Stone and Claw: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  Raider was waiting for them at the door. Verity bent to pet him. “Hey there,” she said. “So I hear you’re roommates with a ghost now.”

  The cat’s only response was to rub against her legs, purring.

  “He doesn’t seem very haunted to me,” Jason said. He looked around. “You’ve really fixed this place up since I was here last. A little empty, though. Going for the minimalist look?”

  “Going for the ‘I haven’t had time to pick up much furniture’ look.” Stone carried the bags to the kitchen and dumped them on the counter. “And as for the haunting—it seems intermittent. Verity, check out his aura. When he was communicating with me, I spotted a faint blue glow around his eyes.”

  She crouched and peered into Raider’s face, then shook her head. “I don’t see anything. But you’re a lot more sensitive than you were before, so maybe I’m missing it.”

  Jason flashed her a sharp look. “Sensitive?”

  “It’s got to do with Harrison’s magic,” Stone said. “My power levels have taken a healthy jump.” He checked Raider himself, but didn’t see the blue glow either. “Nothing. I don’t think it’s a constant thing—the professor only seems to show up when he’s got something to tell me.”

  While Verity got started unloading the bags and pulling out pots and pans, Stone told both of them what he’d found at the library. Raider perched on one of the counters nearby.

  “Doesn’t sound like much,” Jason said. “Sounds like the kid was right—he just keeled over from a heart attack or something. I mean, sixty-six isn’t really old, but it’s not young either. It happens.”

  Stone glanced at Raider to see if he had any reaction to Jason’s words, but the tabby was intent on licking his paw. “Who knows? As I said, it’s intermittent—it might not ever happen again.” He set Raider on the floor and refilled his food dish. “By the way, I had a chat with my solicitor today. He’s going to draw up some documents based on what we discussed before. If you want to have someone look them over, I can make recommendations.”

  Jason snorted. “Dude, after everything the three of us have been through together, if I can’t trust you by now, something’s seriously wrong. Just tell me when to show up and what I need to sign.”

  “Right, then. He said he’d have things ready later this week. Go ahead and set up a bank account for the business if you haven’t already—once everything’s all nice and legal, we can do the funds transfer. After that, you’re on your own.”

  “Al, I can’t thank you enough for—”

  Stone held up a hand. “Enough. Seriously. I’m happy to help, but I’ll go bloody spare if I have to listen to you thanking me every fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s not much of a trip,” Verity said, grinning.

  “And you, apprentice—”

  “Not your apprentice anymore, remember?”

  “And you, former apprentice—”

  Verity laughed and ducked away from his glare. “How’s the hot lady professor, by the way? You getting anywhere with her?”

  Jason’s glare joined Stone’s, shifting between his sister and his friend.

  “Are you jealous, Jase?” Verity asked him, wide-eyed and grinning. “Or—oh my God—are you defending my honor because the Doc might be checking out another woman?”

  “No,” Jason grumbled.

  “You are.” She patted his shoulder, nodding with wicked amusement. “Don’t worry, big bro. The Doc and I are both grownups. We’ve got this all under control.”

  “If you two are quite finished,” Stone put in, “there isn’t any ‘this’ to have under control. Even if I were interested in such a thing—which I’m not, though I’m not sure why that’s any of either of your business—Dr. Garra is focused on her work. I had lunch with her today, and she told me in no uncertain terms that she’s not looking for any relationships at present.”

  “You asked her?” Verity demanded, still grinning. “You’re usually more subtle than that.”

  “No, I didn’t ask her.” How did these conversations go off in these kinds of directions, anyway? “She was just telling me some of the male students are a bit more persistent than she’s comfortable with. It happens. I’ve no doubt she can handle it.”

  Jason seemed relieved, which amused Stone. Before, the two of them had nearly come to blows over Jason’s discomfort about him and Verity seeing each other. Now, only two months later, his friend was putting out every indication he was annoyed at the thought of Stone’s interest in someone who wasn’t his sister.

  He patted the counter. “Come on up here, Raider,” he said. “I need someone to have an intelligent conversation with.”

  Verity threw a chunk of carrot at him. “Fine. Make your own dinner, then. And I still want to meet your hot lady professor.”

  11

  In all the years they’d worked together, Stone had never visited Mackenzie Hubbard’s home. This lack of invitation didn’t offend him, however; he suspected the older professor wasn’t much for entertaining, and pictured Hubbard spending his non-working hours huddled in a cluttered, solitary office, tapping away at his computer while slugging down mugs of coffee delivered by his pleasant, patient wife.

  Then again, he’d also always pictured the man living in a classic, upper-middle class tract home somewhere in an established neighborhood in Mountain View or San Jose. Beige, most likely, built in the mid-Sixties, with a two-car garage, a lawn tended by some neighborhood kid, and wooden decorative shutters painted to give the place a dash of color.

  Apparently, he was fairly bad at this kind of speculation.

  The Hubbards’ house was actually in Los Gatos. Not way up in the hills where Adelaide Bonham had lived, but about a mile up a two-lane road near the eastern outskirts of town. The neighborhood consisted of rambling, single-story homes, spaced widely apart and interspersed with mature oak trees. Hubbard’s home, a pleasant Eichler near the end of the street bordered at the back by forested land and on one side by a small park, had a woodsy, inviting look. A series of sparkling, fairylike lights illuminating the front walk added to the impression.

  Stone arrived half an hour after the start time on the invitation. By then, there were already several cars along the street, so he had to park up near the edge of the woods. He recognized a couple of the cars as belonging to other members of the Cultural Anthropology faculty, but most of them didn’t look familiar.

  Hubbard’s wife Barbara answered the door, smiling when she saw him. “Alastair. I’m so glad you could come. Mac will be happy you’re here.” She wore a pale blue cocktail dress in her usual conservative, classy style. Unlike her dour husband, she had a vivaciousness that suggested she’d been quite the life of the party in her younger years.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.” He handed over the bottle of wine he’d brought. “He seemed quite excited when he told me. I’m very happy for him.”

  “So am I,” she said, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink. “You didn’t have to listen to him every time he got a rejection slip.” The twinkle in her eye took the edge off her words.

  “Oh, believe me, I’ve become quite good at noticing the signs. I’m so pleased he’s finally had success.”

  “Come on—everyone’s in the back.” She led him down a short hallway and out to an atrium featuring a central fountain with various benches and flowerbeds arrayed around it. Beyond that, an open glass door led to a large living room with a wood floor, beamed ceiling, fireplace, and furniture arranged into a cozy conversation nook. About thirty people lingered in both spaces, chatting and sipping wine. Soft classical music played over unseen speakers.

  “Your home is lovely, Barbara,” Stone said.

  She beamed. “Thank you. It’s a little big now that the children have moved out, but I love it, and this area. Mac tells me you’ve recently moved into a new place.”

  “Yes, in Encantada. Still getting settled in. I’m rubbish at entertaining, but perhaps you might come by for dinner some evening once I’ve g
ot actual furniture.”

  She laughed. “That would be a prerequisite, wouldn’t it? We’d love to come whenever you’re ready for us. Anyway, please, go enjoy yourself. I’ve got to refresh the food table.”

  Stone got a glass of wine and drifted into the atrium, skimming his gaze over the other guests. He didn’t recognize most of them, though he did spot familiar faces: Beatrice Martinez and her partner, Laura the admin aide, a couple of the Cultural Anthropology faculty and their spouses, and of course Hubbard, who was holding court on the other side of the living room. He had a small group of people clustered around him, and from the few words Stone could make out, he appeared to be regaling them with the plot of his soon-to-be-celebrated novel.

  As Stone came in, Hubbard glanced up, spotted him, and raised his glass. “Stone,” he called. “Good to see you. Thanks for coming.”

  Stone raised his own glass and dipped his head in acknowledgment. He couldn’t remember ever seeing grumpy old Hubbard this happy, and he genuinely wished his colleague success, but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to hear about tentacle monsters and mad cultists. He’d congratulate Hubbard later after his entourage had moved on.

  A table had been set up on the other side of the room, featuring a large chocolate-frosted sheet cake in front of a vase of black roses, and surrounded by several famous horror novels on bookstands: Carrie, The Call of Cthulhu, Dracula, The Exorcist, The Haunting of Hill House. The stand at the far end contained a tome with a plain, black-paper dust jacket, on which someone (presumably Barbara) had hand-lettered The Creeper at the Gate, by Mackenzie Hubbard in lurid, fluorescent-green gel pen. Marciella Garra stood near the table, looking over the display and chatting with one of the male professors from the Anthropology department. From her body language, Stone got the impression she’d rather be elsewhere but couldn’t extricate herself without making a scene.

  “Dr. Garra. You made it,” Stone said, approaching the table. Now that he was closer, he could see that the cake read Congratulations Mac – Future NY Times Bestselling Author!

  She looked relieved to see him. “Dr. Stone, hello. It’s good to see you. You know Dr. Darnell, don’t you?” She wore a short, slinky black cocktail dress with a gold shimmer that picked up the color in her golden-brown eyes, and a simple gold necklace with a black onyx pendant.

  “Yes, of course.” Brian Darnell was in his fifties but trying to look younger, dressed in a sweater, sport jacket, and crisp, dark jeans. “Brian, pleasure. I think I saw your wife looking for you.” He subtly emphasized the word wife and cut his gaze sideways, back toward the atrium.

  “Alastair.” Darnell looked annoyed, but smiled at Garra. “Perhaps we can talk later.”

  “Perhaps so,” she said noncommittally.

  Stone watched him go. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

  “Oh, not at all.”

  On the other side of the room, the group listening to Hubbard describing his novel laughed. Stone hoped he’d just told a joke—he didn’t think they’d be impolite enough to laugh at his novel plot at his own party. “Nice place,” he said. “I’ve never been to Hubbard’s house before.”

  “It’s beautiful. And his wife is charming.”

  “She puts up with a lot,” he said, chuckling. “When you first meet them you wonder how they’ve ever stayed together so long, but they’re mad about each other. Hubbard just doesn’t show it often.”

  “Oh, it’s obvious.” She glanced fondly over toward the group. “Some people just belong together, and it’s always nice when they find each other.”

  Barbara approached with a stack of plates and a knife. “If you’ll all gather around for a moment,” she called, “we’ll cut the cake and I wanted to say a few words, and then you can go back to your socializing.”

  Stone and Garra stepped to the side so she could take their place. “Would you like some help?” Garra asked her. “I could cut while you speak, if you wish.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Dr. Garra. If you wouldn’t mind—”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Stone watched her out of the corner of his eye while he listened to Barbara Hubbard sharing the story of her husband’s book sale with the crowd. She handled the knife with graceful skill, slicing the cake into pieces and transferring each to a plate.

  “—and so I’m so happy, and I’m sure Mac is too, to have so many friends on hand to congratulate him on his success.”

  Everyone applauded. Somebody called “Speech!” and others gently nudged Hubbard, who looked overwhelmed by the whole thing, toward the front.

  When he got there, Barbara patted his arm and gave him an encouraging smile. He took in the crowd and offered a more awkward smile of his own. “Thank you, everyone,” he said, a slight shake to his voice. “This means a lot to me that you’d all show up to help me celebrate. I know it’s not a major book deal—hell, odds are the thing will only sell a few dozen copies, and that’s if you all buy one!—but I have to admit I’m pretty proud of it after all these years. So please—enjoy the cake and the wine and have a good time.”

  The crowd applauded and cheered. Several of them clapped Hubbard on the back or shook his hand before picking up a piece of cake and drifting back to their groups.

  Stone remained near the table, though he didn’t take a slice. “Well done, Hubbard,” he said. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m still thinking I might wake up any minute and find out I dreamed the whole thing.”

  “If you did, we’re all sharing it with you. Enjoy your success. You’ve earned it.”

  When Hubbard moved off to chat with another group, Stone noticed Garra had moved a short distance from the table. She had likewise not taken a slice of cake, and seemed inexplicably uncomfortable. “Don’t like chocolate?”

  “Oh, I do. I’m just not in the mood for it right now. What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never been much for sweets, I suppose.” Under cover of glancing out the back window, where some of the guests had wandered out onto the back deck, he took a quick look at Garra with magical sight.

  He expected to see her sudden discomfort reflected in her aura, and wanted to see if he could tell whether he was the cause of it. Surprisingly, he didn’t see anything—her steady green remained as untroubled as ever, at odds with her subtle change in expression.

  What he didn’t expect to see was the unmistakable glow of magic around her neck.

  He must have looked startled, because Garra’s eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

  Stone tore his gaze away. “Oh—no. I’m sorry. I was just…admiring your necklace.” He realized it sounded lame even as he said it. Still, he forged ahead. “It’s quite beautiful—is it an antique?”

  Her hand went to it, caressing it between her fingers. “It is. It belonged to my mother.” She looked down, then back up at him. “Will you excuse me, Dr. Stone? I—need to touch up my makeup.”

  “Of course.”

  He watched her go, shifting back to magical sight now that she was no longer looking at him. From the back, he couldn’t see the magical glow—clearly the magic hovered around the onyx pendant, not the entire necklace.

  Interesting. Could Marciella Garra be a mage? He hadn’t seen any indication of it so far, but then, he’d only known her for a brief time. Perhaps she wasn’t, but her mother had been. It wasn’t at all unusual for the non-magical children of mages to inherit their property, having no idea it was more than it seemed. Stone wanted to get a closer look at the thing—the quick glance he’d gotten hadn’t been long enough to discern what kind of magic the pendant contained. Not likely that would happen, though. He couldn’t tell if being around him was what had made Garra uncomfortable, but he couldn’t very well ask her about it. That would do nothing but make it worse.

  Just back off, he told himself. Even if she is a mage, it’s none of your business. Leave her alone before you annoy her and she reports you for creeping her out.

 
Nonetheless, he lingered for a few more moments near the cake table to see if she returned. When she didn’t, he got a new glass of wine and reluctantly allowed himself to be lured out onto the deck to chat with Barbara, Hubbard, and one of the Cultural Anthropology professors.

  “It’s beautiful out here,” he said, looking out over the railing at the forested area beyond. Most of the lights illuminated the deck itself, but a couple shone out over the trees, revealing a thick carpet of old leaves and a meandering creek some distance away. A crisp, woody smell of pine needles hung in the air.

  “It really is,” Barbara said. “We get all sorts of wildlife around here—sometimes when I come out on the deck in the morning I’ll even see deer.”

  “Usually it’s just squirrels and raccoons,” Hubbard grumbled, but he didn’t sound upset. “They drop nuts and pine cones on the roof at night, which can be annoying when you’re trying to get to sleep.”

  “I think they’re cute.” Barbara gave her husband a fond smile. “He just doesn’t like it that I feed them sometimes.”

  “Sure. Encourage them. That’s a great idea. You won’t be happy until the whole house is overrun with vermin.” It sounded like an old, playful argument. “Maybe you should invite them in, offer them some—”

  Off in the distance, an eerie, inhuman scream sounded.

  Stone and the other professor tensed. “What was that?” the woman asked, looking nervous.

  Neither Barbara nor Hubbard appeared disturbed. “Mountain lion,” Hubbard said, in the same tone he might have said house cat. “Don’t worry—it’s not close. We get them around here occasionally, but they don’t come near any of the houses. They hunt out in the forest at night.”

  Stone took a quick look with magical sight, but saw nothing, corroborating Hubbard’s words: the pale auras of the numerous trees would screen out anything but close-up wildlife—even something as large as a mountain lion. “I saw one near Stanford once, when I was out running. It didn’t come too close to me, thank goodness, but it was impressive.”