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

by R. L. King

  Best way to get back in practice, though.

  He was about to call to her from the doorway, but then he stopped in mid-breath.

  She was in the living room where he’d left her, but instead of sitting on the sofa or looking out the window, she was standing in front of one of his bookshelves, examining the collection of objects he had on a shelf. As he watched in silence, she quickly moved to the next one and appeared to be giving it a quick scan.

  Tensing, he shifted to magical sight. The red patches still flickered at the edge of her golden-yellow aura, but they were smaller now, overshadowed by a clear sense of purpose or focus.

  Hmm. Interesting indeed…

  “Here we are,” he called cheerfully, striding in.

  She didn’t look startled, but turned and smiled back at him. “I was just looking at your shelves. You have some interesting books. Are they related to whatever you teach?”

  “They are. Anthropology.” It was the usual thing he told women when he first met them, so he didn’t scare them off with Occult Studies. It wasn’t even a lie: his department was under the same umbrella—just perhaps a bit farther out near the edges than the others.

  “That’s really fascinating.” She drifted over toward him, and the red flashes were back as she drew closer. “Maybe you could tell me all about it…later.”

  “Later,” he agreed. But this time, the husky murmur in his tone didn’t come as easily.

  They’d barely reached the bedroom when she pulled him close, pulling his head down into an insistent kiss. “Mmm…” she whispered. “I didn’t run into you on purpose tonight, of course. But as soon as I saw you, I was hoping you’d feel the same way I was. I don’t mind admitting I was checking you out while you were…performing.”

  He let her shove his coat from his shoulders as he slipped off her jacket and dropped it on the floor. His heart was still pounding, but now it wasn’t sexual anticipation—not completely, anyway. He didn’t know what to make of her aura: the interest was definitely there and he didn’t think she was feigning it, but there was more he couldn’t read. Always, in every relationship he’d ever had, his aura-reading skill had guaranteed he’d never misread a woman’s signals, or press things farther if she showed any hint of reluctance or misgivings. It was the reason why he had the somewhat contradictory reputations of being both a sexual tomcat and a perfect gentleman. But with Eleanor, he couldn’t tell what she wanted. Her aura was all over the map.

  And why had she been examining his bookshelves so closely—and so furtively?

  For that matter, why had she been so insistent to come back to his home when they’d barely had a chance to get through the initial, flirting pleasantries?

  It had happened before, of course. Stone had no illusions about some women being as eager to move to the next level quickly as he was.

  But why tonight? And why after she had (conveniently?) run headlong into him at the bar?

  He was very much afraid he knew.

  He couldn’t help feeling disappointed—but if he handled this just right, he might learn something.

  She was pulling his T-shirt up. She deftly slid it over his head and started on his belt, her hands moving with expert insistence. Despite his uncertainty about her motivations, he was still human, male, and straight—and she was still very attractive. As she unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans down, his heartbeat increased further and his body responded to her touch. She didn’t resist when he reciprocated.

  Before they removed the last bits of each other’s clothing, though, he pulled her into a kiss, rolling her over onto the bed. Her arms snaked around him, pulling him on top of her. Her lips, soft and willing under his, still tasted faintly of her microbrew from the bar.

  How far would she let this go? Had he been wrong? Had she merely been examining his bookshelves because she was interested in discovering bits of his life? Was he seeing problems where none existed?

  “Wait…” she murmured, turning her head just a little to break the kiss but still continuing to stroke his back.

  “What?” He couldn’t entirely keep the roughness from his voice, but he forced himself to tilt his head back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…I’m sorry. I want this, but…I think we’re moving a little too fast.”

  With reluctant effort, he pushed himself up on his arms, looking down at her. His breath came in short, sharp puffs. “Of course. I’m sorry—”

  She traced her finger over his chest. “No, no, it’s not your fault. I do want to.”

  “It’s all right. If you don’t, I mean.”

  “I do,” she insisted. “I’m glad to hear you say that. It makes me feel safer. But I do.” She glanced at the wine bottle he’d left on top of the dresser. “Tell you what—why don’t we have that glass of wine and talk for a little longer? I promise, I’m not leading you on.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you are. If you’ve changed your mind—”

  She lifted herself from the pillows and pulled him into a passionate kiss. “I haven’t. But you’re sweet to be so understanding.” Tapping the tip of his nose playfully, she said, “You stay here. Doing a show like that must be tiring. I’ll pour the wine.”

  “Sounds brilliant.” He rolled over, releasing her, and made a show of languidly stretching, but something in the pit of his stomach tensed at her words.

  Before, he thought he might have been wrong.

  Now, he was sure he hadn’t been.

  The thought disappointed him more than he’d expected.

  She swung her legs around and stood, walking unselfconsciously to the dresser in her black silk wisps of bra and panties. Stone watched her, not surprised when she turned away from him, blocking the scene with her body as she picked up the bottle and the corkscrew. A moment later, a faint pop sounded in the dim silence. “There we go…” she murmured. “Won’t be long now….”

  “I can’t wait.” He kept his voice husky, but he’d already switched to magical sight. As he expected, the red flashes melted away again as she poured. He didn’t miss the way she reached up toward her neck, then poured two glasses of wine and brought them back to the bed.

  She carefully crawled back in, sitting with her legs tucked under her, and offered him one. “I wonder where your cat is. You’d think he might be jealous. Unless you bring a lot of strange women home…” She sipped her wine, extending her other hand to trace his chest with a long-nailed finger.

  Stone sat up, pressing his back against the pillows and taking a sip of his own. “Would you believe me if I told you I hadn’t had a date in months?”

  “No. I can’t imagine that.”

  “It’s true.”

  She tilted her head. “You just don’t want to scare me away. But why would it? You’re an attractive man, Alastair, and I don’t think you’re married…are you?”

  “No. Never married, actually.” He took another, larger sip and swirled his glass contemplatively.

  “Waiting for the right woman to come along?”

  “Something like that, I suppose.”

  She held up her wineglass. “This is excellent, by the way. You have good taste in wine.”

  “Thank you.” He held his expression to neutral interest, but didn’t miss that her gaze never left his face.

  She was waiting for something.

  All right—let’s give it to her, then.

  He stretched again and drained the glass. “I think I might have another, actually. Would you like one?”

  “No, thank you. Not yet. I think I’ll make this one last for a little while.”

  She was still watching him as he stood. She didn’t seem at all surprised when he stumbled, nor did she cry out or jump up in alarm when he staggered forward, caught himself briefly on the edge of the dresser, and then slumped awkwardly to the floor. His empty glass rolled beneath the bed.

  27

  Stone gave her ten minutes after she gathered her clothes and left the room. He remained where he lay sprawled o
n the floor, then rose and quickly pulled on his jeans.

  The room was empty as he’d expected, but the wards hadn’t buzzed to indicate she’d left the house.

  He glanced at the bed. He’d need to clean up the puddle of wine from the glass underneath, but that was a small price to pay. Apparently, his illusion had fooled her.

  Good.

  He wondered if she’d only been trying to knock him out, or if she’d intended to kill him.

  Using a levitation spell to avoid any creaking floorboards, he floated to the doorway and paused to listen. For a moment there was nothing, but then he heard a soft thump coming from his study down the hall. The door, which he always left closed to keep Raider out when he was away, was open.

  He added an invisibility spell to the levitation and floated the rest of the way down the hall until he hovered in the doorway.

  She was there, dressed now, crouched on the floor where she’d just pulled a whole row of books off the lower shelf and now seemed to be hunting for any hidden catches. Raider sat on the corner of the desk, watching her as if this were the most normal thing he’d seen all evening.

  Stone’s anger rose . Even now, he’d hoped he’d been wrong—that somehow he’d completely misread her cues, that perhaps she’d gone off to call an ambulance and was downstairs waiting for it. But no, here she was going through his things—and he knew exactly what she was looking for.

  He shimmered back to visibility, still hovering two inches off the ground. “Raider seems to like you, though I can’t imagine why,” he said in a calm, conversational tone. “If you’ve done anything to hurt him, I’ll kill you. And no one will ever find the body.”

  She moved fast, without even wasting the motion to turn toward him, leaping toward the closed window. She’d made it halfway across the room before he plucked her in mid-jump and held her suspended in midair, her arms locked at her sides.

  She glared at him. “You caught on, didn’t you?”

  “It wasn’t difficult. Your aura gave you away. Either you’re rubbish at controlling it, or you’re mundane. I’ve got no idea why they’d send a mundane against me.” He shook his head. “Foolish.”

  Her glare didn’t soften. “So, what are you going to do with me now? I didn’t touch your cat. Are you going to kill me? I’m expected, you know. People know I’m here.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you. But let’s assume for the moment that you’re telling the truth.” Stone entered the room, descending until his bare feet touched the floor. “What should I do with you? I’ve got a lot of options.” He began pacing back and forth in front of her, holding her immobile with next to no effort. “I could kill you. I don’t know if you know how easy it would be—and I wasn’t having you on about no one finding the body.”

  He glanced at her aura again, and was pleased to see it flaring fear, even though she wasn’t showing it in her expression or her body language. She was good, without a doubt. He kept pacing, thinking back to the encounter at the bar. “Don’t tell me—you were in league with the obnoxious gentleman who was bothering you. That whole thing was staged for my benefit, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to. It was obvious. Her eyes flashed.

  Raider licked his paw and looked back and forth between them.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “that’s one thing I could do with you. Possibly the easiest. I could also pop you somewhere remote, where if you were found, it wouldn’t be any time soon. That would get you out of my way long enough to make you irrelevant. Or I could turn you over to the police. I’m willing to bet if I let them test the wine you gave me, they’ll find—what? Poison? Knockout drops of some kind?” He stopped in front of her, a few inches away. “Were you trying to kill me, Ms. Newman—or whatever your real name is?”

  “No.” She snapped it out quickly. “Just knock you out fast. That’s the truth.”

  Stone thought it probably was. Her aura didn’t flare when she said it, anyway. “I see. You just wanted to put me out of commission for a time, while you looked for…what?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  He resumed pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. “That’s all right. You don’t have to tell me. I already know. And you wouldn’t have found it, because it isn’t here. I haven’t got it.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? You’ve got no way to tell, but I promise you—it’s not here, so all this cluttering-up you’ve been doing in my house is all pointless. And annoying.”

  She still seemed mostly unaffected by his words, her eyes flashing defiance. “So what are you going to do with me? You can’t hold me up here all night.”

  “Oh, you know that, do you? So you know something about magic. But you’re mundane, so if I did plan to hold you, a simple length of rope or a couple of heavy zip ties would do the job nicely. No need for magic. Who do you work for?”

  She snorted. “You can’t believe I’d tell you that.”

  “I do, actually.” Once again he stopped in front of her. “I could make you tell me.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Is that right? As I said, I’m not sure that’s true—I’ve got some fairly persuasive methods. Hmm—let’s have a better look at your aura, shall we?”

  He moved closer, taking care to hold both her arms and her legs immobile so she couldn’t take a shot at him, and shifted to magical sight.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Just be quiet a moment.”

  What he was seeking was hard to spot, but he was getting better at it after a few sessions with Verity, and this time he knew what he was looking for. “Aha. There we go…” He shifted back and flashed her a triumphant grin.

  “What?”

  He walked behind her and dropped into his desk chair, turning her slowly so she continued to face him. “Whoever sent you is good, I’ll give them that. But I’m better.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

  “A magical oath. They’ve put one on you, so perhaps you’re right—you can’t tell me who you work for. But no matter. There are ways around that.”

  Her aura flared fear again, but her face remained calmly annoyed. “You’re bluffing. Nobody made me take any oaths.”

  “I’m not, actually. I can tell you’re lying. I can see it in your aura.” He tilted his head at her. “But you see—here’s the thing. I can break magical oaths. You should be angry at the people who sent you after me, especially if you’re a mundane.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m almost certainly a better mage than any of them are—especially if you work for who I think you do. They should know that, if they’ve got half a brain, so perhaps they simply don’t care what happens to you if you get caught.” He got up again, making a show of turning her so she kept facing him as he paced the room. “But in any case, while I can break even strong magical oaths given enough time…I’m not that good at it.”

  He stopped in front of her again. “Let me give you an image, Ms. Newman. Picture a safe. A heavy safe with a good, strong lock on it. And it’s got something inside that I very much want. Now, if I had the expertise, I could crack that safe—work out the combination, open it up, and get what I’m after without any harm to the safe itself. Or, if I didn’t have that expertise, I could use explosives. I’d still get the same result, but I wouldn’t count on anyone using that safe again afterward. Do you see where I’m going with this?” He continued speaking in a pleasant, conversational tone, as if he were lecturing to a hall full of students.

  This time, he was pleased to spot a hint of the fear reaching her eyes. “Look,” she said. “I don’t know what group you think I’m with, but I’m not. I’m a freelancer. People hire me to do things. I do the job, get paid, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Is that so?” Stone had been watching her as she said it, and was surprised to see no hint of deception. Either she was better at controlling her aura than he’d thought, or sh
e was telling the truth. “If it is so, then it’s in your best interest to save yourself. Because I don’t take kindly to anyone coming into my house to steal from me—and that’s not even discussing whatever you put in my wine.” He leaned in. “So tell me, Ms. Newman—who sent you after me, and what did they want you to do?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Because they’ll kill you if you tell? But they’re not here, and I am.”

  “You won’t kill me.” She sounded certain, but again her aura betrayed her.

  “Can you be so sure? How much did they tell you about me? I’d be insulted, if I were you, to find out they sent you in here like a defenseless kitten, with nothing but a knockout potion to protect you.” He snorted. “Ms. Newman, you’re lucky I caught you before you got very far. If you’re looking for what I think you are, it’s not here—but a lot of very nasty things are.”

  “Look,” she said, glaring. “You’re not going to kill me. If you were, you’d have already done it. I’ve seen plenty of cold-blooded killers before, and you’re not one of them.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “I won’t kill you. But I will find out what I want to know. And I’m not having you on about being rubbish at finesse when it comes to mind-work. I can’t promise you won’t end up sitting in a corner counting your toes and drinking juice through a straw instead of wasting a glass of exquisite wine. So what’s it going to be, Ms. Newman?”

  She said nothing. But her aura was roiling, more red than yellow now.

  “All right, then. Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He approached her, one hand reaching for her forehead.

  She was good, he had to give her that. She lasted until his fingers were only an inch away. “Wait!” she snapped. “Stop.”

  He paused, but didn’t pull back.

  “I’ll tell you. What I know, anyway. Which isn’t much, and that’s the truth.”