Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Last night he’d explained what he’d done with the special songs, the ones he’d so jealously guarded. He’d searched for decades to find her and had Chosen her to correct his one stellar mistake in life, to reopen the breach that he’d sealed so long ago. The tweaks he’d insisted upon, the alterations that resulted in a signature sound that was pure Invocation were magical in nature. They used sound waves in some manner to capture occult powers, employing them in his quest to open that phantasmal door. Ever since he’d given permission for her to use the special songs, she and the band had been working toward his goal. For weeks she’d sensed something from the audience, not just riding the music as she’d always done but something else, something stronger. The feeling invigorated her, filled her heart and soul to bursting. There was never enough room within her to hold onto it, and she’d released the magnificence into the world, setting it to an unknowing purpose.

  Having learned how to manipulate her music at his knee, she’d used those skills to enhance other songs. She’d thrown all of her skill into that ridiculous ballad, creating more than just a love song. It was her first truly magical creation, a juvenile affirmation of affection and inner doubt. As first attempts went, the transcendental response had been expansive—the thousands of butterflies had manifested from Joram’s power. Anders, however, detested both the song and the result. Whatever she’d done threatened to upset his plans. Though a novice at the concept, she assumed he needed the strength of her hatred and anger to succeed at his goal.

  Just as well. It wasn’t like there was cause to keep the ballad in the lineup. Her bandmates’ reluctance to defy Anders stung, and Naomi’s glaring absence and lack of contact sealed the deal. Joram had agreed with Anders that she wouldn’t add the song to their gigs until after their final show at the casino. The timing of his project was of vital importance. He hadn’t elaborated on the reason, and she hadn’t asked. She’d seen enough movies and television to surmise it had something to do with the stars and planets or some shit.

  Two gigs, that’s all she needed to do. Two more concerts, toeing the line, and he’d sworn he wouldn’t need her anymore. His special door would be reopened, and he’d have no more use for her. She could go her own way. He’d never darken her door again. She lifted her bottle and toasted the empty seat across from her. “To magic.”

  DESTINIES

  “Every word you’ve ever said

  Brings me closer to the Hell I fled,

  And I am going to crack.”

  Joram Darkstone, Hell on Earth, Invocation

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Rebecca said.

  “Do I have a choice?” Naomi peered out the car window at the casino. The lot was rapidly filling, their parking space several hundred feet away from the main entrance. People filtered through the shining sea of automotive metal, men in leather and women in tight, revealing dresses, all presumably concert attendees preparing for a rowdy evening. Naomi glanced at her roommate. “Her phone’s always busy. I can’t get a message to her. I have to explain what’s going on so she can make an informed decision.” Once more her gaze locked onto the casino entrance.

  “Okay then. Let’s do it.” Rebecca exited the car, slipping the keys into her purse. Over the roof, she said, “And I’m on the VIP list right?”

  Naomi closed the passenger door. “That’s what she said on the phone while I was in Europe.” She remembered Joram’s final phone call, the uncertain emotions and the sensual teasing. Rebecca’s inclusion at the end of their conversation had been hasty, Joram’s sweet and nervous verbal stumble contrasting Inanna’s surety that Joram was Naomi’s target. Moments like that made Naomi positive that Joram didn’t have the training or knowledge attributed to her. She wasn’t evil. Joram was being used, an ignorant focal point and nothing more. If there was any way to interrupt that focus, Naomi could succeed at stopping the ritual without spilling blood.

  Enough woolgathering.

  The pair made their way across the parking lot, joining the throng pushing beneath the arching neon casino sign and into the gambling establishment. Awash with the sound of slot machine games and conversation, the foyer held steady traffic and a hint of cigarette smoke. Having been there the previous evening, Naomi pointed to the left, herding Rebecca toward the Will Call booth of the concert hall.

  A different American Indian woman sat there tonight, though the old man beside her was the same. Naomi smiled and waved at him. “Back again! I’m on the VIP list.” She indicated Rebecca beside her. “I brought a friend.”

  He gave her a critical stare, though his thin lips quirked in response to her smile. “Then you know the deal.” He pointed at the small gathering of women to one side.

  “What’s the deal?”

  Naomi ignored Rebecca’s question. “I do, thank you.” She joined the scantily clad women with Rebecca in tow. “We wait here until Security comes to check us in.” Naomi scanned the other women, somewhat relieved the Goodwill groupie wasn’t among them tonight. The last thing she needed was to get thrown out for a disruption.

  “Ah.” Rebecca nodded as she looked over the others. “Are any of these girls really VIPs?” she whispered.

  Leaning close, Naomi kept her voice low. “I doubt it. There are more tonight, but none of the ones from yesterday ended up in the seating section with me.”

  A man interrupted their conversation. “All right, who’s a guest here?”

  Naomi pushed forward, elbowing one of the women aside to reach the approaching security team first. “Naomi Kostopoulos and Rebecca Vance, guests of Joram Darkstone.”

  The guard scanned his clipboard. “Rebecca Vance. Got it. Naomi…?”

  “Kostopoulos.” Concerned, Naomi craned her neck to get a glimpse of the paperwork as she spelled her name.

  “Sorry, no Naomi on the list.”

  “But…but I was here yesterday! Seating in the balcony!”

  The guard frowned at her, disgruntled sympathy flickering across his face. Tapping the clipboard with his pen, he said, “That was yesterday. Today you’re not on the list.” He nodded to Rebecca, waving her toward his companion. “Bill here will need to see your ID, Ms. Vance.” To Bill, he said, “She’s got the full VIP package.”

  Loath to leave Naomi, Rebecca took a single step forward before halting. “Can I invite someone to join me?”

  The guard shook his head, gaze briefly flickering to Naomi. “No, ma’am. That’s not an option.” With professional assuredness, he dismissed both Rebecca and Naomi from his attention, turning to the next woman clamoring for entry.

  Bill took a step forward. “Miss?”

  Rebecca held up her hand. “Just give me a minute.” She pulled Naomi away from the press. “How can you be on the guest list yesterday and not today?”

  Naomi scowled. “He did it.” She didn’t have to specify whom she meant. “I’ll bet he’s the reason I can’t get through to her too. He probably blocked my number from her phone.”

  “But he didn’t take me off the list…” Rebecca trailed off in thought. “Is he so centered on you that he forgot about me? I thought he was all-seeing, all-knowing or something.”

  Recalling the arrogance of the man who’d visited their apartment that afternoon, Naomi sneered. “He doesn’t know who I really am. He just thinks I’m just some little groupie that Joram’s falling for. Why would he interfere with you too?”

  “That poor stupid bastard.”

  Naomi grinned, taking heart.

  Bill tilted his head, catching Rebecca’s eye. “Miss?”

  Rebecca waved him away again. “Swap phones with me.”

  “What?” Naomi fished hers from her back pocket. “Why?”

  “Because if Mr. Badass doesn’t realize I’m a threat, he probably hasn’t blocked my number from Joram’s phone.” Rebecca handed over her phone, taking Naomi’s. “Like I’m going to let my best friend date the lead singer of the hottest band in LA without having said singer�
�s number programmed into my contacts.”

  Naomi pulled up Rebecca’s contacts and found Joram’s name. “Thank you!” She gave Rebecca a hug. “Go on then. I’ll call if we need to leave.”

  “You’re sure?” Reluctance warred with Rebecca’s eagerness to see the concert.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Have fun. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She pulled away, leaving Rebecca to be directed away by Bill. Naomi escaped the cordoned area and crowded main floor, searching for a quiet place to make the call. Several minutes later she found an infrequently used back entrance to the casino floor and sat on a bench provided there. Crossing her fingers, she dialed Joram’s number.

  “Hello?”

  The woman’s voice wasn’t Joram’s. For a brief moment, Naomi wondered if she had the correct number. “I’m sorry, perhaps I have the wrong number. I’m calling Joram?”

  “Hold on a sec.”

  Heart in her chest, Naomi swallowed.

  “She can’t come to the phone right now. She’s about to go onstage.” The woman’s voice dropped into a whisper. “Is this Naomi?”

  She didn’t know whether to admit her identity or not. That’s silly. Your accent gave you away. Lying won’t help things now. “Yes.”

  “This is Chloe, Naomi. Where are you?”

  Why is she whispering? Naomi scanned her surroundings, watching an elderly couple wander through the entry, her with a walker. “I’m at the casino. My name’s been taken off the guest list. Do you know why?”

  Chloe paused. “I think so, but I can’t confirm.”

  Impatient with the cryptic remark, Naomi leaned forward on her bench, one elbow perched on her knee while she rubbed her forehead. “I really need to speak to Joram. It’s of vital importance. Is there any way you can arrange it?” Another few moments of tedious silence made her grit her teeth in frustration.

  “Okay.”

  Naomi sat upright. “Really?”

  “Yes. Go to Will Call and I’ll have someone meet you there.”

  Shaky with exhilaration, Naomi bolted to her feet. “Oh, gods, thank you, Chloe!”

  “Just be there.” Chloe disconnected.

  Naomi pocketed the phone and returned the way she’d come. She stood as unobtrusively as possible near the Will Call booth, not an easy task when the old man raised an eyebrow at her and the crowd of groupies gave her a corrosive once-over.

  The crowd entering the venue thinned with fewer and fewer additions arriving to fill their ranks. A roadie came out to collect three of the squealing groupies. Naomi glanced at the clock behind the old man, chewing her lower lip in anxiety. The concert was due to start any minute now. Where the hell was Chloe? She scanned the people in the area, noting ticket takers and last-minute arrivals, the occasional gambler wandering through between racks of slot machines and gaming tables, a couple of venue security people in brilliant yellow T-shirts and their casino floor companions in black suits. The wait was interminable and nerve-wracking.

  “Ms. Kostopoulos?”

  Naomi turned to find a black-suited security officer standing before her. Alarm bells jangled in her head. “Yes, that’s me.”

  The man nodded in satisfaction. “Ms. Armstrong asked me to escort you to the back of the house.”

  Chloe was close to Joram. Of course her movements could be monitored. The last thing she needed was for Joram’s patron to discover her assisting the enemy. Relieved, Naomi smiled. “Thank you.”

  He turned and led her through the casino, following the wall that divided the concert hall from the gambling floor. Using a special key card, he punched in a combination on the lock and ushered her out of the public spaces.

  The backstage service area held the controlled pandemonium Naomi had begun to realize was normal for the music entertainment industry. Roadies hustled back and forth on various errands, pushing rolling crates or calling to each other. Several had headsets, listening to whatever passed for instructions at a large concert. Deep thunder echoed in the cavernous hallway—she didn’t need a sound system to know she was hearing Invocation playing onstage.

  “Here, miss.” The security officer opened a door, revealing a private dressing room. “Ms. Armstrong will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thank you.” The door closed behind her and she scanned the room. A couch sat against one wall with a low coffee table before it. Opposite it was vanity, a stool neatly placed before the brightly lit mirror. A card table with two chairs took up the center of the room. Despite the extra wall and door between her and the stage, she easily heard the roar of the band and their audience. Naomi’s first thought had been relief that she’d been allowed into the band’s dressing room, but a second perusal showed no personal belongings. Besides, it was far too small to house all five band members and their immediate staff.

  A brisk knock at the door startled her. She whirled to see it opening, half-expecting to see Inanna’s Chosen leering at her. Instead, Chloe stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind her.

  Naomi breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

  Chloe held up her hand. “I’m helping Joram.”

  Taken aback by Chloe’s brusque manner, Naomi blinked.

  “I’ve always helped Joram, protected her,” Chloe continued. “Even in Hell, I supported her when no one else would. She’d never have survived Christina without me. Whatever’s best for Joram is all that matters.”

  Hell? Uncertain, Naomi nodded, wondering of what Chloe spoke. “Then we’re in agreement. Will you tell her I’m here when she finishes the concert?”

  As if she hadn’t spoken, Chloe continued. “Something happened last night after the concert. There were butterflies.” She paused, squinting her eyes as if replaying the scene. “You were here, you saw them.”

  Naomi nodded in silence. She didn’t know what Chloe knew about Anders or his goals. The less said, the better.

  Chloe shivered. “It was that ballad she wrote, the one she wrote for you.” Holding her arms, she scowled at the floor. “Ivan told the band the song was forbidden, and Joram left. We didn’t see her again until just before the show. She’s got a private dressing room now.”

  With fresh eyes, Naomi glanced around the room. No, the room was too neat and clean with no indication that it was in use. She returned her attention to Chloe who had continued speaking.

  “It was the ballad that called the butterflies. That’s why you were dropped from the guest list. Ivan is the person responsible for maintaining it. He’d only go against Joram’s wishes if Professor Anders demanded it.”

  Eyes narrowed, Naomi stepped forward. “Anders? Is that Joram’s patron? The man who raised her?”

  Chloe nodded, not quite glancing over her shoulder at the door.

  Icy fear flushed through Naomi’s chest, and she closed the distance between them. “He’s here?” she asked in a faint whisper. She pointed at the door behind Chloe. “Out there? Does he know I’m here?”

  “No.” Chloe stepped nearer, whispering as she invaded Naomi’s personal space. “He’s here but he doesn’t know. If he did, he’d have you killed. I can’t let that happen; I’ve always protected Joram. Losing you would devastate her.”

  Naomi reached for the mental discipline she’d learned at the monastery, using it to calm her mind. Her body still shivered with adrenaline, but the sensation was no longer debilitating. “I want to protect her too. I have to speak to her. There’s something she needs to know about him and his plans.”

  Chloe studied her with unusual intensity. “You don’t understand how much you mean to Joram. She’s never been this way with anyone else before, not even me.” She emitted a short bark of laughter, covering her mouth as if surprised. “I’ve never credited her with the ability before, but I think she loves you.”

  Up until now, Naomi had only ever seen the self-assured California girl, hurling good-natured insults at the after-hour parties and professionally assisting the band members. The young woman looking at her now was
someone else, a hardened survivor who’d witnessed the worst humanity had to give and hadn’t pulled through completely intact. Why had Naomi never noticed the slight manic gleam in Chloe’s beautiful eyes?

  Abruptly, Chloe spun, returning to the door. “If Anders sees you, you’re dead. I can’t let that happen. It would devastate Joram.”

  Naomi opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut as Chloe threw open the door. Two venue security people entered the dressing room, a man and a woman, their muscle-bound presence making the room feel much smaller.

  Chloe spoke to the woman. “She has a cell phone. Get it from her and hold her here until three hours after the concert.”

  “Wait!”

  Chloe glanced back at Naomi’s protest. She grimaced in mingled distaste and sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

  As the door closed, the stocky woman guard moved toward Naomi, hands raised in supplication. “Let’s not make this difficult, okay? Just give me the cell phone, and we won’t have to use the zip ties.” Her companion planted himself in front of the door, beefy arms crossed over his deep chest.

  Naomi backed away, circling the table as she considered her options. She knew she had the training and capability to take both of her captors down, but the question was if she should. She had an hour and a half or more before Invocation finished onstage followed by another hour of partying with their fans in the dressing room. Maybe less if Joram has her own dressing room tonight. If Naomi showed her hand now, disabled her opponents and left this room, she might run across Anders rather than a quiet place to wait for Joram. Time was of the essence, but the next few hours had been removed from consideration.

  She stopped retreating, reaching slowly into her back pocket for Rebecca’s phone. “All right. Here.” She held it out to the woman.

  Pleased she’d achieved her goal without a fight, the guard pocketed the phone. “I’m going to have to pat you down now, just to be sure.”