Balance of Power: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 25)

by R. L. King

  “Well, I’ll keep it short. Just a few things, and then I have an announcement I think all of you might find interesting.”

  She got through the bits of administrivia quickly, to Stone’s relief. He liked Martinez—she was a no-bullshit sort who didn’t believe in dragging meetings out longer than they needed to go—but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the meetings.

  “Okay,” he said when she’d finished and put her folders back in her briefcase. “So, what’s this announcement? Did you finally find a full-time faculty member?”

  She laughed. “You wish. I wish. No offense to Mr. Greene, who’s doing a fine job—”

  “Thank you, thank you,” Greene murmured with a cheeky grin.

  “—but that’s been on my holiday wish list for the last several years.”

  “It’s been on all our holiday wish lists for the last several years,” Hubbard grumbled.

  “Anyway,” Martinez put in, “I wanted to let you all know that we’ve acquired something you might want to check out.”

  Stone and Greene exchanged glances.

  “A gentleman named Hiram Drummond passed away a few months ago. Mr. Drummond, as you probably don’t know, was an alumnus of our fine university. He donated a lot of money to various departments over the years.”

  Stone didn’t know, but then again, he didn’t make a habit of memorizing the names of alums who’d been at the University before he was born. “I’m sorry to hear he’s died. But what’s it got to do with us?”

  Martinez gave him an indulgent smile. “Patience, Alastair. Mr. Drummond was a historian. Obviously he wasn’t part of the Occult Studies department, since it didn’t exist when he was a student here. But he was, among other things, an aficionado of occult-related history and the objects related to it. He was also very wealthy and quite reclusive. He collected a large number of items, but never made them available to the public.”

  Stone sat up straighter. Even after Martinez’s introduction, he still couldn’t remember ever hearing about Hiram Drummond. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been a mage—some of them were serious hermits and didn’t interact with the rest of magical society—but the possibility definitely existed. “Where did he live?”

  “Near Boston. His only living family are a daughter and a niece. When he passed away, he left them his monetary and real-estate holdings, but neither of them wanted anything to do with what they called his ‘creepy hoard.’ Originally, they wanted to donate the collection to a museum, but they’ve had trouble finding the right fit for it—”

  “—you mean, finding any museum willing to take it,” Hubbard drawled.

  “Well…yes. So far, they haven’t found any interest, so they’ve decided to auction the collection instead. It will go up for sale in a few weeks in San Francisco. They’ve already taken pictures of the items and put out an online catalog. But because Mr. Drummond cared so much about our University, his heirs have suggested that our people might like a chance to look over the collection before it’s auctioned off. I’ve arranged to have it brought here so you can examine it.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow. “They’re just going to let us poke around to our heart’s content?”

  Mostly, yes. The daughter says she trusts us to show the objects the proper care. You’ll have at least a couple of weeks to look through the items and see if you can find anything useful for your research, or perhaps to show your students.” She fixed her gaze on Stone. “If you do find anything of particular interest, we can see if we can arrange with the daughter to remove those objects from the upcoming auction and set up an extended loan to us.”

  “Sounds brilliant,” Stone said. “I’d definitely like to get a look at it. Where are they keeping it?”

  “In one of the unused storerooms not too far from your office building.” She gave them the details. “Some of the stuff is somewhat valuable, so the place is locked up tight and there’ll be a security guard checking the area periodically, but you’re all welcome to look around. Just sign the log outside the door.” With a chuckle, she added, “You’ll have your work cut out for you, though. The items have been tagged, but nothing’s been arranged or organized. So it will basically be like hunting through the world’s strangest storage locker. It’s going to take them at least a week to get everything sorted out for the auction, hence the two-week window for us.”

  “Ah, a challenge,” Greene said, grinning. “I want to get a look at that stuff too.”

  Hubbard grunted. “I suppose I’ll stop by at some point, but I’d rather see it after it’s been properly arranged. If I want to poke through a room full of dusty old crap, I’ll go to my attic.”

  “Who knows?” Stone said. “Maybe you’ll find something to inspire your next novel.”

  “Anyway,” Martinez said, getting up. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary, so that’s it for me. Let me know if you find anything interesting in the collection. I’d like to take a look, but I probably won’t have time before it’s sent on its way.”

  3

  Stone, Hubbard, and Greene left the building together, walking back toward the Occult Studies office building on the other side of campus.

  “Don’t tell me,” Hubbard said. “You two are off to check the place out right away.”

  “Not me,” Greene said. “Got a class in half an hour. Maybe later on, or tomorrow. We’ve got two weeks, and I don’t think that stuff’s going anywhere.”

  Hubbard snorted. “Never know. Martinez did say it was creepy. Maybe it’ll get up and walk off on its own.”

  Stone was silent as he strode along next to them. He was itching to get a look at the collection, and grateful for both Hubbard’s lack of curiosity and Greene’s prior commitment. Both meant he’d be the first of the group to examine the items, which would give him a chance to check for anything that might be truly magical—or even potentially dangerous. It wasn’t likely—most “occult collectors,” even wealthy ones, didn’t have an ounce of magical blood or talent, which meant their hoards usually consisted of equal parts overpriced tourist kitsch from “exotic” countries they didn’t know any better about, and valuable but decidedly mundane artifacts.

  Of course, there were always exceptions. He remembered the storage locker in San Francisco, where an old mage had unknowingly kept a set of ancient, deadly game pieces used by dragons hundreds of years ago, and the collection of tomes a dead mage’s mundane family had donated to a used bookstore in Ojai. These things did happen. But not nearly as often as the movies wanted people to think they did.

  The trio approached the building and separated, with Greene heading off to his class and Hubbard toward his office. Stone, at least ostensibly, turned in the direction of the parking lot.

  “Heading home already?” Hubbard called. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to wait to take a look.”

  “Eh, like Greene said, it’s not going anywhere right away.”

  Stone continued down the path toward the parking lot long enough for Hubbard to disappear into the building, then turned around and hurried back. He felt a little guilty about deceiving his colleague, but the last thing he wanted was for the man to change his mind and decide he wanted to come along. Stone hadn’t been kidding about Hubbard’s novels: after the publication of his first one, he already had a second working its way through the publishing process, and his small-press publisher had bought a third. There were worse sources of inspiration for literary horror than an old cache of potentially supernatural objects.

  The building was located in an even more obscure corner of campus than the Occult Studies offices, which was saying something. It was two stories, painted beige with the same sort of Spanish-tile roof that covered many of the other campus buildings. Stone had never visited it before, and judging by the lack of students milling around near it, it probably wasn’t the site of any current classes. Probably overflow offices, or storage for hardcopy files and out-of-date lab equipment.

  Stone stopped, switching to magical sig
ht to give the place a quick scan. He didn’t expect to see anything from out here, and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.

  Probably nothing inside, either. But still, it was hardly a waste of time. Even if he didn’t find anything to pique his curiosity as a mage, there were almost certainly things he’d find interesting as an occult-studies professor. Mundane “arcane” artifacts could be fascinating in their own right.

  The front doors weren’t locked. He strode inside, noting the lights were kept low. That meant he was probably right about the place not being in regular use. Even wealthy universities like Stanford tried to save money when they could.

  The room number Martinez had given them was on the first floor, down one of the side hallways branching off the main one. The door looked substantial, with a pushbutton lock. A clipboard hung on a hook next to it, holding a single sheet of paper with a sign-up table and a pen on a string. There was a name on the log, but Stone didn’t recognize it. Probably whoever had checked the collection over when it arrived.

  He paused a moment, trying to decide what to do. Martinez hadn’t given them the code for the lock. She’d mentioned a guard, but he didn’t see any sign of one.

  He was debating whether to come back later or to use magic to open the lock when a voice called from down the hall. “Can I help you?”

  He turned to face a middle-aged man in a guard’s uniform. The man showed no suspicion; in fact, he looked pleased to have somebody show up to talk to. Given the building’s deserted state, it was probably fairly boring here most of the time.

  “Er—yes. I’m Alastair Stone.” He pulled his faculty ID from his pocket and held it up. “I’m part of the Occult Studies department. Dr. Martinez said we could pop by to take a look at Mr. Drummond’s collection. Is this a good time?”

  The guard examined the ID, flicked his gaze up to Stone’s face, and nodded. “Sure thing, Dr. Stone. Just sign the log there, and I’ll open it up for you.”

  “Thank you.” Stone stepped aside and scrawled his signature and the time on the sheet, then moved back, scanning the hall. He hadn’t spotted them before, but the corridor included two security cameras—one near the entrance and one directly opposite this door.

  Maybe this collection was more valuable than he’d thought.

  The guard shielded the lock with his body, punched in the code, and swung open the door. It made a faint creak. “There you go. Take as long as you like. If I’m not here, you don’t have to come lookin’ for me. Just sign out and make sure the door’s locked when you leave, okay? Just be careful not to move things around too much.” He grinned. “And don’t take nothin’ with you. If you want to sign anything out to study, you’ll have to clear it through Dr. Martinez.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mr.—” He peered at the guard’s name badge. “Kelso.” Stone didn’t show it, but he was relieved at Kelso’s words. He’d half-expected the man to accompany him inside, and he didn’t fancy spending the afternoon with a bored security guard dogging his every footstep and potentially asking annoying questions. “I don’t know how long I’ll be—it depends on how much there is to look at.”

  “Oh, there’s a lot. Trust me. Freaky-lookin’ stuff, too.” He gave a little shudder. “Looks like a frickin’ haunted museum blew up in there. I saw some of it when they were bringin’ it in. You wouldn’t get me in there by myself. No way.” He grinned again. “Have fun. But if any mummies or ghosts or whatever come after you, don’t call me.” He patted his nightstick. “I only deal with human stuff.”

  “I promise, I’ll handle the supernatural threats on my own.”

  Kelso reached through the opening and flipped on a light switch. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” Stone slipped inside, nodded to Kelso, and closed the door, then turned to face the room’s contents.

  “Bloody hell…” he murmured.

  Martinez hadn’t been exaggerating. Apparently, Hiram Drummond had been more of an avid collector than Stone had thought.

  The storeroom was roughly fifteen by twenty feet, and every inch of it was stacked haphazardly with crates, boxes, bookshelves, and tables. Atop the tables were various statues, carvings, and figurines, and the bookshelves were stuffed with volumes, binders, and piles of loose papers. In the far corner stood an eight-foot-tall, closed sarcophagus that looked vaguely Egyptian, but not quite. A number of large, wooden boxes—obviously filled with things that hadn’t been unpacked—were pushed back against the walls.

  This was going to take longer than he thought.

  Stone started by standing just inside the door, where he could get the best view of the room at large, and doing a mundane scan for any security cameras inside the room. He didn’t see any, which didn’t surprise him. If the only people with access to the area were professors from the University, he supposed nobody expected them to steal anything. Also, if anything turned up missing, they’d always have the footage from the outside cameras to show who’d been inside.

  Next, he switched to magical sight, making a small bet with himself about what he’d see as he did it. Leading the odds was “nothing magically interesting.” The fact that he’d never heard of Hiram Drummond didn’t mean the man hadn’t been a mage, but if a decent chunk of this stuff was the real deal, Stone was fairly sure he’d at least have heard of the man in passing.

  It turned out he was mostly right.

  If he’d gone with his next most likely bet—“Not much magically interesting”—he’d have won.

  Starting on the left side of the room and directing his gaze in a slow pan across to the right, he spotted a grand total of three items that glowed with magical energy. One was a tome on one of the bookshelves, one a figurine at the far end of the leftmost table, and the last was a small assortment of what looked like quill pens in a wooden box on the middle table. Aside from those, the other objects in the room remained resolutely glow-free, including the sarcophagus. No marauding mummies here tonight. Even the things that had glowed didn’t show the kind of blazing auras that would indicate powerful magic. The best of the lot was the tome.

  Stone wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. On the one hand, he always hoped to find new magical artifacts to study, but on the other, he was glad nothing potentially malevolent had turned up. That way, he didn’t have to figure out how to get it out of the storeroom without anyone catching on.

  He crossed the room to the bookshelf, careful not to step on anything on the floor, and pulled the glowing tome free. It was bound in cracked brown leather with a strap holding it closed. Based on Stone’s experience, he put it about two hundred years old, and probably European in origin from its design. There were no markings on the front, not even a title. As he held it in his hands, he didn’t get any feeling of danger or unease.

  “Probably some minor spellbook or reference volume,” he murmured. Nothing to get worked up over, that was sure, but it still might have something useful from a mundane standpoint. He’d take a look at it, at least. Maybe Greene would want to give it a look.

  As he passed the leftmost table on his way to the center of the room, he picked up the figurine that had also glowed. It looked mostly humanoid, possibly African in origin, with most of its features worn away. It had a small tag around its neck with a number printed on it, but no other identifying information. When Stone looked more closely at it, he got a sense of faint protective magic. It might have been powerful at one point, but like many magic items that didn’t possess artifact-level power, most of its potency had long ago waned. He set it on the end of the right-side table and laid the book next to it.

  Normally, when examining books this old and potentially fragile, he wore gloves and used a preservation spell to ensure the brittle pages remained supple while they were turned. He hadn’t brought any gloves with him, though, and he hesitated to use any other magic on the tome until he’d determined more about its purpose. That was all right, though—it wasn’t as if Hubbard or Greene would identify magic on the book, a
nd he was certain there was nothing dangerous about it. If he put it back where he’d found it, he could return later with more appropriate gear and get a better look.

  As a compromise, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and used it to undo the book’s strap and carefully open the cover. It creaked a little, but didn’t crack. Possibly someone had put a preserving spell on it before and it had mostly faded by now, but persisted enough to keep the book’s spine from breaking.

  When Stone got a look at the front page, though, he mostly lost interest. It had some text written in the quasi-Latin many old-time mages had used, and was surrounded by illustrations of twining leaves, berries, and vines. Stone knew the language but wasn’t familiar enough with the precise terminology to do a proper translation, but it was obvious the book had something to do with magical herbs and plants. Perhaps he might sign it out and let Verity and Hezzie take a look at it for alchemy ideas, but it wasn’t something that interested him personally. He pushed it aside next to a small group of odd-looking objects and used the handkerchief to pick up the figurine.

  It wasn’t any more interesting than the book, unfortunately. Its arcane glow was faint and flickering, and upon closer examination Stone verified his initial hypothesis that the thing had fulfilled some kind of protective role. Perhaps it had generated a ward to guard the home of a tribe’s magical practitioner, or had been carried by a hunting party to keep them safe from predators. Fascinating stuff, true—even though African magical practices weren’t one of Stone’s areas of particular focus, researching its history might be interesting. Might even justify a trip to Africa, he thought. But Africa was a big place with many magical traditions, and first he’d have to figure out which specific area this figurine originated in. That would take a lot of research, and a lot of time.