Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Chloe waited a beat longer, a question on her face. Joram winked and released her. After a moment, Chloe nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”

  “Joram!” Anders grasped her upper arms, a manic grin on his face. “Ivan tells me you missed rehearsal today?” Steel emanated from beneath the amused tone of his voice.

  Forcing exuberance, Joram smiled back. “Won’t happen again. I had a lot to think about, sir.”

  He examined her for a long moment. “Understood. We had much to discuss last night, didn’t we?” He patted her arms and released her.

  Relieved, Joram fought the desire to brush his essence from her clothing. Instead she hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the door. “I’m heading home to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  “A very big day.” Anders stepped back, pointing at her. “Don’t miss rehearsal, all right? We need you in tip-top shape for tomorrow’s concert.”

  Still smiling, she backed away. “No worries, sir. I’ll be there.”

  Appeased, he smirked at her before turning back to the party.

  Joram turned away as well, her smile disappearing. I promised. As she exited the dressing room, gathering Chloe on her way, she wondered if Naomi would be there too. And will she do what she’s been Chosen to do?

  Perversely enough, a part of Joram hoped that she would.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Joram arrived at the casino for rehearsal in the early afternoon. Sitting in the parking lot, she stared at the backstage entrance. A large crowd of groupies loitered by the door even at this hour, waiting for the band to arrive. Seeing men sprinkled among the group wasn’t as much of an oddity these days. Invocation’s music called to the disaffected toughs in the world. Ever since the band had begun playing Anders’s special songs, more and more rowdies had started hanging out in the hopes of getting backstage. The men all resembled the crazy guy who’d gotten into the dressing room several weeks ago—leather and jeans, boots and chains, a slightly crazed expression on their tattooed and pierced faces. They’d become such a fixture that Joram didn’t feel the least bit threatened at their numbers as she scanned the mob for familiar red hair.

  Tonight was the night. She’d either succeed at Anders’s task or she’d fail. Chances were good that failure meant more than bad reviews in the music magazines. If she failed, Anders would have no more use for her. She’d be out on the streets with only the clothes on her back. Either that or Naomi would change her mind in the face of Joram’s refusal and follow through with the task she’d been given as a child. Would that be a bad thing? Joram had to admit that a part of her would be thankful if Naomi fulfilled her duty. Such an action would take Joram out of Anders’s equation and relieve Joram from the need to follow through. Given the choice between believing Naomi’s or Anders’s opinions regarding the aftermath of tonight’s concert, Joram couldn’t help but place Naomi’s higher on the scale. Anders had never lied to Joram but he also wasn’t trustworthy.

  “Nuh linga,” Joram murmured, her words a whisper in the baking heat of the car. She had a purpose, one she wouldn’t have chosen for herself, but she’d made a promise and was here to see it done. With resignation she climbed out of her car.

  It took several minutes to negotiate through the crowd at the stage entrance. She smiled and laughed, signed autographs and allowed photos to be taken of her. She scrupulously avoided meeting the men’s eyes, not wanting to fall into their raging stare as she had so many weeks ago. Notified of her presence by the monitors on the back entrance, security came out to escort her into the building. Once inside she lost the smile and rubbed her eyes as she headed for her dressing room, temporarily blinded by the camera flashes. The first person she saw other than sound technicians and security staff was Ivan. He stood outside the large dressing room with a clipboard, discussing the lighting display with one of the visual techs.

  Scowling, Joram approached. “I need to see you.”

  Startled at her interruption, Ivan’s gaze shifted around the immediate vicinity, possibly searching for an escape route. The technician took the hint, ended the conversation and left.

  “In here.” Joram pointed to the band’s dressing room.

  Stuttering, unable to produce a plausible excuse to be elsewhere, Ivan slowly stepped inside.

  Joram followed and closed the double doors behind her, leaning against them with her arms across her chest. “You took Naomi’s name off the guest list last night.”

  Ivan held up his hands in surrender, stepping backward. “The Man said to dump her and I did. I was just following orders, Joram. You can’t blame me for that.”

  “You’re going to put her back on it tonight.”

  “What?” Ivan dropped his hands. He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he looked about the room for unseen witnesses. “I can’t do that. He’ll kill me!”

  Joram uncrossed her arms and pushed away from the door. Staring into his eyes, she growled, “And I’ll kill you if you don’t.” She watched as he considered her words with care, debating whether or not her threat was real. Before he could decide it wasn’t, she invaded his space, poking him hard in the chest. “Don’t think I won’t make good, Ivan. We’ve both been in Hell. You won’t be the first person I’ve killed.” She pulled away, giving him room to breathe. “My songs speak for themselves.”

  He blinked at her, mouth agape for a long moment. Then he snapped his jaw closed. “All right. She’s on the guest list.”

  “No. She’s on the VIP list—full backstage access package just like before.”

  Ivan’s shoulders slumped. “But what if Anders—”

  “You tell him the truth, that I threatened you.” Joram paused, reminding herself that Ivan was as terrified of Anders as everyone else. He was a great stage manager but couldn’t be expected to risk his life for something as insignificant as a woman he didn’t even know. She patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. He won’t find out. He’ll be too busy tonight with the gig. It’s our final night here and it’s going to be something special.”

  “I don’t know, Joram…”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “I do. Put her on the VIP list and direct any questions about the decision to me. I’ll take care of Anders.” If only I really could.

  He swallowed, jotting a note on his clipboard. “Okay.”

  Joram narrowed her eyes. “Don’t forget. I’ve invited her here. I’m not going onstage unless I know for sure she’s made it.”

  “I said I will, damn it! She’ll be here if I have to send a goddamned car to her house.” He huffed, drawing a protective cloak of agitation about himself. “Now I’ve got a lot to do before tonight’s show. Can I go?”

  Satisfied, Joram nodded and stepped aside. She watched him throw open the doors and flee with quick, short strides. After giving him time to vacate the area, she left as well, walking down the hall to her private dressing room.

  She tossed her satchel on the vanity and draped her jacket over the chair. Fishing her phone from her pocket, she texted Rebecca, letting her know that Naomi’s VIP access had been reestablished. For some reason Joram still couldn’t contact Naomi from her phone but reaching Rebecca hadn’t been an issue. She set the phone on the vanity and sank into the chair, staring at her reflection. It was almost over.

  For years she’d wondered what would have become of her if Anders hadn’t picked her up. What if he’d decided she wasn’t whom he’d needed? Where would she end up once he released her from the strange servitude in which he’d committed her? Most the time Joram’s daydreams of such events were negative—his rejection pushing her out onto the streets where she’d live and die a short, violent and hateful life.

  Once she’d left Jamaica for California, those daydreams had changed. The more popular the band became the less concerned she was over the loss of Anders’s patronage. At this stage in the game she knew she’d survive and flourish without his influence. He’d taught her well and she’d learned so much about herself over the years. She had a stre
ngth now that he’d inadvertently engendered within her and could never take away.

  What would happen tonight? Naomi had called tonight’s concert a ritual. Joram didn’t know all that much about such things beyond horror movies and television shows. Didn’t rituals demand a sacrifice? What would that sacrifice entail?

  She rummaged in her satchel, pulling out a manila folder with tonight’s schedule. She considered the playlist, knowing that all of the special songs were in the lineup, each one an emotional quagmire—the murder of Christina, Joram’s guilt and the lack of justice for Christina’s death, the disappearance of Madeleine who’d been the only mother Joram had known and multiple tunes evincing fury at Anders. The audience would rise to her anger, roar in support as they demanded blood, but whose blood would they want? Whose blood would they receive?

  When this was over, when the door was opened and the smoke cleared, what kind of world would Joram discover? Was Naomi’s mother right? Would fey creatures as well as magic spill through the rift, destroying the world? Or was it more likely the world would be set to rights, returned to its natural state of being?

  Joram lowered her head to the vanity, resting her forehead on the cool wooden surface. Exhaustion rolled over her, the never-ending questions having kept her awake a second night in a row. The longer she considered the situation the more inclined she was to believe she wouldn’t see this new world.

  Anders needed her to succeed. For some reason, he was unable to pull it off by himself, therefore Joram must have some ability that he lacked. Yet he didn’t seem particularly vulnerable to her, didn’t display any more weakness than he ever did in her presence. He wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t train her with skills that she could use against him.

  Every ritual needed a sacrifice.

  Joram raised her head and pulled two more items from the satchel—her beat-up lighter and a piccolo that gleamed in the light—placing them on the vanity. One reminded her of the dangers in life. The other characterized her choices. She stared at herself in the mirror, knowing who the sacrifice would be.

  “Make the right choice, I’m begging you.”

  Startled at hearing Naomi’s voice, she whirled to scan the room but no one was there. Shaking her head, Joram turned back to frown at the mirror. “I promised.”

  She jumped again at a sharp knock on the door.

  “Ten minutes until rehearsal,” a voice called.

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat and pushed to her feet.

  She’d made a promise that she couldn’t break. Anders had known that when he’d extracted it from her. It was up to Naomi to decide who was right. Joram felt an odd sense of relief, releasing her fear and worries from her heart. No more second-guessing, no more struggling for the proper responses to appease her patron. If tonight was to be her last night then she’d go out doing what she loved with the woman she loved nearby.

  Pausing, she studied the items on the vanity before scooping the lighter into her pocket, leaving the piccolo behind.

  * * *

  “Again?” the old man at Will Call said.

  Naomi nodded, trying for a smile and failing. “Yep.”

  He shook his head and silently gestured toward the roped off area to one side. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” She and Rebecca joined the handful of woman waiting for guest passes.

  “Not as many tonight,” Rebecca observed.

  “Doesn’t look like it. I wonder why?” Naomi scanned the others waiting with them, none familiar. Rebecca had reported that she’d been the only one in the balcony the night before, just as Naomi had been the night prior to that.

  “Why are they here if they don’t get into the VIP seating area?”

  Naomi shrugged, not interested enough in the conversation to answer. She was far too queasy from nerves. Though she’d told Joram she’d chosen not to attempt to stop her, Naomi wasn’t sure she had the ability to stand aside. “You shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. It may be dangerous.”

  Rebecca scoffed. “I’m not leaving you to deal with everything alone. You’re my best friend. Friends stick together.”

  Shaking her head, Naomi felt both relief and dismay at Rebecca’s loyalty. If Joram insisted on keeping her promise to Anders, if Naomi failed to follow through with her destiny she didn’t have a clue about the immediate repercussions. Butterflies had manifested during Joram’s ballad two nights ago. What would appear if the band completed Anders’s ritual? Were the fey folk aware of tonight’s ceremony? Were they amassing before the newly developing rift, weapons drawn in preparation?

  “Uh-oh. We’ve got company.” Rebecca tugged at Naomi’s sleeve, interrupting the questions spiraling in her mind.

  Naomi looked up to see Chloe approaching with two security officers. “Great,” she muttered, visually searching for an escape route. “Just what I need.” Two more security guards closed in from the casino floor, making a smooth evasion less likely. None looked tense or overly alert, indicating that they hadn’t been informed of any danger.

  “Joram said we were on the list again. Do you really think her little friend will interfere?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t expect it last night.” Unable to leave without making a scene and not wanting to create a situation that would get her unnecessarily evicted from the premises, Naomi sighed. Better to confront things head-on. “Come on.” She exited the holding area and walked toward Chloe, Rebecca in tow. “Did Joram send you this time too?”

  Unabashed, Chloe nodded. “This time, yes. She wanted to make certain you made it to your seats. If you’ll come with me.”

  Naomi stood firm. “Where are we going? Backstage?”

  Chloe smiled. “No. Balcony seating in F, the same place you’ve sat before.” She tilted her head. “I’d like to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere but…” She trailed off with a shrug.

  “You were protecting Joram.” Naomi mirrored Chloe’s nod. “I do understand. I told her that last night.”

  Chloe’s smile became crooked. “If we get you into the VIP seating area you should be fine. He hasn’t arrived yet and he’ll be in the wings for most of the concert.”

  Naomi grimaced, knowing to whom Chloe referred. “I’ll just bet he will.” Straightening, she gauged the strength and ability of the guards flanking Chloe. Confident she could handle both of them, she gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we then?”

  As promised, Chloe and her escorts led them past the ticket takers, up the stairs and to the balcony seating area. She dismissed the guards and handed Rebecca and Naomi each a VIP badge. “These will get you backstage at any time.” She pierced Naomi with a glance. “You already know which dressing rooms are which. If you decide to attend the concert in the wings, I suggest you take stage left. He prefers stage right.”

  Naomi started in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Chloe frowned, obviously not pleased. “It’s what Joram wants.” Before Naomi could question her more, she turned and left.

  Naomi stared after her until she disappeared downstairs. Slowly turning, she met Rebecca’s equally astonished expression.

  “Did Joram just give you a green light?”

  Unable to speak, Naomi croaked a response. She cleared her throat. “I think so.”

  “Jesus!”

  * * *

  Joram left her dressing room at the ten-minute warning to join the rest of her bandmates. She entered to see her friends gathering in the center of the room for their habitual huddle. She’d missed this practice last night and though the concert had gone well, she’d sensed the lack of connection with them in the music.

  Jubal and Bayani grinned at her entrance and Rand swore good-naturedly. “About fucking time.” Jarod did little more than quirk the corner of his lips in satisfaction, a resounding indication of pleasure from him.

  Chloe stood to one side of the doors. Joram stopped at her side. “Where is he?”

 
Swallowing, Chloe murmured, “He’ll meet us backstage.”

  Joram nodded. “And is she here?”

  “Yes.” Chloe’s eyes darted to the closed door. “She’s in the balcony and she has a VIP pass. I told her what you wanted me to.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Joram smiled, kissing Chloe’s cheek. She took both hands and held them to her chest. “You’ve always done your best to protect me, even in Hell.”

  Flushing with pleasure, Chloe dropped her gaze. “You’ve done the same in return.”

  “Thank you.”

  The warm tone captured Chloe’s attention and she stared into Joram’s eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  “There’s a piccolo in my dressing room. Bring it to me stage left after the second encore, all right? And when the band leaves the stage, you go with them. Understand? Don’t stay behind.”

  A flash of alarm raced across Chloe’s face. Her brow furrowed for the briefest of moments before she gave a slight nod of acceptance. “I will.”

  Joram cupped Chloe’s cheek, caressing it with a thumb before releasing her and turning to her bandmates. “Like I could go onstage without this!” She held her arms wide, indicating all of them. “I missed it last night.”

  “So did we,” Jarod said.

  “Jus’ nuh right without yuh.” Jubal slapped Joram on the upper arm.

  Rand stood with hands on her hips. “But what are we doing after this gig? Our schedules are clear; no gigs, no PR, nothing. Ivan won’t give any of us a straight answer.”

  Joram debated with the idea of easing her friends’ minds with a lie but decided against it. They’d all lived with “Obeah Man” in their lives, they all had a natural superstition regarding him and his sorcerous capabilities as a result. She balanced their experience against telling them the bald truth, knowing the knowledge would hurt their ability in tonight’s performance. How would that affect the ritual itself? Would it pervert what was to happen if the music wasn’t played properly? “We’re taking a couple of weeks off. Supply and demand.” She postured, patting her chest with a broad grin. “We’re bashy right now, and people are gwaan ta have a inna luv for us. Once this is over, it’ll be just us. We’ll decide what to do after the show.” Despite her confident attitude, they looked askance though none voiced an opposing opinion.