The Walls of Jericho

Verity

The Crossroads diamond district is one of the largest in the country and the kind of place that puts even European glamour to shame. It’s a bustling area, especially considering that it comprises only one city block. It's tucked in among some world class museums, landmarks, and restaurants, along with hundreds of dazzling displays at both individual jewelry stores and some large diamond exchanges.

Yet as soon as we turn into the diverse neighborhood with all the iconic look of a set from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the entire area gives off a sketchy vibe to me. Mercifully protected behind the screen of my helmet, I gawk as Channing steers the Ducati with the slow traffic, heading for a parking structure.

“You okay, babydoll?” he asks as a faint, high-pitched panicky whine issues from me.

“Why are we doing this again?” I flinch overhearing a salesperson on the sidewalk approach another couple walking hand in hand and trying to persuade them to come ‘take a look’ in the store for the ‘great deals’ and ‘low prices’. “I’m seriously fine picking up something at TJMaxx.”

Channing snorts. “Not happening, Jericho.” He pulls the motorcycle alongside a ticket dispenser for the parking structure, then presses the button for a ticket.

“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “That says nine dollars for two hours or thirty dollars for the day!”

“There's a lot of money packed into this part of town. The diamond district is a major financial powerhouse for the city. Everything here comes at a premium.” Tucking the ticket into his shirt pocket, he pulls the bike into the garage and finds a parking spot near some storage lockers.

“You know what doesn’t come at a premium? Me. Let’s get out of here before these people scalp us.” When he kills the engine, I refuse to get off the motorcycle. “There’s nothing here that makes it worth the taxing experience of fighting touts and hustlers. We’d be safer in south Crossroads on gang night.”

“Come on, Jericho. There's no harm in looking at some loose diamonds and trying on a few different styles,” he laughs. “Just don’t sound like a total newbie, or you will have painted a huge red target on both of us.”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “All we need—and, mind you, I’m not convinced ‘need’ is the right word for this endeavor—is a passable engagement ring. Not a pebbly object transformed into a twinkling astronomically-priced lure to our untimely demises for these vultures. I’m not exactly sure who feels compelled to buy jewelry here, but it’s not me.”

“Babydoll, I get it, it’s a big step, but at least here, we can be sure the diamonds meet the highest quality standards.”

“Look here, beefcake, the only thing we can be sure of here is that the prices will be through the roof,” I snap.

“At least if we’re spending that much, we know we’re getting something fantastic.”

I stare at him in shock. “Are you method acting? What we’re putting on is a ruse. To trap a dragon. You and me being married or engaged or whatever you’re plotting in your head, it’s a farce. A charade. So let’s go find ourselves a shopping mall,” I jerk my thumb towards the parking structure entrance, “and buy a charade ring.”

Channing’s eyes glitter dangerously. “Jericho, I get it. Traversing the diamond district can feel intimidating. We’re here now, so we’re shopping. If I have to throw you over my shoulder to get you off that bike, then I’m carrying you right over there,” he points to the corner of the parking structure where the cycloptic red eye of a CCTV security camera winks vigilantly, “then I’ll blister your naked backside for everyone who’s watching. Either option works for me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He tips his head to one side with a look of boredom. “Try. Me.”

Then he does the most infuriating thing yet.

He starts counting as if I’m a recalcitrant toddler in need of a nap.

“One.” He sets his helmet down on the ground near his feet. “Two.” He cracks his neck and inhales deeply. “Thr—.”

I scramble off the motorcycle. “Fine.” Working at the chinstrap with fumbling fingers, I remove my helmet.

Stooping, he picks up his helmet and heads towards the storage lockers. “We can leave these here.”

“Channing, I swear, if you don’t wipe that smug smile off your face, they’ll be scraping it off the sidewalk.” I draw the tiniest sip of electricity and let the sparks leap across the shimmering amber of my irises. “Money isn’t the only thing in abundance here.”

His smile fades. For a few long seconds, we engage in a fierce stare-down. Then his free hand shoots out, closing on the collar of my leather jacket and he jerks me up against his hard body.

When his head, dips towards mine, I threaten, “If you try to kiss me, I will bite you.”

“Nothing less than I’d expect from you.” Channing’s smug smile is back, and damn him for it making me wobbly-kneed.

He lowers his head, jerking back lightning quick and just out of range when I snap my teeth, intent on catching his lip between them. In the next second, his mouth is against mine.

“Vent all you want on me, babydoll,” he murmurs. “It’ll disappoint me if you don’t try. After all, I understand how infuriating it is when you lose.”

His tongue is inside my mouth before I get the chance to snap again, and he wraps his free arm around my body, trapping my arms at my sides and pinning me against him. Though I struggle, he continues to kiss me tenderly, systematically eroding my irritation and soothing my ruffled feathers. Before I know it, my hands are around his waist, and I’m returning his kiss with an equal passion of my own. 

“Let’s go find you a ring.”

It takes another couple minutes with the automated system to rent time in a locker large enough to hold both helmets, then we’re on the streets at ground level, hand in hand. Channing moves the with swiftness and confidence of someone who knows where he’s going.

Through the glass windows, it’s readily apparent that all these shops sell every sort of jewelry from engagement rings and settings to loose diamonds and colored gemstones. There are literally hundreds of jewelry counters competing for our attention.

After the background I’ve gotten today about him and Her Royal Rudeness Rebecca, a bunch of nagging insecurities start plotting a coup in my head. “Why does it feel like you know where we’re going?” I ask, staring at the stunning Art Deco facades of the buildings we’re passing.

“I did some homework while Rebecca was getting you fixed up,” he replies. “Found the names and addresses of a few good shops that’ll spend some time working to understand your ring style and the budget we’re working on, then let us compare the gemstones with professional tools without pressuring us to make a purchase.”

“’Ring style’?” I give him my best ditzy strawberry-blonde blank stare.

“You don’t fool me," Channing laughs, his eyes dropping to the front of my jeans and lingering deliberately. "I know there's not really a blonde in that delectable little package," he says softly. "Come on. There’s a family-owned jewelry store up ahead that specializes in custom-designed and vintage rings. They’ll help you figure it out.”

As soon as we walk in, I’m overwhelmed with the sparkly glass displays housing hundreds of rings and other fine jewelry, gold, watches, and estate pieces. As if he feels my rising trepidation through our clasped hands, he sends a smooth soothing hum through the sparky electrical connection between us. It’s the only thing that keeps me from bolting out the door when a well-dressed woman behind a glass counter blatantly checks out our clothing, summing up her likelihood of a sale, before addressing us.

“Good morning.” When she smiles, she looks like a python and I suddenly feel completely overwhelmed and preyed upon. “What can I help you find today?”

Putting his arm around my shoulders, Channing draws me up against him, facing Python-woman across the glass display case. “My babydoll needs an engagement ring,” he says proudly, looking down at me with an adoring smile.

He’s never mentioned attending acting school, which can only mean he’s an incredibly slick liar. Maybe even as good as me. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

“Oh congratulations!” Python-woman squeals. “I’m excited you chose me to help you. What’s your ring style, sweetie?”

When her attention falls to me, I almost see vertical slits for pupils and I have an overwhelming curiosity to know if she has a forked tongue.

“I don’t really know.” I look up at Channing helplessly.

Drawing a deep breath, his eyes narrow and he focuses on a distant point somewhere over Python-woman’s shoulder. “Vintage.  Unique. Think— knotty-pine furniture. And Ashwood leather-bound luggage with faded and worn travel stickers. A lace-draped four-poster with girly bedding. Spiced molasses cake frosted with crème fraiche buttercream with a tall glass of ice cold milk.”

“Wow,” Python-woman purrs, looking genuinely impressed, then her gaze falls on me. “You must be something special that a man like him thinks like that about you.”

‘A man like him’? What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I realize he’s drop-dead gorgeous and all, but he can’t outclass me by that much. Can he?

“Right this way. Let me show you a few pieces.”

Unlocking a different glass display case, Python-woman pulls out some unconventional vintage pieces. The first one is a dazzling marquise emerald set in a diamond cluster like a starburst. Next to it, she sets a spectacular haloed star sapphire that glows in a way that reminds me of the alpha whorls in Channing’s eyes.

“I’m not sure about this one,” she says, pulling out a third, “It’s a lovely Victorian design with rubies and seed pearls, but it’s set in yellow gold, and that doesn’t seem like it would go with her coloring.”

It’s still a stunning piece, with a central oval-cut ruby and two round-cut rubies on either side with the seed pearls sprinkled around them. She’s right about the yellow gold though. It doesn’t appeal to me either.

“Where is that one? Ah-ha! Here. This one’s garnets and diamonds,” she tells us, bringing out the splendid oval garnet such a deep red it’s nearly black and haloed by a ring of smaller diamonds then a second halo of matched garnets.

“This one’s more contemporary. It’s set with diamonds, but still a vintage Art Deco piece,” she says of the oval cluster diamond ring she presents next. Python-woman peers at me for a second. “You have the most extraordinary, amber-colored eyes."

She walks down the row of glass display cases, her eyes skimming the contents until she finds what she wants. A moment later, she returns with a domed Baltic amber in a simple white gold setting, but the way the inclusions are set inside, the stone looks like frozen flames. "What do you think about this one?”

"It’s breathtaking."

“That one,” Channing says immediately. “Try it on.”

The metal is cold as it slides over my finger, then slides around, just a bit too large. As it warms though, the stone feels as if it’s intrinsically formed of solidified sunlight and burning cold life force. It attunes immediately to an ancient wisdom trapped inside me and lost or fragmented pieces of my memories reset and grow clear.

“Jericho?” Channing runs his hand up my spine, cupping the nape of my neck with a warm hand.

Shaking myself out of the amber’s control, I remove the ring and restore it to its box.

“Leave that one,” he tells Python-woman. “What about these other ones?”

I by-pass the Victorian rubies and seed pearls, the garnet halo and the diamond cluster and reach for the star sapphire.

Like the amber, it’s cold as it slides over my finger then settles perfectly in place. Balanced. Certain. This stone speaks too, but not of the past. This one sees the future, both near and far. It divines the truth. I stare into its luminous focal point and feel clear.

“The rays of the star sapphires are supposed to represent faith, hope and destiny,” Python-woman tells us. “They were known as stones of fate.”

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes to talk?” Channing asks the snake-smiling saleslady.

“Of course. I’ll just put these others away.” Sweeping the other rings off the glass counter, she tucks them back in the case and then steps away. "There's no pressure to buy."

Still staring at the focal point in the star sapphire, I feel mildly off-balance, the way you do if you stand on one foot with your eyes closed and try to remove one shoe. It happens exactly as the woman makes her last comment. 

Clear as crystal I understand. There's not pressure to buy, that much is true, but there is pressure to sell. Python-woman wants to make a sale. This sale to us.

“What is it you’re feeling,” he demands in a rapid whisper as soon as he’s confident there’s no one close enough to overhear. “That energy thing between us is going haywire.”

“With the amber—it’s like it sharpens my memory. I could recall things from before. From when I was Mia. Things I’d thought I’d lost forever,” I explain. “But this one,” the focal point in the star sapphire gleams, “it’s like everything is suddenly utterly clear. I don’t have any right to ask—.”

“I’m already buying both of them,” he interrupts before I can finish. “We’ll have to leave the amber piece to have it sized.”

“I don’t—.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists, and flags the Python-woman. “You connect to them. That's significant. Besides, you’re going to marry me anyway, right?” Channing grins charmingly, trying to keep the question light.

But there’s no mistaking the response from the sapphire ring.

The sensation is a nauseating, almost painful warping. A wild careening that makes me list against Channing's sturdy solid form. Inside my head, the world feels like its tipping precariously too. Like it's completely off kilter. Distorted. Awry.

my magic supplies, without hesitation. Unequivocally.

“Right,” I reply, nodding even as my head spins.