Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Heat flamed Naomi’s cheeks. She swallowed the desire to cry and took a deep, bracing breath. “Can we go to your office?”

  Inanna looped her arm through Naomi’s as Nathan bowed his head and led the way.

  Nathan’s office was as incongruent as himself. The rough-hewn rock walls gave an ancient air to the room, one he’d counteracted with a modern metal desk, an executive desk chair and metal filing cabinets. Two guest chairs sat before the desk, mousy brown and reminiscent of waiting room furniture the world over. Even the overhead lighting was contemporary fluorescent bulbs, the likes of which cast a harsh glare over the room. A giant corkboard had been erected on one wall, currently showing a North American map and various overlapping satellite images of the Los Angeles area and southwestern states. Beside it stood a large whiteboard with scribbles in English, Albanian and the elegantly curving Elvish script.

  Naomi glanced briefly over the board, not seeing anything new among the human language scribblings. She took a red marker from the tray and went to the southwestern United States maps. “All right, we decided I would go to Long Beach because the Invocation was supposed to begin somewhere near there, right?” She tapped the circled areas that held the most likely avenues for their opponent to use.

  Inanna answered. “Yes. The warp and weave of power focuses most strongly in that region of the world now. We’re certain that will be where our enemy will strike.”

  “But it would take a lot of energy to open the door. A lot. Isn’t the ritual supposed to also draw power from the other side to open the door, not just ours?”

  “If one were to do so without killing one’s self,” Nathan said, lips pursed. “There isn’t enough power in this world nor is there a human strong enough to wield it without utilizing what magic leaks through the other side.” He stepped closer, pointing at each marked area in turn. “He must choose one of these places if he is to succeed.”

  “But if he did that, wouldn’t your people become aware of his actions? He’d be draining their power as well. Wouldn’t they want to stop that?”

  Nathan studied her. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Some could understand what the drain is indicative of and wish to assist breaching it. Others might not want the door opened or even be ignorant of what the loss means; those would attempt stopping such an action.”

  “In either case, he already suspects that someone opposes him here. He doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself on this side either. He may have firsthand knowledge of the people over there but he can’t know everything. He’d want to gain as much power as he can from both sides.” Naomi uncapped the marker and circled Los Angeles. “How strong would a person need to be to pull power from three separate vortexes?” She drew lines from each delineated area of interest to the one she’d created, studying the map. “We think that our enemy is going to use one of these spots to focus his attention. What if he uses all three? Three times the power presently on this side of the barrier as well as what can be gathered from the other.” When no one answered, she turned to see Nathan and Inanna staring at her. Despite the impending danger, a burble of inner laughter flickered through her. “Well?”

  Nathan was first to close his mouth. He looked at Inanna. “They’re your people. Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know.” Inanna glided slowly closer to the maps. “I would say no except that I know how strong and incredibly resourceful my former protégé can be. What sort of trigger is he constructing?” She brushed her fingers along the circle Naomi had drawn. “If such is the case, we may only have a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Naomi squeaked. Weeks? Not months? A wave of dizziness hit her, the shock of time swiftly running out causing her to waver.

  “If he’s using three vortexes, he has more than enough power already to reach his goal.” Nathan snarled, lip curled back from glistening teeth. “If I go now, if I can survive the trip, I can meet him in battle once again.”

  “No.” Inanna held up her hand to dissuade him. “It won’t matter if we don’t know who his Chosen is. While you fight him, the ritual will continue with no one to stop it.” She studied the map. “Why do you suspect this, sweetness?”

  Inhaling, Naomi held her breath a brief moment, using the action to bolster her already frazzled nerves. “There’s something I never told either of you about my time here.” Her heart fluttered in her chest as she revealed the existence of her Caribbean friend and her theory that they both had lived near a weak spot. After she completed her tale, she peered at Nathan and Inanna, half-fearful of reprisal for her silence.

  Nathan had leaned a hip against his desk, arms crossed over his chest and an expression of stern comprehension gracing the sharp planes of his face. Inanna’s was a storm, and Naomi almost flinched when she opened her mouth to speak.

  “And you didn’t see fit to tell either of us what was occurring?”

  It took effort not to wither under Inanna’s stern tone. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet her mother’s anger. “Why would I? At first I thought she was a hallucination, then I considered that she was some sort of psychic extension of myself, an over enhanced case of situational awareness that my loneliness manifested as a voice.” She threw her hands up into the air. “I didn’t realize she was real until…” Naomi snapped her mouth shut, fear flashing through her heart.

  “Until?” Nathan pushed away from the desk, abrupt and bristling. “You’ve heard her again? You heard her there?” He pointed at the map.

  Physically on edge, reading Nathan’s body language as a potential attack, Naomi almost dropped into a fighting stance. She relaxed her muscles, ducked her head and took a deep breath to steady herself. She wasn’t here to fight him, she was here to exchange information, get clarification. She calmly raised her head. “Yes. Three days ago in my apartment.”

  Inanna moved closer, invading Naomi’s space, leaving her nowhere to run. “You didn’t realize she was real until you heard her…physically heard her voice.”

  Naomi swallowed, unable to meet her mother’s gaze as her plans to confess to Joram first wilted. She mentally smacked her forehead. This information was too important despite its personal nature to be kept secret. “Yes. I’ve met her, the girl from my memories.” She shot a look at them, not liking the grim countenance they mirrored. “A couple of months ago in Long Beach. I’ve seen her a few times since then.”

  “Your new love?” At Naomi’s wordless nod, Inanna turned and paced away, arms wrapped about herself. “I can see why you’re reluctant to speak of it.”

  “Humans.” Nathan returned to his perch on the edge of his desk, his angular expression seemingly more alien than ever. “How you ever get anything done is a wonder.”

  Confused, Naomi frowned. “What do you mean?” She waved at the maps. “I’m here because I think our target is pulling the power from three different points to fuel his plan. I don’t hear you coming up with alternative theories.”

  He leaned forward, palms resting on the desktop. “You come so close but can’t quite make the connection, little filly. Your heart betrays you, as humans have always been betrayed over the millennia.”

  “My—” Naomi shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “He means, sweetness, that you’ve already met your target.”

  Naomi blinked, forcing her gaze inward as she scanned through her recent memories. “What?”

  Inanna’s face was awash with sympathy. “Our enemy resides near a point of power, just as Nathan does. He raised his Chosen in that place. He would have to have in order for his protégé to be properly trained for the rigors ahead.”

  Apprehension grew in Naomi’s chest. She fought a sudden urge to clasp her hand over Inanna’s mouth. Inanna’s voice continued on, saying what Naomi didn’t want to hear.

  “Why else would you have heard this woman here in this place and also in Los Angeles? If what you say is true, if it is our enemy’s intention to utilize three separate weak areas to focus his energies, why el
se have you heard her voice again? Why have you heard no others?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Every word you’ve ever said brings me closer to the Hell I fled, and I am going to crack!” Joram screamed, voice raw as she imparted all the hatred and rage she’d ever felt toward Anders into the lyrics. The crash of cymbals and drums punctuated the angry fist she thrust out at the uproarious audience. Beyond the stage lights, a sea of answering fists raised in the air beating back and forward in time with Rand’s percussion, punctuated by Jubal’s bass and the driving chords produced by Bayani and Jarod. Strategically placed blowers backstage did nothing to counteract the heat of exertion and lighting. She rode the supercharged energy, too stimulated by the gig to care that she swam in sweat, perspiration dripping freely from her face.

  The band broke into the song’s chorus and she pranced backward away from the edge of the stage. Even through her earplugs and the heavy pulse of their music she heard the audience singing the words along with them. Her heart swelled with a combination of pride and fury, a mixture of the anger that was the music and the exuberance that was the high of the crowd. She sensed the mob out there—their joy, their wrath, their lust. Their feelings emanated above their heads, a fine mist of ethereal emotions that were almost visible beyond the brilliant lights illuminating the stage. She could almost reach out and gather the mist together, work the malleable material into a finely honed song and fire the music back at them.

  On good nights like this one, she imagined she was doing just that. These nights were occurring with more frequency as their popularity grew. Each gig seemed to draw more people, bigger crowds and more media attention. And each night Joram’s eagerness overshadowed her performance jitters as she soared, wallowing in the audience’s exultation, filling herself with their insubstantial might. Afterward she would ride the high for hours before collapsing in exhaustion. This…this was better than any drug with which she’d ever experimented.

  The song, their final one for the evening, came to a crescendo and end, the lights dramatically shutting down, leaving the club in darkness. Joram remained frozen in place, both fists skyward, listening to the thundering roar of the audience physically buffet her. The band had already finished two encores. Despite the riotous demands of the audience, there would be no more this evening.

  She dropped her arms and trotted stage left. The curtains came down as the floor lights went up, illuminating the seating area. Once the curtains were closed, lights come up on the stage. Roadies emerged from everywhere to dismantle the gear and pack it away. Invocation was scheduled for a gig across town tomorrow night, and the crew needed to transport the equipment, set up the new venue and run sound and light checks before the band arrived to rehearse in the afternoon.

  Panting with exertion, Joram fell behind as her band disappeared down the stage steps and into the warren of back rooms and corridors beyond. She retraced her steps across the stage, bypassing the busy crew, and peeked through a curtain. The audience remained in place with single-minded purpose, screaming and stomping as they glared at the stage as if they could draw the band back by sheer will. After two encores all but the most hard-core fans should be letting it go. At any concert Joram had ever attended, it was the time to give it up, time for people to chatter with their friends about the show, begin the interminable shuffle to exit the venue and deal with the parking lot traffic jams.

  That wasn’t happening.

  She frowned, a shiver passing through her as she studied the crowd. Back around the edges only a handful prepared to leave. The vast majority of the audience remained in place, faces grim, eyes bright as they demanded another encore.

  “That’s just creepy.”

  Joram jumped, whirling to glare at their road manager, Ivan.

  He chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” He gestured toward the curtain with his chin. “They’re pretty adamant, eh?”

  “Yeah, they are.” Joram relaxed, willing her heart to slow as she peered once more through the curtain. “It’s almost like the Stepford Wives out there.”

  Ivan barked a laugh. “The price of fame.” He patted her shoulder. “Come on, the others are waiting in the dressing room. We can’t stay long—radio interview at midnight downtown. Remember?”

  A night didn’t go by anymore that music reporters and talent agents for major recording labels didn’t accost her and her bandmates. Their flourishing popularity almost felt magical, as magical as her ability to weave the crowd’s emotions back into the songs they performed. “I remember.” She twitched the curtain back into place and turned away from the cacophonous tableau. He led the way offstage and to the dressing room. “How long do you think they’ll stay out there?”

  Shrugging, Ivan ducked beneath a lighting truss being lowered into the waiting hands of the road crew. “Who knows? They seem to hang out longer and longer. You’d think they’d get the hint when the curtains come down.”

  She nodded. As she followed him toward the dressing room, she had the eerie sensation that she could, even now, use the emotional energy of the audience to affect change. What if I went back there and told them to go rob a bank or something? Would they do it? She snorted, shaking her head. That was ridiculous. She picked up the pace, wanting to get out of the club and away from the strangeness, unable to escape the idea that she’d somehow had a hand in creating it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “And that was The King of the Rats with their latest single, ‘Whisper in a Hurricane!’ They were here last week, remember, Bash?”

  “Who could forget?” Bash answered, his voice rich with ironic humor. “It’ll be another week before repairs are completed in the studio.” He gave a low whistle. “That band certainly knows how to party, Wayne.”

  Wayne chuckled through the speakers imbedded in the bathroom ceiling. “Yeah, I thought their singer, Dave Harriman, and lead guitarist Scott Berbick were going to burn the place down.”

  “And what about Dr. Q? He’s no slouch in the destructive department.”

  Bash laughed aloud. “That microphone will never be the same.”

  Joram tuned out the banter of the two radio personalities as they chatted between song sets. She studied her visage in the mirror over the sink, fussing with her bangs. It’s a radio interview, ooman. Who cares what you look like? Still, it wasn’t unheard of for a radio station to have an impromptu photo shoot. Interviews were free publicity but quid pro quo—she and the band were expected to record statements plugging the station and to allow their images to be used as promotional material.

  She stepped back, revealing more of her clothing in the waist-high mirror. Turning, she examined her profile, glad that their last venue had boasted shower facilities. After the concert, she’d changed into tight leather pants and a gray long-sleeve T-shirt that reached her upper thighs. A bulky belt of studs and rivets bisected the shirt, held in place by a grinning silver skull buckle that enhanced her rock ‘n’ roll image. Black leather and copper bangles ringed her wrists, and a delicate chain secured a golden razor blade at her throat. She smoothed the material at her abdomen with critical detachment. Maybe she should have gone with a more colorful shirt.

  Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Leaving off her inspection, she retrieved it, automatically noting the time. Twenty minutes until the interview. She smiled as she gazed upon Naomi’s photo, an eager jolt stabbing through her chest. Turning, she leaned back against the counter and answered the call. “Mi empress, hello.”

  Naomi’s voice was a balm, distant as it was. “Hi.”

  Something in Joram’s body relaxed. It was a pleasant sensation but she couldn’t pinpoint its cause and wasn’t certain she wanted to investigate. “It’s good to hear you. How’s your trip?”

  “It’s been okay.” Naomi paused, and Joram imagined her tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, maybe pacing around a room or looking out a window. “Just…weird.”

  Joram recall
ed her own homecomings, those visits to the compound to record CDs with the band or work with Anders on his special songs. Gloom and apprehension always preceded those trips, filling her with a sense of loathing and unease during her stays. “Yeah. Going home isn’t easy.” Still intoxicated by the concert, she remained lost in the unfavorable memories, seemingly feeling Naomi’s similar emotions through the phone. She didn’t think Naomi’s were as foreboding as her own.

  “I miss you.”

  The abrupt confession broke Joram’s contemplation. Her smile returned. “I miss you too.” She straightened, fingers of one hand easing into a pocket, staring at the tile beneath her feet. “Do you know when you’ll be back yet?”

  Naomi blew out a breath. “Soon. I’m almost finished here.”

  “Irie. I can’t wait to see you again.” Joram’s gaze shot up as she froze in place, eyes widening at the recognition of longing in her voice. She barely heard Naomi’s similar response. Balance, ooman! She inhaled and turned to stare at herself in the mirror. You don’t have time for this, remember? The silence that followed was both awkward and not, her heightened emotional awareness understanding that Naomi felt just as hesitant about the friendship flourishing between them. Joram swallowed, needing to change the subject. “Things have been—”

  At the same time, Naomi blurted, “Maybe we can—”

  Both of them chuckled, Joram’s humor serving to release some of her pent-up nervousness. “You first.”

  “No, you.”

  She heard the smile in Naomi’s tone, grinning in return. Pulling her hand from her pocket, she lightly caressed the laminate counter, following the gesture with her eyes. “I was saying that things have been really hopping here. We’re getting some serious attention from the media now.”

  “That’s fantastic! I know you’ve all worked hard for so long. It must feel wonderful to finally be getting somewhere.”