“Would you like to play it?”
She blinked, the urge to scramble forward as strong as the demand to stay put.
His smile became sly and his eyes sparkled. “I know you do. It’s all right, really. To be honest, I brought this as a test for you.”
He stood, his face disappearing from her view as he walked toward her. Scrambling back the few inches she’d gained, she watched him kneel before the drainpipe. With a flash of white and silver, he placed a handkerchief just inside and deposited the piccolo atop it. He retreated a safe distance and sat down once more. “Would you like to play it? If you do well, you may keep it.”
Keep it? Her mouth open in wonder, she stared at the instrument sitting just outside the shadows of her haven. Her fingers twitched with anticipation. Suspicion stopped her. Adults smiled and promised things, then they hit and hurt. Promises meant nothing to adults, not when made to children. “Why?”
His grin became lopsided. “Didn’t I say you were a smart girl? Very good!” Again he made the silent clapping motion. His smile faded in thought. “For a very long time I’ve been seeking a special child, one with an uncommon gift. You are not the first I’ve spoken with nor the first I’ve tested, but none of the others had that…spark that I sense within your spirit.”
Pleasure swelled in her small chest, igniting a sliver of competitiveness. “You think I’m the special child?”
“I do.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, peering into her dark domain. “How old are you?”
She scowled, wondering whether or not to tell him. If he was looking for a special child, wouldn’t he want the truth? Only bad people lied and bad people weren’t special. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know where you came from? Who cared for you before you lived alone?”
Scenes flashed across her eyes, murky and distant memories that offered only pain and sorrow. This time she didn’t answer.
“I presumed as much.” He nodded in commiseration. “I’ve been watching you for several days now, wondering if you’re the one I need to Choose. But you have to Choose as well.”
She didn’t know whether to feel fear or solace that he’d been watching over her longer than just this evening. “If I’m the special child, what will that mean?”
He smiled again, leaning back, arms wide to indicate everything around them. “That means you’ll come live with me! I’ll teach you everything you need to know, feed you, clothe you, keep you safe from harm.” He pointed at the piccolo still gleaming between them. “And you’ll play all the music you’ve ever wanted to play.”
Her gaze settled on the irresistible instrument. The one constant in her life, the one thing that made her existence livable was music. Sometimes she’d hide in the park to listen to the songs played by ethnic performers. Or she’d watch the street dancers with their boom boxes and raucous tunes. On warm nights she’d sneak down the alleyways outside clubs and let the bass and drum wash over her. To be able to learn how to make music…
She glanced up to check his location. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, letting her decide what to do. With a swallow, she scooted forward. At the halfway point, she paused to sense whether or not he was truly alone. Again she didn’t feel that anyone waited just out of sight to attack her. She snatched the piccolo, holding it close but not withdrawing back to her safety net.
Nothing happened.
After several long moments she relaxed, looking down at the instrument. It was so pretty, glowing even in the limited illumination of the drainpipe. Her fingers were dirty, dark against the pristine silver, and she felt a moment of dismay. She shouldn’t be touching something this nice. A smear of oil from the french fries marred the piccolo’s surface. She carefully cleared it away with the edge of her shirt, wiping her hands on her soiled pants. Once it was clean, she was at a loss. Her eyes flickered up to see the man still seated several feet away. “I don’t know how.”
“Oh, it’s easy, miting,” he said with a jovial chuckle. “Blow into the hole at the top like I did. Use your fingers to manipulate the keys running up and down the side.”
She did as instructed but nothing happened. It wasn’t like a toy whistle where you could blow into it and a little plastic ball rattled inside. Frowning, she examined the mouthpiece, noting the peculiar opening. She recalled how he had pursed his lips when he had played it and copied the motion. It took a couple of minutes of practice before a wispy thin note played.
Enthralled, she continued experimenting until a solid tone rewarded her. Her audience forgotten, she began to use the keys, learning the sound of each in turn as she ran up and down the instrument. Once she had a feel for the instrument’s range, she remembered a song she’d heard the night before behind a dance club and began playing the refrain. The drainpipe had excellent acoustics, and the music swelled and danced about her, echoing off the corrugated metal. She stopped copying the song and played with the sounds, seeing them in her mind as she watched them capriole and cavort around her. She played until her lip began to chafe from the unfamiliar effort. Silence reigned as the last of the notes dissipated into the night.
“Brava, my dear.”
She gasped, having forgotten the man. Her eyes flew open in a rush of terror, but he hadn’t moved from his position. He clapped his hands together, standing as he applauded aloud. She scrambled back an inch or two.
He didn’t come forward. “That was beautiful! Thank you.”
Swallowing, she felt tears burn her eyes. “Am I the special child?”
He squatted in place so she could see him. “I’m positive you are. No child has ever displayed such a wondrous gift before. You are the one I Choose.”
She felt pride and relief flow through her, making her shake. But she still didn’t trust this man, this stranger. This could still be an elaborate game to capture her, to hurt her.
His smile was gentle. “But you have to Choose as well. I can’t take you with me if you don’t decide to come.” He watched her struggle with indecision. “Perhaps I have someone who can help.” Scooting backward, he reseated himself on the concrete and fished into his jacket pocket. He produced a cell phone and made a call, his words muffled.
Mistrustful, she scooted back to the relative safely of the earth, almost knocking over the soda. She clung to the piccolo, absently nibbling a cold french fry as she watched.
The man ended his call and pocketed the phone. “She’ll be here in just a few minutes.”
She? In the distance she heard a car door slam and footsteps crunch closer. Unable to sit still, she cautiously packed the food back into the paper bag. The lighter and handkerchief went into her pants pocket. In one hand she clutched the bag and piccolo, in the other was the steel pipe.
A pair of light-colored slacks appeared near the man. He pointed at the drainpipe. “She’s in there.”
“She’s the one?” The woman’s voice was warm.
“Oh, yes.”
The woman approached the pipe. She knelt in the dust of construction, peering inside. Her hair was spun gold, and her smile was easy and innocuous. “It’s all right, honey. You’re safe now. My name is Madeleine. What’s yours?”
A rush of confusion filled her as she stared at the kindly woman. It had been so long since anyone had used her name, she’d all but forgotten it. Who am I? Sniffling, tears began to spill from her eyes. In a cracked voice, she said, “I don’t remember.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Madeleine murmured. She held out her arms, gesturing for the child to come out. “Come on. You’re sleepy and hungry. Let me get you cleaned up and into a warm bed, okay?”
Sobbing, the little girl inched forward, clutching her only possessions. Madeleine gathered her into welcome arms, standing and rocking her as she cried. After an eternity of being alone, the little girl allowed the strange woman to succor her. When the tears faded, she looked up to see the man standing close. She tensed but didn’t fight Madeleine’s hold.
He slowly reached out and bru
shed his knuckles along her cheek. “Do you Choose to come with me?”
Despite the kindness of the gesture, his touch seemed to leave a greasy film upon her dirty skin. She still had a choice? If she said no, tomorrow night she’d come out of her nest and search for something to eat in a Dumpster. She’d be more careful of her surroundings after tonight’s lesson, but eventually someone would catch her. She was too little. It was just a matter of time. She didn’t know what would happen when they did, and that frightened her. This man offered her food and music and a safe place to stay, and Madeleine’s embrace filled an empty place in her heart. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, still being jostled in Madeleine’s arms, and nodded.
His smile widened. “Outstanding. My name is Professor Anders.”
She swallowed, unable to reciprocate.
Madeleine answered for her. “She doesn’t remember her name.”
Anders’s smile faded, then quirked. “Not a problem. Today you’re starting a new life. It’s only fair you have a new name to go with it, don’t you think?”
The child considered the idea and liked it. She nodded cautiously as the adults began walking away from the construction site she’d called home the last few weeks.
“How about Joram? You look like a Joram to me.” He waved a hand across the sky as if reading the name on a billboard. “Joram Darkstone, the Chosen One. It has a nice ring.”
“Is it a special name?”
He laughed as they climbed out of the depression in the lot and onto the sidewalk. “It is indeed, miting. A very special name for a very special little girl.”
She tried the name on for size. “Joram Darkstone.” It did feel special. She’d never heard of anyone named Joram before. “Okay.” Weary from all the emotions that had assailed her, she leaned her head against Madeleine’s shoulder, basking in the loving caress along her spine.
Anders continued speaking as they neared a limousine. “And today will be your birthday. How’s that?”
That perked Joram’s interest. “What day is it?”
“September seventeenth,” he responded. “You look about four years old. Since it’s your fourth birthday, you deserve four birthday gifts, you know. After you’ve had some food and sleep, I’ll take you shopping.”
The prospect of celebrating a birthday she didn’t know she had made her smile. Despite the idea, her eyelids drooped closed. The last thing she heard was a car door being opened and Anders’s voice.
“And when you’re all grown up, you’ll be the Harbinger of the Invocation. All will bow to you, sweet Joram.”
Chapter Two
“Where’s your mama?”
Distracted from her play, Naomi frowned. She looked over her shoulder, pointing a sandy hand at the stone bench where two women spoke together. “Over there.” Returning her attention to the tunnel she’d dug, she carefully reached as far as she could into the hole and deposited a twig at the very end to represent a little girl. It had rained in the wee hours of the night, and the sandbox had become the perfect place to build a construction site. The sand had firmed and easily took shape as she carved through and around it. The little twig-girl was trapped because there were bad men after her. She stood two fat sticks in the ground before the hole. Those bad men couldn’t get inside because they were too big. The third “man” was a rock sitting a few inches away. He didn’t have to go inside the hole, he just had to talk the little girl into coming out. I’m going to save her.
Her playmate, Divna, studied the two women Naomi had indicated. “The lady with the ponytail?”
Laughing, Naomi shook her head and looked up. “No, silly. My Inanna’s sitting right there.” She waved at the serene brown-haired woman. Inanna didn’t see the greeting, busy smiling at her ponytailed visitor and speaking gently with her.
“She’s pretty.”
Naomi admired her Inanna’s appearance and nodded. She picked up the toy shovel she’d used to carve through the damp sand, returning her attention to her project. What she needed to do was build another tunnel that would let the little girl inside escape without anyone the wiser. The two big men would fight with each other and go away, and the rock-man could sit forever where he was like the stone that represented him.
“What did you call her?” Divna asked.
“My Inanna.” Naomi scooped sand out of a new hole, planning a perpendicular tunnel. If she got close enough, she’d only need to break her fingers through to where the little twig-girl cringed in fear. Then they’d both escape and live happily ever after.
“You call her by her first name? That’s weird.”
Naomi focused on Divna, confusion running through her mind. “No, she’s my mama, my Inanna. That’s not her name.”
Divna laughed. “No, her name is Inanna. I’ve heard my mama say it. Don’t you know any better?” She’d wrapped an air of “I’m-so-smart-and-you’re-not” about her shoulders. “You don’t even look like Inanna. She has darker skin and your hair is almost black.”
Concentration interrupted, Naomi sat back on her knees and scowled. She wanted to stick her tongue out at Divna but knew she shouldn’t. Inanna said two wrongs didn’t make a right. Naomi was of the private opinion that taking Divna down a bit wouldn’t be a wrong. Pleased to have flustered Naomi, Divna continued to fool with her wooden horse, a smug grin on her face as she made it gallop across the sand and jump over makeshift fences.
Naomi looked down at her sandy hands. Even playing in the sun every day didn’t drive away her pale complexion. She glanced at Inanna, who now smiled fondly at a toddler stumbling toward her. Naomi’s lips echoed Inanna’s smile. It was true that she and Inanna didn’t look much alike. Inanna’s skin was the color of caramels, her hair varying shades of dark blond and brown. Even her eyes weren’t as deep a brown as her daughter’s, more a light cinnamon than dark. Inanna had high cheekbones and an oval face. When Naomi looked in the mirror she always saw a triangular chin. Maybe I look like my daddy.
The thought caused her abrupt consternation. Did she have a daddy? There’d never been a man around the complex that wasn’t a servant, no man that picked her up and carried her, none that ate at their table and played with her. Inanna had never mentioned a father before. Naomi felt stupid as the lack opened a chasm before her. Why had she never asked about a daddy? Didn’t everybody have a daddy? Why don’t I have a daddy?
Inanna looked up from the toddler, soft cinnamon eyes seeming to read Naomi’s sudden anxiety. Her smile faded into an expression of kind understanding. She broke their mutual stare long enough to transfer the toddler to his mother as she stood.
Naomi swallowed a lump in her throat, wondering why she wanted to cry. She left the sandbox, the little twig-girl in the hole forgotten. She met Inanna at the halfway point between them, bursting into tears as the woman gathered her up. Strong arms embraced Naomi, and Inanna crooned a comforting song as she carried Naomi away from the playground. Naomi barely noted their passage as Inanna carried her back to the residential wing where she’d lived as long as she could remember. Instead, she savored the familiar touch on her back and through her hair, the warmth of Inanna’s voice as she continued to sing in a strange language as Naomi cried into the crook of Inanna’s neck.
When her sobs finally faded, she was laying on Inanna’s bed, still wrapped in her arms, her head pillowed on Inanna’s breast. Caramel-skinned fingers wiped tears from Naomi’s face, and she snuggled closer, sniffling.
“Now what was that all about, sweetness?”
Naomi’s bottom lip trembled. “Divna said you weren’t my mama.”
“I see.”
As they lay in silence broken only by birdsong, Naomi’s heart swooped in her chest. If Inanna was her mama wouldn’t she be quick to say so? She struggled with the question, debating whether she wanted to ask it or continue on in ignorance. Inanna always said it was better to be smart than stupid. Smart people were strong and capable; stupid ones, the ones who chose to be ignorant, were to be pitied because t
hey would never know true happiness. Naomi didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer to her question. If Inanna answered it in a bad way, how would that make her happy? Eventually she found her voice, though it was very quiet. “Are you my mama?”
Inanna thought for several long moments, and Naomi had an urge to jump up, run away, somehow take back the question. Before she could take any action, Inanna spoke.
“If you mean am I the woman who gave birth to you, then no.”
Naomi’s world shattered, only held together by the light bronze-toned arms enveloping her, the lips kissing her forehead, the vanilla-like scent of Inanna’s perfume.
“But I am the woman who saw a beautiful baby and fell in love with her. I’m the one who changed her diaper, cleaned and fed her, sang to her and played with her. I chose you, out of all the baby girls I could have selected. I’m the one who loves you, Naomi, and I always will.”
The words soothed the hurt, the sense of abandonment Naomi felt. Emboldened by them, she asked, “And my daddy?”
“I do not know who your father is, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
Now Naomi wept for the father she’d never considered but now desperately missed, the mother who hadn’t held her or read her stories at night or bathed her in the overlarge tub sitting in the corner of Inanna’s suite. Through it all, Inanna caressed her, letting her cry herself out.
When the tears dried on Naomi’s cheeks again, Inanna sat up and urged Naomi to follow suit. They faced each other, sitting Turkish-style. Inanna straightened Naomi’s mussed hair, tucking wayward strands behind her ears as she peered down at her daughter. “When your mother came here, she was so heavy with you.” She smiled, gently patting Naomi’s belly. “It was a wonder she could walk! But walk she did, all the way from Greece. She said she’d been on the road for several months, leaving her home not long after she discovered she was pregnant.”
Darkstone Page 2
