CHAPTER EIGHT
Carlos glanced around the small courtyard behind the centuries-old Catholicchurch that had been taken over by a new denomination. He hated moving the team like this-just a wild-ass shot in the dark to land hard without a prior environmental sweep. But it was what it was. Time had run out.
His worst fears were realized. The rectory in the back was a host to occupied administrative offices; he could see church staff milling about behind the windows and could hear children in the basement . . . had to be a day care center. Schools flanked the front of the church and the back of it, and his team was standing there looking like a guerrilla army, strapped to the nines with grenades, automatics, and a trunk of supplies.
"Anybody feeling like if we don't take cover, in, say . . . maybe five minutes, popo is gonna be all over us?" Yonnie stashed his 9mm in the back of his sweatpants and then looked down at his bare feet. "And, bro, can we get some decent clothes? It was bad enough that the house burned to the ground with all my best Italian leathers in it, but I don't go out in public like this. You know how we used to do the damned thing, homeboy."
"Yonnie . . . man," Jose said in a near growl, "chill. C is working on it. Ain't you, C?"
"Yeah, I'm working on it," Carlos said, glancing around. "Shit."
Heather tossed Damali the divination necklace she'd lent the seers during their watch shifts. "Before some kids or civilians see us, ask Pearl."
"I said I'm working on it," Carlos muttered, taking offense.
"Well," Rider said with a sarcastic sigh, "this is cozy, while we wait." He nodded and began walking around the small courtyard looking for potential hiding places big enough for the entire team that were not to be found. "Our Lady Gates of Heaven-fitting for the last gate we'll probably see this side of freedom the moment the cops get here. I don't figure they'll buy that we work for Homeland Security in these just-out-of-bed outfits toting heavy artillery-you think?"
"Rider, I've got a lot on my mind, man . . . you ain't making my job any easier," Carlos said in a low, threatening rumble. "So fall back and give me space to think."
Rider's gaze hardened to meet Carlos's challenge. "I'm not into high fashion, but the whole look screams terrorists or drug gang to me. That's the only reason I'm agreeing with Yolando here that time is of the essence-all right. So don't get your boxers in a bunch."
Carlos shot Damali a quick look that dared her to intervene. She rifled her fingers through her locks and walked away, scanning the area before she said anything irrevocable.
"What about the sanctuary?" Juanita offered, glancing at Carlos with empathy.
Carlos motioned toward the placard near the door with his chin. "We jettisoned out of San Diego at almost one in the afternoon . . . that means it's near four, central time-and they have vespers prayer. Somebody will probably be in there setting up and we'll give 'em a heart attack if we roll in there like this."
"Garages," Berkfield said with a quick nod. "You pull us some SWAT uniforms from the local precinct and let me be your lead bullshit talker. I know the police drill from my old days on the force. The rest of you just look mean and say nothing if we're seen or stopped . . . but I know where Carlos is going with this thing-not around any kids. Can't have a shoot-out here and we've gotta clear the area in case something is already tracking us."
Damali nodded as she stared up at the vaulted archways that led from the rectory to the church. Adinkra symbols had been cut directly into the stones in the oddest of all places, a Catholic church, just as Marlene had said. "Yeah, Berkfield . . . good plan," she said in a faraway voice. "We can change in the garages."
She rubbed the surface of the pearl that was set in her platinum-collar necklace with the other six stones she'd collected during her awakening, feeling them heat in her hand. "What are you trying to tell me, Pearl?" she murmured to her oracle as the team trudged toward the bank of garages behind the courtyard.
"Look to the one-hundred-and-eight volumes of the Book of Enoch," the pearl said quietly. "Enoch was three hundred and sixty-five years old . . . his words were left out of the traditional Bible and were found by aScotsman , James Bruce, who brought it back from Axum . . . Ethiopia, in the 1800s. These books were found among the Dead Sea Scrolls. . . . The angel, Uriel, was his guide. . . . FollowUriel , that angel's name will shelter you while here in Detroit,Damali. . . . Ask Marlene to look up Genesis 5:21-24."
The pearl fell silent as the group gathered in one of the church garages that didn't have vehicles and storage boxes in it. Damali looked at Carlos.
"Okay, now that was the strangest divination Pearl has given me to date."
"Sounds like girlfriend was speaking in code . . . put emphasis on the wordScotsman ," Carlos said, pulling in SWAT uniforms and hurriedly passing them around the team.
"Seal the area with prayer," Damali whispered. She glanced at Carlos."And silver-box it, too. We need to talk."
The team quickly changed without modesty as Marlene set up a barrier and Carlos followed up by closing off the area with a translucent silver seal. As soon as all precautions had been taken, Damali went to the center of the group.
"Zehiradangra is sensitive to anomalies in vibrations . . . so she's not going to just tell us where to go in an open, potentially toxic airspace. Who knows, she might be feeling the same bouts of anxiety and paranoia we felt before J.L. put the filters on our technology, and Heather was leading the seers in the house on a divination where Pearl could have picked up something that freaked her out."
A slight pink blush glowed within the pearl to confirm Damali's suspicions and she nodded. "Z didn't feel comfortable-but this is a Templar safe house . . . it's just occupied so heavily by civilians, we can't use it."
"Okay, quick deconstruction of the code," Carlos said, rubbing his jaw. "The Scotsman reference has to be Father Pat-he's been trying to get a message to me, but he doesn't dare chance telepathy while he's still so weak. Pearl kept slinging a bunch of facts that were just a jumble of rhetoric, even if true.So each one has to be a part of the code."
"Father Pat is the Scotsman," Damali said. "But Enoch's age . . . three hundred and sixty-five is a year." She looked at Carlos."Something's about to jump off within a year, maybe?"
"Okay, and something important was brought out of Ethiopia to here, or knowledge from Ethiopia is something we need to use.One or the other, or both." Carlos rubbed the tension out of his neck. "I hate riddles, I swear I do."
"The name Uriel means God is my light to the east," Valkyrie offered. "I know the names of all the major angels . . . we were taught them in Nod. So this must mean that if we get trapped, try to head east?"
"Maybe," Jasmine said, working a headache away from her temples with graceful fingers. "But it could also mean to call upon that angel at the very end." She glanced at Bobby, who looked pale. "If we are to die here in a last stand, it is good to know which angel will collect our souls."
"We ain't dying down here," Bobby said, growing agitated and walking in a circle.
"Then what the fuck are we doing here in Detroit?" Dan spat. "I don't get it!" He looked around the group, his blue eyes wild. "There's noway I can get you in on the jazz fest docket this late-the group doesn't do jazz, and this thing is being billed as the Rumble in the Great Lakes, okaaay.Some showdown between Chicago and Detroit jazz legends, of which we are neither. But the name of the event gives me the creeps under the circumstances.The Rumble in the Great Lakes! So, right there, I've got a bad feeling about it, and if we're trying to keep a firefight from civilians, this isn't the place to be! Six frickin' stages over four days, out in the open with thousands and thousands of civilians . . . is it just me, or is anybody else concerned?"
"We're not here to play music," Damali said calmly, "so you don't have to get us on the docket. But we know that this is one of the last bastions of positive music, as well as a great fallback city for CGE . . . so their agents of turmoil will no doubt be infiltrating the crowd, trying to get something to pop off, infecting people, whatever. Our goal is to tag one of the little bastards and see if it runs home so we can follow it back to its power center. That strategy worked before when we used it to locate the darkside's heir. But we're not trying to put innocent people in harm's way. However, the crowd also gives us cover to maneuver in day and night.Might take 'em a minute to spot us."
"You don't have to explain shit, D," Carlos said, glaring at the team. "Last I checked this wasn't a democracy. We are functioning military-style. You got a problem with Damali's game plan,then you got a problem with me. No dissention in the ranks, right now. We ain't got time for it."
Marlene stared at Carlos. "Can you bring me a Bible out of the sanctuary pews?"
He nodded and made one materialize in her hands.
She opened the text carefully and found the Scripture Pearl had suggested she read. The group leaned in, but Marlene's eyes filled with tears and she walked to Carlos and hugged him.
"Baby . . . listen to me, no matter what, you can't lose your faith or turn back."
"What, Mar?" Carlos said, breaking her hold on him. "Tell me straight-up. I don't needno surprises right through here."
The older woman sighed heavily and touched his face before going back to the text. "When Enoch had lived sixty-five years, he became father to Methuselah. And after he became father to Methuselah, Enoch walked with God three hundred years and had other sons and daughters. Altogether, Enoch lived three hundred and sixty-five years. Enoch walked with God,then he was no more, because God took him away." Marlene closed the book.
"Talk to me, Mar," Carlos whispered, swallowing hard. "You're the elder seer on the team . . . you know what you feel in your gut, like I know it in mine-but I need you to say it."
"In the beginning-like Genesis is the beginning-when Father Pat was sixty-five, he met you . . . became like a father to you, baby . . . and you were immortal then . . . like Methuselah would live untold years-and now as a Neteru will live longer than the average human." Marlene let out a hard breath. "My dear, dear friend, Father Pat, really became like a grandfather to this team of sons and daughters, and has the wisdom of a man who has walked with God for three hundred years . . . as a Templar, a warrior . . . he has walked with God a very long time, Carlos. He was badly injured and never fully recovered from that last attack. And, soon . . . God will take him away."
Marlene briefly closed her eyes as the rest of the team members' shoulders slumped. "Do the numerology. One hundred and eight volumes or chapters condenses down to the number nine . . . nine is the end number. Pearl was trying to tell us about beginnings and endings. The Book of Enoch is primarily about the battle between good angels and bad angels, and it also deals with when angels mingled with humankind to produce Titans . . . and the banishment of the fallen angel. We already know who she was referencing there."
Carlos nodded as Damali touched his arm, noting that the pearl in her hand hadblushed a pink affirmation again. "It's cool," he said, lifting his chin and sending his gaze out of the garage windows. "I knew that. Felt it. We got a reprieve. It's the cycle of life, and shit."
"We'll go talk to Father Patrick soon," Damali said quietly.
Carlos didn't answer, just turned his focus to Shabazz.
"We've gotta get out of here. This is your old turf, man . . . where to?"
"We're like a half mile from Second Baptist," Shabazz said, raking his locks. "Solid energy up in that joint. . . . It's over on Monroe Street in the Greektown historic district, but was the first African American congregation here. Sojourner Truth, John Brown, Douglass, you know . . . everybody pulled people through the system using that church as a way station."
J.L. punched in the name of the church on his iPhone and then put the address of the current location in to get directions. "It's 441 Monroe. Two minutes' jog-head east on Cadillac Square toward Bates, left on Randolph, right on Monroe."
"Dressed like this, though, holmes?" Jose said, opening his arms. "And strapped? Gonna cause a stir. We gotta find somewhere we can drop this gear and go camouflage, yo, to blend in with normal civilians."
"Set us down in the mouth of an alley, C," Mike said, "and we'll do like we always do-make it up as we go along."
Too disgusted to debate anything, Carlos simply whirled the team inan energy fold-away to the address. But when they stepped out of it, they were looking out of a small gap between buildings and scaffolding toward a busy intersection, and the church was gone.
"Oh, shit," Shabazz said, turning around in a circle. "They demolished Second Baptist for a freaking casino?A historic landmark? Now that's sacrilege if ever I saw it!"
J.L. glanced up, confused. "Dude," he said to Carlos, his brows knit. "This isn't 441 Monroe."
"Whatduya mean, this ain't Monroe!"Shabazz shouted, practically stuttering as fury lifted his locks off his shoulders with static charge.
"I homed to the damned location you had in your mind, man," Carlos said defensively, glaring at Shabazz. He rubbed his palms down his face, tension making him ready to drop fang.
"Bigger problem," Mike said, positioning his rocket-propelled grenade launcher higher onto his shoulder. "People is walking by staring, we causing a scene, we in the middle of a doggone shopping district looking like a bomb squad, and we needs to be real cool . . . like fall back deeper into this alley so C can get us inside somewhere. This is real uncool."
"Ya think?" Rider said, glaring at Carlos. "Later me and you need to talk about you getting your head together, but now isn't the time."
"Just be cool, look at the building foundation, and follow me back into the alley," Berkfield said, leading the way.
Dan glimpsed Carlos. "You okay, man?"
"I'm fine," Carlos snarled. "We cool."
"Good.Just checking. No disrespect intended, back at the other location." Dan held Carlos's arm as the others caught up with Berkfield. "It's just that Heather can't take a lot of energy jostling right now . . . you know what I'm saying?"
Carlos blinked twice. Dan nodded and looked away.
"She can't go through another loss. I know the timing is really bad . . . but I just wanted you to know, if anything happens in a firefight, let me go, make sure she makes it."
Carlos rubbed his hands down his face again. "Oh . . . shit."
"I'm sorry, man," Dan said, and then lifted his chin. "But regardless of how fucked up the timing is, be happy for me, man."
"Yeah, yeah, I gotchure back.Congrats, we'll smoke a cigar later," Carlos said, moving out. The alley wasn't big enough. It felt like all the air was being forced out of his lungs by a hard blow. He glanced at Shabazz, now getting a clearer image of Second Baptist Church. "We couldn't go to the sanctuary on Monroe, anyway," he muttered. "It's crawling with tourists right about now-so I need a solid church, temple, mosque, whatever, in your old zone, 'Bazz . . . a joint without major population issues."
The team gathered around Shabazz for a moment, everyone seeming disoriented. "The onlyplace I know of that is real cool that can feed us, house us, has clothes on the rack, and has the Black Holocaust Museum up in there, is the Shrine."
"What Shrine, man?" Yonnie asked, nervously chewing on a toothpick." 'Cause we're batting a thousand on churches right now."
"Where I'm feeling we should go has platinum ancestor energy and every obscure text you can want . . . plus meeting space and serious real estate . . . where if we're legit we can also go in there packing like revolutionaries-'cause they used to it." Shabazz folded his arms over his chest. "They were around back in the day before I could really appreciate them for being a community treasure."
"No offense, 'Bazz," Jose said. "But you were away for ten years, then add another twenty or so . . . like, all I'm saying is, a lot can change in thirty years, brother."
"If the Shrine is gone, then black Detroit might as well be gone," Shabazz said in a surly tone. "It's still here-I can feel it in my bones."
"Then let's do the damned thing," Carlos said, looking at Shabazz and waiting for a location."Where?"
"The Shrine of the Black Madonna is over on Livernois Avenue. Ex-Panthers, Angela Davis . . . the who's who of countermainstream rolled through there and the energy is solid." Shabazz glared at Jose and then Carlos."It's there."
"'Bazz, not trying to be funny but, Second Baptist was supposed to be solid," Rider argued. "So don't get all salty, as you call it, with Jose and Carlos, man."
"Carlos missed the drop, not me-don't get it twisted. So I ain't salty, period." Shabazz relaxed a little and gave Rider a hard half smile when his Guardian brother held up his hands and gave him a quizzical "what's up" look. "Rider, if the Shrine ain't where I say it is-then my bad. But if the great lady is still there, then I'll have you in a dashiki and wearing a kufi before it's all over, brother-which is perfect for the jazz festival . . . also better than SWAT riot gear for stashing weapons."
"Is it hallowed ground?" Marjorie asked, looking at Bobby and then Krissy with concern.
"They pour so many libations up in there and have that place so blessed out that anything foul will torch on impact." Marlene gave Shabazz a nod of appreciation. "The Shrine is still there."
Carlos wiped his hands down his face. He didn't say a word, just moved the team in a fold-away on his next deep inhalation.
Her plan was perfect.
Elizabeth crept deeper into the shadows of Hell's complete darkness, gathering up the elements of evil she would need. Lilith was preoccupied, tending to the slowly healing heir's every whim, no different than her fellow councilman and woman who were busily working on the front lines-now that they'd unfairly gained Lilith's favor. Sebastian had finally been shamed into going on the foolhardy mission to meet with Lucifer himself, and might never return. Good riddance! Yet they all thought she was supposedly too weak to be of immediate use or concern. . . . There'd never be another time like this. The hour was nigh.
Overconfidence had made them all forget that she'd seen Sebastian raise Vlad's army from the skeletal remains of shattered bones and rotted flesh. A shrewd sorceress in her own right with a powerful protectress near, she'd witnessed his spells cast for Lilith's demands. While the council was unaware, her witches would live again . . . her tragedy avenged. The first kill she would offer her husband would be Sebastian's weak throat!
There could be no other more auspicious time to pilfer Sebastian's spell treasures than while he was bargaining for his life with the Dark Lord and begging for the return of his conjuring hand. That negotiation would consume his complete focus. If he discovered her treachery through spies, she could always claim to have been looking for a way to bring him back from the brink of extermination, given that Satan was in such a foul mood. It would be so easy to make Sebastian believe she'd thought he'd been executed on Level Seven and was thus attempting his resurrection. He would never suspect that she would attempt the futile-risking her life to steal from him, an older, stronger entity, for the purpose of reanimating a beheaded vampire. But by all the evil in her dark heart, the Carpathian ruler would ride again!
Elizabeth released a soft, mad chuckle as she entered Sebastian's normally guarded spell chamber unafraid. The massive gargoyle sentries had fled the moment he'd gone to Level Seven, obviously aware of the odds of his return. Only Sebastian's faithful serpents remained.
As she swept into the forbidden vault, his black adders uncoiled from their slumber and protectively swayed over his dark tome of evil incantations. Eyes narrowed, they hissed at her intrusion and she gave asgood as she got until they slithered away. She smiled as she found the right page, instantly memorizing every line of the spell, and then her red glowing gaze went to the rows of apothecary jars filled with every gore imaginable . . . it was all there, the exotic ingredients she would need. His cauldron spit acid at her and she laughed shrilly, her madness now in full bloom.
"I'm already burned beyond recognition. Take your best shot . . . but beware;youcould be scrap iron. Sebastian is meeting with the Dark Lord and is as good as dead. If you do not make friends with me,his wife , and refuse to do my bidding . . . who shall protect you from the molestation of Hell?"
The cauldron belched its assent and settled down to a slow, rhythmic bubble, ceasing its protest. What had never been openly discussed in council was the fact that Vlad had been beheaded by a blessed blade while still human. That bitch, Lilith, knew the secret . . . fear of a coup had kept her silent. Butshe knew . Vlad, in life, had made a pact with the Devil that, should he be defeated in battle and executed, his remains could always be reanimated unless slain in death by a Neteru.
Soon, the enemy of her enemy would be her friend. Sebastian would never know what hit him.
"Let me and Marlene go in easy first," Shabazz warned as the group gathered in the small alley behind the store. "We'll go in the front and see if we can get them to open up the back door. Too many of us going in with riot gear on will be problematic."
"We feel you," Jose said, "justhurry, bro."
Shabazz and Marlene handed off their weapons, but Marlene kept her carved African walking stick. She smiled at Shabazz as they rounded the row of stores on the block.
"This SWAT uniform with dreadlocks and my walking stick is gonna cause some poor soul up in the Shrine serious cognitive dissonance."
"I know, but it's probably the only thing that's gonna help them believe we're not 'the man,'" he replied, making small quotes with his fingers in the air as she opened the door and slipped in.
Shabazz stopped for a moment and looked around. The place hadn't changed in all those years. There was still a long entry-way with racks and racks of nonmainstream books. No one was in that section, as the heavier volumes were toward the back. Titles called out about revolution, the foundation of democracy, the spiritual essence of humankind, every conceivable eclectic mix; it was a thinking person's paradise. Thick incense residue hung in the air, frankincense and myrrh. The store needed a paint job and the rug was well worn, but it welcomed like a grandmother's house, nonetheless. Shabazz inhaled deeply as Marlene turned to look at him.
"Feels good to be back home, doesn't it?"
He nodded and swallowed hard. "I never got a chance to come back after I got locked up." He stared at her and she came close to hug him. "Back there with the others, I didn't know if this place would still be here . . . but it was. Allah is merciful."
Marlene stroked his back and looked up. "C'mon, baby . . . let's learn these young folks some old-school ways, huh?"
Her comment made him smile and he stepped around her to take the lead, walking them through a passageway that led into the main section of the store. But he stopped to take in the grandeur of it all that was hidden within a seemingly humble community structure. Majestically carved masks and statues from the motherland graced the walls, and ornately carved statues from West Africa created a stunning gallery. Glass cases filled with silver jewelry and beautiful ethnic beadwork dotted the store, and a full section of clothing made of gorgeous silks, embroidered cottons, and the most exquisite hand-loomed textiles made his breath catch. Aisles and aisles of books and a large meeting space caught his eye, until he was forced to blink back moisture.
"I'd forgotten," he said quietly and reverently to Marlene. "The old corner philosophers and revolutionaries used to try to tell me aboutthe people andthe culture when I was slinging on the corner . . . they couldn't tell me shit, though, because I knew it all." He glanced around at the masks and then touched the edge of a tall giraffe carving that was made from one solid piece of mahogany. "This is why they want to destroy the motherland . . . the cradle of civilization. Don't you see how beautiful she is?" He turned to Marlene, eyes pained. "We can't let Africa, or the diaspora, or any land be made into cannon fodder . . . can't let them overrun food-producing nations and people in the so-called underdeveloped areas for greed and blood sport."
"Can I help you?" an older woman challenged.
Her glare was keen as she flung mixed, gray dreadlocks over her shoulder with much attitude. She wore royal purple African robes covering her thick build and her many silver bangles sounded as she promptly folded her arms over her ample chest. She had swept out of the back room with a customer, handing the man his order before taking a challenging pose. With open hostility, she looked Marlene and Shabazz up and down and sucked her teeth.
The few straggling customers had edged away from Marlene and Shabazz, and one of them had obviously gone in the back to alert the disgruntled manager that cops were in the house. One look at the manager's expression told them that everyone in the store was hostile.
"Yes, ma'am," Shabazz said after a moment. "You can definitely help us."
"Why you people come in here harassing us, huh? You think jus' 'cause they got new laws that let's y'all run amuck on people's rights you can come into our place and just do anything you want? This is ahouse of worship , if you haven't noticed. This here downstairs is our bookstore and Shrine shop-but we're legal, legit, and our holocaust museum is listed-"
"We're not five-o," Shabazz said.
"Cops, Homeland Security, FBI, what I care?" the woman said in a huff. "You think you can come in the community and treat folk any ole kinda way-and you oughta be shame wearing dreadlocks . . . whatchu do, use that while you were undercover and then-"
"Ma'am . . . can we talk to you without an audience?"
The woman looked at the patrons around her."Oh, hell no you can't! Just 'cause you my color don't mean you my kind! This New World Order got folks hoodwinked, bamboozled, scallywagged, and lied to, my so-called brutha! I know my rights. I ain't gotta say nothing to you without an attorney-or you planning on kidnapping me like you do all those folks and throw me in some prison offshore? These people seen me-tell my grandbabiesthe man came after they grandma, you hear me! But I ain't dead! No justice, no peace!"
"You can't be rolling up in the Shrine and taking this sister out of here. We'll be in touch with Reverend Sharpton and anybody else we gotta call, believe that!" a patron shouted from the sidelines. "We know what you trying to do."
"Come check our pockets," Marlene finally said, throwing down her walking stick and opening her arms and legs in a to-be-frisked stance. "We ain'tthe man , far from it. We're running fromthe man . . . and, these uniforms came in handy from our last situation."
Shabazz followed Marlene's stance, opening his arms and legs. "Sis, we need sanctuary and got our people out back who need to be hidden in your upstairs meeting area . . . plus a change of clothes, if you can spare it. We'll pay . . . but we don't needno static from the authorities."
Carlos is gonna have to mind-stun all these folks real good, Marlene mentally shot to Shabazz as he glanced at her.TMI, they don't need to be in all our business, but there's no other way to get them to chill out but to tell them the truth -folks can sense bull versus fact, if they get calm enough. Let me keep working on this sister.
Skeptical patrons glanced at each other, but offered no further commentary. The woman unfolded her arms and moved forward a bit.
"We've been running all the way from California, and need sanctuary from being hunted," Marlene said carefully. "You know how we used to do, back in the day . . . sometimes we had to follow the drinking gourd, blend in with Native Americans, look for signs in quilts, feel for the moss at night on the north side of tree trunks . . . do whatever it took, including disguise ourselves however we had to in order to make it on through-shoot, some of us even passed till we got where we was going. It was all about survival. That's all we trying to do now. Survive, sis. What kinda sense would it make for us to show up here in riot gear, unarmed, asking for clothes, me and my husband wearing locks-which can't be grown overnight-and me carrying an African walking stick, if we intended to bum-rush your store like the authorities? Stop and think about it."
"How I know you ain't lying?"
Marlene's gaze locked with the woman's. "Because I'm a seer and so are you, sis," Marlene said flatly. She sent a hard assessment over the woman's body. "Your mother just passed-I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"They coulda been watching you, sis. Coulda put a satellite on you or bugged your house . . . mighta been tailing you 'cause you from the Shrine and seen you at the funeral, at the cemetery. Don't believe the hype," a female patron said. "They be wiretapping people's lives!"
"All that's true," Shabazz said calmly. "But we didn't."
"She used to call you Bebe," Marlene said gently, ignoring the conspiracy theorist's valid claims. "Before you changed your name to Owatunde . . . but she said to you, "Bebe, don't you worry none, I'm going to glory in peace.' No one was in the hospital room but you and her, sis, when she passed. You leaned close and she whispered that in your ear . . . no bug could pick thatup, she said it so softly at the end. She died holding your hand. I swear to you, we're not authorities. And I promise you, your momma is all right."
The older woman relaxed her stance and drew in a shuddering breath, then swallowed hard.
Marlene turned to Shabazz. "Let her in, stop blocking her and drop your protective tactical charge . . . she's a seer so let her see me."
Shabazz nodded, but looked at the store manager hard. "You about to get a privileged look into some really deep realities, sis. But it's only fair, 'cause we need some really deep help."
"Be careful," a male patron warned. "How they know youwas gifted? Maybe that's why they here-to kidnap you into a secret government project for people with ESP . . . they did that before, you know. Took folks into them programs during the Cold War and be experimenting on 'em.I know ."
"Then if she's a seer, she'd see that about us," Marlene said in a dismissive but gentle tone, keeping her gaze on the store manager. "I'm open. Bring it."
It seemed as though the entire store had become paralyzed by silence as the woman stepped a little closer and regarded Marlene and Shabazz with quiet curiosity. Then suddenly as though a bee had stung her, she stepped back and covered her mouth for a few seconds.
"Yeah, like I said," Shabazz muttered, relaxing his stance.
Marlene dropped her arms. "What did Divine Spirit tell you about us?"
"My name is Owa, for short. . . . We'll help you." The manager pressed her hand to her heart and then yanked out a huge ring of keys from her robe pocket. "Brother Muata-lockthe front door and put the Closed sign up, then drop the gates. Sister Sylvia and Miss Mary, go 'round the back and open the door for those folks-don't say nothing, just wave 'em in and get 'em up in the sanctuary, quick. Then bring 'em down one by one to pick whatever they want for clothes off the racks." She was breathing hard as she barked orders and the few patrons in the store scattered to carry out her commands.
"Hidden Guardian camp?" Shabazz said to Marlene.
"Yep, you called this one on the money," Marlene said with a proud smile and then began laughing. "Even though we didn't have time to let J.L. do a formal computer search for Detroit safe houses, instinct worked like a charm and Jack Rider's gonna have to wear a dashiki to the jazz festin Detroit ."
Shabazz chuckled and relaxed, nodding.
"We been hiding in plain sight for more than thirty years," Owa said, rushing over to Marlene and Shabazz to reverently shake their hands and then hug them. With tears in her eyes, she fanned her face. "You know we got a Shrine in Atlanta and another one in Houston. Wait till I tell them who's here!"
"Just not over the phone . . . lines are compromised, so are the airwaves," Marlene said.
Owa smiled. "We don'tever mess with regular technology . . . we send this through the divinations altar to altar, chile."
"My sister," Marlene said, embracing Owa with affection. "Thank you."
"No . . . Queen Mother, Marlene . . .bless you for coming to us in these end days." Owa turned and looked at Shabazz and offered him a slight bow before turning back to Marlene. "And thank you for letting my heart rest easy about my momma. For the record, nobody knew she called me Bebe but family."