Much-needed laughter filtered between the couples as they waited for the rest of the team to return. In those short minutes the tension temporarily abated. It was a tiny sliver of normalcy that found its way into their lives in a very mundane place. But each person took it for the gift it was-just a few moments where one could laugh, break bread together, and just be like every other human being on the planet.

Carlos kissed her cheek as she dug into the bag to begin tearing apart the last pretzel.

"Rabbi was right," he said with a sad smile, glancing around the train station as Guardians made their way back to the benches.

"Yeah," Damali murmured. "This was just what the doctor ordered."

It was the strangest of post-funeral repasts that he'd ever experienced, but truthfully it was one of the best. Momentary peace claimed him as the old team banter went into full effect.

Limousines had returned people to the safe house on Haines Street so they could change into comfortable gear. Gone were the suits and dresses. Jeans, sneakers, tank tops, and T-shirts replaced all of that. There was time enough to pack a change of clothing in their mud cloth bags, and to stash a weapon in them for the road. The squad knew what time it was, but they also knew that living in the present, laughing in the moment when one could, was the key to life. Who knew what was next, or if tomorrow would even come. So you buried the pain, cried hard and deep and true, and then walked forward-embracing love and laughter with no less force than you'd embraced the pain. Monk Lin would have been proud, if he'd known they'd finally figured it out.

Carlos let his gaze drift to the large train information board as his wife's buttery hand slid into his. It was time to catch the bullet.

"Lilith! What is your plan?"

The double, black marble doors to the Vampire Council blew off their hinges at the bellowed question. Flames roared across the floor and encircled thrones, making the blood veins in the black marble blister and pop. Tiny, bony, little bat-winged demons fled the sea of flames baring jagged teeth and brandishing miniature pitchforks and daggers, hissing and spitting at Lilith's protective Harpies, causing them to flee. Vampires cringed where they'd previously been sitting in regenerative repose, their stricken gazes on their chairwoman as hooves sounded in ominous footfalls.

"I have only been away for three days and three nights and all you have done is monitored the Neteru team, who is now en route to be ever nearer to my heir?" an incredulous, disembodied voice roared.

"Yes," Lilith said calmly, leaving her throne and stepping through the swirling flames at the base of it. "That was prudent."

"Prudent?"

An invisible backhanded slap connected with her cheek, sending her stumbling against the bargaining table. She straightened herself with care and dabbed at the bleeding, open gash on her face with the back of her wrist.

"Yes, prudent," she repeated with no hint of tremor or submissiveness in her voice. "Archangels had shielded them, had inserted themselves into this conflict. If we had acted prematurely to block them from their travel plans, attacked them directly, then that would have been an immediate red flag that our heir was nearby."

The flames that licked at the hem of her gown receded.

"Fallon and Lucrezia will use human forces in the media to attack and discredit them," Lilith said proudly, waving her hand toward her council members. "Elizabeth and Vlad will use the army of politicians and decision makers at our behest within the nation's political cesspools to send out legions of human law-enforcers. It is beautiful . . . higher-ranking evil men that belong to us can send lower-ranking men who are pure of heart on a fool's errand-and those who are sent to capture and detain the Neteru team will be human, therefore it will be against the angelic laws to kill them. We no longer have to use our own demons as cannon fodder and can conserve our resources for the larger military campaign we will wage at the very end. Sebastian will be my right hand of black magic to bend human wills and twist minds in the gray-zone of choice, earth, where even the angels cannot prevail against the will of a human. Trust me, there will be no justice. There will be no peace."

She released a sinister chuckle and stared out into the black void of nothingness just beyond the destroyed doors as the Council Chambers slowly cooled. "So let them go down to Washington, D.C.-where they will learn of our treachery at levels they've never conceived were humanly possible. There, for once and for all, they will get more than they've bargained for!"

"Is it me, or did this trip seem a little too uneventful?" Rider said quietly, leaning over the seat to speak to Carlos and Damali.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Shabazz muttered before either Damali or Carlos could answer.

"I'm feeling Rider, though," Marlene countered, giving Shabazz a sideways glance as the Neterus nodded.

Damali looked out of the window at the Baltimore-Washington corridor scenery whizzing by. "I know we've been covered by angelic grace, but still . . ."

"Why don't we wait to discuss this on hallowed ground and not while we're flying down the rails on a bullet train doing better than a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour?" Carlos said coolly, glancing at the small posse that had gathered near.

"Say no more; I'm convinced." Rider held up his hands and walked back down the aisle to his seat.

As they exited the Amtrak train at Union Station in Washington D.C., Rider's questionniggled the back of her mind. Damali kept her gaze sweeping as the team walked down the concrete ramp to exit into the lively, grand old structure that defined eastern seaboard rail stations.

Bustling food emporiums teemed with activity. Small, expensive boutiques flaunted the latest in fashion temptations. Art deco black-and-white marble floors echoed with thousands of footfalls beneath massive, vaulted cathedral-like ceilings that were studded with breathtaking chandeliers above a brass rail spiral staircase. Unlike the boring modern architecture of an airport, the old train stations were artistic expressions of grandeur from a bygone era. It had been so long since she and the team had traveled by normal conveyance that Damali slowed her gait to simply appreciate it all and take it in.

Bright sun and balmy early September temperatures met them as they exited the station and hesitated for a moment at the cab stand. Then just across from the long, snaking line of cab commuters, in the next small cut-out they saw a white light-duty van markedCLERICAL WORLD TOURS AND TRAVEL .

Words weren't even necessary. The group's seers all exchanged a look and the team proceeded across the pavement divides to approach the van.

A chubby African American driver with a graying, scruffy beard and wearing a yarmulke opened the door and hopped down, followed out of the tour van by a younger man who could have passed for Bobby's older brother.

"Cordell," the driver said with a smile, shaking Carlos's and Damali's hands. "Glad you found us. I'm gonna navigate you around this city . . . since Iseegood ," he said with implied emphasis. "And this young man here is Doug-your tour guide and my mechanic . . .tactically speaking," he added with a wink. "Plus we've got some tour support coming in from Philadelphia, our locals in D.C., and some folks are also comin' up from Georgia and the ATL . . . just to be on the safe side."

"Cool," Carlos said, making swift introductions as the team piled onto the bus.

Once the doors were shut and Cordell hefted his rotund frame into the driver's seat, Doug stood and began walking down the aisle, handing out brochures.

"Under the central floorboard," their tour guide said, pointedly holding each person's gaze for a moment as he gave them abrochure, "is enough ammo to send this vehicle into orbit.Seven handheld Uzis, three pumps, an RPG and shells, and ten 9s, plus three M-16s. Under each seat is a 9 and three clips, duct-taped. If we get in a corner and have to leave the van, we'll have to blow it-because what your team needs to understand about the local environment in D.C. is this-we've got CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, Black Ops, local cops, and every branch of the military down here at the Pentagon . . . Langley is a stone's throw down the road and they have enough satellites in the air to pick up the license plate on this vehicle, scramble F-16 fighter jets, and torch us before we ever turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue. We clear?"

"Clear as a frickin' bell," Rider said, running his fingers through his hair. "I knew I had a bad feeling about this tour."

"Yeah, well, we've been on pins and needles our entire Guardianhood, waiting for the day the firefight might come this way . . . just seemed like it was due. We thought the hit on the Pentagon during 9/11 was the big one, but it turned out to be human-inspired insanity." Doug looked away for a moment as a call came into his Bluetooth earpiece. "Put on the news," he said to Cordell, reaching to his hip for an iPhone.

Immediately J.L. whipped out his unit, too, as Cordell fiddled with the van radio. "They're saying that in going through the rubble after the West Coast fires, they found the house registered to some cult organization that the Warriors of Light were supposed to be living in . . . and they found weapons and drugs. They're looking for us for questioning.Said there's significant concern that we might be supporting terrorist groups."

"Let the games begin," Yonnie said to Carlos as the group went completely still.

"You people have a fallback position?" Doug asked, looking at Damali and Carlos. "This is a bad town to be wanted in for terrorism."

"We feel you," Shabazz said, glancing out the window.

"Our fallback position is a fold-away to a safe house," Carlos said, looking at Doug hard. "Just get us inside this," he added, pulling the map out of his back jeans pocket and opening it for Doug. "Then you can drop us off so you don't draw heat to your team that has to live here."

"Yeah, well, we've got a safe house for you over in Georgetown on M Street, but the problem is in the pentagram zone-we found out the hard way that unless you're outside of it on one of the Metatron Cube's axises, everything we've got shuts down."

"Talk to me," Carlos said quickly, glancing at Damali.

"That," Doug said, pointing at the satanic symbol, "is built into the stones. Therefore, while inside it, it works like a negative force field . . . seers can't see, audios can't hear, tacticals have no charge. Maybe as a Neteru you have more juice, but it's been our experience that we go back to being like a human Joe-regular inside that thing. So we hug the perimeter, and don't screw around inside it-ever. If you're going in there, you need to have a plan that's purely based on human engineering stuff . . . because I swear to you, if you get trapped in there,it'sball game . We lost half a squad over there in the early days."

"I can rig something maybe," J.L. said unsurely, glancing at the team.

"What about that copper pipe bucket thing you did just before we left San Diego?" Damali asked, glancing between Doug and J.L.

"I don't know," J.L. said honestly, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Might not know till we're in a firefight, which isn't a good time to figure out the thing is flawed."

"I'm in a 100 percent agreement with you, brother," Big Mike said.

"Here's the thing, too," Berkfield said, glancing around the team as he leaned over the seat. "I'm listening to what Doug is saying about the human factor . . . like the authorities. The darkside could sic human police on us and we can't walk down the street with a bucket of copper pipes, what amounts to shrapnel and resin. That just screams shoot me and call the bomb squad, anybody feeling what I'm saying here?"

"Loud and clear," Yonnie said, shaking his head. "You pop a decent human cop that's just doing his job, or we send a shell to hit a Black Hawk chopper that's on our asses, accidentally taking out some military good guy who mistook us for bad guys, and we might be dealing with a court date with the darkside, after all."

"I'm feeling you onthat ," Jose said, leaning forward to pound Yonnie's fist over a seat.

"Now you see what our parameters have been down here," Doug said, nodding.

"Yeah, but we could have our stoneworkers stand on the perimeter of the Metatron's Cube and draw power from that," Heather offered, glancing around the group nervously. "If they can bend power negatively, we can pull out their lines by standing on the outer rim in our own formation."

"Qi Gong . . . women are magnetic, men are electric," Damali said, slapping Heather five. "Okay, so we keep the team on the outer perimeter-meand Carlos go into the hot-zone. If we get screwed, tacticals send an electrical pulse to hit us at the same time our evenly balanced female squad does a magnetic extraction."

"I don't like the plan," Carlos said, "but it's the only rational plan we've got."

"If something jumps off, we blur the license plates-immediately," Doug said, standing in the center aisle. "Otherwise they'll immediately decode it as a phony and rush the truck. Although we've taken great measures to have underground safe houses and vehicles, passports and IDs, there's always human error and the supernatural that can sometimes break our barriers. However, our biggest problem at the moment is, you guys are highly recognizable as a known celeb band."

"That part we can fix," Carlos said. "A lil' mind-stun never hurt anybody."

"Yeah, but in the hot-zone, that won't work," Damali said, touching his arm. "We're gonna have to go with human disguises when we go in there."

"All right, we can hook that up," Doug said, leaning down to look out the window.

"We got a problem at our first tour stop," Cordell said, slowing the van as police crime scene tape and a horizontal, black-and-white police cruiser blocked the boulevard that led to the Scottish Rite Temple. He stared at the helmeted officer that waved for him to turn and keep going,then followed directions. "Sixteenth Street is blocked and it looks like the two arteries, Columbia Road and Harvard Street are, too. We can't get to All Souls Church, National Baptist Memorial, the Unitarian Church across from that, or the Scottish Rite Temple, where we was headed."

"That is so not a good sign to be blocked out of four sanctuaries this early in the day," Juanita said, flopping back into her seat with a groan.

"You sound like me, sister," Rider said, his gaze narrowed as he peered out of the window.

"We could possibly get to the temple on foot," Bobby offered.

"No need," Carlos said quickly, looking in the direction of the inaccessible building. "The Templar I was supposed to meet inside the Scottish Rite Temple is dead."