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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by D Jordan Redhawk

  Dedication

  Acknowledgment

  Choices

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Transitions

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Affinity

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Exposure

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Destinies

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Glossary

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  As an adult, all Joram Darkstone wants is to be out from under the thumb of her adoptive guardian and to play music with her band. Life as an orphan is firmly behind her. When she meets the mesmerizing Naomi after a show, her overt obsession with the other woman baffles her friends but somehow feels right.

  Naomi Kostopolous grew up in the Carpathian Mountains, trained to be sensitive to magic and burdened with a heavy purpose: Guard the dimensional door at any cost when the time comes. Now living in Southern California, a chance meeting with a musician opens up dangerous possibilities. Joram may be a stranger, but her voice echoes from Naomi’s childhood dreams.

  As the signs of magical cataclysm swirl around them, Joram and Naomi are bound inexplicably closer by love… And destiny.

  Two women on opposing sides of the battle between good and evil, both pawns in a game they don’t fully comprehend…

  Copyright © 2015 by D Jordan Redhawk

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2015

  eBook released 2015

  Editor: Ruth Stanley

  Cover Designer: Sandy Knowles

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-473-5

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Bella Books by D Jordan Redhawk

  Broken Trails

  Orphan Maker

  Lichii Ba’Cho

  Tiopa Ki Lakota

  Freya’s Tears

  Sanguire Series

  The Strange Path

  Beloved Lady Mistress

  Inner Sanctuary

  Lady Dragon

  Dedication

  To Anna Redhawk for introducing magic into my life.

  Acknowledgment

  As usual there are a lot of folks who helped me over the years as I wrote and edited this book. It’s funny that I love being a writer because it’s an introverted career, but I could never do it alone!

  Thanks go to the Redhawk Cheerleader Team—Anna Redhawk, Shawn Cady and Anita Pawlowski. Even when they don’t give me immediate feedback on a manuscript, they’re there for me to vent, bounce ideas off of and distract me from life’s challenges. Can’t beat that!

  Christina—you’re a badass suffering an awesome death, as promised. Enjoy! To the original King of the Rats—Dave Harriman, Scott Berbich & Quintin Mauree—whispers in a hurricane, baby! And Danna Pryomski, you saved the day when I asked you what was behind a door. I’ll never forget it.

  As usual I’ve butchered another language. This time it’s Jamaican patois…There’s a glossary in the back of the book if you get confused, but most of the words I use are self evident or explained.

  And for my metal-head buddies, the soundtrack for this book included Linkin Park, Bullet For My Valentine, Celldweller, the raunchier aspects of Guano Apes and a smattering of Kidney Thieves and Avenged Sevenfold. Rock on!

  CHOICES

  “Tired of being what you want me to be,

  Exhaustion creeping into my soul.

  I don’t know what you want from me.

  Following your path was never my goal.”

  Joram Darkstone, Apprentice, Invocation

  Chapter One

  “C’mon, kid. I’ve got something for you to play with!”

  The small child huddled in the dark, back pressed against the cold earth as a grubby hand searched for her. Her tormentor blocked the meager streetlight as he stretched an arm into the narrow drainpipe that separated them. Unable to see anything, she felt the breeze of his grasping fingers bare inches away, instinctively knowing that his limited reach was still too near for comfort. The air was fetid with his breath and body odor—stale alcohol, rotting teeth and sour sweat blending with the smell of concrete dust, raw earth and her own familiar dirty aroma.

  A muffled voice said, “Lemme try. My arm’s longer.”

  Tormentor Number One grunted in disgust, partially pulling back. Light filtered in as he cleared the opening, followed by a rush of fresh air as he turned to his companion. “You’re fatter than me, idiot. It doesn’t matter how long your arm is if you can’t get your shoulder in there too.” He gestured toward the pipe. “She’s jammed in there pretty good. I can’t get at her.”

  Tormentor Number Two’s work boots appeared in her vision. After a brief scuffle, he roughly pushed Number One away. “Let me have a look anyway, asshole.”

  Number One swore but rolled aside, allowing his companion room as their shadows flickered across the opening of the corrugated pipe. She shivered, feeling the tears and snot tickling her face as she stared at the second stranger peering into the pipe. They’d come upon her too fast. She hadn’t had time to reach her bolt-hole, the refuge where’d she built a small nest in the middle of the construction mayhem. This opening had offered desperately needed safety from the two large men running her down. Unfortunately, the construction crew working on this project had yet to connect this pipe with any of the others. Once there, she had nowhere to go. It was twisted luck that the men had seen her dive for cover.

  The flame of an old-fashioned metal lighter illuminated Number Two’s face,
heavy-jowled and beady-eyed. He extended the light into the pipe until he caught sight of her. “Yep, she’s in there.” His voice echoed in the small confines.

  “I told you she was,” Number One groused out in the yard.

  Number Two ignored him. “Hey, cutie-pie. Why don’t you come out of there and we can get something to eat, huh? You look like you’re hungry.” She didn’t move, didn’t respond. His eyes greedily swept over her. It made her insides feel funny, like she wanted to pee. “You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t you? Come on out. We won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  “Hey. I found something we could use.”

  Number Two flipped the lid over the lighter, extinguishing it and plunging her back into darkness. He turned back to his friend. Despite his girth, she saw Number One’s ratty tennis shoes beside him. Number Two reached up and took something from One. “That’ll work.” He turned back to her, flicking the lighter again. He tapped a metal pipe against the corrugated steel of her trap, an ugly smile on his face. “You come out of there now, girl, or I’ll smack you with this.”

  Her heart thumped in her chest. She shook her head no.

  He growled, filling the hole as he pushed forward. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will, you little bitch. Get out here now!”

  The pipe slid forward, a metallic scrape filling the shrinking enclosure as his bulk clogged the opening. She winced, turning away from the oncoming threat, closing her eyes as she waited for the pain.

  Muffled noises distracted Number Two. She peeked out the corner of one eye. He paused, the pipe mere inches from his prey. Street light bled in from behind him as he turned his head to see what was happening. He slid swiftly backward, his makeshift weapon dropping with a loud clang that rang with the echoes of his abrupt shout. His lighter clattered onto its side, the flame flickering a foot from the entrance.

  She flinched from meaty sounds of violence but saw nothing beyond the stretch of dusty ground immediately before the drainpipe—grunts and a deep horrible cracking noise, then the vibration and sound of something heavy hitting the ground. From her vantage point, she saw a beefy hand flop into view for the briefest of moments before it was dragged from sight.

  Silence.

  Either her tormentors were trying to trick her or someone bigger and badder than them had come along. In either case, she didn’t have much choice but to stay put, until daylight if necessary. She inched forward, listening intently as she neared the entrance, her thundering heartbeat drowning out any other noise. Her senses, honed from forever living on the streets, indicated no one hovered at the other end. With a preternatural quickness, her hand darted out to grab the still glowing lighter, snuffing it out as she scrabbled backward to safety. The lighter was hot to the touch. It burnt her hand. She dropped it in the dirt at her side with a hiss of pain, scooping up the steel pipe and clutching it to her small chest. Wiping her nose on her filthy shirtsleeve, she swallowed away the tears and waited for her next attacker.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there. She shivered in the cold, her eyes sliding to the cooling lighter. If she lit it for the warmth, someone would see her. Whoever had chased off Number One and Two might still be out there, waiting for her to poke out her head. What if they didn’t know she was inside? The adrenaline gradually faded, and she crouched in her haven-cum-prison, her eyes drooping in fatigue. Her stomach ached with hunger. Despite her exhaustion, she felt a kernel of anger at herself and the situation. The men had been waiting for her; she hadn’t been as careful as she’d thought. Tonight she’d raided a Dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. She’d been so surprised when Number One and Two emerged from the shadows, intent on capturing her, that she’d dropped her meal. The chicken chow mein she’d scavenged lay in a heap a half block away from here, rotting on the ground. If she didn’t get out of this pipe before daylight that would be the only food she’d get today. She’d have to wait until nightfall tomorrow to find more or risk being discovered by the construction crew.

  Footsteps roused her from slumbering choler. She jerked, the pipe in her hand brushing against the corrugated metal of her prison, announcing her presence. Unable to help herself, she gasped aloud at the sound, eyes darting to the entrance as shadows cast themselves across it.

  Someone squatted there. The hands were large, indicating that it was a man. A gold ring flashed in the streetlight as he opened a bag, the crackle of paper heralding a delicious aroma. Using the bag as a makeshift placemat, he laid out a feast—a cardboard tray of french fries, a paper sleeve with a pocket pie and a box, which he opened to reveal a grilled chicken sandwich. Next to these he placed a large cup, the straw jutting upward and bent toward her. Her mouth watered at the heavenly smells filling her tiny domain. Regardless of the banquet sitting just out of reach, she warily watched his feet stride away. He wore polished dress shoes that flashed in the streetlights. The farther away he walked, the more of his legs was revealed. He wore dark pants and a long coat.

  He stopped, turning this way and that a moment before sitting down on a dusty concrete block, his form lit by nearby streetlights and perfectly framed in the oval of the drainpipe. He was an older man, his hair going salt and pepper. His dark eyebrows arched majestically, almost peaking into wings at their apex. A goatee surrounded his smile. He gestured at her, as if he could see her crouching there. “Please, allow me. I’m certain you’re famished.”

  His accent was strange, and she frowned as she concentrated on his words, tilting her head. Understanding made her heart flip in her chest. She swallowed against a surge of hunger, her eyes flickering back and forth between him and the food sitting so tantalizingly close.

  “Truly, you’re safe with me. I’m way over here and I’m alone. You’re fast and agile—I’d wager you can retrieve your dinner and return to your refuge long before I could reach you.” He held his hands out, palms forward. “I promise you, I mean you no harm.”

  Maybe he had someone with him, someone just outside waiting to pounce. She debated a moment, warring with her stomach as she extended her senses. He remained quiet, patiently awaiting her decision, a friendly smile on his face. She instinctively didn’t trust that smile—many adults smiled before they reached out to hurt you. Her ears picked up no other sounds nearby. Was he telling the truth?

  The tempting aroma forced her hand. She inched forward, watching the drainpipe opening until she got close enough to reach his offering. She fidgeted a moment, chewing her lower lip as her gaze darted out to the man still seated calmly several feet away. With a rush, she snatched the bag and drink cup, dragging them backward with her until she reached the earthen hole once more. She wasted no time in stuffing a handful of still-warm french fries into her mouth, almost choking as she tried to swallow. Sucking mightily on the straw, she groaned as the chilled soda helped lubricate her throat.

  “You eat with such gusto, miting. Please be careful. It would be such a waste if you were to make yourself sick.”

  She started guiltily at his voice, mouth full of chicken sandwich. In her hunger, she’d almost forgotten his presence. Peering down the drainpipe she saw he hadn’t moved from his perch. She considered his words as she chewed, forcing herself to slow down. Being sick was too dangerous. With growing realization she looked down at her meal—if she safely survived the night, she wouldn’t have anything to eat later. Mournful, she took one more bite of the sandwich and carefully put it back in its container.

  “A very smart young lady,” the man said. “It takes a tremendous amount of self-control for a child in your state to consider your future. I applaud you.” He patted his fingers together, making little noise.

  The hair on her neck rose a little. It was pitch dark in her hiding place. Could he see in the dark? Picking up the soda, she cradled it in her lap, feeling the cold seep into her already chilled hands. The sharp claws of hunger had been driven back, but the beast in her stomach remained discontented.

  Her lack of response didn’t faze her visitor. “So far toni
ght, I’ve protected you from a pair of thugs and fed you a fine meal. By all rights, you are now obligated to me.” He leaned forward a little, bringing his face well in line with her view. “But I’ll release you from that particular debt.”

  He sat erect once more and began rummaging in an inside pocket of his jacket. She tensed, expecting a weapon. His words sort of made sense, but she couldn’t quite understand with his accent. Did he mean she owed him? Or that she didn’t anymore? He must want something, though. Why else was he still here?

  “Ah! Here it is.” He pulled a thin metal flute from his pocket with a flourish.

  It sparkled, a slither of luminescence independent of the streetlight. The glint caught her eyes, and a strange excitement filled her, sublimating her fear. As she watched, he brought the instrument to his lips, a delightful ripple of sound emitting as he blew on it. Before she’d realized it, she’d set the soda to one side and crouched on her knees to get a better look.

  “It has the most agreeable voice, doesn’t it?” He paused in his play to admire the flashing silver instrument. “It’s called a piccolo. Have you ever played one?”

  His eyes pierced hers and a tremor ran through her heart. He could see her in the dark. To test the theory, she shook her head no.

  “That’s too bad. I believe you’d make a fine musician.” His smile widened and he tapped his left cheekbone below his eye. “I can see these things, you know.”

  She chewed her lower lip, studying him. He had protected her from danger, driven away her persecutors. He’d brought her enough food to feed her for another day. He could see in the dark. Tentative, she asked, “Are you magic?”

  His smile broadened and then he laughed. “I am indeed, miting.” He waggled the piccolo. “And this is my magical flute. I’m the Pied Piper of Hamlin reborn.”

  Frowning, she tilted her head. She didn’t know what a pied piper or a hamlin was. Maybe that’s why he brought me the apple pie. Pie and a flute would make him a pied piper?