by R. L. King
“All right, Mike. Let’s go. I’m afraid I can’t give you much more than half an hour, though. My cats get cranky if I don’t feed them on time.”
“I understand. I have a cat back home, too.” He followed her through the kitchen to an unmarked door, which she opened with a key from her pocket.
“I warn you, it’s a little dusty down there, and there are probably spiders.”
“Not a problem. I’m very brave when it comes to spiders.”
She laughed as she descended the stairs. “You know, I like you, Mike. You remind me of my oldest boy, Fred, when he was your age.” She flipped a switch at the bottom of the stairs and two hanging bulbs flickered to life, illuminating a space half the size of the attic.
The place was actually a lot neater and better organized than Mrs. Hodges had implied. A series of metal shelves lined the walls, each one stacked with rows of bankers’ boxes and lidded plastic tubs. A closed armoire stood on the far side next to a few larger boxes that wouldn’t fit on the shelves, and a big, empty table took up the middle part of the room.
“Okay,” she said, bustling around. “Let’s see, let’s see…we’ve got everything sorted by stages in Mr. McGrath’s life, so if we had another catalog, it would be…here.” She hurried over and pulled a box from a top shelf near the door. “Let’s start with this one.”
Stone stood back and watched as she carefully unloaded the box onto the large table, spreading the items out. There were more laminated clippings, copies of regional magazines, loose photographs, folded posters, and scrapbooks. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I need to be careful so I don’t tear anything. It should be…aha! I was right. Here it is!” In triumph, she pulled out what looked like another magazine and held it up.
It was identical to the one in the case, except more ragged-looking. It had a large coffee stain on the cover, as if some long-dead person had used it as a coaster. “That’s it. I’m impressed, Mrs. Hodges. First box!”
She preened. “Oh, now, it’s nothing. I’m supposed to know where things are.” She studied the catalog. “I can certainly see why we never used this in an exhibit. Look at it. It’s a mess, especially with that big, ugly stain on the front.”
An idea seized Stone, and he went with it before he lost his nerve. His heart thumped hard—this would be a lot easier with his normal appearance and accent, but there was no helping it now. “Mrs. Hodges…are you serious about that? This isn’t one of the items you rotate in and out of the displayed exhibit?”
“No, of course not. There’s no point. We’ve already got the other one, so why would we substitute this ratty one for the nicer one that’s already upstairs?”
“Is it complete? No pages torn out?”
She riffled through it. “Nope, looks like everything’s here. Just a little raggedy and yellow around the edges. Kind of like me,” she added, chuckling.
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Not the raggedy part. The part about the catalog.”
Her gaze came up, and her brow furrowed. “Why is that?”
He took a deep breath and plunged forward. “Mrs. Hodges…is there any chance I could buy that catalog?”
“Buy it?” She frowned at him. “Why?”
“Well…it would be a very nice addition to my paper. And it’s fairly thick, so it would be easier to look through it later at my leisure than to waste your time doing it now, wouldn’t you say?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t think of keeping Muffin and Blueberry waiting too long for their dinner.”
She wavered. “But—I don’t know, Mike. It’s not really my decision to make. I just volunteer here, you understand.”
“But you said yourself that the catalog is too damaged to put on display.”
“Yes…but…”
“Listen, Mrs. Hodges. I know this is going to sound very odd, that I’d be so interested. But if I could copy some of those pages and put them in my paper, I think my professor would really be impressed.” He reached in his pocket again. “I was serious about my family having money. What about a five-hundred-dollar donation to the museum? Certainly this old thing isn’t worth even close to that.”
Her eyes widened. “Five hundred…dollars? For an old catalog?”
“What do you say? If anyone asks, you could just tell them that someone was impressed with what you’re doing here and wanted to help.” He glanced at the box. “Would anyone even know it was gone? Would they care, even if you told them?”
“I…” She swallowed, still unsure. “I suppose they wouldn’t. And five hundred dollars—seven, with what you gave me before—would help us make some improvements around here. We had a pipe burst last month in one of the bathrooms that took quite a chunk out of our funds…”
“It’s up to you, Mrs. Hodges. But it would really help me out, and it sounds like it would help you out too.” Stone put the money on the table and backed up, giving her space.
She slowly began packing the other items back into the box, leaving the catalog lying on the table. When Stone shifted to magical sight, he saw her clear, blue aura roiling with indecision.
Finally, she put the lid back on the box. “All right,” she said decisively. “You’re right—that money would help us, and that catalog is basically worthless. You take it, Mike. I think old Candice—she’s in charge of the museum’s operation—will be so happy to see the donation, she won’t ask too many questions.”
“Thank you. You’re helping me more than you know.” He pushed the cash toward her and picked up the catalog. “I’ll get out of here now, so you can go home. Tell Muffin and Blueberry I said hello.”
“Oh, I will. They’re going to hear all about it.”
Stone was tempted to try finding someplace where he could hole up and look through the catalog before heading back, but it was already getting dark. Even if he caught a cab instantly and convinced the driver to take him back to the ley line, it would still be close to two hours before he could return to Encantada. He slipped it into the interior pocket of his coat and called the number on the side of the local cab he’d taken, which he’d memorized.
While he waited for it to arrive, he altered his illusionary appearance again and called Jason on his burner phone. “Greetings from Armpit, Nebraska.”
“Hey, Al. They don’t really have a town called Armpit, do they?”
“Might as well. Though the lady looking after the museum was quite nice.”
“So…did you find it?”
“I did. Not quite the way I’d originally intended.”
“Have you got it? Did you have to break in?”
“Yes, and no. Unfortunately, somebody else has got it too.” Watching the road for the cab, he quickly told Jason about the day.
“Holy shit, so somebody else is already as far along on this as you are? And you have no idea who? Do you think they’re with Portas?”
“No good idea. But I’ve got another copy of the catalog that they had in storage, which I got for a handsome donation to the Armpit Museum and Historical Society.”
“Damn, Al. It’s a good thing you’re loaded. It’s a lot easier to do things when you can just pay your way through.”
“Beats breaking in. Anyway, must go. Just wanted to update you on the latest.”
“I’ll tell V and Amber. Take care, Al. That guy’s still out there somewhere.”
“I suspect he’s long gone by now, which means we need to get moving. My cab’s here. Talk to you soon.”
It took a bit more persuasion to convince the driver to take him back to Kearney, and he ended up being very glad he’d brought along as much cash as he had. This was getting inconvenient. He added speaking to Kolinsky to his mental to-do list. He’d been intending to do it about the pyramid anyway, since the alternative would be tracking down Aldwyn.
It was fully dark now. Once again, he was tempted to pull out the catalog and give it an initial once-over, but the light back here was bad. It could wait until he got b
ack home. He leaned against the seat, which thankfully didn’t smell like anything unpleasant, and tried to pass the time with some meditation techniques. The cabbie’s aura, bright green and steady, showed no signs of subterfuge or potential threat.
There wasn’t much traffic out here. The scenery, such as it was, consisted of mile after mile of flat, rolling farmland dusted with snow. A light snowfall swirled in the air. Stone wondered how anyone could live out here and not go mad from boredom, but he supposed it had to be different for the people who’d grown up here. Aside from a car or a speeding semi passing them every few minutes, it was quiet and dark out here. Peaceful. Stone wished he could let himself fall asleep, but he could never do that unless someone he trusted was driving.
“What are you doing way out here?” The cabbie, a clean-cut young man not much older than Stone’s illusionary disguise, glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t get too many fares to drive this far. Cheaper to rent a car, isn’t it?”
“It’s…a long story. And there weren’t any rental cars in Tilley.”
The driver laughed. “Not much of anything in Tilley.”
Not much of anything in this whole sodding state, Stone thought but didn’t say.
“You want some music or something?”
“No…thanks. I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.”
They kept driving into the night. Stone spotted a few bright spots off the highway—probably tiny towns like Tilley—but aside from that it was more endless farmland on both sides of the road. He considered calling Jason or Verity again just to have something to do, but decided against it. All he’d have to do was be patient for another hour, then he could return home and get started working on the catalog. It felt late out here under the oppressive darkness, but it was only six p.m. It would only be five when he got home. Plenty of time.
Headlights appeared behind them, reflected in the rearview mirror. Stone glanced at them, then lost interest. He focused on his meditation, trying to calm his temptation to start paging through the catalog in the dimness. Patience.
The lights behind them drew closer, moving over to the right lane to pass. It wasn’t a semi, or even a truck, but merely a boring, dark-colored sedan with two occupants. It was catching up with them, but not quickly.
Why isn’t it passing us—?
“Holy fuck!” The driver’s shriek of terror came at the same time as the car suddenly wrenched sideways with a wild screech of brakes.
Stone snapped his head up, and got an instant’s impression of a human figure standing in the middle of the road directly in front of the cab before it slewed to the side. The left-side wheels dropped over the edge of a ditch running along the roadside. The world tilted crazily end-over end as the car rolled over once, twice, then came to rest on its roof.
21
Stone was upside-down, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out why.
It was dark, the air full of the acrid odors of scorched rubber, gasoline, and dirty water.
Thoughts flooded his mind, making his head throb.
Bloody hell, we crashed.
There was something in the road.
No—someone in the road!
What was a person doing standing in the middle of the road in the middle of the great bugger-all, Nebraska?
He was hanging from his seatbelt, which had held him in place during the rollover, but his body still felt like it had done several rotations inside a cement mixer.
The driver!
Stone blinked a few times, focusing on the seat in front of him. The driver’s seatbelt had also held him, but he hadn’t been as lucky as Stone. His airbag had deployed, and he now hung limply against its deflated remains, unconscious. In front of him, the windshield was a mass of spidery cracks. The headlights were out.
A glance at his watch told Stone he’d only blacked out for less than a minute. He didn’t think anything was broken or he was bleeding anywhere, but it was hard to tell for sure in the darkness. He switched to magical sight, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head when he did it. He had to see what was going on.
The driver, thank the gods, was still alive. His aura fluttered, weak but steady, with angry red flares around his shoulder and the back of his neck. Stone couldn’t see the rest of him from where he was.
He himself had fared better. His purple, gold, and silver aura shone bright, with only a few red patches indicating mild injury. Apparently he’d been knocked around, but suffered no life-threatening trauma.
Tell that to all my muscles that won’t shut up.
He’d have to get himself out of here. He had no idea if anyone was coming to help them, or if anyone would even spot them here in the dark at the bottom of this ditch.
There was another car behind us. They must have seen what happened. Maybe they stopped and called for help.
Fighting pain and the cotton in his head, Stone struggled with the seatbelt. Even though it hurt to use magic and he was afraid of passing out again, he risked using a small levitation spell to ensure he didn’t fall on his head when he popped the belt free. Instead, he landed in an awkward, sideways position against the car’s roof.
“Are you awake?” he called to the driver in a weak, croaky voice. His disguise amulet was still active, but he’d forgotten about his American accent.
The cabbie groaned, but didn’t stir. His radio crackled, emitting pops and static but no intelligible voices.
Cabs have GPS, right? His dispatcher must be tracking him. Someone will see we’re not moving.
But he couldn’t be sure of that. The rollover might have damaged the GPS. The cab company would probably investigate eventually, but that could take a long time.
Both rear doors were stuck shut. He couldn’t push either of them open from his awkward position, even when he pulled his legs back and slammed his feet against them, shooting more waves of pain up through his torso.
Rear window, then.
The rear window was shattered into the same spidery patterns as the windshield. Stone tried to push it out, but his shaking arms didn’t have the strength to do it. Reluctantly, he summoned more magic and sent it tumbling away, then slumped for a moment as his whole body throbbed anew.
He couldn’t let himself rest for long, though. He had to assume nobody was coming for them right away, and the driver needed help. He scrambled through the rear window, feeling uncomfortably like some large, ungainly beast being born—a feeling reinforced when he slid off the back deck and landed with an awkward splash in a few inches of dirty water crusted with ice.
“Oh, bugger!” Now ice-cold water was seeping through the back of his coat.
The catalog!
Ignoring the pain, he scrambled up before the water could soak through to his front and reach the catalog in his pocket. Suddenly, irrationally convinced it wasn’t there anymore, he patted his coat, then let his breath out in a rush of relief when he felt it there, safe and still dry.
Shivering, leaning against the cab for balance, he first scanned the area for any other vehicles. He saw nothing. No lights as far as he could see from either side.
Even more concerning, there was likewise no sign of the car behind them, nor the person who’d been standing in the road and caused the cabdriver to swerve to avoid him.
Where had they gone?
He couldn’t think about that now, though. The cabbie needed help. Stone didn’t think the man would die, but he wasn’t a doctor. It was cold out here, and shock could do unpredictable things to human bodies.
Including mine.
But he was still running on adrenaline, so he could worry about that later. He scrambled to the driver’s side of the car and tried to wrench the door open.
It, too, was stuck, and this time the angle at which the car had come to rest meant the bottom part—the part closest to the roof—was deeply dug into the trench, enough that Stone couldn’t get it open even with magic. Not now, anyway. It was one of the small negative side effects of Calanarian magic: his
body had to be in good shape to get the best effect from it, and moving earth had always been difficult for him even at his strongest.
“Okay…next plan.” His voice came out as a weak, ragged mutter.
Carefully, to make sure he didn’t get any glass fragments on the injured man, he focused his magic and popped out the driver’s-side window. While he waited for the next wave of pain and lightheadedness to pass, he examined the cabbie.
This was going to be tricky. He realized he had no idea what to do. He didn’t have Verity’s healing gift. Sure, he could do a bit of healing, but the man had a neck injury. Should he even try pulling him out of the car?
His gaze fell on the driver’s phone, lying on the headliner near his head where it had no doubt fallen from his pocket or the dashboard in the crash. He snatched it up, used the man’s finger to unlock it, and tapped 911.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a brisk female voice answered immediately.
“Er—yes.” This time, Stone remembered to use the American accent. “We were in a cab, and there’s been an accident. A rollover. I think the driver’s hurt badly. He’s still stuck inside the car, and I think his neck might be injured.”
“Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m…mostly fine, yes. I was his passenger. But the car’s upside-down in a ditch, and he’s hanging from his seatbelt and his face is bleeding. Should I try to get him out?”
“Is the bleeding severe?”
“Doesn’t appear to be, no.”
“Is he breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Is the car in danger of catching fire or being struck by other vehicles?”
“There aren’t any other vehicles.” Stone looked the cab over. He could still smell gasoline fumes, but didn’t see signs of imminent fire. “Doesn’t look like there’s a fire risk.”
“All right, then. Don’t try to move him—if he has a neck injury it’s safer to leave him where he is. We’ve got your location. It will take around fifteen minutes to get to you. Stay calm, sir. Do you want me to stay on the line with you?”