Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  “Hey! Spirituality and ancient religions are maad topics for lyrics.” Joram forced a sultry smile. “And the research won’t be a hardship.”

  Bayani howled like a dog, causing the others to laugh.

  Pleased that she’d sidestepped their disquiet, Joram pushed back to her feet. “Come on. We can’t let the party start without us.”

  She gathered her notebook from the side table, glad they’d accepted her reason for spending more time in Naomi’s presence. Her relief confused her. Why did she feel the need to hide her true intentions from them? Granted, she’d never been so enamored of a woman before, but these people were her closest friends. Hell, Jubal and Chloe had experienced Hell with her! Surely she could admit to being a little infatuated with Naomi.

  Chloe slipped an arm about her waist as they exited the dressing room, a natural gesture of ease and familiarity. Joram draped her arm over Chloe’s shoulders. Unless someone showed up at the party to interest Joram, chances were good Chloe would be staying over. What did that say about their friendship? There would be no protestations of love and commitment, just the sharing of mutual intimate enjoyment.

  What would happen to Chloe if Joram actually fell in love with someone?

  Joram had no time to focus on the question as they left. Distracted by groupies and autograph hounds at the stage entry door, she put on her professional demeanor, smiling, signing, and allowing photos to be taken. There weren’t many, but more than what she’d normally have found after a gig. Spirits buoyed by the attention, by the knowledge that Invocation was starting to hit the big time, by the anticipation of seeing Naomi in just a few days, Joram allowed herself to be bundled into a car.

  It was time to celebrate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joram stared at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, hands on her hips, mouth pursed in disgust. She wore jeans and a form-fitting green Henley shirt, the cuffs falling beyond her wrists. The reflection of the room behind her suggested that her closet had exploded, the rumpled bed evidence of her random petulant flouncing as she argued with herself over how to impress Naomi. Most of her wardrobe littered the floor and mattress, a stray shirt even draped across the guitar in the corner.

  She glanced at the bedside clock in concern. She had to be in Long Beach in less than an hour to pick up Naomi and Joram still hadn’t narrowed down her outfit. Her anxiety grew, though whether it was from not feeling prepared or actually seeing Naomi again she couldn’t say. The three days since the concert had felt like forever.

  She glared at herself. “You are an idiot.” Her reflection didn’t argue the point as she scanned the disaster behind her image.

  She’d made reservations at a nice restaurant, one that walked the fine line between upscale and pretentious. As much as she’d wanted the venue to be a surprise, she knew better than to take a woman anywhere without some warning. She’d sent a text to Naomi yesterday, telling her to dress casual for their date, but hadn’t received a response. Her silence stirred Joram’s uncertainty. Had Naomi gotten the text at all? Was she disappointed that Joram hadn’t suggested more formal attire? She’d seemed hesitant when Joram had asked her out in the first place—was she having second thoughts? Joram’s desire to post multiple follow-up texts had grown stronger by the hour, and each hour without a reply eroded her confidence more.

  Nothing to be done for it now. She stared in the mirror, waking from her fears as she realized she was scowling. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to relax as she exhaled. Another glance at the clock galvanized her. “Rhaatid!” Ten minutes had passed while she’d stood wool-gathering. She gave her outfit another inspection, tugging at one sleeve. No time to change now. She had to get going.

  Turning away from the mirror, she hustled out of the room, grabbing her cell phone and keys from the dresser.

  * * *

  Naomi stared at the television screen, unfocused. A book sat open in her lap, unread. Her concentration shot, she’d long ago given up trying to follow the assigned reading that was due tomorrow. Occasionally she glanced at the window overlooking the street. She debated getting up to look out and again fought the urge, refusing to allow her restiveness to rule her actions. She didn’t even know what kind of car Joram drove, so how would she know whether or not she’d pulled into the parking lot downstairs? Unable to sit still, needing something to do, she pointed the remote at the television and changed channels.

  “That’s the sixth channel you’ve gone through in about as many minutes.” Rebecca sat beside her on the couch, legs curled beneath her.

  Grimacing, Naomi purposely hit the remote button again.

  Unrepentant, Rebecca grinned. “First dates are the worst, aren’t they?” Her tone commiserated though her expression was pleasantly amused. “She’s only a little late. Fifteen minutes isn’t that long.”

  Fifteen minutes was an eternity. Naomi’s mind immediately came up with a number of reasons why Joram hadn’t yet arrived, many of them outrageous indications of her personal misgivings regarding this fiasco rather than bearing any basis in reality. Joram could have stood Naomi up, being a busy woman with a demanding and chaotic career. Maybe a promotional gig had arisen, something more lucrative than taking a college anthropology major to dinner. Naomi had forced herself to ignore Joram’s text message the day before—she didn’t trust herself not to gush or fawn. Would Joram have considered her silence an insult? Perhaps she hadn’t texted again because she was offended at Naomi’s lack of response and had decided against spending time with her at all.

  Maybe Joram had gotten lost. Naomi had no idea where Joram lived, and so didn’t know how far she had to travel. California highways were congested and convoluted at the best of times. Would she call for directions? Maybe she already had. Naomi had left her phone in her bedroom. She wouldn’t know if Joram had called or not. Rather than appease her sudden trepidation by jumping up to retrieve her phone, Naomi perversely changed the channel again, ignoring Rebecca’s huff of laughter. Why do I feel the need to sabotage this?

  The doorbell rang, startling her. She dropped the remote, and it clattered to the floor. Cursing, she scrambled for it as Rebecca shot to her feet.

  “I’ll get it!”

  Naomi took a deep breath, willing herself to calmness as Rebecca dashed for the door. She should have meditated rather than stew in anxiety. Too late now. Standing, she brushed at her khaki slacks, ignoring the sharp spike of apprehension and her trembling hands.

  “Joram, good to see you!” Rebecca chirped, standing aside. “We were beginning to wonder what had happened.”

  “Yah mon, sorry about that. Traffic was snarled up by some accident.” Joram stepped inside.

  Naomi felt a frisson of something indefinable as their eyes met. She smiled, her jitteriness fading in the musician’s presence. How strange. Shouldn’t she make me more nervous, not less?

  Joram’s return smile was lopsided. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Naomi said softly.

  “You look great!”

  “Thanks. So do you.” Naomi glanced down at her khakis and green blouse. The color of the blouse complemented the green hue of Joram’s. “I don’t think we could have matched so well if we’d tried.”

  Joram chuckled. “Right?”

  They stared at each other in silence until Rebecca cleared her throat. Surprised, Naomi felt a rising heat in her face as she broke away from Joram’s gaze.

  Rebecca’s tone was that of a stern parent. “Now, you kids behave yourselves and don’t cause any trouble.” She pointed a finger at Joram. “And you, young woman, have her home by one at the latest. She has school tomorrow.”

  “Rebecca…” Naomi growled.

  Joram laughed, holding up one hand to forestall any other comments. “I promise, Mama. Home by one and in one piece. I won’t drive drunk and I won’t take advantage of her.” Her gaze slid to Naomi. “Unless she wants me to.”

  “Dog!” Rebecca slapped Joram’s arm, laughing. “Off with you then. Get
going.” She waved imperiously out the door that she still held open.

  Naomi accepted Joram’s hand, allowing Joram to pull her out of the apartment. She glanced at Rebecca as she passed, and her friend mouthed, ‘Have fun!’ With a nod and a wink, she followed Joram outside.

  It was easy to see which car belonged to Joram. A new model metallic blue BMW convertible lounged in the parking lot, looking out of place among the crowd of second-hand and older model cars owned by the tenants and their usual visitors. Joram escorted her to the passenger side, chivalrously opening the door. The top was down and, as Joram circled around to the driver’s side, Naomi looked up to see Rebecca peeking down at them. Her roommate gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and Naomi snorted in laughter.

  “What’s up?” Joram settled behind the wheel, closing the door.

  “Rebecca apparently approves of the car.” She pointed at her apartment window. As Joram looked up, Rebecca ducked away, leaving the curtain slightly swaying.

  Joram grinned. “What about you?”

  Naomi looked down, caressing the black armrest, pushing comfortably back into the seat. “It’ll do.”

  Barking a laugh, Joram started the car. “Good for me.” She slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  As Joram pulled out into traffic, Naomi studied the interior. Leather seats, state-of-the-art sound system, manual transmission and a dashboard mini-computer. While her experience with modern American automobiles was decidedly lacking, she recognized that this car was an expensive one. Where does an up-and-coming musician get this kind of money?

  She examined Joram’s profile, realizing how much she didn’t know about her childhood friend. Internally she scoffed at the thought, looking away. Regardless of her memories, she and Joram had never actually met before. Joram had shown no indication that she’d recognized Naomi, in any case. Whatever weirdness Naomi had experienced at the monastery all those years ago, Joram hadn’t shared in it. This sensation of comfort and trust Naomi experienced in Joram’s presence was entirely one-sided. She shouldn’t have come.

  “Have you ever had Thai food?”

  Startled from her rumination, Naomi focused on the conversation. “It’s spicy, isn’t it?” At Joram’s nod, Naomi shook her head. “No, though I’ve been meaning to try.”

  “Well, tonight’s the night for new experiences then. I’ve got reservations at a nice little restaurant in LA. We’re running a bit late, but they said they’d hold the table.”

  “Great.” Silence stretched between them as Naomi stared at passing scenery, interspersed with the hum of the tires on the road and the air whistling about them. She searched for something to say, uncertain where to start. The lack of conversation wasn’t quite uncomfortable, but it highlighted how little ground the two of them had in common.

  Joram was first to break the hush. “So, Romania, huh? How long have you been in the United States?”

  Distracted from her misgivings, Naomi smiled. “About six years now.”

  “Me too.” Joram waved at the sea of strip malls they passed as they sped down the highway. “It’s been a learning experience.”

  Naomi laughed. “That it has, though culturally speaking I’d bet you had less problems adapting than I did.”

  Joram gave her a sideways glance, and Naomi wished she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. The black lenses made it impossible to determine what Joram was thinking. “And why do you think that?”

  Her tone was neutral, enough so as to make Naomi wonder if she’d offended her somehow. Blushing, Naomi ignored an attack of nerves as she looked down at her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that your upbringing was…financially better than mine.”

  Cocking her head, Joram pursed her lips for a brief moment. Then she turned away, her attention on the car and the road. “I suppose you’re right. God knows I couldn’t afford this car on my own.” She grinned, reaching over to pat one of Naomi’s hands. “Doan fret.”

  Naomi wondered if she could melt into a puddle of embarrassment and get the night over with. The touch of Joram’s fingers on hers countered the dismay with a rush of remembered affection. At the monastery she’d always been quick to put her foot in her mouth, and her invisible friend just as prompt with brushing over the affront.

  Joram spoke before Naomi could work up the nerve to broach conversation again. “My…patron, I guess you’d call him, is why I have the car and the condo. He…adopted me when I was little, gave me a home and an education.”

  Puzzling over the pauses in Joram’s statement, Naomi studied her profile. Joram’s face had stiffened into vague distaste at the turn of conversation. Apparently she had issue with this mysterious patron. Perhaps he’d been abusive. Naomi wanted to dig deeper, to take some of Joram’s burden, but knew that her sense of emotional familiarity was hers alone. Rather than pursue the topic, she instead focused on Joram’s words. “Something we have in common, then. I’m adopted too. My mama and I live in an educational complex in the Carpathian Mountains. She’s a teacher there—the administrator, actually.”

  “Do you plan on returning to teach there?”

  Naomi blinked. The thought of planning a future anywhere hadn’t been something on which she’d concentrated before. Her destiny, her fate, precluded such complacency. Inanna and Nathan had told her that portents were stirring in this country, indicating the Other was somewhere near. Naomi’s interest in the spiritual aspects of anthropology gave her a reason for her presence. Once she fulfilled the duty that had been set upon her, what would she do with her life?

  “Hello? Anybody there?”

  Jolted from her thoughts, Naomi gasped. She chuckled at Joram who had lowered her sunglasses to peer over the rims. “Sorry. It’s just occurred to me that I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  Joram reset the sunglasses with a grin. “I can relate to that. Sometimes I haven’t a clue what I’m doing either.”

  “I’d think it would be easy for you. You have an elegant way with words and your music is quite good.” Naomi felt a measure of satisfaction as Joram’s cheeks pinked.

  “Thank you.” Joram searched for words as she drove. “It’s just that I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen, aiming for the fame and glory. Will I know it when I get there?”

  Fourteen. The same age Naomi had been when she’d been set upon the path to destroy a single enemy in some vague future to come. Was it coincidence? “I think you will. Something about owning a mansion and playing sold-out stadiums will give you the impression.”

  The pensive moment dissipated, and Joram grinned. “Bashy and smartass. I like that in a woman.”

  Naomi had no idea what “bashy” meant, but assumed it was a good thing. She smiled back. “Good for me.”

  * * *

  The Thai restaurant bustled with activity. An upscale clientele indicated the quality of the food and the establishment’s popularity. Seated in a small courtyard at one of a handful of tables interspersed between concealing tropical plants, Joram and Naomi had perused the menu as the last of the day’s sunlight dappled through the leaves. Naomi had experienced a certain level of sticker shock at the prices. It had taken some convincing before her graduate-school financial sensibilities succumbed to Joram’s dining suggestions.

  And those selections had been intriguing. With a sated sigh, Naomi pushed her plate aside, the spicy leftovers filling her senses and tempting her taste buds to take just one more bite. Shadows had grown long though it would be some time before the courtyard became completely dark. Their server had lit a small candle at their table at one point during the meal, and the soft glow of decorative Asian lamps dangling throughout the courtyard dispelled the gathering darkness. Naomi wiped her mouth with a napkin. “That was delicious. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  Joram finished a swallow of wine, setting her empty glass onto the table. “Of course. I’m glad you liked it. Many people have trouble acquiring a taste for Thai food.”

  “I can honestly say that I’m a
fan.” She laid her napkin on her discarded plate. An unobtrusive server rushed by and whisked it and Joram’s plate away.

  “Another convert, maad. Too bad they don’t issue toaster ovens for this sort of thing.”

  Naomi returned Joram’s smile. Throughout dinner their conversation had hopped from topic to topic, each bit of discussion interspersed by moments of silence as they gazed at one another. Naomi had become deft at deflecting those instances, playfully diverting them back to everyday exchanges, leading the verbal dance between them with a provocative skill that surprised her. Normally, she cared nothing for the flirtatious dance between people, not having time for such things. Considering her role in life and the memory of one disastrous relationship soon after her arrival in the United States, it was easier to block such advances from interested parties rather than deal with the inevitable letdown when the interested party realized she couldn’t give them her full attention. With Joram, however, the coquetry seemed a natural part of their growing friendship as they fell into the same emotional dynamic she recalled from her youth. It jarred her to realize that despite her feelings of emotional intimacy, Joram had no memories of their connection.

  Providing there really is a link between us. For all Naomi knew, her mind had latched on to the first woman she’d heard who had a slight Jamaican accent, forging a bridge between her yearning past and solitary present. She’d taken enough college psychology classes to know that the mind was strange and dangerous, easily manipulated by stressors and hormones and quick to make incorrect associations.

  Joram picked up the wine bottle and peered into the green glass. “Almost done.” She poured the remainder in Naomi’s glass.

  Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get me drunk?”

  “Only if it means I can take advantage of you.” Joram feigned a leer. “Is it working?”

  “Not in the least.” She picked up the glass, smiling at Joram’s chortle.

  Joram’s accent thickened as she clutched her chest. “You wound me, ooman. You tie me wit obeah and make me linga. Yuh nuh see me a gyalis?”