Stone and Claw: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “Brilliant. Thank you.”

  Room 213’s nameplate read Dr. Delmar Wright, Organic Chemistry. Several newspaper clippings, chemistry-related cartoons, and pages from published papers adorned the door, along with two photos of a professor in a lab with students, reminiscent of the one of Thaddeus Benchley in Stone’s puff-piece clipping. Stone knocked softly.

  “Yes, come in,” a cheerful, distracted voice came from inside.

  Delmar “Del” Wright didn’t have curly dark hair anymore—now what little of it remained was gray—but Stone still had no trouble recognizing him as an older version of the man in the photos. “Dr. Wright? I’m Alastair Stone, from the Occult Studies department.”

  Wright’s eyebrows went up. “Occult Studies? That’s interesting—I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of that one.”

  “I’m not surprised—most people outside the department haven’t.”

  “You haven’t come to put a hex on me or anything, have you?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Not today. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Of course, of course. Sit down.” He waved Stone to an empty chair and pushed his work aside. “I could use a break, to be honest. I only teach one day a week these days, so things tend to pile up on me when I’m here. What can I do for you?”

  Stone studied the man, taking a quick look at his aura. It was a medium gold, with a few darker patches that could indicate the man wasn’t entirely well. It might just be age, though—the older people got, the more their auras tended to pick up flaws. “This is going to sound a bit daft, so please bear with me.”

  “Daft? I’m intrigued. Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s about Dr. Thaddeus Benchley.”

  Wright looked startled. “Dr. Benchley? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. What about him?”

  “Well—as it happens, I’ve just moved into a house he used to live in. In Encantada.”

  “Really?” Wright shifted his papers around again, stacking several books on the corner of his desk and closing a spiral-bound notebook. “How do you know that?”

  “I found a newspaper clipping inside a book when I first moved in.” He gestured in the vague direction of the downstairs department office. “As I mentioned to Pamela downstairs, I’m a bit of a history buff—I actually inherited the house, so I’m looking into some of its previous residents.”

  “Well…” Wright’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure how much I can help you, Dr. Stone. What did you want to know?”

  “You were one of his graduate students, yes? When I researched him in the library, I found an article that included a photo of him with you and some others.” He pulled his copy of the article from his briefcase and slid it across the desk.

  Wright examined the photo, then slid it back. “That was a long time ago. I’d forgotten about that. I don’t even remember what he was showing us in that lab anymore.”

  “Can you tell me about him? What was he like?”

  “He was a fine teacher—quite a mentor to me as well. I worked closely with him during my graduate studies.”

  “So you got on well?”

  “Of course. Dr. Benchley got along well with almost everyone. He had quite the sense of humor. He took his work very seriously, of course, but he wasn’t above the odd practical joke. Never at anyone’s expense, though—except his own.”

  Stone nodded. “I understand he was active in the anti-war movement.”

  “I’m not sure ‘active’ is the right word,” Wright said, considering. “He supported it, definitely, and I remember him taking part in a couple of demonstrations on campus. But he wasn’t militant about it.” He smiled. “He wasn’t the type to be militant about anything, honestly. Just a good, decent guy who loved his job and his students.”

  That information certainly corroborated what little Stone had gotten from Benchley’s echo so far. “You knew him around the time he died, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I was very sad to hear about his death. By that time, we’d grown to be friends as well as colleagues.”

  “From what I understand, he actually died in his home—my home, now.”

  “Why do you—” Wright looked startled again, but then smiled, nodding. “Ah! I see now. You’re from the Occult Studies department, and you’re asking about a man who passed away in your home.” The smile turned sly. “You’re not suggesting Dr. Benchley might be haunting your house, are you, Dr. Stone?”

  Stone chuckled. “Hardly. Just because I teach about ghosts and witches and things that go bump in the night doesn’t mean I believe in them. But I must admit, finding out he’d died there is what piqued my interest in finding out more about him.”

  “Well…I don’t know what else I can tell you, honestly. His death was a shock to all of us. He wasn’t a young man, but he was in good health for his age, as far as I knew, at least. Heart attack, if I remember correctly. Such a shame. But I suppose none of us can count on tomorrow, can we? At least I knew he lived his life doing what he loved. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

  “No, I suppose we can’t.” Stone stood and retrieved the clipping. “Thank you, Dr. Wright—I won’t take any more of your time. One more thing before I go: are you still in contact with any of the other people in this photo?” He held it out so the man could get another look.

  Wright peered at it. “I’m afraid not. I think Shari Milius got married and changed her name, and Colin Frederick passed away recently. The other two—no idea. We all lost touch years ago. I’m sorry, Dr. Stone.”

  “Quite all right. Thank you again for your help.”

  25

  When Stone returned to his office, he found an envelope waiting on his desk. Fine and cream-colored, it had nothing written on its exterior. However, the red wax seal holding it shut, embossed with a stylized K, told him instantly who’d sent it.

  “About time, Stefan,” he murmured, opening it as he sat down. Inside was a matching card with only two handwritten lines:

  I will be in my shop tomorrow afternoon.

  Please call at your convenience.

  He wondered what Laura must think when a suit-clad courier showed up to deliver the missive—it certainly hadn’t been the first time. There was no point in getting frustrated with Stefan Kolinsky and his odd, old-fashioned ways, though; if the man could tell him what he wanted to know, the relatively minor inconvenience was worth it.

  Jason and Verity came by for dinner that evening. This time, he’d insisted on picking up takeout on the way home. “No, no,” he’d told Verity when he called she’d offered to cook. “I’m not getting into the habit of taking advantage of you.”

  “You’re not taking advantage of me,” she protested. “I like to cook. Especially in that amazing kitchen of yours. It’s not like you ever get any use out of it.”

  “Oi. I made toast the other day…”

  “You’re hopeless, Doc,” she said, her tone laced with fond amusement. “Fine. If you want to feed us Chinese takeout, go for it. But next time I’m cooking.”

  “Deal.”

  “So,” he said, when the three of them were settled around the big wooden table in the dining room with several steaming cardboard cartons between them, “how was your weekend with Kyla, Verity?”

  “It was great.” She opened one of the cartons and transferred the contents to a serving dish. “We mostly stayed around her place, but it was fun. Got to hang with some of the Harpies on Saturday night.”

  “Oh?” Both Stone and Jason shot her sideways looks.

  She mock-glared back at them. “Yeah. We went out and caught a guy who’d been mugging old people in the Haight. Tied him up and left him for the cops. Hezzie and I hung around with disregarding spells up until they showed up and took him away. Felt good to get scum like that off the street.”

  Stone supposed there was no point in bringing it up again that he was uncomfortable with this new aspect of his former apprentice’s life. She was just that—his former apprentice—and if
she wanted to use her magic to play Batwoman with her girlfriend’s gang of female vigilantes, that wasn’t any of his business. It didn’t mean he had to like it, but it did mean he had to keep his mouth shut about it. Given what he got up to, anything else would have been hypocritical.

  Jason, apparently, hadn’t come to the same conclusion, judging from the disarray in his aura. He didn’t say anything, though, probably in deference to the fact that they were guests in Stone’s home. Stone suspected the two of them would get into it at some later date.

  Verity had clearly seen the signs, though, because she quickly changed the subject. “Hezzie’s teaching me alchemy.”

  “Indeed?” Stone glanced up from his plate.

  “Yeah. She’s really good at it—at least as much as she can be at her power level. She’s frustrated because she knows a lot, but doesn’t have the power or the money to really make it happen the way she wants to. She figures maybe she can teach me to do it better.”

  “I’ll be interested to hear how that goes,” Stone said. “I’ve always been rubbish at alchemy.”

  “Not surprised,” she said with a grin. “I’ve seen you try to cook. That’s all alchemy is, really—magical cooking. Or chemistry experiments. Or maybe a little of both.”

  “Well, perhaps you can give me some pointers when you get better at it. I might be a bit more motivated to learn alchemy than I am to learn cooking.”

  “I hope so. When you mess up a cooking recipe you don’t dissolve the bones in your hands.”

  “Obviously you’ve never seen me attempt a vindaloo. Ah—that reminds me: speaking of chemistry, I had a chat with one of Dr. Benchley’s former graduate students today.”

  “Yeah?” Jason asked. “How’d you find him?”

  “He teaches at the University, as it happens. Didn’t find out much useful, though.”

  Raider, almost as if he suspected he was being talked about, jumped onto the empty chair across from Stone and put his paws on the table.

  “Sorry, mate—no Chinese food for you,” Stone said.

  “You sure that’s Raider?” Verity asked.

  Stone took a closer look, but the blue glow wasn’t there. “Nothing but cat.” He used magic to gently nudge the confused Raider off the table. “But yes, apparently Dr. Wright and Dr. Benchley were friends, and Wright remembers when he died. Heart attack, he claims. Understandable—people smoked like chimneys back then, and from the look of him I doubt he got a lot of exercise.”

  “It’s weird,” Verity mused, spooning more kung pao chicken onto her plate. “It just doesn’t make sense that a happy, content guy who died of natural causes in his office would hang around haunting the place after all these years. Does it?”

  “It’s not unheard of,” Stone said. “But it is rare.”

  She returned to eating for several moments, but he noticed she looked troubled, as if she had something on her mind. A quick glance at her aura confirmed it.

  “What is it, Verity? I can tell there’s something you’re not saying.”

  She swallowed and sighed. “Well…something just occurred to me, but I didn’t want to bring it up. It’s probably nothing, and I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Upset me? How?”

  “Well…” she said again, idly petting Raider, who’d jumped back up on the table. “I was just thinking about someone else who supposedly died of natural causes, but that turned out not to be the case.”

  Stone tensed. “Desmond.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry—like I said, I don’t want to upset you. But if Dr. Benchley’s echo is hanging around here and it’s unusual for them to do that without a reason, maybe he has a reason. Maybe he didn’t die of a heart attack.”

  Stone almost dismissed it as absurd—but was it? It made sense, and would give Benchley’s echo a reason to remain behind, waiting for someone he could communicate with to show up. He glanced at Raider again, shifting to magical sight, but there was still no sign of the blue glow indicating the professor was driving. “Dr. Benchley—this might be an excellent time for you to join us, if there’s anything to what Verity’s saying.”

  Raider licked his paw and attempted to stick his nose in one of the empty cartons.

  “Why would anybody want to kill an old professor, though?” Jason asked. “Didn’t you say his students liked him?”

  “Yes—by all accounts, he was a pleasant chap, very popular. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Verity asked. She picked up Raider and set him back on the floor.

  “Well…he was active in the anti-war movement. Dr. Wright said he wasn’t militant about it, but perhaps someone took exception to his views.”

  “Enough to kill him, though?” Jason asked.

  Stone shrugged. “Who knows? If I could get him to come back and talk to me, perhaps he can shed some light. But until then, your guess is as good as mine. I haven’t got the time to look into it in detail.”

  “Why not?” Verity asked. “By the way, did you ever sneak into Dr. Garra’s office and check out her desk?”

  “I…Best if I don’t answer that,” he said with a sideways glance at Jason. “But I did find out quite a lot more about her. We had an illuminating conversation on Friday night. I know why she’s here now, and why she faked her identity.”

  “You do?” Verity looked surprised. “Can you tell us?”

  “I can tell you some of it. Not everything, because I promised her I wouldn’t.” Quickly, he caught them up on the meet at the school, the ambush, and some of the details about the chalice she was seeking. He left out anything about Garra being a shifter, and the chalice’s specific purpose.

  “Holy crap,” Jason said. “I gotta say, Al, if there’s any kind of weird supernatural shit going around, you sure do manage to find it. So what now? You’re gonna help her track down this chalice?”

  “That’s the plan. Stefan’s back from wherever he was off to, so I’m going to have a chat with him tomorrow. If it’s in the area, chances are he’s either heard of it or can find out where it’s gone.”

  “Well—let me know if I can help. I don’t have any other cases yet, so I’ve got time.”

  “I thought you’d be busy,” Verity said. She waggled her eyebrows at him. “You didn’t tell the Doc how your date went on Friday.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t care, V,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Unlike some people I know, he minds his own business.”

  “All right, you two,” Stone said, and set Raider on the floor again. “Enough squabbling. You’ll upset Dr. Benchley.”

  “At least maybe that way he’ll come back and talk to you,” Verity said.

  Raider remained silent and stalked out of the room.

  26

  Stone approached Stefan Kolinsky’s disreputable little East Palo Alto shop with more trepidation than he had in a long time.

  He hadn’t seen his old associate since before he’d gone to Calanar; as far as Kolinsky knew, he was likewise still a black mage, dependent on power drawn from other people to fuel his magic.

  Would Kolinsky notice a change just by looking at him? Ever since he’d nearly died on Calanar, impaled on a crystal spike and caught in the leading edge of a manastorm in the weird, magically deadly wasteland comprising much of that dimension, he’d noticed his aura had changed: instead of its former purple and gold, it now included a third color, a band of silver around the outside. Oddly, though, he was apparently the only one who could see it. So far, none of his magically talented friends and colleagues—Verity, Eddie, Arthur Ward, even Trevor Harrison—had commented on it, despite his making no attempt to hide it. Harrison, well, his motivations were frequently inexplicable, and it was entirely possible he had noticed and not said anything about it. But if any of the others had seen anything unusual, Stone had no doubt they would have mentioned it.

  Kolinsky, however, was (with the exception of Harrison and Madame Huan, neither of whom were presently available, and the late William Desmond) the most
powerful and knowledgeable mage Stone had ever known. Even though they’d known each other for nearly ten years, exchanging favors and bits of useful information to mutual advantage, Stone still didn’t feel as if he understood the man much better than he had when they’d first met. Kolinsky raised being secretive and enigmatic to an art form, and held both his knowledge and his possessions close to him while doing his best to ferret out anything he could about others.

  Still, Stone couldn’t draw out avoiding Kolinsky forever—not if he wanted to continue his association with the man, and that association was far too valuable to let wither. Even if the black mage asked him about the change, that didn’t mean he’d have to answer. Not without some fairly hefty quid pro quo, anyway.

  He pushed open the door, noting the sign was gone now. He wondered if anyone other than him had even seen it. Kolinsky’s “shop” was one in name only; you couldn’t even see the door past the illusions and wards if you weren’t magically talented, and the black mage didn’t even make a pretense at maintaining any sort of regular business hours. Madame Huan, at least, kept her junk shop open to the public when she was in the area—not that anyone could ever find anything in it, but at least they had the chance. With Kolinsky, if you didn’t know he was there and didn’t have reason to visit him, you were out of luck.

  Stone descended the familiar stairs, opened the door at their foot, and passed through the deserted front part of the shop without stopping. The door leading to the back was open.

  Stefan Kolinsky stood at the display case in the middle of the floor. He had his severe black suit coat off and his sleeves rolled up, revealing the intricately-designed tattoos covering his powerful forearms. As Stone entered, he held up one hand without looking away from the carving laid out in front of him on a black cloth. “One moment, Alastair, if you please.”

  “Of course.” Stone hung back and watched as Kolinsky moved his hand over the carving, which was roughly round, a foot in diameter, and etched with concentric circles of tiny, closely-spaced text that Stone couldn’t read. Each place Kolinsky’s hand passed over glowed momentarily, then faded again as he moved on. He leaned in for a closer look, using magic to turn the carving over.