Joram stopped struggling against her friends, shaking her head. She looked past Chloe to see the biker being led away. Despite his riotous entrance and behavior, he now walked in a listless daze, hardly noting the guards flanking him.
“You okay?” Jubal looked her over.
Still nettled, she pushed away their probing touches. “Yeah, I’m okay.” She’d dropped her bottle in the altercation, the remaining beer spreading across the tile floor. Squatting, she retrieved it.
Chloe frowned. “Are you sure? You look out of it. He didn’t get a hit in, did he?”
“No.” Joram forced a laugh. “I pushed him aside and we grabbed each other, that’s all.” Her elbows ached from his firm grip, and she rubbed the right one. “All fruits ripe.”
“Told you things were weird tonight.”
She turned to see Rand beside her. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“Obeah?”
Joram turned to stare at Jubal. “What?”
“Tink it’s obeah?”
She forced a laugh. “No, no obeah. No magic. You didn’t see him close enough. That boy was hopped up on something that’s all.” She looked to the others who had gathered around her, expecting them to back her. Two of her bandmates were from the United States and thereby less inclined toward Jubal’s superstitions. Bayani, being raised in the Philippines, could go either way depending on his mood. All three of them remained disquieted. “Oh, come on! It was a fluke.”
Jarod was first to shrug his shoulder. “I guess.”
Rand shook her head and moved away, the others following suit. Appearances needed to be kept and fans still filled the room. Each of her bandmates drifted away, allowing their visitors an opportunity to chat with them once again. The last to leave Joram’s side was Jubal. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a grim expression on his handsome face. Giving her a squeeze, he released her and turned away. Chloe pressed another beer into her hand, and Joram thanked her.
One of the fans finally gathered enough courage to interrupt the tableau. “Wow, that was sick!”
Joram waved the girl’s excitement aside with a smile. “Nuh vex ya, gyal. He gone.” She twirled a finger at her ear. “Not all balanced.” The fan laughed and offered a CD for Joram to sign. She kept up the small talk, her mind far from the conversation spouting from her mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Frustrated, Naomi dropped the newspaper into her lap. She sat on her bed, legs outstretched as she caught up on the news. Leaning back against the pillows, she rolled her head on her shoulders, willing the aching muscles to relax. She glanced at her alarm clock, discontent. Here it was, almost two in the morning and she had a final to take in six hours. The way her mind was buzzing, she’d never get enough rest before class. Considering what she’d been reading, she doubted she’d be able to keep her thoughts focused on something as mundane as anthropology no matter how fascinating she felt the subject.
She stared at the newsprint still fisted in her hands. Random acts of violence and strangeness were a staple in a city the size of Los Angeles, but there seemed to be an increase of activity throughout the metropolitan area, enough of one that the news agencies were beginning to notice. Today’s paper had held several disturbing articles, more than the normal fare she’d become accustomed to during her time in the city.
A family’s two dogs simultaneously went berserk, ravaging four children and two adults during a backyard birthday party before animal control and police could arrive. Three of the children died and one adult was in critical condition with low expectations of survival. Neither dog had ever exhibited violent traits before and both had to be put down by the authorities before paramedics could reach the victims.
A well-known philanthropist, responsible for many acts of generosity over the years in the homeless community, had delivered a blistering speech at a fund-raiser the night before condemning the “idiot masses” for falling prey to the dispossessed. He’d finished his disapprobation by pulling all his significant support from every nonprofit organization with which he’d been involved. When asked to comment afterward, he’d been quoted as saying, “Fuck you. I need a drink.”
A tourist from Connecticut walked into a mall sporting goods store, bought a hunting knife and proceeded to go on a killing spree throughout the store, beginning with the sales clerk. Her vacationing family had been oblivious to her bloody activities as they enjoyed a treat several doors away at an ice cream shop, discovering what had happened only when police arrived and shot the woman to death.
Even the science section had worrisome news. Several hundred dead fish had washed ashore at Marina Del Ray. Marine biologists hadn’t discerned any cause for the die-off and had advised anyone from eating any of the fish. One scientist had said, “It’s a conundrum. There doesn’t appear to be any valid reason why this catastrophe has happened. Maybe it’s an act of God.”
Corpse flowers at every botanical garden in the state had inexplicably bloomed, causing quite the stir with horticulturalists. Several of the plants had bloomed earlier than scheduled. One had even flowered for a second time this year, an unprecedented event as the corpse flower only comes into season once every two to three years, sometimes taking seven to ten years between blooms.
A freak rainstorm in Riverside County had flooded that area, filling Lake Matthews to bursting. Though the immediate menace of drought in Los Angeles seemed to have been eased, the weather had done serious damage to the ecological reserve there, threatening to wash away several nesting grounds of local rare bird species. A call to arms had been put out amongst environmental agencies for volunteers to assist in the wildfowls’ plight.
Naomi shoved the paper away, scooting to the side of the bed and dropping her feet to the floor. The omens were unsettling and undeniable. Inanna was right; something was happening here, something that few understood.
Standing, she shuffled over to her tiny desk. The surface was buried beneath anthropological and esoteric books, these carrying a more insubstantial area of research dealing with omens and portents. She pushed through the open manuscripts, selecting one and then another to flip through until she found what she wanted. Bending, she leaned close to read a few words.
“Consider the deeper message beyond the tangible. For each incident there is a public face, yet each will have a profound wealth of hidden meaning.”
The vague passage did nothing to alleviate her concerns. It left every incident open to personal interpretation, muddying the waters rather than clarifying her understanding. Yet she couldn’t deny that those news articles had been the ones to jump out at her. She’d been afraid to read the world news, not wanting to see how far Inanna’s portents were reaching. Why hadn’t she noticed so many before tonight? She’d lived in the United States for six years, surely she hadn’t become so inured to the everyday violence and chaos that she wouldn’t have observed its abrupt growth around her. It was possible that the event for which she’d been trained would occur much sooner than Inanna and Nathan had thought.
Naomi looked over her shoulder at the crumpled newspaper on her bedspread. No. Whatever was happening was coming on fast. She’d kept up on local news every day. Some days there were flukes, a brief spate of aggressive turbulence that faded over time, but today’s edition had been the fifth in a row of bizarre and chaotic rumblings. This phase of outlandish activity wasn’t going away.
She straightened, rubbing her face before letting her hands drop to her sides. Her gaze strayed back to the alarm clock, its numbers glowing in accusation. She had to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing to be done about the localized increase of spiritual turbulence. Until she found the focal point, the person responsible for opening the dimensional door, she could do nothing but worry.
The soothing voice whispered, “Doan fret, mi lova.”
Naomi relaxed at the memory. “Doan fret,” she repeated. “Easier said than done, you know.”
“Nuh vex ya. I have faith, empress.”
Naomi stood for several minutes, listening to the silence with every pore and cell in her body. Had her imaginary friend actually spoken for the first time in a dozen years, or had she only remembered words that Joram had spoken to her?
Nathan had called his monastery a place where a thin gap in the ether separated his world and hers. Since leaving him, Naomi had often wondered whether her imaginary friend had been a mental aberration on her part or truly real. After finding Joram and learning more about her past, Naomi had theorized that somewhere in Jamaica was a similar location, a place where the two dimensions were as close, the place where Joram had grown up. Somehow she’d connected with Joram when they were both living near these gaps.
“Does this mean a new gap is forming? Here?”
Her friend didn’t answer but the idea held merit. Whoever was trying to open the dimensional door had to begin somewhere—what better way than to strip away layers of protection and mundanity, slowly abrading the protective fabric of this world to reveal a thin membrane. At the proper time and place, a simple pinprick would be all that was needed to blow it open.
But why form an entirely new door? Nathan and Inanna had located a number of likely places where the barriers were sparse. Through various means incomprehensible to Naomi, they’d decided that Inanna’s former protégé would strike at one of a number of places in southern California or Arizona. Naomi had come to Long Beach for both the university anthropology program as well as the fact that she was mere hours from three of the most likeliest of objectives, not because Los Angeles had been one of them. Yet it seemed that here was where the deed would be done. Opening a brand-new door would take a lot more work than using one of the available weak areas. It would also be more difficult for any opponents to track your movements and stop you from achieving your goal.
Frowning, she grabbed her laptop from her nightstand, flopping down onto the bed as she accessed the web browser. She pulled up a map of North America, focusing her search to the southwestern United States. Those were the three possible positions she’d been monitoring for the last five years. She zoomed in on the map, studying the layout. With a finger she gently tapped each area. Here, here and here. She tilted her head. And there was Los Angeles. Her eyes widened. “Almost right in the middle.”
“Irie,” Joram’s voice whispered.
Naomi shivered, both startled and pleased by the sound. “He’s using the three weak points, triangulating their power into a central location.” She slumped, staring up at the ceiling. “My gods! If I’m right, whoever’s helping him must have massive power.”
Her invisible friend didn’t respond, but Naomi didn’t care. This was big, much bigger than Inanna had led her to believe. Naomi closed her eyes, drawing upon her meditative techniques to calm herself. She knew there was the possibility she was wrong in this, despite the rightness she felt. She looked at the clock. Almost an hour had passed while she’d puzzled over the matter, and she was still no closer to sleep. It didn’t appear that she’d be getting any rest. There was too much to do, none of it having anything to do with this morning’s final.
She swept the newspaper off her bed and made herself comfortable with her laptop. Though she hadn’t planned on taking a trip to Europe, it was time to go home. She needed to see both Inanna and Nathan.
* * *
Darkness surrounded her, obscuring her vision as it seeped into her soul. She took hesitant steps, hands outstretched to grasp ineffectively for purchase, finding nothing but warm, moist air. No walls, no breeze, nothing to indicate where she was or how vast was the chamber in which she found herself, if chamber it was. For all she knew, she was outdoors. The vicinity didn’t feel like that, though. The darkness had no sense of openness, there were no sounds of nature.
She knelt, blindly touching the ground. Hard-packed earth met her fingers, nothing else as far as she could reach. So, indoors it was. She stood. How did I get here? She had no memory. She had always been here it seemed, groping through the tepid atmosphere, lost and alone.
“Nuh vex ya.”
She gasped, whirling about. The whisper sounded familiar, but she couldn’t remember to whom it belonged. She reached out, uncertain, half-terrified she’d touch someone and half-terrified she wouldn’t. Whoever had spoken was out of reach, had always been out of reach. She could remember that at least.
Without direction, she stumbled forward, nerves longing for some sort of contact, heart dreading the inevitable touch of the unseen. She wandered the darkness forever. After an eternity it dawned upon her that there had been a subtle change in the atmosphere. Sweat formed on her upper lip, slicking her forehead. The air had become hotter, as if she closed in on a furnace. Despite the heat and the threat of burning up she crept along, feet shuffling, one hand still extended to search for obstacles.
The other hand held a knife.
She convulsively grasped the hilt as the knowledge of it came to her. A gasp escaped her, loud in the blackness, seeming to echo off unseen walls.
“Nuh linga, empress. You know what to do.”
That whisper again, irritatingly close yet so far away. But the disembodied voice was correct. She knew what to do. She had to find him, she had to kill him. Only when she did would she be able to live her life. Only then would she be free.
She flexed her grip on the knife hilt with resolve and tucked her chin. Her next steps were less hesitant, more resolute. She had a purpose, whether she remembered it or not. She had a purpose and she would see the job done. Her future required it.
Again the ambience changed around her. Time passed from minutes into forever but she eventually noted that there was dim light to her right. She veered in that direction, and the illumination increased in unhurried increments. A thrill of pleasure jolted her as she finally made out her hand before her. She waved it in front of her face, relieved to have at least this minimal sight.
Something emerged from the darkness ahead of her. She lurched to a stop, her blood boiling with adrenaline, the knife waving in front of her. Panting, she crouched as she stared at the apparition, unable to see anything but a darker blur against the inky blackness.
“You know what to do.”
The whisper was faint, barely audible. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, the dread in her mind. Her heart galloped in her chest and she couldn’t get enough of the boiling air, panting as she forced herself forward, step by step.
It seemed to take hours before she stood behind the blur of shadow against shadows. Every muscle tensed, causing her to tremble as she regarded her target. He stood a little taller, but that was his only discernible characteristic. Terrified, she wondered why he didn’t know she was there. Every scrape of her feet on the floor, every breath of air hissing through her teeth, the frantic thumping of her heart—any one of these should have betrayed her presence. But he stood still, alone, just like her.
Her eyes scanned his form, aching as she tried to make out details unavailable in the turbid illumination. Nathan’s training came to the fore, and she considered the best way to take out her target. Under the arm and into the chest? The large artery in the leg? About the only thing she could be sure of was that he stood with his back to her. She couldn’t see well enough, couldn’t tell whether he stood with feet together or apart, arms akimbo or hanging at his side. She’d only have one shot at this.
She took a deep, bracing breath and closed the minimal distance between them. Grabbing his chin, she drew the knife across his throat, slitting him from ear to ear. He struggled, a brief violent spasm as his life’s blood spilled hot over her hand. She held him tight, vaguely surprised at how little he weighed as she knelt down. Hot tears burned her eyes, hot shame her heart. She’d done it. She’d killed him before he could kill the world.
“Thank you.”
Naomi stared down in horror at familiar
sea-green eyes, recognizing the Jamaican accent coming from the corpse she had created.
“Thank you,” Joram said again.
* * *
Naomi shot out of bed with the alarm clock’s strident sound. Terrified, she struck at it, knocking it to the floor. It broke with the force of its landing though the alarm feebly continued to beep. She ignored it, slumping back onto the bed, dropping her head to her knees as she battled dizziness.
Several minutes passed as she calmed herself. Her respiration slowing, her heart beat less clamorous in her chest. The dizziness faded and she slowly sat up, hands on her knees. Staring at her hands, she half expected to see blood covering them but couldn’t determine why. All she remembered of the nightmare was that it was hot and dark and that she’d killed her enemy.
A sharp knock on her door made her heart leap in her chest. Before she could think to answer, the door opened.
Rebecca peeked in, curls tousled and eyes puffy from sleep. “Are you okay? I heard a crash.” She scanned the disaster Naomi’s room had become, her gaze landing on the alarm clock mournfully beeping.
“Yeah.” Naomi took a deep breath and swallowed. “Yeah. It was just a nightmare.” She gave Rebecca a sheepish look. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t wake you. I feel sorry for the poor alarm.”
Heat suffused Naomi’s face as she stood and unplugged the clock, the silence loud between them.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Naomi rubbed her face, more to avoid seeing Rebecca’s concern than anything else. The nightmare had fully wakened her. “Yeah. You know how it is. Finals week and all.” She risked a glance at her roommate.
Rebecca nodded in understanding though her face held a thoughtful expression. “A lot of stress.” She smiled. “Better get a move on, then. Finals wait for no woman.”
Relieved, Naomi returned the smile. “Last one.”
“Urgh. I’ve still got two more.” Rebecca made a face. “I’ll make coffee.”
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