“Rebel rocker from the very beginning. I like it.” Wayne looked down at the list of questions he had before him. “So how are you guys taking your recent success?” He gestured toward Rand.
“I don’t know.” Rand looked down the chairs at the rest of her companions. She shrugged. “It’s been fu— Sorry. It’s been effing weird. Not just hearing our songs played over the radio, but the concerts themselves.”
“Yeah, our concerts have become pretty intense.” Bayani traded a glance with Jubal. “We’ve had a great opportunity to tighten our act, and that’s really becoming evident at our gigs now.”
Bash nodded. “Speaking of your concerts, you’re set to play at the Swift Waters Casino tomorrow night, right?” After receiving affirmatives from the band, he whistled. “That ain’t bad for an up-and-comer band like yourselves.”
“Not bad at all,” Wayne agreed. “I doubt you can find a single act that has played Swift Waters two months after headlining at the Indigo. You guys are riding the edge of a freaking tsunami.”
Jarod leaned close to his microphone. “Sometimes it feels that way.”
Joram smiled, pleased that their introvert had inserted himself into the discussion. Jarod’s entire world focused on his music. She understood how much the social interaction drained him. She’d much rather be fiddling with her guitar or piano than putting on a show like this, just like him.
“So, what’s next? Your EP is playing all over the city, you’re heading to the top of the LA music world. Are there any new songs coming out? Plans for another CD?”
“We’re always writing music.” Joram gestured at the rest of the band. “I know Jubal’s got a couple of tunes he’s been working on with Bay. Rand’s been developing some decent licks on the drums, and I’ve just completed something a little different.”
Bash perked up. “Yeah? Anything we can have a listen to?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Joram stalled as her mind caught up with the unexpected request. Her intent hadn’t been to play music but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do so. She glanced into the control room at Chloe, cocking her head in question. Their gear had been transported to their next venue for set up, so she didn’t have a musical instrument with her.
Chloe nodded and spoke with the controller. He responded and she held a thumb up to indicate affirmative. Ivan dashed out of view, presumably to collect whatever the radio station had on hand.
Joram continued speaking. “The band hasn’t heard it yet. It’s just something I’ve been working on for the last month or so.”
Wayne followed her gaze out the window. “Come on. We’d love to hear it live!” He stood up as Ivan reappeared with a guitar in his hand, gesturing him forward. “And we’ve got a guitar just waiting to be played.”
Joram gauged the reactions of her bandmates. They seemed agreeable enough, so she nodded. “Okay. It can’t hurt.”
“Yeah!” Bash held up a finger, pausing conversation and actions. “You heard it here, folks! We’ll take a brief commercial break. When we come back, you’ll hear a brand-new song by Invocation.” He hit a switch on his console. “All right, kids! We’ve got two minutes.”
Ivan entered with the guitar. It wasn’t much to look at, but had all its strings. The face of it was covered in writing, signatures by the look of it. “Here. There were a couple of picks too.”
Joram gave him a grateful smile as she settled the guitar in her lap. A few strums indicated it was slightly out of whack, and she did a fast and dirty tuning.
“You just happened to have a guitar hanging out in the control room?” Rand said, pursing her lips with skepticism.
“Oh, yeah!” Wayne utilized the time to prepare another commercial break and song for the next break. “Standard equipment around here.”
“One minute.” Bash nodded in agreement with his companion. “You never know when something like this can happen. Anyone who uses it has to sign it too.”
“Thirty seconds.”
Joram peered at the writing, recognizing one or two of the autographs. She grinned. “Irie.”
“Ten.” Wayne continued the countdown to three, using his fingers for the last count. “Welcome to KRAK radio and The Bash and Wayne Show! We’re back with Invocation in our studio. If you’re just tuning in, you’ve missed a hell of an interview.”
“You haven’t missed everything, though,” Bash stated. “Joram Darkstone, lead singer, is going to play us a brand-new song, never been heard before.”
Wayne stepped into the conversation with practiced ease. “And considering the popularity of their recent EP, this song should be as awesome as their others.” He nodded at Joram. “You ready, Joram?”
Not even Chloe had heard the full song. It was of such a remarkably different nature than her usual work that a shiver of dread coursed through her. Regardless of her jitters, she smiled. “Yep, sure am.” She pulled the microphone closer, the fingers of her left hand quickly finding the first chord on the guitar’s neck.
“Then have at it!”
Joram dispelled her stage fright by filling her mind with thoughts of Naomi, for whom the song had been written. The tune was a slow one, a ballad, unlike the majority of Joram’s songs and without the trademark taint of fury. Still riding the vestiges of her stage-high, she closed her eyes, drawing emotion from the music and people around her as she played. Time seemed to stop as she sang, a breathless instance between one moment and the next, full of life and love and a faint edge of melancholy, a subconscious reflection of the joys and fears that Naomi triggered within her heart.
“My heart has turned to stone.
“Take my hand,
“Please help me to understand.
“Soften the steel, reforge my heart.
“I need you.
“I wish I didn’t.”
Joram whispered the last line, and the strains of guitar faded. A moment of silence followed the final chorus. Sharp applause forced her eyes open. Jarod thumped her shoulder while the others clapped. Jubal’s expression was distant, perhaps from inspiration as he considered a bass line for the song.
“Now that is going to win awards!” Bash said.
“A rock ballad! Every metal band needs a rock ballad,” Wayne added with enthusiasm. “Up until now you haven’t had one, not even in your live shows.”
A slight blush heated Joram’s cheeks. A brand-new song, an exuberant reception and it looked like her bandmates were on board with it. She removed the guitar from her lap. “It’s about time, I think.”
Bash laughed. “Oh, yeah. About time.”
“Thank you, Joram, for playing…what’s it called? Does it have a name yet?”
“It’s called ‘The End.’” Joram tucked the guitar picks into the strings of the instrument.
Wayne raised an eyebrow at the oxymoron of a love ballad being titled in such a manner, but gave a slight nod of concession. “‘The End’ by Invocation. And thanks to all of you for coming down to the studio tonight.”
Rand and Bayani both verbally responded while Jubal remained distracted and Jarod kept his usual silence. Bash stepped in to plug the band and the radio station, reminding their listeners to tune in tomorrow for another fun-filled show. Then the strains of the next song filled the speakers as they shut down their console.
“And we’re done.” Bash stood, doffing his headset. He reached across the table to shake hands with the band. “Thanks again for coming. I think our manager has you lined up for some promo spots before you go.”
“Yeah, I think so.” The small room was made smaller by the mass of people pushing away microphones and removing headsets, standing and stretching and chattering to one another. The door opened, and the two assistants returned to pull extra chairs out of the way and usher the guests out of the room. The two hosts spoke quietly to one another as Joram stepped into the control room.
Ivan didn’t look happy but he rarely did when there wasn’t a cheering audience in the background. For a wonder, Chloe did
n’t appear pleased either, and Joram frowned, wondering why. She received her answer before she could ask as Chloe held out a phone. “It’s him.”
Joram didn’t need to look at the screen to see the devil’s grinning face.
* * *
Joram ignored the butterflies in her stomach as she closed the door on a borrowed office. She put the phone hesitantly to her ear. “Hello?”
Anders’s scornful voice answered. “What was that?”
She swallowed, recognizing his aggravated tone. Many were the times she’d triggered his annoyance, each occurrence ending with her capitulation or banishment. Though a full adult with budding popularity in her career, she couldn’t help but feel like a teenager being brutally brought to heel when in his presence, even over the telephone. “What do you mean?”
His pause played out to incite guilt for playing stupid, and it worked. It was easy to imagine the stern expression on his face, the strength of his glare. “You know perfectly well what I mean, miting. That song. What was it?”
Joram shrugged, digging one hand into her pocket. She leaned back against the door, sullenly staring at the carpet. “A song, that’s all.”
“No, that was a melancholy display of weakness. One you can’t afford.”
“It’s just a song.”
“One that you’ll set aside,” he insisted. “You have better things to be working on, better music. Music that exhibits the fire and passion and fury that is your trademark. That is your destiny, not this doleful codswallop.”
Joram remembered Jarod patting her shoulder, Jubal’s distance as he considered musical possibilities. They’d liked the song, just as everyone else in the studio had. “It’s not codswallop.”
“Does this have anything to do with that redhead you’ve been dating?”
Alarmed, she pushed away from the door. “What? No, of course not!” The last thing she needed was Anders investigating Naomi. If he made it his life’s mission to interfere between his Chosen and her love interest, Joram’s life would become miserable. Until now she’d always heeded his vague warnings, never becoming seriously involved with anyone except Chloe. But Chloe was one of them, a follower of Anders. He had no way to control Naomi, which made her a threat in his eyes. To protect Naomi, to protect herself, she changed the subject. “Look, everybody in the studio liked the song. You heard them applaud.”
He snorted. “Like they’d express a different opinion to your face. You’re my Chosen. Your bandmates follow your lead in all things, as they’ve been trained to do. When have they ever argued over your musical arrangements?”
“What?” Joram asked in confusion.
“You’re my Chosen, Joram. I’ve given you everything—a home, stability, a world of music. Why wouldn’t I also give you the tools you need to succeed in your profession?”
She didn’t know what to say. Doubt filled her mind as she sifted through her memories. From the beginning she’d always counted on her band. They’d all been through Hell, a couple of them even at the same time as her. That separated them from the rest of the world, from Anders himself. She’d trusted them to be honest with her and she’d returned the favor. Could it be true? Is that why the band is with me?
Chloe and Ivan, were they just as false? Ivan had been appointed by Anders as her road manager and had always been suspect to her. But Chloe? Chloe had saved her life in Hell, giving Joram the knife she’d used to defend herself against Christina’s abuse. Chloe had been there from the beginning. Faint nausea rolled in her stomach at the thought that Anders had set her up.
Anders continued. “None will argue with your direction regardless of what you say. They’d jump off a cliff if you ordered it. They’ve been put there to support you, nothing more. And your hosts tonight only sought an edge, a flaw. I guarantee they’ll speak of this night with derision, replaying that unfinished piece of drivel over and over to undermine your success.” He paused for effect. “Don’t waste your time on that song. Anger, rebellion, flames of destruction. Stick to what you know best.”
She gauged his words against her feelings of betrayal, still questioning her interactions with the people she’d trusted for years. He always did this, spinning her head around, gifting her with doubts and demoralization just when things were going exactly as she’d planned. Unfortunately, she’d fallen flat on her face on those rare occasions when she’d ignored his forceful advice. Reluctant, she sighed. “All right.”
“Good.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
He hung up. There were never any goodbyes between them just as there were never any declarations of affection. She disconnected from her end and pocketed the cell phone, standing in the silence for several moments. The ballad was off the table. Destruction and wrath were the order of the day. Obeah Man had spoken.
Growling softly to herself, she felt her lip curl. She hated it when he laid down the law like this, using his power over her to demand—and receive—her irresolute obedience. As always, her capitulation galled her. How many times over the years had he told her she was his Chosen, better than everyone else, stronger, more talented? And how many times had he yanked on her choke-chain collar, restricting her desires and decisions into a narrow track of acceptable behavior.
If I’m such a be-all and end-all, why do I let him run over me like this? This wasn’t the first time she’d questioned her convoluted feelings about the man who’d raised her. It wouldn’t be the last. As before, no answer was forthcoming. Anders was ever the malignant force of nature and she’d become expert at ducking and covering to avoid the worst of his catastrophic damage. Sometimes, like today, the urge to defy his orders welled up within her so strongly that struggling against the illicit desire made her nauseous.
Joram inhaled deeply once, again and then a third time, releasing her choler, stilling her roiling stomach. She knew her senses weren’t wrong regardless of Anders’s attempt to undermine her confidence. Everyone in the studio had enjoyed the ballad, band and radio hosts alike. Anders isn’t even here; what does he know?
There was a reason Anders had been nicknamed Obeah Man by his followers.
She pushed away a spiritual shiver, stubbornly clinging to her pique. She’d follow the letter of the law and not perform that song. Though she might not be able to play the total malcontent, she could do something else. She’d finish arranging the song and enlist the rest of the band in the task. With their input and the tweaks and tricks Anders himself had taught her over the years, that ballad would be a hit if it ever saw the light of day. Maybe when it was finished they could play it for him and he’d change his mind. In any case, Joram would be happy for having secretly defied his order.
Satisfied with her intentions, she exited the office.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She took a deep, bracing breath and 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. 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’d created.
“Thank you,” Joram said again.
“Thank you for flying JetBlue!”
The captain’s voice was loud over the speaker, startling Naomi from her restless slumber. Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry. This was the fourth time she’d had the nightmare, though she still couldn’t remember much more than heat and darkness and the iron tang of blood in her nostrils. She shifted in her seat, wincing as a piercing pain inflamed the nerves in her neck and shoulder. Groaning, she massaged the crick and peered out the window. A sea of lights flickered in the darkness, a web of illumination coalescing with irregular intervals of brilliance.
“We’re in LA,” her seating companion informed her.
Naomi cleared her throat before nodding. “Tha
nks.” She stretched, noting the numbness of her fanny. It had been hours since she’d been on her feet, but it was the price she had to pay for a nonstop flight from the east coast.
The cabin shook and shivered as the plane made contact with the tarmac. Engines roared, drowning out the wail of an infant four rows back. The laws of physics pressed her forward against her seat belt until the plane slowed to a manageable speed. A bell dinged and the flight attendant announced that the use of cell phones was now permitted, iterating the captain’s pleasantries and a welcome to sunny Los Angeles.
As the plane taxied to the waiting gate, Naomi pulled her phone from the bag beneath the seat in front of her. Once turned on, she checked her messages, disappointed there wasn’t one from Joram. She attempted a call only to be sent to voice mail. Either Joram had turned the phone off or she was at a concert. “Hey, I’m back. Give me a call when you get this.”
Naomi paused a moment before opening the phone’s web browser. She could always count on the information on Invocation’s website. The band’s manager was adamant about keeping fans updated with the most recent touring information. Her initiative was rewarded with the fact that Joram played at the Swift Waters casino this week. Tonight was the band’s third night out of five at the venue. The concert would begin in about three hours. Naomi checked the time and gauged the amount of traffic on the road. She had just enough time to drop her bags and reach the casino before the doors opened.
The thought of collapsing in her own bed was tempting but the desire to see Joram was stronger. Time was of the essence, especially given the hypothesis Inanna and Nathan had derived. Just a few more days. Maybe Joram’s adoptive father had been Inanna’s former Chosen One, but Naomi knew in her heart that Joram couldn’t be involved. Granted, they hadn’t been friends long enough to fully know each other, but Naomi had spoken of her graduate education in mythological and spiritual anthropology. Though intrigued with the topic, Joram had exhibited ignorance on the subject. She simply didn’t have the supernatural background for an endeavor of this magnitude. It had to be someone else in the band. I only have a few more days. Her stomach roiled with the knowledge.
Darkstone Page 23