Robin Owens - Echoes in the Dark

“Strong characterization combined with deadly danger make this story vibrate with emotional resonance. Stay tuned as events accelerate toward the final battle.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Keepers of the Flame

(Book Four of The Summoning)

“Fans of Anne McCaffrey and Mercedes Lackey will appreciate the novel’s honorable protagonists and their lively animal companions.”

—Publishers Weekly on Protector of the Flight

(Book Three of The Summoning)

“[A] multi-faceted, fast-paced gem of a book.”

—The Best Reviews on Guardian of Honor

(Book One of The Summoning)

“The story line is action-packed but also contains terrific characters…Robin D. Owens enchants her readers.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Guardian of Honor

“Owens takes…elements that make Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover stories popular…and turns out a romance that draws you in.”

—Locus magazine

“Owens excels at evocative, sensual writing.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

To the Song that moves within us all.

“Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.”

—Percy Bysshe Shelley

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Author Note

Cast of Characters

Ghost Hill Theater, Denver, Colorado

Late August, Night

Jikata was taking her last bow on stage and soaking in applause when her great-grandmother died. The odd thing was that Jikata actually felt Ishi Yamuri pass away in one of those increasing moments of hyperawareness. As if the old woman touched Jikata with her stubborn disapproval even as others yelled and clapped.

The bond with her great-grandmother vanished. Ishi hadn’t waited to see Jikata tomorrow, the date Ishi herself had insisted upon.

Jikata had added her old hometown of Denver to her touring schedule because she’d sensed her great-grandmother’s time was near, though she hadn’t heard from the woman in years.

Suddenly the applause, the only thing that had satisfied Jikata for a long time, rang hollow and empty. Like the rest of her life.

Jikata lowered her head, closed her eyes against the lights made brighter by tears. Then she stepped back on the polished wooden stage and let the heavy maroon velvet curtains descend.

The crowd whistled and clapped louder, but she had no more to give. This final event—the reopening of a newly renovated small Victorian theater—was the last in her tour. Fitting.

Her career was skyrocketing. She neared the pinnacle of success for a pop singer, a female half-Japanese no less, and found herself alone and panting after the climb.

Her life was tanking. Fans adored her. No one loved her. No man, no good friend female or male, no child. As her great-grandmother would have said, her soul was withering from lack of nourishment.

Applause came from stage right and the philanthropist behind the renovation strode forward, beaming, accompanied by his wife. Jikata pasted a smile on her face, hoping that it might turn into the real thing since she usually enjoyed the company of Trenton Philbert III. He stopped clapping and held out a hand and she put hers in it. “Great job. Definitely the next star. I’m looking forward to that last zoom to the top.” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

The praise warmed her a little. “Thank you.”

“You did the inaugural event of the Ghost Hill Theater proud. Thanks again for agreeing to perform. We sold out.” He glanced around, the backstage was still shiny with cleanliness and held the faint scent of wood stain. “This place should be good for another hundred years.”

“It’s a lovely theater,” Jikata said. Now. She could remember when it had been a ruin.

He radiated satisfaction. Turning to his wife behind him, he said, “We have a gift for you. Darling?”

Juliet Philbert stepped forward with a large fancy birdcage fashioned like the Taj Mahal. Jikata gritted her teeth…no, please, not a bird. Her great-grandmother had kept finches when Jikata had been younger. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I—”

Then the bird opened its beak and pure liquid notes warbled out, like nothing Jikata had ever heard. As if it were more than song, a communication. The bird didn’t look like any she’d seen before, either. All scarlet red, but with a fancy cockatoo comb of red, yellow and white. About the size of a cockatoo, also. It fixed a yellow eye on her and let loose another stream of notes. This time sounding a lot like the underlying melody of the last ballad she’d sung. Jikata blinked.

“Her name is Chasonette,” Juliet said. “She’s a Lladranan cockatoo and has the most beautiful birdsong in the world. She’s quite rare, but I knew such a lady would be perfect for you. And Trent indulged me.” She thrust the cage at Jikata, so she took it. It was lighter than she’d thought.

Juliet tucked her hand into Trenton’s elbow and he covered her fingers with his own, shaking his head as he looked down at his wife. “I always indulge you. The bane of my existence.” He kissed her temple. “People say I’m going soft.”

Fast footsteps came from backstage and Juliet’s assistant, Linda, who appeared distressed, hurried to them. Jikata remembered, and the small moment of normality shattered.

“I’m sorry.” Linda stopped, inhaled a breath that raised her thin chest. Looked at the Philberts, hesitated and said, “I’m sorry. I have bad news. We should…ah…let’s go to your dressing room.” Linda pulled Jikata backstage, past the greenroom and into the star’s dressing room. The Philberts followed.

The small room was elegant in cream and white, but four people made it crowded. Jikata placed the birdcage on the dressing room table. Chasonette stepped nervously back and forth on her perch, then apparently caught sight of herself in the mirror and preened.

Linda led Jikata to the cream brocade Victorian fainting couch that took up most of one end wall. She figured she had to sit. The moment she did, Linda released her hand—a blessing since both their palms were sweaty.

Linda grabbed a box of tissues from the dressing table and dropped it in her lap. “I got a call. Your great-grandmother has died, Jikata.”

“I was supposed to visit her tomorrow,” Jikata said, still shocked.

“Sorry,” repeated Linda. She was a young intern with the University of Southern California who’d traveled with Jikata during the two-month tour. Though they’d managed well enough, neither of them expected the job to transform into anything more.

“She was an old woman and had a good life.” Isn’t that what Jikata was supposed to say? “I want to be alone,” she choked out.

“Of course. We’ll take care of your crew and fans.” Juliet, patting Jikata on the shoulder, trilled her tongue. Chasonette perked up and warbled a low, soothing melody. “I’m sure you don’t want to attend the opening gala.”