"We live from the head down and not the feet up
And I'm adorned with the crown that's making this up
And I'm fine under cloud 9

Yes I wear the lamb's wool, the feet of burned brass
And the wool defies gravity like the nature of a gas
And I'm fine under cloud 9

Twist my cloud and it rains
And when it rains it pours
And the energy will absorb
Power for the metaphysical one…"

Donnie – "Cloud 9"

Erik twisted his neck to pop the kinks out of the tension he held there. He rotated his wrists and shook out the jitters in his ankles and feet. Stretching his legs, he tried to focus his mind on his speed. His mother, Califia, had been swift with her hands and feet and he was fortunate to inherit her skills in that department. His father had been strong and strategic with ulwa and that gift enabled Erik to adapt it to capoeira.

The gymnasium was nearly full by the time he had his body conditioned the way he felt comfortable. Steady workouts with his naval training kept him on point. A few old head mestres eyed him from various corners of the room. His loose white abada pants had the colors of his Uncle Besouro's martial arts school name down one leg in bright yellow lettering. He decided to fight in a white tank top and strolled around the space barefoot with his current purple and green cord dangling against his thigh. His next level was to become an instructor and he would switch out his old cord for a solid purple one. There was chatter on the floor about his style of fighting. He mixed regional and Angola styles and Besouro praised him for ushering in a new contemporary style of fighting. Erik was aggressive with his moves, but he was also called elegant. Many traditionalists held onto the old ways, but like anything in the world, styles changed. The young brought in the new.

More eyes tracked his movement as he checked out other students earning their new levels. The roda he would be challenged in was the largest one and most anticipated of the day. Sometimes it was hard being Califia's son in that world. Jealousy abided, with deep admiration too. He was an adopted son of the culture and there were still some American ways about him that rubbed some people the wrong way. Andres, Marisol's grandfather, played his berimbau for an advancing student, but he watched Erik stroll past with a confident gait. Mãe, Andre's wife, tapped on an agogo in time with her husband. She winked at Erik, and that boosted his confidence.

Erik spotted Diša sitting with Marisol, Fernanda, and Emanuel on some low bleachers and he joined them. Diša's eyes were wide and took in all the action. She wore a high ponytail and a cute aquamarine jumper with slide-on kitten heels. Erik puckered his lips and leaned in toward her, and she placed her plush ruby-red lips against his.

"When do you go in?" she asked.

"In a few. They'll switch over to the advanced groups after this one."

"How are you feeling?"

She stroked his arm.

"Good. Not feeling any kinks in my back from this morning," he teased.

She covered his mouth with her hands and looked over at Marisol, who pretended not to hear their sex from the night before, and that morning. Uncle Besouro had always advised against sexual contact because it drained the spiritual energy that was needed to focus on the moves. Weakened the legs and the fortitude. Good sex made men slow. Great sex made them slower. Spectacular sex… well, better luck next year.

Diša always rose from bed in the morning before him to pray at first light.

That very morning, he watched her slip away from his nude body and pull on her prayer tunic. She covered her hair and carried her travel prayer rug to the window, where she knelt down and submitted her day to the will of Allah. The peaceful assuredness of her devotion was soothing to him. She would invite him to join her all the time, but in the quiet of the awakening morning, he only wanted to admire her beauty and the way she moved with her prayer beads. When she rose every morning, he could swear that the sun followed her just to mimic the light she brought to his world. What man could brag that his woman illuminated the world around him? In that moment of time, there were only two things that were true: Life before Diša. And life with her by his side.

Diša comforted him with her body, but more importantly, with her mind. She kept him sharp and contemplative. Forced him to look past binary thinking and dig deeper into what made his own mind work. The sound of her voice as she performed her salat al-fajr made him fall in love with her all over again each dawn. When she finished her prayer, she'd glance back at him while still on her knees, and give him the biggest smile, as if she was discovering him for the first time. Sometimes he'd hold his breath, waiting for her to turn her head, and as her neck started to move, he'd finally gasp at the precious amount of time it would take before he could see her eyes. She created him anew with that slow arc. It was a holy moment every day.

Being with Diša in the early morning reminded him of how much he'd become like his father, smitten with the love of his life and eager to please her. She took off her prayer raiment and crawled next to him just as naked as he was again, and their lips joined to complete the ritual of waking with her. She was generous to him that morning. Kissed him until her lips swept down his chest, where she licked his nipples and traveled down to his groin. Running her fingers through the soft curls of his pubic hairs, she smiled.

"Getting wild down here," she teased.

"I can't manscape in front of a bunch of dudes."

Her sweet mouth engulfed the soft heat of his dick and she sucked on him until he swelled up between her lips.

"I can't," he said.

Pushing her head away gently, he sat up. She went down on him again and he grew weak.

"Diša, I have to keep my strength—"

"You believe in that old superstition?"

"I'm a Geechee boy. I believe in all of it."

She sat back and her voluptuous body beckoned him to disregard the idea. Some of her hair covered a breast and cascaded down to her waist. Reckless brown eyes tempted him.

"Okay, I'll just kiss you down below, but that's it," he said.

She fell back on the bed and he crawled between her legs and kissed her mound before licking around her clit. He sucked on it until she began to whimper and squirm. He massaged her breasts and rolled her nipples with his fingers. They were stiff and very sensitive to his touches. Erik pushed her thighs back and buried his face in her pussy.

"Erik!"

Diša tensed up as her arousal deepened, and he applied more succulent kisses and licks with the fullness of his lips and tongue. His hard dick struggled to stay passively pressed against the bed. Loud gasps from her mouth pushed him over the edge and he climbed on top of her and inserted a massive erection inside her wet walls. She bathed his dick in slick cream and he groaned, raising his voice above hers as he hunched over lush, warm curves. He gripped her ass cheeks and dug his knees into the mattress, fucking her with slow, deep strokes.

"Oh, fuck… oh… fuck… damn…" he muttered into her ear.

"Feel so good…"

"You're messing up my mojo."

"No one told you to get in this pussy," she gasped.

Smart mouth.

Erik lifted her legs in his arms and rocked into her, the loud smacks of his hips into her ass shut her up quick. She deserved a pounding for being the downfall of his energy conservation. But the pussy was too creamy. His head dropped so he could watch his dick stretching her out.

"Fuck!"

His dick was slick with her wetness and the longer he stroked her, the slicker his shaft became until she seized up under him. She pushed on his stomach to slow down.

"Wait, you were talking shit a minute ago," he said.

Erik swiveled his hips slowly and changed the angle of his entry, and Diša cried out and clutched his arms.

"Wrap those legs around me," he whispered in her ear.

She shifted her hips, and the warmth of her legs circled around him. He went to work. Her whimpers turned into sharp squeals. The mattress squeaked under them. He gave her his full weight and fucked the taste out of her mouth. Her eyes rolled back before closing tight. She nearly lost her damn mind when he spoke to her in Wakandan. Her mouth fell open and stayed open, gasping for air with each downstroke. Once he started clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the way his father did to his mother when they snuggled together on the couch of their old townhouse, Diša's walls contracted against his dick.

"Oh, I feel you baby… yeah… I love that shit… throbbing all over my dick. Keep it going… yeah… keep it—"

"Fuck! Erik!"

He sat down in her pussy and let her have shorter thrusts while she still orgasmed. The intensity of Diša's clawed his back with the intensity of her release. Her eyes popped open, and she watched his face. His shallow thrusts pulled another orgasm out of her, and she came even harder. Tears rolled from her eyes and her back arched. Her throat was vulnerable to him and he sucked on her neck and rode out her final clenches along his dick. Before she recovered, he forced her on her hands and knees and took her from behind with a vigor that had her screaming her pleasure out loud. He was sure the entire neighborhood heard them fucking.

"You getting all this. If I don't get my new cord, it's all your fault because I told your ass…"

He slapped her rump repeatedly. Her cheeks clapped loud when he held her head down on the mattress. She twisted herself to look back at him and her mouth was just a giant 'O'. Lust and regret shined in her eyes.

"You gettin' all this dick."

He gripped her waist and leaned to the side slightly to hit a spot that had her legs trembling and ready to collapse. He jumped from doggy to froggy fast, letting his balls slap her into further submission as it aroused her plump clit again.

He didn't expect her to cum again, and it trapped him into cumming before he was ready.

"Oh! I can't hold back! Hunnhhhh! Ooohhhhh… Dišaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Snug inside of her pussy, Erik's orgasm had him making noises in his mouth that embarrassed him. He held onto her hips while his body jerked about like a lightning strike had electrocuted him. Pulling out his dick, it stayed rock hard and spitting more cum, and he held it against her ass cheeks. It pulsed in his hand like it was a living appendage, and he held the tip against her pussy lips to drench her folds with the last of his release.

Falling next to her, sweat soaked his body, and he gasped for air like a fish.

"I don't know what the fuck that was that came out of my mouth!" he said.

Diša burst into laughter, and he joined her.

"Had me sounding like a little bitch," he complained.

His body jerked. Diša reached out a hand to stroke his chest, and he shivered. He was sensitive all over.

"Fuck," he groaned.

He slapped her ass.

"I'm fucked now," he said. "Seriously, I can't feel my legs. Like fucking rubber bands."

She kissed his cheek.

"You'll be fine."

Her eyes pretty much said the same thing as she gazed at him in the gym. Marisol groaned and rubbed her legs.

"Why are you groaning? You ain't going up for a cord," Erik said.

Marisol's shark-black eyes narrowed.

"I've been practicing dance six hours a day with Xena and Yara. I'm tired," Marisol grumbled as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Maybe we shouldn't go club-hopping again tonight. Give you a rest," Diša said, patting Marisol's leg.

"No! I promised you a night tour of the music scene and that's what you'll get. I don't know when the next time you'll be here, and I want to make sure you see all the best. Favela funk is getting a resurgence here and in the new baile funk bar. DJ Wanessa wants to play with you tonight. We have to go! I will soak my legs later and take herbs to bounce back. You can't miss tonight!"

"You just want her to hear that old proibidão shit," Erik said.

Marisol sucked her teeth.

"Like you didn't listen to gangster shit when we were kids."

"That's different."

"How so?" Marisol said, tilting her head.

"I'm grown now. We grew up with violent shit, and I want Diša to see the good stuff down here."

"We're going. You can stay at the house," Marisol said.

"The hell I am. My woman ain't going out there unattended."

Marisol leaned into Diša.

"He just doesn't want you out here looking gorgeous without him bragging that you belong to him. Dumb patriarchal manshit."

Erik flicked his hand at Marisol, then noticed Andres calling in the capoeristas who were up next. He sauntered over and shook his arms as he walked. Jumping up and down, he worked up his heart rate and waited for his turn. He glanced back at the audience and watched Diša who stood up and clasped her hands together against her chest. Two capoeristas went before him, both men, and Erik studied the moves of the mestres that worked them out. Andres led the singing, and Erik could feel Mãe pouring energy into him with her eyes. He clapped his hands in time to the beat and sang along softly, but every few seconds, he checked for Diša.

Erik felt pretty good. Besouro joined the circle and whispered to a few other mestres who worked all day with the changing of cords. Crouching low, Erik waited for his cue to cartwheel in. Besouro crouched in front of him. In his fifties, the elder had cut his graying locs short and decorated them with cowrie shells. He was still in prime shape from years of training and teaching. Who better to give Erik that work?

"Just you and me, sobrinho," Besouro said.

"Cool."

Nervousness consumed him. Besouro would work his ass hard, and there was no strength in Erik's limbs. Making love all morning gave him noodle legs. Diša blew him a kiss and Erik concentrated on his hands that fidgeted.

Shit.

The man before him did not pass on to his next cord level.

Pressure.

Andres played a cleansing song to chase away the energy of the last match-up. Erik closed his eyes, but a cool tingling sensation spread across his scalp. He jumped up from his crouched position and shook his body loose again.

"Don't freeze up, don't freeze up…" he muttered to himself.

The cooling sensation surrounded his head like a fishbowl, and it made his chest tighten with tension. He exhaled several times to keep his anxiety from taking over. All the weight of numerous eyes and diverse energies sliding around took hold of him and stifled his concentration.

"JaJa?" Besouro said.

His uncle stood up and placed his hands on his shoulders.

"You alright? What's going on?"

Erik tapped his chest and bit his lower lip to focus on a physical sensation that anchored him to the present moment. Closing his eyes as the berimbaus played and Besouro kept physical contact with him, Erik centered himself. In his mind's eye, his mother came to him, her soulful eyes and fluid body twisted and swayed in time to Andres' call to enter the circle and play. The low, continuous "tch" sound of the instrument steadied his nerves. The wah-wah sound made his mother bright and lucid as he watched her kick up her feet and move forward and back, her wide kicks that spun her in a circle had Erik swaying on his feet as he remembered the way she taught him how to fight. She was the one who set him on the path to being a warrior. She was his first teacher in rooting him to his Blackness.

He opened his eyes and nodded for Besouro to stand down. He crouched back low on the ground and his uncle joined him. They tapped fingers together and cartwheeled out into the center. There was no one else in the roda except for his uncle, his mother, and himself.

Califia swayed around them, the vision of her guided his steps and when he went after his uncle with an assertive grace that caused Andres to quicken the pace of the berimbaus and drums playing, his mother backed up out of the circle and faded into a hazy dream.

Erik backflipped, attacked with sturdy legs, and moved with a fluid grace that forced Besouro to smile even as his offensive moves were more advanced at that level toward his nephew. The dance became sensual as the looseness of Erik's body impressed the spectators. Muffled claps and "oohs' and 'ahh" were background fodder to his hearing. A buzzing raced in both ears and it stayed on him like two bees fighting in his skull. The coolness above his head flowed out of him. Besouro deflected Erik's combination of moves, but the older man had to rise to the challenge, moving stronger, faster, and with more precision in his own combos to handle him. Slick and in control, Erik knew he looked pretty out on the floor. His helicoptero moves were crowd-pleasers because his mother came out in him most visibly. Faster and faster, they moved with Erik's mind in the zone. He was no longer doing capoeira. He was the art itself.

Rolling into a handstand, he lowered his legs and slowly used his core to twist his lower half until he was in a contorted pose that demonstrated he was a master of the art already. Andres signaled that his time was over, and Erik did a front roll over and danced with Besouro with their hands pressed together counterclockwise in the roda. His uncle kicked his legs to humble him and Erik took the fall graciously, as he had learned to do. The berimbaus hit an extended buzz note, then slowed down. Andres played the gunga role with his berimbau. As the main elder, he set the pace, the rhythm, and controlled how it ended. Three sharp taps on the instrument from him and it was all over.

"Congratulations, JaJa," Besouro said in Erik's ear.

His uncle hugged him and Mãe stepped out of her musical role and became his adopted grandmother once more. She hugged him and gave him kisses on his cheeks.

Andres brought Erik's purple cord to him and tied it around his waist.

"Instrutor Erik Stevens!" Andres shouted out in Portuguese.

"Pequeno Martelo!" Marisol shouted from the audience.

Erik glanced over at the bleachers. Diša had her hands over her mouth. His Aunt Soliel and Aunt Aunjannue stood with her and Marisol, watching him. He was happy that they made it in time from their errands to catch him performing at his best.

After gaining his cord and thanking his elders, he swaggered over to Diša and she threw her arms around his sweaty shoulders. She couldn't even speak.

"I do okay?" he asked.

She nodded, and her smile lit up her face. Touching his cord, she became giddy, and couldn't stop hugging him.

"That was so stunning to watch. I mean… Erik… you both moved so fast and it was so controlled and I thought for sure you both turned serious at the end."

She shook her head, and he beamed. Diša was in awe of him. It made him feel twelve feet tall. There was arousal in her eyes and her breathy words stimulated the nerves under his skin.

"Is something wrong?" she said.

Erik touched his temple. The buzzing in his brain was still there and throbbed like a tension headache.

"I probably need to eat something. My head hurts a little," he said.

Diša rubbed his temple with her hand.

"Do you want to leave and go lay down?" she asked.

Erik glanced around.

"Yeah, I think food and a quick nap will make me feel better."

Marisol hugged him.

"I'm going to hang out here until the end. I'll meet you at the house later," she said.

Erik kissed her cheek and held onto Diša's hand. He tossed his small gym bag over his shoulder and led her behind his aunts to their car.

"… then you did that one move where you just… ugh! I can't even describe how incredible it looked. It didn't seem real, or physically possible!" Diša said.

She chattered away as he navigated the parking lot, looking out for a blue late-model BMW.

"I bet you that Besouro expects you to make videos with him before you leave," Soliel said.

"That was already a given," Erik said.

Aunjannue touched his cord as he tapped on his Sao Paulo cell phone to send a message to his Grandpop that he passed.

Soliel whisked them into a world separate from Paraisopolis. Jandira was close to the University of Sao Paulo, and they entered Soliel and Aunjannue's high-rise apartment. His aunts ran back out again to check on an elderly cousin and they had the place to themselves for an hour or two. Diša hustled him into the bed and gave him medicine for his headache. It didn't help him, but he appreciated her caring for him. He snuggled under cool sheets and slept for a few hours until his aunts came home and cooked steak and rice for them. They were pleased as punch to discuss his new cord and they shared stories with Diša about the time he had a fit in the middle of gaining a cord as a child.

"Diša, his parents almost died when JaJa stopped doing capoeira and tried to beat Besouro's ass with ulwa!" Soliel cackled.

"I don't know what that is," Diša said.

"His father's way of fighting," Aunjannue said.

Diša looked at him with questioning eyes.

"It's how Wakandans fight," he said.

Feeling better in the early evening, Erik showered and dressed for a night out along with Disa.

"How's your headache?" she asked.

He watched her put on mascara in a bedroom mirror.

"Better, but not completely gone."

"I'd hate for you to have to listen to pounding music all night and be miserable."

She turned to face him after she checked her lips for smudges on her teeth.

"If you aren't feeling good, you can stay here and rest. You don't have to worry about me while I'm with Marisol by ourselves. She is like a little viper. Very protective and she barely lets other men approach me for anything."

Erik grinned. Then he stood behind her as she sat in front of a vanity mirror.

"I know you think I act like a little boy when it comes to you going out."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to. It's the way you get annoyed when I act overprotective around other men. You think I'm insecure."

"Not insecure. It's more like you don't trust that I can handle myself. You forget I'm older than you and I've dealt with all kinds of men in clubs."

"I don't want anyone rubbing up on you."

"I would never disrespect you or act in such a way that you'd ever have to worry about men taking advantage of me. Even in a different country."

"I saw how people were looking at us today at the baptisado. They think I'm too young and can't handle a grown-ass woman."

"We're only five years apart. That's a drop in the bucket. You are way more mature for your age than even these old dudes running around twice your age."

"Do you feel funny sometimes? When we're out?"

"No. You have your moments when you act like a big old man child, especially when you pout about something. But I never see you as anything less than my fiancé. My lover… my friend."

She paused and turned to look at him away from the mirror.

"What do you think about getting married here?" she asked.

"In Sao Paulo?"

"Yes. It's such a special place, and I'd like to have a destination wedding. I asked Marisol to be my bridesmaid. Yamilet will be my maid of honor, but I really want Marisol to be a part of our union. I adore her."

"She's crazy about you, too."

Disa kissed his hand, and he admired her as she sat in the chair with a black push-up bra and panties.

"This has been the best trip, Erik. I've learned so much. Seen so much. I feel so alive here. Thank you."

She kissed his hand again, and he bent down and kissed her lips. Checking his watch, he quickly unfastened her bra from the front.

"Hey!" she said, pushing his hands away. "We are leaving here in a few."

Erik pulled down his designer pants with his underwear and slipped his growing erection into the valley of her soft mounds.

"Real quick. It'll help me with my headache."

"I thought you said you were feeling better"

She smirked and batted her eyelashes.

"I am. But I could feel more better."

Pushing her breasts together, they covered his dick completely. He could barely see the top of his tip. His slit leaked pre-cum. The dry friction made him spill more. He pulled her tits apart to slicken his perfect valley with his wetness and shoved the heavenly mounds back together. His voice hitched. Disa stared up into his eyes and her shiny, dark bronze-painted lips parted. She held her hands on her lap and he humped her breasts.

He thought of the way other men scoped her as they walked into the gym earlier that day. Her style, her grace, and the way she walked turned the heads of men and women. Several dudes he grew up with there had feral eyes checking out his future wife. He gasped. She wore his ring, spoiled him with affection, and gave him the best sex ever. He groaned loudly as he rubbed against her.

"Shhh, they can hear you," Disa hissed.

He fucked her breasts and grew more aroused when he held still and she rubbed the big soft mounds up and down his shaft.

"You like that? Big titties rubbing up and down on that big dick?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Shhh."

"You want me to nut all over these big tits, huh?"

She became cruel and bounced her tits against the sides of his erection, giving him flash peeks of his fat dick glistening with sweat and pre-cum. He would not fall for her tricks.

Fastening her bra back together, he pulled her up from her seat. His eyes caught the fancy black garter belts she had hooked to her thigh-high stockings.

"Finish doing your make-up," he said, "But do it while standing."

Disa gave him a confused look but picked up a foundation sponge to blot away at her cheeks. Erik's hard dick touched her hip, and he inserted two fingers inside of her pussy. She gasped and her eyes became half-closed while he worked his fingers in and out.

"Your pussy gets so wet for me. Listen to it… so wet…"

He tapped along the rings of her walls and added a third finger.

"Oooohmmm," she moaned.

"Do your make-up."

She tried to pat her face with watery eyes staring back at him in the mirror. He played with his dick as he played in her pussy.

"Put some more lipstick on so you can suck my dick later and leave a red mark all up and down my shit,"

"Oh…oh…oh…"

Disa's quick gasps made his dick harder. He spilled a thick stream of pre-cum against her thigh.

"Widen your legs," he demanded.

He pulled his fingers out of her slick pussy and patted her vulva. The entire area there was slippery.

"I said put that lipstick on."

He slapped her vulva and she cried out. Erik kept slapping it with gentle strikes, making sure to tap her clit every now and then to spark her hard clenches.

"Bend down lower," he said.

She leaned down so that he had more access to her ass and vulva. He kept slapping her vulva and watched it twitch as her opening spilled more natural lubricant.

"Lipstick! I ain't playin'!"

Disa reached for her red matte lipstick and tried to pucker her lips to color them with another coat. But each seductive slap of her pussy lips made her pout instead.

"I can't Erik, I can't…"

"Hard-headed!"

Smacking her ass cheeks, she yelped at the fire in his eyes. He loved that shit. Loved how she submitted to him with that heat in her eyes staring at him from the mirror.

"You gon' be a good girl at the club tonight?"

She nodded.

"Words, Disa."

Her pussy tightened around his fingers as he entered her that way again.

"Yes."

"All the words, Disa."

"Yes, I'll be a good girl."

"No randos rubbing up on this big ass, right?"

"Ahh… ahh… ahh…" she panted.

His fingers worked magic inside her pussy. Her hands fell onto the dresser to hold her shaky legs up.

"Tell me!" he ordered.

"I won't let random dudes rub up on me… Erik… baby please…"

Her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back slightly. His knees almost gave out, watching her exquisite face reveal pleasure to him. She wasn't getting away from him that easily. He pulled out his fingers and slapped her vulva again, hitting her clit that plumped hard and needed tending to. Using two fingers, Erik swirled circles on her clit, and used another two fingers from his other hand and shoved them in her mouth.

"Suck me like you'd suck my dick."

Disa's eyes were so wet, that it looked like she was about to cry. Her lips curled around his digits, and she used her tongue to please him.

"If I catch you acting up tonight, I'ma spank this pussy and this ass. You understand?"

She nodded as she sucked. A single tear ran down the left side of her face. Hard tugs on his fingers from her pussy told him she was ready to lose control. His own ass cheeks clenched as his sphincter muscle anticipated that there was no way club dudes would leave her alone. Even with his ring on her finger. Erik already knew he was destined to punish her later that night. She couldn't even walk down the street without being approached. His dick throbbed. It couldn't wait to sink into her and wear her down into complete submission. He continued working his fingers inside her walls. Pressing his lips to her ears, he taunted her with dirty Portuguese words mixed with Wakandan. Disa whimpered and accepted the intense finger fucking he unleashed on her warm, juicy pussy.

"I'll make you sit on my dick tonight and you can show me how you'll fuck me when I finally become your husband."

She exhaled with a loud groan as her orgasm rippled along his fingers.

"Keep cumming on Daddy's hand. I know it feels good to you. Look how your pussy is showing off for me. Being such a good girl, Disa."

He stuck his tongue in her ear and hummed her name repeatedly, and her face in the mirror was pure gold. His woman was gone. Left her body for some other place.

"Good girl. Fucking Daddy's hand. I'm gonna make love to you all night, Disa. Show you how much I love you."

The trembles in her body subsided, and she plopped down in the chair. Her chest heaved and her large breasts enticed him once more to fondle them. He unsnapped the front of her bra and squeezed a hefty breast.

"Look at me, baby," he said.

He gripped his hot dick and fisted it against her tits.

"Hold them up for me," he commanded.

She lifted them up like an offering and he jerked off in front of her faster. Her sultry stare ended him and he nutted hard. His mouth hung open as he spilled hot jizz all over her chest.

"Not on my face, Erik. I already made it up," she begged.

"Stick out your tongue for me, baby!"

Disa did it, but he missed the mark he aimed for while spurting everywhere. His cum drenched her nose and shot her in the eye.

"Erik! Dammit!"

"I couldn't control it!"

Disa giggled and wiped the thick nut with a napkin on the dresser.

"You always do what you want."

"It shot out before I could aim properly."

"Sure. Tell me anything—"

He shoved his dick in her mouth, and the shock of it turned her on.

"Suck that shit some more and stop complaining."

She sucked and licked and slid her mouth over his balls too.

"Yes!" he hissed.

Her tongue struck a sensitive spot behind his nutsack and he shot another load properly across her ruby lips. He reached down and played in her pussy again until she came with powerful pulls on his fingers before he licked them and listened to her complain that she had to shower and re-do her face again. Erik let her clean herself up. All he had to do was put his underwear and pants back on, then toss on a designer shirt that made his pecs look sickening. He popped in his gold slugs to thrill Disa and stepped out of the bedroom.

"Hey, Unc, what are you doing here?" Erik said.

Besouro sat with his Aunt Soliel in the kitchen.

"Chatting. You look ready to party."

Besouro sounded tipsy. A large glass of bourbon sat in front of him. Soleil patted Erik's shoulder and left the kitchen to catch up on a TV show with Aunjannue.

"Everyone said you will surpass their expectations in a few years," Besouro said.

His uncle took a big drink of his liquor.

"You could be one of the great ones."

"Hope so," Erik said.

"I know so."

His uncle's eyes were bloodshot.

"You're not driving home, are you?"

"No… no… I'm staying here tonight."

"Okay, good."

Besouro stared at Erik with deep contemplation. The TV in the living room blared loudly and drowned out their conversation from anyone hearing them.

"Disa is getting ready?"

"Yeah. She's fixing her make-up. You know that can take forever."

"She doesn't need it. You caught yourself a winner with her."

"Thanks. Unc… is everything okay?"

Besouro leaned in toward him.

"Just sitting here thinking of the past."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You are special, sobrinho."

"You always tell me that."

"Because I know you are. Beyond what you think I know."

Erik became more attentive and sensed conflict within Besouro. His energy was off. Weird.

"Do you remember when your family escaped here? You came to my apartment?"

"Yeah."

Besouro finished his liquor and wiped his lips.

"Before you all went to the roof of my apartment building, your pai said to me, 'Don't follow us'."

Erik lowered his gaze and poured himself a glass of bourbon into his uncle's empty glass. He drank from it.

"You didn't listen to Baba," Erik said.

"I did not. I saw… I saw it all. You and your father are not from this world. Are you?"

"We're not Martians," Erik joked.

Besouro's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Erik's arm.

"Please don't joke with me, JaJa. I have lived with this secret for too long and I have to speak to you about it. Who are you? Really?"

"I'm a Black American Geechee from my momma with a Wakandan father."

Besouro wagged his finger after releasing Erik's arm.

"Não, sobrinho. N'Jobu was…"

His uncle's eyes closed, and he balled up his left hand into a fist.

"Blue lights flashed in the night sky like lightning. I saw a spaceship float down and carry you all away. A giant spaceship bigger than my entire building. It was so quiet. But the hairs on my arms rose up, and I ran to the edge of my roof and watched you fly off and become invisible… blended right into the stars in the dark sky. What are you, JaJa? Why do you keep coming here when you can fly in the sky like that?"

"I am your nephew. You are my teacher. My uncle. Minha família. My father's people… they are from Wakanda in East Africa. Not Martians or from anywhere in outer space. They are from earth and they are special. Human, but special. Advanced. No need to be afraid of them. Or me."

Besouro patted Erik's hand.

"I will keep this between us. But I needed to hear you tell me the truth so that I will not go insane thinking I dreamed that all up so many years ago."

"Thank you."

"Will you ever return to them?"

"One day."

"Will you take Disa with you?"

Erik cut his eyes away.

"When the time is right."

Disa bounced into the room looking lovely in a red Fendi dress she bought at a deluxe boutique in the city. The dress rose above her thighs and he was sure she put it on to bring all the boys to the yard as the old song went.

"Ready? Marisol is on her way to pick us up," she said.

Erik rose from the table and pushed the glass of bourbon toward Besouro. His uncle accepted it.

"Have a good time," Besouro said.

The older man picked up the drink and drowned his thoughts.

###

Erik and Disa followed Marisol into the belly of a club that turned out to be their engagement party.

"Well, we already had a party at my place, so I couldn't disappoint Disa by having it there again!" Marisol shouted at their shocked faces.

His play cousin grabbed onto his arm.

"Did she tell you I'm going to be in your wedding?"

"Yeah, I heard," he said, rolling his eyes.

Marisol punched his arm.

"You should feel lucky. I am the drum queen around these parts! Jaja… do you like the set-up? My mothers decorated while we were at the baptisado."

"Really?" Disa said, "It is so beautiful and unexpected. Thank you!"

The women hugged, and Erik was humbled by the work it took to transform the club into their special carnival-themed party. Green and yellow decorations ran throughout the large space to designate Erik's baptisado success, too. So many friends and well-wishers approached them. He reached for Marisol and threw his arms around her.

"Thank you," he said.

Marisol kissed him on the cheek and dragged him and Disa around to show off for their guests. DJ Wanessa played his mother's fight song, and the room exploded with singing. Erik was touched. His heart rattled a bit. The bees buzzing in his head returned. It wasn't extremely painful, but it bothered him.

The singing reached a crescendo, and Erik walked to the middle of the open dance floor and began doing a few capoeira moves. He danced around Disa and she glowed with an inner light that revealed all of her happiness. She couldn't stop smiling or clapping her hands at him. His heart swelled, and he stood up and kissed her in front of everyone. DJ Wanessa brought over a mic and Erik took it.

"Y'all really showed out for us. Everyone… listen. You have held me and my family up when the world has often attacked us. I wish My Mom, my Baba, and my beloved Negra Lia were here to see all of us together. This woman right here… she is so special to me…"

Disa stared at him, and the glow from her made Erik pause in his speech. He forgot what he was going to say next. Marisol rubbed his back. How could he convey to them all that he finally found what his father had? Words were too small to tell the entire story. He carried so much pain around with him, and Disa made him set it aside and gave him hope that he could make the world better. DJ Wanessa took the mic away from him.

"Jaja," Wanessa said, "You do not need to explain what you feel for Disa. We can see it, brother."

Disa led him away to the bar where she asked for water to give him.

"Baby, is the headache hurting you? I can see you struggling with it in your eyes. Do we need to go back to your aunties?" Disa asked.

"Nah. I'll be alright."

She rubbed his back as Wanessa threw on bass-heavy music. Marisol sipped on a drink and tapped his arm.

"We rented the club for four hours, and then they'll let regular patrons in after."

"This is hella cool, cuz."

"I knew you'd like it! Ooh! Disa, come with me!"

Marisol grabbed Disa's hand and dragged her up into the D.J. booth. Wanessa played some urban Brazilian sounds from the streets that had his friends dancing. Erik took his glass of water and strolled through the dance floor and stood under the DJ booth to watch Disa take over the turntables. Wanessa took the mic again and addressed the crowd. Erik could tell Disa was familiar with the turntable setup. Her fingers were already downloading music from her private DJ account back home, and she flicked her fingers on the soundboard to cue up some sounds.

"Disa, aka DJ Buttafly, bless us with some sounds!" Wanessa shouted.

Headphones on and her face full of serious concentration, Erik watched his woman fire off the first musical shot that brought the crowd to its knees. Classic Chicago Drill mixed with the rap of a local emcee. The Portuguese mixed with the Black vernacular of home had Erik dancing. Two women, friends of Marisol, approached him and danced around his flow. Disa had him feeling cocky and free, and he let loose to the music she crafted for their engagement celebration. Marisol stayed near Disa. Wanessa handed her a mic and Marisol rapped along with the lyrics that told the sordid tale of a drug dealer that tried to better himself because of poverty, but the streets had him on lock because there were no other resources available to get out of the game. The same story that was told in any ghetto street in the diaspora.

Erik stopped dancing and watched his friends rap along with exuberance. It was an accepted lot in life. He was tired of it.

Striding toward the DJ booth, Erik took the mic from Marisol and whispered to Disa.

"Can you just play the beat and not Enico's voice over it?"

She nodded and without missing a beat, faded out Enico's voice and Erik rapped in Portuguese to the crowd. His friends screamed and bobbed their heads at his freestyle. Disa backed him up by ad-libbing English words, even though she didn't know what he was saying. She caught the vibe quickly because the crowd stopped dancing and listened to what Erik said.

His rap told his people that they deserved better than street life that brought pain. There was no glory in being a predatory menace to your own people, no matter how bad the predatory system was. He didn't judge, just told facts from his own life running wild. His flow rode the track like he had always been in the rap game. Disa mixed in her own original beats that made the crowds dance again. Besouro's words to him in the kitchen danced around in his head as the buzzing grew stronger there. He started spitting out bars full of metaphors about Wakanda and his royalty. He ended his flow telling the crowd that one day he would fly back with a spaceship and institute a new mothership connection and change the world for good.

Handing the mic back to Disa, he stepped off the stage and headed for the bar. Disa played a few more head-banging tunes with a live, beat-making demonstration before leaving the booth and joining him.

"You were on fire, baby! I have no clue what you said, but the people enjoyed it!" she said.

He put his arms around her waist and kissed her openly, their tongues united. The bees in his head made him break away from her and order a strong drink.

"You okay to drink that?"

Concern for his headache made him grin. It would help dull the pain building in his brain. Erik gulped down the liquor and kissed her cheek.

"Let's dance," he said.

He pulled her onto the dance floor and let his hands roam all over her. She teased him about staying by her side everywhere she went. A private booth became a fortress to keep her from bold male friends who eyed her up and down despite him being hugged up on her. They partied for hours and enjoyed a giant sheet cake that was rolled out to them by Marisol and her friends. Past midnight the club opened up fully to outsiders and Disa really got a feel for the nightlife with the type of new music that bubbled up from the streets. They spent time next to Wanessa so Disa could peep her mixing style and music choices.

Erik reveled in Disa's happiness even as the pain in his head increased. He pretended to be okay because he wanted the night to be memorable for her. She rubbed her ass against him and spoke beautiful words of love in his ear. He walked back to the bar to get her some water and when he returned to their booth, several men were talking to her and surrounding their spot. Men he didn't know.

"Back off," he said.

The men were older, muscular, and not concerned with his words. Disa stood up and took the water from him.

"They were asking me about how I mix beats."

"I don't care."

Erik waved his hand in a shooing motion.

"Erik, don't be like that."

"Yeah, man, chill out."

Erik approached the man who spoke.

"I don't like men walking up on my lady trying to talk to her while I'm gone. If you cared about the music, you would've approached her while I was still here. I clocked you clowns checking her out before I got up. You swooped in thinking you could run game. Bounce."

One man, who was taller than Erik, stepped toward him. The lights of the club made the stranger's light brown skin look orange and shiny with dance sweat.

"Why disrespect her because you can't hold her attention?"

"I'm not going to say it again," Erik warned.

He clenched his teeth, and the muscles in his cheeks tightened. The cords in his neck stretched with tension and he glared at all three men, daring one of them to say one more thing. They wandered off and talked shit away from his face.

"That wasn't necessary, Erik."

Disa wrapped her arms around him.

"I know they had ulterior motives, but they had some genuine questions," she said.

Erik couldn't explain to her the feeling he had in his gut and in his heart. He knew people. Knew how to read their true selves without a doubt. Those three men carried the energy of ill will and meant nothing but disrespect toward her. Had Erik taken longer to get back, they would've moved into the booth and harassed her. Or tried to do something worse if they got her alone outside. Disa thought they were flirting. Erik knew they were fishing for a victim.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Erik strolled over to a couple of bouncers and spoke to them in Portuguese. He pulled the equivalent of two hundred American dollars in Brazilian real banknotes and paid the men to stick to the three clowns who approached Disa.

"Every time they approach women, I want you to stare them down. They are no good. Your club is too classy for people like that."

Erik wanted them to feel uncomfortable wherever they went. Disa waited for him with a curious expression.

"Where did you go?"

"Talked to security."

"Why?"

"Don't worry about it, baby."

"Did you have those guys thrown out?"

"No."

She smirked and folded her arms over her chest.

"Erik?"

"I didn't have them thrown out."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward an ottoman. She sat on his lap and they watched people dance. Marisol cut up on the floor with their people and Erik enjoyed Disa's softness on his crotch. Sitting sideways on him, he held her waist and her thigh, keeping her close to his chest. They danced together a few more times, and he listened to Disa gush about the entire night.

By the time they left, the pain in Erik's head pounded out show tunes in his brain, and the buzzing had warped into sharp aches that stabbed him behind the eyes. Marisol drove them to her parent's apartment, and he passed out on the guest bed with Disa hugged up next to him.

The next morning, the stabbing pain made his eyes feel like they were bulging in their sockets. During breakfast, Marisol took one look at him and picked up her cell phone.

"What is it?" Disa asked as he palmed his forehead.

Marisol swiped a fast finger across her cell.

"He needs to see Mãe," Marisol said.

"I'm good. For real. Don't worry Mãe with this. I drank too much."

Marisol ignored his plea.

"Mãe, precisamos de ajuda aqui," she said into her cell phone.

"Let's go," Marisol said, grabbing her car keys.

Erik stood up from the dining table and nearly blacked out.

###

Marisol had outdone herself.

Diša woke up from the engagement party refreshed and ready to explore another day of sightseeing and shopping. Erik spoiled her with clothes and jewelry for the trip, so every day she looked stunning going out. She had her outfit planned out to wear to the main carnival celebration where Marisol would dance in front of thirty-thousand people. They had already had encounters with street party celebrations leading up to the big night, and she was feeling anxious about leaving the country in five days. The vibes everywhere she went made her excited, and every new day was like Christmas.

Something was wrong with Erik.

They didn't make love when they returned from their party, and he woke up looking shell-shocked. Marisol called her grandmother, and they drove Erik to her house in a quiet neighborhood of older people.

Andres let them into the house and Mãe took one look at Erik and she was on her landline phone calling someone else. A flurry of Portuguese was spoken, and no one bothered to translate for her. Erik sat on an overstuffed couch, cradling his head. His face registered pain and Disa fretted while seated next to him and held his hand.

Whatever ailed him was not serious enough to take him to the hospital like she thought they were going to do. Instead, the family drove to a small white house hidden away by giant trees and a small vegetable garden. Andres helped Erik walk, and Diša followed behind them with Mae and Marisol. What she thought was a simple house was actually a church. There were benches up against the walls and there was a thick white post that sat in the middle of the open space connected to the roof.

Marisol looked at Diša's face.

"This is a terreiro," she said.

An older man dressed in all white cotton clothes greeted them. He ushered Erik and the entire family into another room that held a cloth-covered table and some wooden folding chairs. They were made to sit and the old man wandered out to get someone else.

Diša felt lost and closed out of the loop. She didn't know what was happening. Holding Erik's hand, her eyes pleaded with Marisol or anyone to explain the problem that had her man so distressed. All that she could gather from their body language and hushed whispers was that they were very worried about their relative. She started to cry, and Erik nuzzled his face against hers.

A woman in her sixties came back into the room. She wore an orange dress and pulled off gardening gloves near the doorway and handed them to the man in white.

"JaJa," the woman said.

She almost had a smirk on her lips. The woman looked Diša in the eye and held out her hand. She spoke and all Diša could fathom was that the woman's name was Mãe Olga. Olga's assistant asked for everyone to leave the room except for Erik and Marisol's grandmother.

They walked back into the main room and sat on the benches near the open front door.

"Mãe Olga is the ialorixá of this house. Mmmm… priestess. She will do a reading with Erik and find out what needs to be done."

"Needs to be done? Like what?"

"Protect his head."

"From the orixás who want him, right?"

Marisol stared at her with surprised eyes.

"He told me about it."

"It's not a bad thing… in case you're scared."

"No, I'm not scared. Worried for his pain, but… he sort of knew he had to make a choice."

Marisol grinned.

"He doesn't get to choose," she said. "He likes to think that, though."

They sat in silence for thirty minutes until Diša grew restless and wandered outside to the garden on the side of the house. She lifted the latch on a gate and two chickens ran out past her feet.

"Dammit! Come back here!" she shouted.

She ran after them like a wild woman into the empty street. Nearby children laughed at her. Marisol ran out and clucked her tongue. The chickens strutted back toward the gate and walked back in single file.

"They never go far," Marisol said.

Washed in panic, Diša calmed her breathing and stepped past the fence, locking it behind her. Green beans, tomatoes, and big leafy vegetables had been planted early with little stick signs that had the seed packets glued to them. The chickens did their cautious walk around them, scratching at fresh dirt near the garden. Andres met them in the big yard.

"He'll have to stay. There's a house ceremony tonight, and it's best to keep him here for that."

Marisol glanced at her cell phone. Andres waved his hand.

"Go on to your carnival rehearsal. Me and Máe will look after him. Diša, would you like to stay with us and wait on the bench or go with Marisol?"

The worry on her face prompted Marisol to touch her hand.

"You should come with me and watch me rehearse. They will care for JaJa and it will be boring for you just sitting and waiting. You aren't allowed to see a lot of things they must do, so it'll be more fun with me."

"Andres, is he okay? Tell me the truth," Diša said.

Andres stroked the hairs on his chin.

"He is going through something important and he is in the best place right now. Go have fun with Marisol. His priestess will fix everything. Go… go."

Andres shooed them out of the yard. Marisol called a ride for them and a Lyft driver scooped them up and shuttled them to a large gym near the bottom of the hill where Marisol lived. Diša's eyes bulged when she saw two-hundred people packed into various sections they would march in for the parade.

She sat on a high bleacher seat and watched Marisol shimmy and shake in heels with her shorts and tank top as the percussion teams and other dancers performed their hearts out. The stamina was incredible. The constant moving, singing, and staying synchronized with so many people kept Diša's mind preoccupied. Not once did she think of Erik until the rehearsal was over after four hours.

Marisol spoke to the marching director and the bandleaders before she dragged her weary body to the bleachers to fetch Diša. She pulled switched from heels to trainers and checked messages on her phone. Her bright eyes made Diša feel better.

"We have to prepare for tonight. I'll take you to get some lunch, and then we can go to my place where I can let you borrow something proper to wear."

"How is Erik?"

She smiled.

"He's good. Mãe Olga helped him a lot."

Diša exhaled and touched a hand to her throat. Marisol touched her cheeks with both hands.

"Don't cry, Diša."

"I'm trying not to, but this place makes me feel so deeply and openly. I can't help it. He's my world."

"I know. C'mon. I'll treat you to some excellent street food and then we can get some ice cream that you like from that little shop near Emanuel's house."

Diša's stomach allowed itself to grumble with hunger. She was stuck on the tasty, flakey pastries stuffed with meat and cheese whose name she couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. Marisol fed her all the best of Sao Paulo and they returned to her apartment to shower and change into long, white clothing.

"This should fit you nicely," Marisol said, tucking a soft white gauzy fabric around Disa's waist into a wrap skirt.

She topped it with a fluffy soft white blouse with shells used for buttons.

"Should I wrap my hair?"

"If you want to. You will sit on the sides and only watch."

"What's going to happen?"

Marisol smiled.

"Lots of dancing, singing, and good food. Just like today. But more serious because we will be in a church. A holy place. Ah… there. You look like an initiate."

Disa grinned, but her heart was cautious.

"Don't worry. Just follow what we tell you to do and you will blend right in. You are very lucky. Outsiders normally don't get to see us do this. But you will be JaJa's wife, so it's important that you understand what he is connected to."

Marisol drove them back to the terreiro. Loud drumming and singing voices were muffled behind the closed church door. A young male initiate guarded the entrance. Displayed out front on a dark blue cloth were food offerings. Diša recognized sliced okra along with flowers, and some yellow substance that looked like cornmeal or corn cakes.

The initiate opened the door for them, and as they entered the rectangular room, Diša felt a blast of pure energy bounce against her chest like a solar flare leaping from the sun's surface. Songs sung inside were in Portuguese, but there were West African ones, too.

Andres and Mãe sat near Olga, who presided over the congregation on a throne-like chair with a fan in her hand separated from the main floor of dancers. The thick scent of incense clung to the air and was so strong that Diša had to breathe through her mouth before she became used to it.

To the left of Olga was a doorway covered by a light blue curtain. To her right was a group of male drummers that played with shoulders rocking and hands beating out the cadence that electrified the room. All over the walls were decorative flowers and paintings of different orixás of the Candomblé pantheon. Fringed decorative tissues of blue, yellow, and white hung from the ceiling all over. Diša relaxed inside the terreiro. It reminded her of a Black southern revivalist church meeting.

Disa and Marisol were greeted with polite hugs and smiles from church members, and they took seats on a bench not too far from Andres and Mãe. Twenty women stood, then filed into the middle of the room the moment a cow-bell was struck and the drums called to them. Moving in a rhythmic counter-clockwise fashion, Diša admired the colorful beads of their personal orixás adorning their necks and enjoyed the way they easily swayed as they danced a slow pace around the post in the middle of the room.

Some women wore more elaborate white dresses, denoting their higher status. Several men, young and old, joined the women, and for the first time that night, Diša saw Erik emerge from a gap in the dancers. He wore white pants that reminded her of his white abada outfit and a white short-sleeved cotton shirt. Relief flooded her body watching him move with the dancers. Everyone rolled their shoulders in time to the beat, often giving a burst of rocking motions as the drumming sped up. An hour in, the dancers were moving in a trance-like state filled with euphoria. Diša's heart rate sped up as she watched Erik. He spun around as different songs were played and sung. It mesmerized her, watching him. Each time he danced past her, she tried to make eye contact, but he stared at his hands or focused on his bare feet, with his shoulders rocking and rolling. The drumming grew complicated as it spoke to the people.

There were two women who followed along with the dancers, who were not fervent with their movement. They appeared focused on the others, almost like ushers at a church who looked after people who caught the holy ghost—

A loud shriek to the right caught Diša off guard, and she jumped in her seat. A young woman stopped dancing and threw one arm up in the air, and she was attended to before being ushered behind the curtain that led to another room. Drumming intensified and the footwork on the floor became intricate and Diša tried to track Erik with her eyes. He kept his shoulders rolling and his feet moving until he stopped suddenly near Olga. The woman reached down by her feet and rang a large decorated brass bell, and Erik stretched his neck from side to side. He stomped his feet and crouched down low. Olga stood up, and the drumming caught fire. Two attendants approached Erik, and he hunched over like something was on his back and the weight bent him forward. They quickly ushered him out of the room while Erik shook his head repeatedly and his body spasmed like he was fighting several invisible forces that mere humans could never see.

Marisol clasped her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Where are they taking him?" Diša gasped.

"To prepare him. His body is being ridden now. He must be dressed."

Another man and woman were whisked away behind the curtain. Diša wanted to stand up, but Marisol kept her seated in the ceremonial circle. She grew impatient and silently recited a Sura that gave her comfort in the unknowing.

One by one, the people who had been taken away returned to the main room dressed in the accoutrements of the respective orixá who mounted them.

Erik was brought out last wearing a giant metal mask covering most of his face. He swung an axe and was draped with a dark green cape. When he stepped into the room, the air seemed to rush out of Diša's chest. Physically, the being before her was Erik. But it wasn't him. She placed her hand near her lips and watched her man enter the space like someone else. He wasn't human anymore and the way he waved the iron axe around made the other mounted men and women fall in line with him.

"Ogum," Marisol said.

It felt right to Diša.

The warrior orixá. The one who carried iron into battle.

Ogum swayed on his feet as the drummers played his song. He paraded around the room like a giant, and when he swept past Diša, she had to turn her head away because she couldn't look at him directly. The power that radiated from his body was too much to take all at once. He moved into a corner and took up residence there, spinning in a capoeira move, or waving his weapon of iron around his head. The other orixás that came down to play had their special areas too. Some danced and spun around the post again, but Ogum took in the human world with fierce energy and demands to be seen in his full power.

Church members offered him a plate with his favorite foods, and he looked them over before jumping back into the circle and moving around the post.

Ogum stayed for a long time. As the other orixás released their hosts, Ogum liked the world he played in. The mother of the spirits, Olga, rang her bell to signal the drummers to play Ogum's song. The orixá became playful and jumped in front of Diša. His mask slipped, and an attendant removed it before it fell to the floor. The eyes of the orixá were closed, but they moved under the lids, and even with the human face before her, Diša knew it wasn't Erik.

Ogum wanted to stay longer.

Diša wanted her man back.

"Please release him soon. I need him," she said in her mind.

Erik opened his eyes. He looked beyond her with the gaze of the spirit who lived in him. The presence of two beings stood before her.

She rose from her seat and held her hands out to him, palms up in supplication, and he spun away from her reach. Dropping to the floor, Ogum danced with Erik's knees, swinging his battle axe, and giving power to the warrior within.