Necessary Sacrifices

by R. L. King

  Stone didn’t sleep very well, haunted by uncomfortable dreams of Desmond. When he came downstairs the next morning, he found Aubrey in the kitchen. “Morning. Have you seen Verity?”

  “I think she went outside, sir. I saw her about an hour ago when I came over. Will you be having breakfast?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I should probably go find her—I wonder what she’s doing out there.”

  “I…think she was headed in the direction of the cemetery, sir.”

  Stone frowned. That was odd. Had she forgotten something back home and taken the portal back? But she wouldn’t have done that without telling anyone. “All right—I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

  Stone spotted her slim figure from a distance as he approached the old cemetery. It was earlier than he was used to being awake due to having retired so early last night; the day was gray and overcast, the air damp but not quite drizzly. She appeared to be meandering slowly around, and as he watched, she paused to crouch and peer at one of the headstones.

  She didn’t look up as he approached; he wasn’t sure she even noticed him. “Bit early to be out, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t seem startled, but rose and turned toward him. “Couldn’t sleep anymore,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to go wandering around the house till you gave me the tour, so I figured I’d go for a walk.”

  “In the graveyard?”

  “I like graveyards. I know—goth cliché, right? But I always have. They’re…peaceful.”

  He walked over and stood silently next to her, examining the grave she’d been looking at. It was an old one, its headstone weathered and nearly illegible.

  She kept looking at it. “That’s not the only reason I came out here, though.”

  “Oh? Why, then?”

  “I thought maybe I could…get to know you a little better.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging, and moved to the next headstone. “You’re a private guy—I get that. I respect that. But I’m your apprentice. I’ve known you for three years now, and I realized that aside from magic and the stuff back in the States, I really don’t know much of anything about you. And since I wouldn’t be rude enough to ask you personal questions, I just figured I could get some insights from looking at your ancestors.”

  He drifted along beside her. “And did you?”

  “Get any insights?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, she shrugged, and gave him a faint, mischievous smile. “Well, I learned that nobody in your family had normal names.”

  He chuckled. “That’s true. It’s always been sort of a thing in some of the older magical families. Won’t find a ‘Bob’ or ‘Mary’ in the lot. I got off lucky, relatively speaking. Can you imagine how it would have been going through mundane boarding school with a name like ‘Orion’ or ‘Helios’?”

  “Orion…” She crossed to the mausoleum where the portal was, and regarded the closed door. “Your dad’s in here, right?”

  Stone caught up with her. “Yes.”

  “He died young, didn’t he? I’m sorry…”

  “Auto accident. It was shortly after I’d finished my apprenticeship with Desmond and started at University.”

  “If you don’t want to talk about it—” she said with a quick sideways glance at him.

  “No, it’s fine. It was a long time ago. It was quite a shock at the time, of course, but as I told you before, my father and I had never exactly been—close.”

  “I never thought about mages being killed in car accidents. But I guess it does happen…like David, back at the restaurant.”

  “It does. We have longer lifespans than mundanes, but we’re no more immune to damage if we’re not prepared for it. Or illness, for that matter. Desmond proved that.”

  She touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Really—it’s fine. I came to terms with my father’s death a long time ago. It was just one of those senseless things that happens sometimes.”

  Again she remained silent for several moments, appearing to be deep in thought.

  Stone shifted to magical sight and noticed immediately that her aura seemed troubled. “Something on your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Verity…”

  “It’s okay. We should probably get back to the house. I know we have a lot to do today and you want to get going.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder as she turned.

  “Don’t worry about it, Doc,” she said, but she didn’t pull away. “You’ve got enough on your plate right now without having to put up with my nosy questions.”

  “Verity, I’m not ‘worrying’ about anything. Ask your questions. We do need to get going—I want to speak to Kerrick and Imogen about the arrangements, and make sure they don’t need any help. But I’ve certainly got a few minutes to satisfy your curiosity, if I can.”

  “Well—” She indicated the mausoleum with a tilt of her head. “I saw your dad’s name there, but not your mother’s. She’s— not alive, is she?”

  “No.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she regarded him for a moment, then looked away and began walking back toward the low gate.

  Stone caught up to her and fell into step next to her. He didn’t look at her when he spoke, but his voice was even. “I don’t know much about her, to be truthful. Her name was Peregrine. My father never wanted to talk about her. All I was able to get out of him was that she became…mentally unstable shortly after I was born and deserted him.”

  She stared at him. “That’s…horrible.”

  “I suppose it is, but given that I was a baby at the time, I don’t remember her at all. He told me once that he hired detectives to track her down so they could finalize the divorce, and discovered that she’d fallen into various self-destructive behaviors. She died soon after. It was all covered up as much as possible. My father hated the idea of a load of busybodies gossiping about his private life. He told me it was best if I just didn’t pursue the matter.”

  “Wow…” she said. She walked in silence next to him for a while. Around them, the drizzle swirled, threatening to become a light rain. “And you didn’t?”

  “Why would I?” He gave her a tight smile. “It might surprise you, given my legendary curiosity about anything to do with magic, that I never felt any deep need to go digging into my family history.”

  “I guess that does surprise me,” she admitted. “I’d want to know everything. I wish I’d known my mom. It still seems weird to me that you knew her, but I never got to.”

  “I’m sorry, Verity. I wish you could have. She was a lovely woman—a lot like you, in fact. I’m sure you would have gotten on very well.”

  “Yeah…and probably known I was a mage a lot sooner than I did, too.” She sighed. “But I wanted to know everything about her, about my dad and their life together—when I first moved back down with Edna, I bugged Jason and Stan for everything they could tell me. I wanted to see all their old photos, letters, videos…I wanted to hear all their memories, and I wrote them all down…” She waved a hand at the graveyard behind them. “I guess I just can’t see how you’d have all this history at your fingertips and not want to dig into it. But that’s me.”

  Stone kept walking beside her, his hands in his coat pockets. “I suppose it’s all there somewhere—my father never specifically showed it to me, but given my family’s prominence in the magical world, I’m sure they kept detailed records. Aubrey might know where they are.”

  “But you aren’t going to ask him.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not unless I have some reason to. Perhaps when I’m older. I don’t know. But I’m busy enough as it is now, with work, magical research, and teaching you—I don’t have time to add detailed genealogy studies to the playlist.” He picked up his pace as the
light rain at last began to fall. “Come on—let’s get back to the house before we’re drenched. We can talk more later if you want to, but I don’t really see the point in it.”

  Verity looked as if she didn’t necessarily agree, but said nothing else as they headed back to the house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They arrived in London later that morning. They took the portal to the house and located one of the staff members to announce their presence. The man, though Stone didn’t recognize him, didn’t seem surprised at their arrival. Perhaps Imogen had warned the staff to expect them.

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. “Miss Desmond is here. I believe I saw her in the sitting room not long ago. Shall I call her for you?”

  “No, that’s fine—we’ll find her. Thank you.”

  Imogen was indeed in the sitting room, seated at a small table near a window. She had several papers and a cup of tea in front of her, and was chatting with another of the house’s staff. She looked up as Stone and Verity entered and smiled, though it was faint. “Alastair. Ms. Thayer. Good morning. How was your flight?”

  “It was fine. Uneventful.”

  “Did Aubrey get you all settled in?” Her smiled widened just a bit. “That’s a silly question. Of course he did. That’s what Aubrey does.” She nodded to the man she’d been talking to. “If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Miles…”

  “Of course, ma’am.” He bowed and made himself scarce.

  Imogen returned her attention to Stone and Verity. “Just going over some paperwork. Necessary, of course, but…”

  “I understand. How are you holding up this morning? Is there anything we can do to help?”

  She shook her head, indicating the papers. “No, thank you. We’re almost done here. I never realized how much paperwork is involved when someone passes away—particularly when it’s so…unexpected.”

  Stone didn’t miss her hand tightening on the pen she held, and his throat clenched a little. He swallowed to cover it. “Please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here for you, Imogen—for anything you need.”

  “You’re a dear, Alastair. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it. And I might take you up on it, but not just now. What have you got planned for the day?”

  “If you don’t need us, I thought I’d show Verity around London a bit. Need to do some shopping, so we might as well take care of that when we’re not needed elsewhere. I’ll give you my mobile number so you can reach me if you need me for anything. I’m quite serious—promise you’ll call me if there’s anything I can do.”

  She chuckled softly. “You have a mobile? I never thought I’d see that day. And I do promise. But—” Her gaze shifted to something over Stone’s shoulder. “Oh. Clifford! Good morning.”

  Stone and Verity both turned to look at the newcomer.

  He stood in the doorway, accompanied by the same staff member they’d encountered when they arrived. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got in late last night and didn’t get your message until this morning, and then the cab got stuck behind an accident on the way over. What frightful, frightful news. I’m so sorry.”

  To Stone’s surprise, the man strode across the room toward Imogen. She stood, and he gathered her into a hug. Stone tensed, and Verity shot him a questioning look.

  Imogen returned the man’s hug and gave him a quick kiss, but then stepped back looking a little uncomfortable.

  The man seemed to take notice of Stone and Verity for the first time. “Oh—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had visitors.”

  “No—no, it’s fine, Clifford. I’m just—” Her gaze shifted to Stone, and for a moment an odd look crossed her face. “Alastair, I’m sorry, this wasn’t the way I meant to tell you. Clifford, this is Alastair Stone. He’s an old, dear friend and a close associate of my father’s, and his friend Verity Thayer.” She indicated the man. “Alastair, this is Clifford Blakeley. He—well, we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.”

  Stone tensed even more at her words, but forced himself to relax as he offered his hand. “Clifford. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.” Clifford Blakeley had a firm grip, but without any hint of a dominant crush. He was a few inches shorter than Stone, a few years older, and a few pounds heavier; in the space of the brief handshake, Stone took in his thinning dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and unremarkably pleasant face. Clad in a sweater over a collared shirt, dark trousers, and dress shoes, all of them finely made but unpretentious, he presented the perfect picture of a respectable businessman.

  As Stone broke the grip, he shifted momentarily to magical sight. He remained only long enough to get a brief look at Blakeley’s aura: a medium, calm blue as steady and unremarkable as his physical appearance. Stone spotted the faintest traces of disturbance, but those could easily be explained by the fact that he’d just found out the woman he was seeing had just lost her father.

  For a moment, Stone and Blakeley continued to size each other up as an awkward silence began to form. Imogen broke it with a little cough. “Well,” she said. “I’ve just about finished with this paperwork, and I think I’d like to get out of the house for a little while. Perhaps we could all go somewhere for lunch?”

  Stone shook his head. “No, no. It sounds like Clifford’s been away, and he’s just heard the sad news. Verity and I will clear out and let you two have some privacy.” He cast a sideways glance at Blakeley, then returned his attention to Imogen. “Remember what I said—call me if there’s anything we can do to help you.”

  Imogen took his hand and squeezed it, and he didn’t miss the grateful look she gave him. “Thank you, Alastair. We’ll see you later on today?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Verity waited until they got outside before she spoke. “You okay, Doc?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She nodded back toward the house. “That was…a little awkward.”

  “What, that Imogen’s seeing someone?” he said, a little too quickly. “Why?”

  “Well…you said you…and she…”

  “That was years ago. We’re just good friends now. I’m glad she’s found someone. If he makes her happy and treats her properly, why should I be anything but happy for her?” He spotted a cab and waved it down. “Come on—we’ve got a lot to do today, so I want to get on with it.”

  Verity gave him a sidelong glance that suggested she didn’t entirely believe him, but didn’t pursue the subject.

  For the rest of the day, Stone showed Verity around London. He had asked Imogen for recommendations of appropriate clothing shops where they might find outfits suitable for the funeral and any associated gatherings, and she gave them a list of suggestions. At each shop, Stone left Verity in the care of a helpful saleslady and waited while they picked out appropriate items. By mid-afternoon, they’d found her a small wardrobe she liked that would pass muster with Desmond’s conservative crowd, and arranged to have everything sent back to the London house.

  “I’ve never been treated like that,” Verity said as they paused for a late lunch. They were at Harrod’s, because she’d wanted to see it. “It was like I had my own personal clothing consultant. It was weird, but kind of fun, too. Where I usually shop, you just grab something off the rack and hope they have your size. You’re lucky if you can even find a salesperson.” She frowned. “But those prices, though. They were insane. I don’t know how I’m ever going to—”

  Stone raised a hand. “You’re not. If it makes you feel better, think of them as work clothes. You’re my apprentice, and that means you reflect on me. Can’t have you turning up in your leather jacket and combat boots, can we?”

  “True,” she admitted. “Still feels weird, though.”

  “Well, then, let’s do something a bit less weird. Actually that’s not true at all, but I think you’ll find it fascinating anyway.”

  “
What’s that?”

  “Tolliver’s. One of the largest magic shops in the world.”

  “Sounds great, Doc.” She gave him an odd look. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Do what?”

  “Entertain me. Take me around London and show me the sights. I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, and…”

  “Don’t worry about it. I like showing you around. And every mage should visit Tolliver’s at least once.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking down at her plate. “But Doc—it’s okay that you’re not ‘on’ right now.”

  “I know.” He didn’t look at her. “And I thank you for that. But I’m all right. This is actually helping. I’ve got so many things swirling around in my head right now that sometimes it feels like it might fly to pieces. Getting a break from that is just what I need, I think.”

  She reached across the table and briefly gripped his hand. “Look at me, Doc.”

  He brought his gaze up to meet hers. Her eyes were still and serious. “I’m here for you, if you need to offload some of this stuff on somebody. I’m a good listener. You know that.”

  “I do know that,” he said softly. It was hard not to look away again, to brush off her words with polite thanks and change the subject with some flippant remark. “And I appreciate it. But you know me—I’m not good at asking for help. Never have been.”

  “I get that. I think I might even understand it a little better now, too.” She took her hand back and sipped her ice tea.

  “Do you, now?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I think so.”

  “All right, Dr. Thayer,” he said, amused. “Enlighten me.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m thinking that you don’t really know how.”

  “Indeed?” Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation right here in the middle of the restaurant with crowds of tourists swirling around them.

  She shrugged. “You don’t know how to lean on anybody because nobody ever let you do it.”