Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Her touch grounded Naomi. “You didn’t need to come. I’ll be okay.” Despite her protest, she gripped Rebecca’s hand, gathering strength from the physical contact.

  Snorting her opinion of that, Rebecca squeezed. “Last time you came here you’d damned near failed your statistics class. The time before that? That family friend of yours had died in the middle of the term and you couldn’t get home to the service. And before that was when you broke up with Theresa. Something serious is going down, and you need me here.” She pulled away as the waitress returned with the coffee, waiting for her to replenish the cream and leave the pot behind. As soon as they were alone again, she reached for the creamer. “Now, what is it?”

  Naomi fled the question, finding the rich color of her egg yolk more interesting. She dragged her fork through the golden yellow, watching it trail from the tines across the plate. “It’s nothing.”

  “Was it something that happened when you visited home?”

  She gave a humorless chuckle. “Something like that. It started there in any case.”

  “Is it because of Joram?”

  Naomi didn’t answer. No longer hungry, she shoved her plate aside and tossed her napkin onto the detritus, avoiding Rebecca’s gaze.

  A bemused expression crossed Rebecca’s face. “Doesn’t your mother know you’re gay?”

  The thought that her trouble boiled down to a lack of acceptance regarding her sexual orientation amused Naomi. “That’s not it.”

  Rebecca leaned forward over her coffee cup. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

  “Rebecca,” Naomi drawled.

  “Naomi,” Rebecca returned in the same tone.

  The familiar exchange eased a small part of Naomi’s dread. She sighed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  Rebecca sipped and set the cup down, her response light. “No worries there. I already know you’re crazy.” She examined Naomi with a frown. “This isn’t something new, is it? This has something to do with why you’re so tightly wrapped.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve told you before that you need to release some of that pressure before it explodes.” She took Naomi’s hand again. “You know me. I won’t judge you. I love you. You need to talk to somebody. If not me, then consider talking to someone else.”

  The urge to cry strained the back of Naomi’s throat. “I can’t trust anyone else.”

  “You can trust me. I’ve been your best friend for years. There’s nothing you can say that will turn me against you.”

  The tears spilled over as Naomi laughed. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Try me.”

  She studied Rebecca’s solemn resolve, seeing the dedication and love glowing from within. The desire to unburden herself was overwhelming. To share this abysmal weight with another person, someone who wasn’t connected to the world in which she’d been raised, might be the respite she needed to carry out her task. And maybe with the help of another she’d find an escape from this trap in which she languished. Mama was wrong to choose me. I can’t do this alone. I’m not strong enough. “So be it,” she said. “Millennia ago there was a door…”

  * * *

  Rebecca unlocked the apartment door in silence, and Naomi followed her inside, worry nibbling at her calm facade. Rebecca had asked few questions throughout Naomi’s delivery at the café, more for purposes of clarification than critical commentary on the fantastic story that was Naomi’s life. Afterward, she’d paid the breakfast bill without comment and offered to drive them home.

  The trip back had been too quiet, nibbling at Naomi’s nerves. She closed and locked the door, paying little attention to her bags still parked on the floor. She thinks I’m crazy. Inwardly scoffing, Naomi couldn’t blame Rebecca for that. Everything she’d just heard defied her version of what was right and true in the world. Standing forlorn in the entry, at a loss for a way to break the ominous hush between them, Naomi took a step toward the kitchen. “Do you want tea or anything?”

  Rebecca dropped her keys in the bowl by the door, waving Naomi’s suggestion away. “Oh, no. I’ve had enough caffeine already. My back teeth will be swimming soon.”

  The activity curtailed, Naomi trailed uncertainly after her into the living room. Rebecca collapsed on the couch, and Naomi joined her there. “Can you at least say something then? You’re scaring the hell out of me!”

  “I’m still trying to process.” Rebecca rubbed her fingertips against her forehead.

  “Do you want me to look up the number of Telecare?” Naomi named the local emergency mental health care facility in Long Beach.

  Rebecca scoffed, smacking her shoulder with one hand. “Shut up. You’re not crazy…exactly.” She sat back on the couch, dropping both hands to her lap as she leaned her head back. “Misguided maybe.”

  “Misguided.” Though fear of immediate commitment to a psych ward dissipated, Naomi didn’t care for Rebecca’s choice of words. “Meaning I was raised in a crazy household so I’m manifesting that reality?”

  Hearing the insulted tone, Rebecca turned her head. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Naomi curled her legs up beneath her, feeling more alone than before. “But you don’t believe me, either.”

  “Cut me some slack here. You have to admit what you said takes some extraordinary twists.” Rebecca lifted her head. “Besides, how can your mother even begin to think you have the capacity to kill someone, regardless of the reason? I mean, really? If she’s a goddess, wouldn’t she have figured out long ago that she had the wrong girl?”

  Naomi wilted, Rebecca having voiced one of the many questions that had filled Naomi’s heart since she’d first discovered her role in the coming conflict. “I don’t know.” She battled a distant sense of pleasure that Rebecca hadn’t focused on the fantastical elements of her life, concentrating on this more mundane issue. “You don’t think I can do it?”

  Rebecca scowled. “I’ve seen you do your martial arts exercises. Granted, they don’t look like karate or ju jitsu, but katas are katas the world—or worlds—over. I think you have the capability to defend yourself to the death, no doubt about it. But to commit a murder? Hunt someone down and take their life?” She shook her head. “Hell, no.”

  Naomi struggled with Rebecca’s words, so similar to her own thoughts and feelings yet so profoundly different from Inanna’s belief in her.

  “And what are the odds that an up-and-coming rock star happens to be your ‘target’ just when you fall for her?” Rebecca shot Naomi a glance, daring her to argue her feelings about Joram. When Naomi didn’t take the bait, she expelled a deep breath. “It sounds to me like your mother is the one that needs to be in Telecare. Aren’t there mental institutions in your country?”

  Naomi reminded herself that Rebecca’s family had never been particularly devout. That lack of devotion to transcendent beliefs now left a chasm between them. Naomi had tried to find ways to breach the gap before, but had always failed to penetrate Rebecca’s secular upbringing. She needed Rebecca to understand that this situation was as real as any she came across in day-to-day life. “How do you explain Nathan? He lives, he exists and he’s not human.” Uncertainty creased Rebecca’s forehead, allaying Naomi’s regret for revealing her predicament. It also indicated that Rebecca at least still trusted Naomi’s physical senses if not the metaphysical content of her tale.

  “I don’t know. That sort of messes up my argument.”

  Heartened, Naomi turned on the couch to face her roommate. “Nathan exists. I’ve spent months alone with him. He’s not human and he’s real. I have scars that he gave me in training!” She shrugged. “I heard Joram’s voice in my head for months as well, and she turned out to be real. Inanna is real, I’ve seen a little of her power. By extension, her former Chosen is not only real but a present danger.” She marveled at the confidence in her voice.

  “By that argument, the entire situation is real too. Which means we’re back to square one if you�
��ve been ordered to kill Joram.” Misgiving chased away the assurance of Rebecca’s expression. “Mind you, I’m debating this from the standpoint that you’re telling it as it is, that your perception is reality, not that I agree with you. This is insane!”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  Rebecca raised an eyebrow at the sardonic response. “At least I understand you better now. I thought maybe you’d been physically abused as a child, but you didn’t show any of the classic emotional symptoms beyond that huge wall you hide behind. A case could be made for emotional abuse though. I can’t imagine living with this sort of thing over my head since I was a kid. I don’t know how it didn’t drive you crazy.”

  Naomi grinned. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to figure out right now? If I’m crazy?”

  Scowling, Rebecca pursed her lips. “I’m not saying you’re demented, but I still think your mother should be tossed in prison for child abuse.”

  That was a topic for another conversation, the resistance to Inanna’s pronouncement about Joram too raw for Naomi’s current attention. Instead, the weight of her destiny threatened to crush her, and her throat became thick with the need to cry. Granted, she’d never hated anyone, but she would have gladly suffered such loathing if it meant her target was someone besides Joram. She stared at her hands, the ones that had become finely honed weapons over the years. “I don’t think I can do it, Rebecca, whether the situation is real or not. If it is and I don’t follow through, the world will end.”

  Rebecca scoffed. “So you’ve been told. How do you know that’s true?”

  “What?” Naomi stared at her.

  “How do you know the world will end? Because your-mother-the-goddess told you? Or Nathan the dispossessed elf? What if they’re wrong?”

  Naomi blinked, dumbfounded. Despite years of experiences, of an idyllic childhood and focused adolescence, the thought that Inanna or Nathan was wrong had never crossed her mind. She’d questioned their choice of her as their avenging angel but nothing else. The possibility that they were wrong on such a fundamental level caused a mental disconnect as she floundered for a response.

  Rebecca pressed her point. “Have you looked at the world lately, chica? It could probably use a little magic to brighten it up.”

  Slowly, Naomi shook her head, drawing on stories Nathan had told her of his people. “You haven’t read the original Grimm’s fairy tales. The fey aren’t creatures like what you’d find in a Disney movie. They’re dangerous wights with unfathomable powers.”

  “So you’ve been told, but Nathan is one of them. From the way you talk about him, I’d say he’s not a rabid beast waiting for the opportunity to lay waste to the world.” Before Naomi could shoot down her line of reasoning, Rebecca forged onward. “Besides the door was open to begin with, wasn’t it? The worlds were joined so to speak—let’s assume it was a natural occurrence. Your mother and her child prodigy closed it. Isn’t that an argument that they altered what should be the innate state of our supernatural world? Would we be in a better place now if they hadn’t meddled in things they shouldn’t have?”

  Again Naomi was struck dumb. She’d been raised to never question Inanna, the layers of her conditioning developing her into a good and obedient little girl and later, an obedient adult daughter. But her tractability had been at a cost, one that had eaten at her heart and caged her, one that Rebecca had instinctively noticed and had attempted to break through multiple times during their friendship. Rebecca’s arguments touched upon private suspicions Naomi had avoided over the years, ones she’d buried when they surfaced, keeping them tightly locked away even from her conscious self.

  Everything boiled down to choice. When she’d discovered she’d been adopted, Inanna had insisted she’d chosen Naomi, and Naomi had agreed both out of love for the woman who’d raised her and a fear of abandonment. After returning from her year at the monastery, she’d learned of her role in the coming conflict and had contended her suitability for it. Inanna and Nathan had been implacable in their belief in her. Eventually, Naomi had accepted their idea of her purpose. But I never chose it. “I’m Inanna’s Chosen One,” she blurted, revelation blinding her.

  “Yeah?” Rebecca glanced at her, curious.

  “I’m Inanna’s Chosen One. I choose. I Choose!” A knock at the front door interrupted Naomi before she could elucidate upon her epiphany.

  “You expecting someone?” Rebecca stood to answer it.

  “No.” Naomi couldn’t help the trickle of hope that Joram had come searching for her. She didn’t know whether to flee or face the pending visitor, badly desiring Joram’s arms holding her during this crisis.

  Rebecca peered out the peephole and took three steps backward, her darker complexion paling. “Naomi…”

  “Who is it?” Fear clutched Naomi’s throat as she rose to her feet. Joram wouldn’t cause such apprehension. Circling the coffee table, she found a clear space, adrenaline racing through her as she prepared for a fight though not understanding why.

  The doorknob turned and the door opened, an oddity since she hadn’t seen Rebecca unlock it. Swinging wide on its own, the door revealed an older man standing on the threshold, hands at his sides. His hair was dark with hints of gray at the temples, a little long and shaggy in the back. Elegant eyebrows arched over black eyes, the hairs brushed upward at the outer corners, affecting a demonic slant. A salt-and-pepper goatee surrounded his cruel and smiling mouth. He wore a black shirt and tie and an expensive suit complete with the requisite black handkerchief in the breast pocket. Though it was a sunny California day, the blue sky seen behind him seemed dim and wintry.

  With a sardonic air, he stepped into the apartment uninvited, the door independently swinging closed behind him. He passed Rebecca, giving her hardly a glance as she recoiled from him. Fully focused on Naomi, his smile widened, revealing even white teeth. “Ah, the redheaded chit herself. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Naomi fought the urge to back away as he closed the distance between them. A cloud of malignancy surrounded him, leaving her wanting to hold her breath to avoid contamination. Sternly schooling herself, she stood her ground. The air smelled faintly of an odd cologne, its acrid scent burning her nose. “Who are you?”

  He shrugged with one shoulder, face coy as he gave an off-hand wave. “Why bother with names? Suffice it to say that you and I have a mutual acquaintance, one I’m here to see is discontinued.”

  Frowning, Naomi swallowed against her revulsion, breathing through her mouth to avoid his smell. She’d never felt such irrational aversion for a person she didn’t know. “And who would that be?” A distant part of her giggled in hysteria—had this man been the person Inanna had wanted dead, Naomi would have had no complaints. The idea took root, and alarm bells began to ring. It can’t be! She fought the rise of panic as she made mental connections.

  Circling her, he gazed about the room with an expression of vague distaste. He reached out and drew a finger along a table, examining the pad of it before rubbing his fingertips together as if he’d located dust. “Joram Darkstone has a burgeoning career that requires her full attention. She has no time to invest in a frivolous relationship such as the one she seems to be cultivating with you. Since she appears to be unwilling to do the right thing for herself and her vocation, must needs I will.”

  Naomi’s stomach plummeted at the mention of Joram. It is him! Oh my God, he’s Inanna’s Chosen! Joram’s dislike for the man who’d raised her now made blinding sense. This was the patron who’d adopted her, trained her, steered her down this path. This diseased man with powers untold had been in young Joram’s presence for the majority of her life, molding her in unfathomable ways. Here was evidence, beyond Inanna’s insistence, that Joram was indeed the target for which Naomi had been trained. She stared at him as he completed his circuit, mouth open.

  He stopped before her, regarding her once again with a sly grin, a devious twinkle in his eyes. Those eyes held promise and pain. “Tell her what
ever you need to, but end your little game now. Is that understood?”

  Promise and pain. Naomi couldn’t imagine a childhood living under such a gaze. Angered at the corruption Joram had endured in this man’s household, she drew herself up and glared. “What if I don’t?”

  He laughed, patronizing. “Oh, you will. I’d rather not have her mourning your loss, however.” Rolling his eyes, he said, “The last thing I need is for her to perform a dirge right now. That ridiculous ballad is bad enough.”

  “A dirge?” Her ire waned at his threat, made all the more real by the fact that she knew some of the violence of which he was capable.

  “Never mind.” He caressed Naomi’s cheek, his face a parody of caring. “If you don’t break it off with her, you’ll have a fatal accident. Poor Joram will never know what happened to you, only that you abandoned her…just like her parents, her friends and her bandmates.”

  Naomi fought the bile rising in her throat as his palm spread an oily layer upon her skin. Her gaze flickered to Rebecca who watched in frozen horror. Naomi had been groomed to deal with the paranormal presence of her opponent by simple expedient of being raised by Inanna and Nathan. The fugue Rebecca had fallen into was from lack of experience and training. Inanna had told Naomi many times that her former Chosen had become an evil man, using his innate magical powers to subjugate others. And now he’s in my living room with the power of three vortexes from which to draw strength. She had to protect Rebecca. She forced aside her urge to oppose his power and flinched away from his touch, meekly ducking her head. “Okay. I’ll do it. Just…just don’t touch me again.” After a long pause, she risked a sidelong glance.

  His dark eyes were intent as he scrutinized her. “I sense something…familiar about you. Have we met before, miting?”