Glorious Sunset (9 page)

Taka stopped as the memory came upon him so quickly and vividly he gasped. And with the memory, almost immediately, the pain.

1600 AD: Jaha, West Africa

 

The Great Hall was lit by candlelight and the brilliant violet, rose, and orange of the sunset. There was no sunset in the world like a sunset in the kingdom of Jaha. It was said his land was blessed and loved best by the Almighty, evidence written in the sky. Tonight the colors of the sunset lit the inside of the hall, the table of food, and the faces of their guests like fire; a fitting image for this important gathering of leaders.

Taka gazed across to the other end of the table where his queen, Zahara, sat. She was even more beautiful than the sunset. Her warm brown skin, her syrup brown eyes that could raise his spirits, bolster his strength, and caress him with love all in one glance. She was his favorite thing to look at. The brooch pinned to her shoulder sparkled in the light and set the beauty of her skin aflame. A gentle smile from her, subtle and discreet, promised that later, when they were alone, she would be neither of those things. A lick of desire stirred deep within him.

But it wasn't just his desire for her that made him anxious to be alone with her. Their conversations were always interesting. Her character studies, almost always accurate. Even tonight he sensed reticence in her upon entering the hall in her tight smile and cautious manner, but she was as charming and intelligent as any noble. He hadn't had time to speak to her before but he would be interested to hear what caused her caution. But that conversation would have to wait a little longer.

Pulling his attention away from his favorite subject he turned instead to the man beside him. He and this particular leader of a neighboring village had never been friends but they were here for a purpose. The second the man stopped speaking he took over.

“Then we are in agreement?” Taka encapsulated the conversation, anxious to be done. “We cannot allow invaders to pick us off one by one. We have a common purpose. Our villages fight as one, our goal one goal. More wine to toast!”

He held out the carafe and his eyes found Zahara again. Her eyes were warm in his when they shifted slightly, breaking contact. Taka felt the coldness of the loss of attention but suddenly, the expression on her face made him take notice. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

Taka threw the wine carafe aside quickly to reach for his sword an instant before cold steel entered his side from the man closest him, as easily and ruthlessly as if he'd been a goat to slaughter. He clutched his side and watched as his hands were sliced upon the retreat of the steel, spilling hot blood from the wound of his torso into the deep gashes in his palms.

“Taka!” Zahara's scream pierced the previous solitude and at once a flurry of activity took over the hall. His guests were pulling swords quicker than his eyes could track. His men were struggling to fight the sudden attack, stunned by the sight of him, their leader, struck down before their very eyes. And as in a nightmare, Taka's brain calculated as man after man stormed the hall. Countless men, pouring in like a thousand ants overrunning a feast at a picnic. But these men came in slicing with swords, swinging with hatchets and machetes.

“Zahara,” he breathed on a thin breath as pain had stolen his breath. For a moment his wife simply held his eyes in her own, stunned. As the moment stretched, so did his arm toward her even though the long table made it impossible to touch her and his wound made it impossible to stand. She reached toward him as well in a matching gesture, which ended abruptly when a rough arm came around her waist, pulling her struggling body away with force.

“No!” Taka cried at the sight. He would gut any man who touched his wife in disrespect. He would make the bastard pay with his head!

He grunted with effort to pull himself to his feet in order to protect her but the Great Hall swam around him and darkness claimed his sight; much like the strangers who came to his table that day his body, as well, had betrayed him.

 

 

Taka blinked his way into the present. He was back in the apartment, back in the United States, a different place and different time, but the feelings from centuries before were still just there on the surface, ready to pop open his heart.

“That was unnecessary,” he ground out. “You imagine I've forgotten that day?”

“Yes, I believe you have,” Ani said. “You ask if a mouse needs its tail snapped a thousand times before it realizes the cheese is rigged? Mice are one thing. The spirit that is Zahara is another. Maybe she prefers the devil she knows.”

“What does that mean? What kind of riddle do you toss at me now?”

“I'm afraid I may have protected you too much as a child. My proximity gave the impression you were owed special treatment in life, that you wouldn't have to suffer the pains common to every man. I have ease of communication with you and that's always been a gift to me, as well, but you are human and some things can't be explained in words. Humans need to feel to learn. I'll tell you this: there is a flow to life. A natural current. Life will follow that current and only a disruption can change it. Only our Father has the power to disrupt it and He did that for you. He stretched your whirlpool into a long, winding stream. But you need to understand, He didn't bring you all this way just to let you cause more pain for the woman with the spirit you knew as Zahara.”

“You say this as though I am the problem. I am only reporting what I see.”

“Yes, she is wounded. Her spirit, almost fatally. She is so wounded that He allowed this interruption in your cycle. He allowed you to do this because Violet needs you. You are working for the Almighty, Taka Olufemi. You will bring His child back to us.”

Taka's hands went to his hips as he stared at Ani. All these years he'd suffered because that was what the Almighty wanted? “You both lied to me. You tricked me.”

“Watch your mouth, son; we did no such thing. You were given a choice. No, our Father didn't change life's rules just so you could hold your wife in your arms. We have different goals, but the same route nonetheless.”

“The same route?” Taka thought of the dinner, the conversation. He thought of Violet's behavior and choice of men. He thought of how silent she'd been when they'd laughed at his wife's murder. “Violet Jackson is not a route I wish to take.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that is so,” Taka admitted, looking away from the sudden recrimination in his Ani's eyes.

“Let me see if I understand. You believe her so pathetically inadequate that she no longer deserves your love? She fed you, clothed you, took time out of her day to make sure you enjoyed yourself, and you are a stranger.”

“That was kind of her, but it doesn't change who she is.”

“You don't know who she is!”

The uncharacteristic boom in the angel's voice reverberated through Taka's body and for a moment he faltered, silenced, finally. “I meant no disrespect,” he said with bowed head, his alternative to groveling.

“Taka,” Ani went on. Taka raised his eyes to find Ani's eyes filled to the brim with love. “The journey was for you, also. You judge too quickly, son, as if afraid if you waver you'll show weakness. Violet deserves more than a quick judgment and determination she isn't worthy. At one time she had complete faith in you, Taka; the least you owe her is the benefit of the doubt.”

With that, his friend faded from view leaving Taka even more frustrated than when he'd arrived. Didn't he realize how much Taka wanted this to work? Didn't he see how much just one day had taken from him? Didn't he feel how much it tore him apart to see his wife in harm's way again?

He lay stretched out on the sofa again, pulling the mini blanket over himself. He braced his head on a bent arm as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He only had two days. Two days to bring Zahara back or he was going to the everlasting inferno on a fool's errand.

After light petting, a few kisses, and some murmurs of sympathy over his newly blackened eye, Jerome slammed the door shut behind him and came at Violet like a released convict, just like she liked, normally.

She screeched with surprise when he tossed her over his shoulder, short-lived when he buckled slightly and staggered his way into the bedroom to toss her onto the bed. He'd never tried that before. Certainly trying to make up for the loss of face after the dinnertime pummeling, but he failed miserably. It was the rubbing of his lower back with his hand and the pained expression on his face that ruined it.

“Darn, baby, you might have broke my back,” he complained, going through contortions to prove his point.

Violet propped herself up on her elbows on the bed and frowned as she watched him make way too much fuss. She knew she wasn't light as a feather, but she was only a size fourteen! Maybe if he wasn't so puny with his pot belly and weak little boy arms, he could have lifted her just fine. Maybe if he had an ounce of class he would have avoided making noise about it. Maybe if he cared about her even a little he would have put on a happy face and bluffed his way through.

“It's okay, though,” he said, a smarmy smile making its way over his face as he came toward her. “I'll let you make it up to me.”

Make it up to him? Violet, Violet, why do you put up with it?
her little voice inside said. She'd been ignoring the little voice for years. The little voice only told her what she didn't want to hear. It may have been absolutely correct, but she so didn't want to hear it. Her little voice made her vulnerable. It told her things like, “Just be yourself and people will like you.” “Hard work will make you a success.” And the oldie but goodie, “Open your heart to love.” Well, she'd done those things before and been rewarded with rejection, exhaustion, and a broken heart. She and the little voice were enemies. So she did the opposite, as usual, and watched as Jerome came toward her. That's when her stomach flipped the first time.

“Stop,” Violet said, pushing him away. Funny, her arms were shaky like noodles. She couldn't recall that ever happening before.

“What?”

Violet looked up at Jerome and therein lay the first problem. She normally tried not to look at Jerome when they got together. He wasn't an ugly man but there was no physical attraction from her end. At this moment in particular, she had as much desire for him as she had for a bikini wax, and unlike previous times, she couldn't force her stomach to quiet down and take it. It rumbled so loudly in protest that she threw a hand over her mouth to keep from losing the plate of ribs all over Jerome and his blackened eye. Then she ran to the bathroom.

To his credit, when she got back to the bedroom he made sympathetic noises. He even stroked her hair gently and said, “It's okay, baby. The food must've been bad. Get it out of your system?”

She nodded and ran a hand over her clammy, moist forehead. Goodness, she couldn't remember ever having a reaction this strong. Maybe it was the ribs and not him. Her agitated stomach gave credence to his theory.

“I'm going to sue those . . . incompetents,” she sputtered. “I'm going to make sure they never poison anybody else. I'm going to make them sorry they ever . . .” But there was no need in finishing her whine because he was already at her again, kissing her feverish neck with gusto. This time when her stomach rolled she knew it had nothing to do with the ribs. Fact was, the more Jerome touched her the sicker she got. She pushed at him again and he finally pulled away, annoyed.

“You said you were okay,” he barked.

“How about a half a second to make sure, Romeo? I know I'm irresistible but do you think you can wait to make sure I'm not dying before you try to get your groove on?” she snapped back, finally annoyed. She straightened her bodice pointedly, making every effort not to look in his face and using the time to figure out what the heck was going on.

From the very start she'd only been mildly attracted to Jerome. But she hadn't chosen him for his looks; she'd chosen him because he was moderately intelligent, had a decent job, and was somewhat malleable. Violet's strength was that nine times out of ten she knew how to manipulate his stubbornness to her favor. Reverse psychology was always a handy tool. And last but not least, she was a woman and a woman always had the power of sexual persuasion. At least, usually she did.

There had been plenty times in their relationship when they'd had sex to their consensual agreement. A couple times when they'd had it so that she could make up for a wrong she'd done. Lots of times when they'd had it simply to prevent his eye from wandering another way. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd actually enjoyed it.

Sex was overrated, she decided. There simply were not the fireworks that television and that
Sex and the City
show would have women believe. Sometimes she faked it. Okay, lots of times. But this time, she couldn't fake it. Not even for her own much-needed release. Not even superimposing Morris Chestnut's image onto her clueless Jerome could get her to let him touch her tonight.

But wait a minute.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard picturing six feet seven inches of bittersweet chocolate with shoulders as wide as a building and a chest built for a monument; strong brow, firm jaw, hawkish nose, eyes dark with intensity, and lips full and sensual, eager for tasting. Instantly the first twinge of lust returned to her libido.

“What's up, Violet? You okay or what?”

He came at her again, his head turned sideways, eyes closed and mouth open in order to insert his tongue into her mouth and for a brief, horrifying moment he looked like a bass her father caught when she was ten. She suppressed the gag, but he must have sensed something because his eyes flew open; her eyes must have betrayed the horror and disgust she was feeling because his widened even farther.

“What the—”

“I'm sorry, Jerome, I can't. Not tonight. I'm really not feeling well.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said; I changed my mind, okay? I'm sorry.”

The normally unperceptive Jerome's squinted eyes told her he thought something else was up. He backed away and looked at her. “You saying you don't want to?”

“That's right. I'm sorry, not tonight.”

Then he tossed a cloud of frustrated anger her way as he climbed off the bed to pull off his clothes.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“I know what you said,” he said without looking at her. “Whatever, Violet. Look, ain't nobody gonna be begging after your stuff so if you want to keep it to yourself, go ahead.”

What? Huh?
Of course somebody was gonna be begging after her stuff. Usually it was him! Now the little punk was trying to play her.

“Fine.” She climbed off the bed too, to stand on her heels, smoothing her skirt. “Take me home then.”

“I'm tired,” he said. He had stripped to his underwear and was now pulling back the blankets and climbing under. “I'm going to bed.”

Violet put her hands on her hips. “You can't go to bed; you have to take me home,” she said to his shoulder and the side of his cheek.

“I ain't got to do nothing, Violet. Now climb your chunky behind in bed and shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I ain't going nowhere. I put up with a lot of crap tonight, Violet. The least you could do is break me off a little somethin' somethin'. But if you ain't gonna do that I ain't got to put out no special effort. So why don't you climb in and get some sleep like I'm about to do.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Let me get this straight: a few minutes ago you were as sweet as sugar to me and now you're being a jerk? How is that right?”

“A few minutes ago you were being sweet to me too. And then you became a witch. How is that right?”

Violet picked up the pillow closest to her and threw it at him. “Come on, Jerome, take me home. I want to go home now.”

He moved, shrugging his shoulders under his sheet. “You know how to call a cab.”

Violet stood there for a while until she realized he was really not going to drive her home. He was having some kind of snit and unfortunately she was stuck there. That was, unless she was willing to wait outside a dark apartment building in the middle of the night in a not-so-great neighborhood for a cab.

Ah, what the heck.
She kicked off her shoes and unzipped her dress, climbing into the other side. She reached over and retrieved her pillow from where it had landed over him, and settled down.

Sleep didn't come but thoughts of the genie who was supposed to be granting her wishes did. The genie's presence was overwhelming. She couldn't think clearly when he was around. And there was something teasing her, constantly, like she'd forgotten her keys or left the oven on, or something. She snorted; that was ridiculous because she hardly ever used the oven and her keys were safely in her purse.

But still, it was something important enough that she couldn't shake it. Like her thoughts of the genie; getting those wishes was important, but thinking about him as if he were a man? That was just plain silly.

After a few hours of drifting in and out of sleep and hearing Jerome snore beside her, the black sky turned dark blue through the window and the day had risen enough that she felt okay getting a cab.

Once home, she walked gently on the carpet outside her apartment hoping to make as little noise as possible. Little noise was good; it increased her chances of being able to sneak into her bedroom without waking the genie sleeping on her sofa. Though there was no logical reason why she should care, but she really didn't want to have to answer any questions this morning. There was no way she would admit how poorly the evening had gone, and contrary to popular belief, she really did not like to lie unless absolutely necessary.