Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  At her mother’s nod, Naomi dropped into her seat, hardly hearing the sorrowful voice that had comforted her all her life. “I’m so sorry, Naomi, but Joram is the one. She will destroy the world unless you stop her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Holy shit! Did you see that?” Bayani demanded as the band burst into the dressing room.

  “Fucking butterflies everywhere!” Rand exclaimed, a grin on her face. “Where the hell did they come from?”

  Jarod wiped his face with a towel, draping it over his shoulder. “Who knows? It was a pretty awesome ending, though.”

  Pleased beyond measure, Joram grinned as Ivan notified security to give the band five minutes before visitors were allowed backstage. The doors closed on the sounds of people clamoring for entry. Speakers embedded in the ceiling played recorded music piped in from the main auditorium.

  For not having more than three days to work on the ballad, the band had kicked ass. She trembled with a combination of dread and excitement. As soon as Anders heard she’d chosen to play the forbidden song, she expected an explosion. That fear couldn’t shake the sheer joy she felt at knowing Naomi had been witness to the miracle. “There must have been cocoons in the rafters or something.”

  “And they just happened to hatch during our concert?” Bayani said before taking a swallow of beer. “All of them? What are the odds of that happening?”

  “Obeah.”

  Joram turned to see Jubal’s sober face. “What?”

  “It was obeah, mon. Pure and simple.”

  “It was fucking awesome!” Jarod collapsed into a chair.

  Joram shook her head. “It wasn’t magic. Magic doesn’t exist.” She examined her friends and bandmates, catching a frown on Rand’s face. “What? You can’t seriously think that.”

  Rand shrugged, her initial delight fading beneath a speculative expression. “I dunno. Now that Jubal mentions it, I thought I saw a couple of them just…vanish.” She held up her hands, fingers together, fanning the digits out as she spoke. “Poof.”

  Jubal wasn’t the only one dissatisfied. Ivan scrubbed at the back of his neck, one hand on his hip. “I don’t know, Joram. I thought the boss said not to play that song.”

  Her trepidation spiked as she frowned at him. She hadn’t told anyone that Anders had forbidden the song. Ivan could only have learned of it from the man himself. “Where’d you hear that?”

  He flinched away from her, holding both hands up, exposing his palms in a calming gesture. They both knew the answer, but he wasn’t willing to speak it aloud.

  “We weren’t supposed to play it?” Bayani’s complexion paled as he looked back and forth between the others.

  Joram swore aloud. “What difference does it make? It’s a hit! Anders isn’t here, he’s in fucking Jamaica! Why is he calling the shots?”

  Jarod wiped again at his face, his exuberance gone. “Because he’s the boss.”

  Frustrated, Joram stared at her friends. “How often have I heard you guys complaining because he’s been holding us back? This song is our platinum hit, I guarantee it. You saw them out there! I don’t give a shit about what Anders wants us to play if we can get that kind of response from the audience.”

  The others wouldn’t meet her gaze, not even Chloe, their qualms hitting Joram with almost physical pain. These were the people she trusted, some she’d literally trusted with her life in Hell. Despite years of friendship, of being out from under Anders’s direct supervision, they couldn’t overcome the specter of “Obeah Man” looming over them. Unable to stomach their sudden lack of support from those she’d considered staunch champions Joram grabbed her jacket. “Fine. I’ll see you guys later.” She shouldered past Ivan and Chloe, bursting out the door and into the midst of several people bearing backstage passes. She did her level best to smile as she pushed onward with the help of two security guards.

  Behind her, Chloe called out to distract the crowd. “C’mon in, everybody! Who wants to meet the band?” A ragged cheer rose from the thirty bystanders, ignoring Joram as she walked away.

  Joram continued on. Naomi was here somewhere. Perhaps she’d have a higher opinion of the new song.

  * * *

  A thorough search of the concert hall didn’t turn up Naomi. The venue staff had been too enamored by the butterflies to notice when she’d left the balcony or which exit she’d taken. Joram had sent one of the security people back to the dressing room in case they’d crossed paths when she’d stormed out. He’d returned and reported that no one matching Naomi’s description was there.

  Depressed, Joram now sat alone in the balcony. With the venue cleared of nonessential personnel, she’d sent the security officers away. Everyone present was either backstage or a casino employee cleaning up the concert aftermath.

  Had she misunderstood Naomi’s last phone call several days ago? Naomi had been a little emotionally distant at the beginning, but they’d ended the call with passionate promise. Here at the casino, Naomi’s VIP pass included free access to the after-party in the dressing room, yet she chose to leave without seeing Joram. She hated the song. Why else would Naomi have left without a word, without seeing her? Joram supposed she couldn’t blame her. The last line of the ballad didn’t exactly inspire love and understanding. “I need you. I wish I didn’t,” she whispered the last lines of the song. Naomi had probably assumed Joram wanted her to disappear.

  Joram had spent too many years expressing anger and sorrow in her music. Melancholy and wrath had forged her soul. She didn’t have the luxury of evincing her fears in real life, not with Anders hovering over her every word and deed. To not imbue the song with her antagonistic truth was a denouncement of the experiences and emotions that had created her. Without an avenue for their release, Joram would have long since lost her mind. Had she been a fool to think that Naomi would understand that need within, that drive to express those negative emotions and distress in a constructive manner?

  Didn’t Naomi really listen to the song?

  Joram had attempted to call Naomi several times but had received no answer. In the process of trying to reconnect, she’d discovered Naomi’s voice mail, left when she’d arrived in town. Now there were no responses at all, though Joram had left two messages. That in itself indicated Naomi probably detested the new song. She’d just arrived in town, came to the casino despite jet lag and then ditched Joram, either saddened or pissed off by the song’s sentiments.

  A thousand butterflies and Naomi’s desertion. How could such an awe-inspiring night end in such desolation?

  The sound of jazzy percussion and Mick Jagger’s screams jolted her from the edge of her broodiness, sparking her ever-present hatred and anger, liberally mixed with a shock of fear. The abrupt emotional transmutation left her nauseous, and she gritted her teeth against her stomach turning over. She fished the phone from her pocket, glaring at the devil image on the screen. This was his fault whether he had an active hand in it or not. She gathered her hostility, using it to sublimate the instinctive fright that ruled all her dealings with Anders. “What?”

  Anders’s voice was just as gruff. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  Rebellious, Joram shot to her feet. “No, you gave me an order. I didn’t agree with it.”

  “And you’re to follow orders, or have you forgotten your role as my Chosen?”

  “Whatever.” Pressure bore down upon her; the desire to see Naomi again, to gain favor or apologize for the stupid song, the trembling need to be obedient to the man who held power over her, to appease her fearful bandmates and return to their good graces. She paced in the aisle, walking up and down the balcony steps, her free hand on her forehead. God, how much longer can I do this?

  Anders let her stew several moments before speaking again, speculation in his tone. “So you went against my express wishes and things didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped.”

  Tears burned hot behind her eyes and in her throat, infuriating her more. She wished she had some so
rt of witty retort, but was afraid her voice would crack if she spoke before gaining self-control.

  “I tried to warn you,” Anders said in a fatherly manner.

  She imagined him smug and smiling, pleased at having the opportunity to say, “I told you so,” once again. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she said, “Bullshit! The audience loved it. You told me it was crap.”

  “It is crap,” he insisted. “It’s drivel. You’ll drive your fans away with that sort of music.”

  Joram stopped at the balcony railing, staring out at the empty stage, imagining the butterflies filling the hall. “You weren’t here. They loved it.” Didn’t they? Up until that last song, the audience had been furious and rabid, their collective lives a tangible and pliable thing that she’d used to…what? She felt her forehead wrinkle as she frowned. When she was in the moment, the crowd screaming, the music swelling, she imagined herself gathering their emotions, their souls, hugging them to her chest and doing something. Afterward, she could never understand what it was that she was doing.

  Anders chuckled, bringing her back to the present. “And now you’re upset…why? Did their adoration not reward you with the experience you sought? Was your band less than pleased with the results?” He paused for effect. “No, wait! Your band has chosen to ignore your leadership in favor of mine.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled, wincing internally at her uncharacteristic attack. Though she acted bold and uncaring in his presence, she’d rarely lost control so absolutely. It didn’t help that Ivan had ratted her out, informing him of her bandmates’ lack of support.

  This time he laughed aloud, unfazed. “Hardly, miting. You’ll get no such pleasure from me. You won’t get that pleasure from your redheaded chit, either, will you?”

  Icy fingers of fear gripped her heart. He knows everything else. What does he know about Naomi? “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t like your soppy love song, did she? You thought you’d use your skills—the skills I taught you—to woo her, to bring her into your bed. Only she’s left you in the lurch, hasn’t she?”

  Joram shivered. Her immediate concern was that Anders was watching her from somewhere here in the venue, and she automatically whirled around to see if she could spot him. A handful of employees combed the aisles for trash and three roadies were onstage, winding cables and sweeping the floor. No, he wasn’t here. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d left his compound. The security guard she’d sent back to the dressing room had tipped off Anders’s mole when asking about Naomi. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Poor misunderstood Joram. She spends years slogging through Hell to build her musical empire, climbs to the peak of success, and succumbs to the weakness of love, writing a song for her paramour.” He paused. “Is it any wonder the young woman was unimpressed? Who respects such sentimentality from a ruthless murderer?”

  “Shut up!” For a wonder, he did. She collapsed into a seat closest to the balcony entrance, staring down at the blank white screen backdrop behind the stage.

  Anders had found her on the streets, saved her from predators and brought her to Jamaica. There Madeleine had raised her for nine years before Anders threw Joram to the wolves in Hell. After Joram’s release, she lived in her apartment alone, Madeleine having been dismissed. Anders had refused to give Joram her forwarding address. He financially supported her and her musical career, denying her nothing when it came to instruments, gear or education. She’d never understood why and had never been able to bring herself to ask the question. Instinctively, she knew she didn’t want to hear his answer. He was always going on about how she’d Chosen to be his, but the only thing she’d truly chosen was to remain ignorant of his reasons for coming into her life. “Why?”

  “Why what, miting?”

  Her head fell back as she scrunched down in the seat. She closed her eyes. “Why me? Why did you choose me all those years ago? What do you get out of all this?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  His query held an ominous tone, one she’d heard before. If she pressed, he’d answer, and it wouldn’t be something she wanted to hear. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she was somehow responsible for the butterflies, for the craziness. Despite scoffing at Jubal’s superstitions, she’d been raised in the same environment and held the same notions. Only Anders had the answers. Bracing herself, she said, “Yes.”

  The line disconnected.

  Blinking in surprise, she straightened in her chair, staring at the phone.

  “Come with me.”

  Joram’s head whipped around, heart pounding.

  Anders stood silhouetted in the doorway, hand outstretched.

  Dazed, she slowly stood, reluctantly stepping into the aisle to approach him. Smothering her revulsion, she took his hand, his ethereal greasiness filming her skin and spirit.

  He ignored her discomfort—he always did—tucking her hand into his crooked elbow. As he led her away, he said, “Millennia ago there was a door…”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Naomi stared out at early morning traffic from her booth at the window, nursing her third cup of coffee. The clientele of the twenty-four hour café had slowly shifted from late-night barhoppers to businesspeople en route to offices and joggers rewarding themselves for another few miles beneath their sneakers. She knew she was wasting time, but couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, honey? You’ve been here most the night.”

  She looked up at the waitress who worked the late shift. Her stomach grumbling agreement at her neglect though she didn’t feel the hunger. With a sigh, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll have the number twelve breakfast platter.”

  The waitress appeared relieved as she whipped out her pad and jotted Naomi’s order down. In her book, a single woman brooding over coffee for her entire shift was cause for concern. “How do you want your eggs?”

  Naomi gave the specifics, requesting another refill for her cup before the waitress left to put in the order. Then she propped her chin on her hand and watched people and vehicles pass by.

  Inanna had literally disappeared not long after dropping her bombshell on Naomi, dissipating in a puff of sparkling light just as the butterflies had. She’d never actually been at the casino, only projected herself from home. Perhaps the growing strength of the vortexes in the area had aided her, just as they’d aided Joram’s invisible presence in Europe. Naomi shook her head. Having a goddess for a mother, even an aging one, was inconvenient in the extreme.

  Her phone buzzed on the tabletop. She was relieved when Rebecca’s face showed on the screen rather than Joram’s or her mother’s. It had been difficult to ignore Joram’s attempts at contact, but Naomi couldn’t face her. She had to gain some distance and perspective before talking with Joram again. The song, the butterflies and Inanna’s confirmation were too much. For an instant she considered also disregarding Rebecca, but she hadn’t seen her roommate since she’d left last week. Naomi missed her. None of this was Rebecca’s fault, and Naomi knew she’d be worried more by her not answering. Steeling herself, she sighed and picked up the phone. “Hey.”

  “You are home, aren’t you? I got back last night to find your luggage in the living room. It’s still sitting here.”

  Despite her exhaustion and unhappiness, Naomi smiled at the warmth in Rebecca’s voice. “Yeah, I’m home. I got back last night.”

  Smugness radiated over the phone. “Out all night, huh? I guess I know where you went.” Naomi could almost see Rebecca’s eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “How’s Joram?”

  Stung by sorrow, she shook her head though her friend couldn’t see the gesture. “It’s not what you think.” No matter how much I wish it was.

  “No?”

  “No.” Naomi scrubbed at her face, willing away fatigue. “I went to their latest concert but didn’t stay.”

  “Then where the hell have you been all ni
ght?” Concern tinged Rebecca’s voice.

  Naomi blew out a breath. If she revealed her location, Rebecca would come running. She also knew Rebecca would never forgive her if she deflected the question. “The café. You know the one.”

  “The Rosé Café?” Alarm radiated across the phone. “What’s going on? You only go there when you’re upset. Did Joram do something? Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her face, stopping to frown at the table, struggling with a wave of dismay. “I don’t know anymore, Rebecca. I just don’t know.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Rebecca said and hung up.

  Her head shot up. “No!” Too late. Frustrated, Naomi dropped her phone onto the table with a clatter, rolling her eyes skyward. She shouldn’t have said anything. She knew better. Rebecca was the type of person who took friendship seriously. If Naomi was in trouble, Rebecca would be there beside her come hell or high water. Her loyalty was one of her most generous traits, and Naomi loved her for it. But that dedication could herald the end of their relationship as Rebecca’s good opinion of her faltered. How do you explain to your best friend that you’ve been raised to murder someone in order to save the world from total destruction? Rebecca would see Naomi in jail or a psychiatric wing before the day was through.

  Maybe that would be for the best.

  Ignoring the urge to simply give up, Naomi glanced around the café, debating the idea of leaving prior to Rebecca’s arrival. Fleeing would take too much energy, something that had drained from her after Inanna’s pronouncement at the casino. The thought of making a decision exhausted her. Rather than take action, she remained in the booth, staring as the world passed by outside, accepting her breakfast from the waitress with wooden politeness.

  Rebecca’s whirlwind arrival scattered Naomi’s ennui. “At least you’re eating,” she said by way of greeting as she slid onto the bench across from Naomi. She waved her hand for the waitress, turning the place setting coffee cup upright. “Coffee,” she ordered. “Bring a pot.” As soon as the server left, she reached across the table to take Naomi’s hand. “All right, I’m here. What’s going on?”