Darkstone

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Darkstone Page 24

by D. Jordan Redhawk


  The plane arrived at the gate, and the captain turned off the seat belt sign. Welcoming the distraction, Naomi rose, crouching beneath the overhead luggage rack as she massaged feeling into her thighs and lower back. As her fellow travelers shuffled toward the cabin door, she shook her head. Joram can’t be the one.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until she was inside the casino that Naomi wondered if she could even gain entry. A line of people snaked out of the double doors and down along the wall outside the concert hall, waiting admittance. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate letdown—I didn’t save the world because I couldn’t get past the door guard. Joram had said she’d put Naomi on the VIP list, but that didn’t mean she’d had time to do so yet, not knowing of Naomi’s impending return. There was nothing else to do but try.

  Having been a VIP before, Naomi bypassed the main line, opting for the ticket booth where only a handful of people loitered. She didn’t have a long wait before she presented herself at the “Will Call” booth. Two sales people sat just inside, an old Indian man and a woman in her mid-thirties. “I’m Naomi Kostopoulos. I should be on the guest list.”

  “You and a half a dozen others,” the old man said, jerking a chin to a small crowd of young women corralled by ropes and stanchions to one side. He gave her a long look. “Stand over there for now. I’ve already put in a call to security.”

  “Thank you.” Naomi moved out of the way, not quite entering the crowd of groupies awaiting attention.

  Her physical distance wasn’t the only difference between them. The young women—teenagers barely old enough to employ the term—wore more makeup than clothing. What clothes they’d chosen drew heavy influence from hair metal music videos if anything at all. They were awash in a sea of latex, leather and lace with platinum or burgundy hair and long fake fingernails.

  One gave Naomi a once-over, popping her gum. “Where’d you get that blouse? Goodwill?”

  While the others laughed, Naomi smiled. “Actually, yes! I didn’t know you shopped there too.”

  One guffawed aloud and two others shared a secret smirk between them as the first bristled. Before she could push through the others to confront Naomi, two large men wearing neon yellow T-shirts arrived.

  The one with the beard consulted a clipboard. “All right, someone here says they’re on the guest list?”

  Chance skirmish forgotten, the groupies clamored, raising their hands as they hopped excitedly on stiletto heels. Naomi had to give them all secret praise. She knew how difficult it was to walk in shoes like that; she couldn’t imagine skipping about in such a fashion and still remaining upright.

  The second guard called, “One at a time!” He visually scanned them all, his gaze stopping on Naomi. “You. Who are you?”

  Naomi stepped forward, smoothly bypassing the ineffectual glare of the Goodwill groupie. “Naomi Kostopoulos, guest of Joram Darkstone.”

  Scanning the list, the bearded guard nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got you here. You have any ID?”

  Producing her passport, Naomi felt the waves of surprised infuriation emitting from the snubbed groupie.

  “You’re cleared.” Beard waved her behind him, telling his companion, “She’s got the full VIP package.” He turned his attention to the others.

  The second guard shuffled through the passes dangling from one wrist. “Here we go.” He handed her a colorful plastic card with a lanyard dangling from it. He flagged down a passing person whose shirt was as bright as his own. “See that she gets to the balcony seating in Section F.”

  Transfer complete, Naomi glanced back over her shoulder at the groupies, noting their sheer green envy. Those not watching her departure were too busy arguing with the security guards to notice.

  Her guide led her to a wide set of stairs. As she climbed she had a better view of the crowd on the first floor. There were more people in the foyer of the concert hall than there’d been at the last gig she’d attended. And that number didn’t count those who had already taken their seats or still remained in the line slowly crawling toward the ticket takers.

  There were fewer people on the second floor, most hanging from the banister to call to their friends below. Almost every one of them had an Invocation T-shirt on, and Naomi grinned. I’ll bet Joram is ecstatic! Proud of her friend’s accomplishments, she followed her guide past a Reserved sign and another guard into a balcony seating area.

  “Take your pick,” he said, waving at the dozen or so empty seats. “It looks like you’ve got the place to yourself for a while.”

  “Really?” She scanned the area. “Don’t they have many other guests?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. Not every night, though.” He edged toward the door. “Gotta go. You can go back down and pick up drinks or food at the bar. Show ’em your badge and let ’em know that you’re up here, and they’ll deliver it. Use your badge to get back into the seating area.”

  Naomi slowly turned as he left. Though she had a decent enough view of the stage from the back row, she descended the short flight of steps to the front. She chose a seat in the middle but didn’t sit down quite yet. She’d spent hours today sitting on her butt in planes and taxis. Standing was a luxury she wanted to enjoy for a while longer. After another look around the empty balcony, she smiled. She might be able to stand through the entire concert, for that matter. It wasn’t like she was blocking anyone’s view.

  She put her hands on the banister at the balcony’s edge, gazing down at the audience below. The chairs filled up quickly, and an open dance area had been placed directly in front of the stage. That was different. The last time she’d had a guest pass, seating had been available right up to the edge of the platform. Was that why guests were seated up here in the balcony rather than the first row of chairs behind the dance area? She didn’t like being so far away from the action. It had been exciting to see Joram at work from that vantage point. This distance seemed viscerally different, separating her from direct interaction with the band. She supposed it was better than being jostled by strangers throughout the concert.

  The cleared section had quite a number of people already present. Despite the amount of space set aside and the fact that the performance hadn’t yet started, the people thronged against the barrier before the stage, packed tightly together, their attention focused on the platform. Naomi frowned, cocking her head to stare at them. Something was weird about that lot, and she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Again she scanned the rest of the venue. The audience was a colorful, restless and clamorous conglomeration. Loud music emitted from overhead speakers, not as earsplitting as the concert itself would be, but loud enough to keep easy conversation to a minimum. Several thousand people chatted with one another, called across the seating sections to friends and took photos of themselves with the stage behind them. It was a riot of sound and movement with more coming in to fill the venue to bursting.

  The people gathered at the stage were anything but vocal. Naomi crouched, resting forearms on the banister, her chin on top of her hands. She frowned as she stared at the anomaly.

  The dance area hadn’t filled as quickly as the rest of the concert hall. Those people ignored the presence of the security team posturing between the flimsy barrier and the riser. From Naomi’s vantage point, she couldn’t tell if any of them spoke. They didn’t appear to pay much attention to one another, and few moved more than the occasional shift in stance. They waited with deathlike patience. Occasionally others from the main audience would drift into the clearing but unless the new arrivals were as single-minded as those already present, it didn’t take long for him or her to return to the seats. Even people in the first row of chairs cast uncertain glances at the tableau, a ripple of disquiet that radiated out from the stage itself.

  That’s just…odd. She studied them until the lights dimmed. Startled by the passage of time, she stood and fished in her pocket for earplugs.

  A rush of concert attendees hit the dance floor, no longer heeding their i
ntuitive misgiving of those occupying the area. A roar filled the auditorium, an indistinct thunder that eventually coalesced into a chant. “Invocation! Invocation! Invocation!”

  As the first strains of music began and the spotlights came up, Naomi lost herself in the music, seeing nothing but Joram bursting out onto the stage, strangeness forgotten.

  * * *

  The band had put on an outstanding performance, one that had held the entire audience in thrall. A long time passed before Naomi came back to herself, fist in the air, screaming defiance. Several of the songs were unfamiliar to her, but those seemed to be the most popular. The new tunes snapped with electricity and tugged at her emotions. Unfortunately, they sparked anger and discontent more than anything else. Like Naomi, the audience had thrown fists into the air and growled their displeasure even as they cheered Invocation onward.

  Naomi pursed her lips in thought as Joram finished the band’s second encore, a wave of rebelliousness having taken root in her heart. It didn’t help that she thought she’d seen Inanna in the crowd earlier, as unlikely as that could be. Naomi had done a double take at the time, but couldn’t find her mother again, realizing the sighting was her imagination. To her knowledge, her mother rarely left her complex, only visiting Nathan or the village that supported the school. Her analytical self distantly examined her anger, understanding that the music had somehow triggered her emotions. It wasn’t the seed of insubordination in her soul that caused the abrupt crystallization of her underlying discontent. Regardless, her mistaken sight of Inanna coupled with the mood alteration projected by the band had been enough to fan her defiance into high crackling flames. The music had taken negative parts of herself and magnified them. This hadn’t happened at the previous concerts she’d attended. The question was whether or not this temperamental manipulation was by design on the band’s part or by simple accident. Or you’re being overly sensitive after your visit home.

  She couldn’t argue that point.

  The band left the stage, breaking their spell. Naomi looked at the people below, eyes automatically scanning for Inanna’s slender frame, relieved at not finding it and feeling slightly foolish for the worry. The dance area in front of the stage had swelled since the concert began, becoming a mass of humanity that spilled into the aisles leading to it. Chairs stood forlorn and forgotten in clumps throughout the venue, abandoned as their owners fell sway to the same glamour she’d experienced. The people pumped their fists in the air, rhythmic and eerily in sync as they chanted, “Invocation! Invocation! Invocation!”

  A tremor filled the stadium as they stamped their feet, not just those on the floor but everyone else in the theater as well. Naomi swallowed in nervousness. She watched as they demanded another encore with almost robotic synchronicity. A sense of malevolence emanated from the assemblage, a cloud of malice hovering over their heads and filling the air with malignancy. Perturbed, she glanced over her shoulder, fearful. No one else had joined her in the balcony, leaving her all alone. She shivered at the realization that she was completely defenseless in the dark and that a mob of thousands stood below her, looking for blood.

  The chant changed into a roar of approval, and she snapped her eyes back to the stage. Joram and the band had returned, smiling and waving. Can’t they feel the madness they’ve created?

  Joram held her hands up until the crowd quieted. “Doan fret! We not done yet!” She grinned, in her element as the audience celebrated her reappearance. The rest of the band strutted about the stage, strapping their guitars over their shoulders. Rand rattled her drums, ending an impromptu solo with a crash of cymbals. When everyone on stage was ready, Joram held up her hands again. When she could be heard over the screaming, she called, “Some of you listened to a radio interview we had on the Bash and Wayne show last week. KRAK radio, remember?” She shouted over the responding din. “And I played a little song on the air.”

  Again the crowd went wild, and it took some time for them to quiet down once again. Naomi raised her eyebrows in surprise at the reaction, wondering what song it had been. Apparently it had made quite an impression on those who’d heard it. Either that or these people are too far gone to care so long as the band performs.

  “Well, the band hasn’t had a lot of time to work with it, but we have a inner luv for you! So we’re goan play it.” This time, she held up a hand, pointing at the balcony where Naomi sat. “For you.”

  As the band began to play, Naomi grinned ear to ear. Security must have told Joram she was here. There was no way Joram could have seen Naomi with all the lights blinding her. Naomi forgot her edginess about the crowd and sank into her seat. The anger that plagued her faded as the music washed over her. The tempo and style were different from any other Invocation song. Slow and deep, the sounds soothed her and filled her heart with something else, something warm and pleasant. She found herself enamored as Joram sang the lyrics.

  “My heart has turned to stone.

  “Take my hand,

  “Please help me to understand.

  “Soften the steel, reforge my heart.

  “I need you.

  “I need you.

  “I wish I didn’t.”

  In the silence following the final strains of guitar, something tickled Naomi’s cheek. She swiped at her face, surprised to find tears there. Sniffling, she chuckled, sheepish and a little glad there weren’t any witnesses. “Thank you,” she whispered, blowing a kiss to Joram who stood panting onstage.

  Another tickle drew her gaze to the back of her hand. Her mouth opened in awe as she watched a monarch butterfly slowly open and close its wings.

  “Look at that!” someone said loudly into the stillness below.

  Naomi’s butterfly took flight as other members of the audience exclaimed. No one from the ground floor could see her sitting here in the dark. Puzzled, she stood, trying to keep the butterfly in her vision as she glanced down to the main floor.

  A thousand butterflies flittered over the audience, rising in a gentle swarm. Their colorful wings caught stray light from the stage, seeming to ripple in the darkness as the multitude stared agape at them. Smiles broke out, hands raised to gently provide roosts or capture one, and the clamor became one of wonder rather than fury.

  Naomi gasped, holding a hand to her mouth. This was magic, not accident, something few people in the world could master. She stared at Joram who appeared stunned as she flinched away from three butterflies fluttering about her. She doesn’t know how it happened. The thought alleviated Naomi’s worry. Joram didn’t understand what was happening any more than anyone else. She couldn’t be Naomi’s target. But the rest of the band showed similar reactions. Was it possible that one of them was that good an actor? Was Joram? Or did none of them have anything to do with the spell that had been cast over their audience?

  Belatedly, the curtain came down, almost hitting Joram who did a hasty back-step to avoid disaster. The crowd was too enamored of this magical moment to notice the band’s departure, chattering and laughing as they gathered their things and prepared to leave.

  Naomi remained in place, mind racing. If Joram and the band weren’t involved, then who else could it be? The only other regulars that Naomi had met were Chloe and Ivan. Ivan was the road manager, responsible for keeping the band in business. Was it possible that Inanna’s Chosen had raised Ivan to such a level of sorcerous skill? And what of Chloe? What did she really do for the band? “But it’s the music causing it, right?”

  “Sweetness.”

  She whirled around to see her mother flowing down the steps from the balcony entry. The incongruity of Inanna’s presence in her modern day life dazed her. Inanna never traveled so far. Never. Was this a magical manifestation too? “Wha—What are you doing here?” she sputtered.

  Inanna came to a stop before her, a saddened expression on her face. “Your love for this woman is too strong. It blinds you. I had to see her for myself.”

  Naomi’s spark of rebellion, still fresh from the concert, fu
lly returned. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You mean you don’t trust my opinion.”

  “It’s not your opinion I need, daughter. It’s your unbiased observation.” She reached out to caress Naomi’s cheek, pausing as Naomi turned her head away. Instead she reached up and a butterfly delicately landed upon her hand. “She must love you very much.”

  Naomi’s heart soared at the words though she scowled. She and Joram had only just begun to get to know one another. She had strong feelings for Joram, emotions born during her solitary year at the monastery, but that didn’t mean her friend shared them. “Why?’

  Inanna held the butterfly up to her mouth and lightly blew on it. It fluttered up into the air and vanished in a sparkle of light. “Because she created these from her love, using the power she’s gathering from the vortexes and the people to express it.”

  Though pleased by the idea, Naomi had to dispel her mother’s suspicions. “It’s not her. She had no idea this was going to happen.” Naomi turned away to look out over the crowd. Most of the butterflies had disappeared though one or two still danced above the heads of the audience as they worked their way out of the venue. “She was as surprised as everyone else.”

  “She might not be aware of her ability, but she was the focal point of the spell.”

  Naomi spun back around. “How is that even possible? Skills like that require discipline and knowledge, skills she’s never spent time acquiring.”

  Inanna’s smile was bittersweet. “On the contrary. She’s put much of her time and energy into learning her craft. Just because her skill manifests as music doesn’t make her actions less magical.”

  Unable to speak, Naomi stared. Joram had admitted her education was spotty, that she’d focused all of her attention on her music. Had she been guided in a manner that had created an ignorance of her power, her ability? “Is that even possible?”

 

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