Stone and Claw: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “What do you need?” Detective Leo Blum of the San Francisco Police Department dropped his volume so Stone could barely hear him. “Please tell me you don’t have something else nasty and magical going on.”

  “I do—but it’s more personal this time. No threat to the public, at least not as far as I can tell.”

  “Great. Well, that’s something, at least. What do you need? I don’t have a lot of time, but I’ll give you what I can.”

  “I’m looking for a man who goes by Jimmy Tanuki.” He described the figure in the illusion Kolinsky had shown him. “From what my sources tell me, he’s based in Oakland.”

  “Okay…I got some contacts in the Oakland PD. Who is this guy? He one of your kind?”

  “Possibly. He’s a thief, primarily. He steals magical artifacts and sells them to other mages.”

  “And you think mundane cops are gonna find him before you do?”

  “It’s possible he steals more than magical items. I know it’s a long shot, Detective, but I don’t have any way to trace him myself. If need be, I’ll come up there with an associate and we’ll see what we can find, but I’m hoping you can save us some of that legwork.”

  Blum sighed. “Okay. I’ll do what I can. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

  He didn’t hear anything else for the next three days. Garra stopped by his office each morning to ask about his progress, clearly growing more suspicious and impatient each time. “I can’t wait any longer,” she said on Friday, closing his office door and leaning menacingly forward over his desk. “The chalice could be anywhere by now. They could have already shipped it overseas, or—”

  Stone’s mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. “One moment,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her. “I know—I get it. Just let me just take this.”

  The number, to his surprise, was both familiar and timely. “Detective. We were just talking about you.”

  Garra leaned farther forward, almost as if trying to hear the other side of the conversation.

  Stone waved her to a seat, put the phone down, and cast a warning look at her accompanied by a finger to his lips. “You’re on speaker, Detective. Have you got anything for us?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Sorry it took so long, but you didn’t give me much to go on.”

  “Did you find Jimmy Tanuki?”

  “I think so. You’re not gonna like what I found, though.”

  “Why not?” Stone asked, tensing. Garra, who’d sat down, leaned forward again.

  “He’s dead. Or at least he is if the guy they found is the one you’re lookin’ for.”

  Stone and Garra exchanged glances. “Dead? When? How?”

  The line crackled as Blum paused. “That’s where things get weird, and why I’m thinkin’ this is the guy you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Tell us!” Garra snapped.

  “Who’s that?”

  Stone shot another glare at her. “A friend. She’s involved in this too—best if you don’t know too much. What did you find?”

  Blum’s sigh came through even over the tiny speaker. “He was found a couple months ago, inside his residence in the Oakland Hills. A deliveryman called the police when he got the wrong address to drop off a package, and smelled something odd inside the house.”

  “And—?”

  “Well…the guy wasn’t just dead. He’d been ripped to pieces. Literally. I got a copy of the report from my friend in the Oakland PD, and the crime-scene photos weren’t pretty. They’re calling it some kind of bizarre mob or gang hit, but so far they have no leads.”

  “Ripped to pieces…” Stone said, with another look at Garra. “You mean…like by an animal?”

  “Not unless the animal was some kind of super-strong ape.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There weren’t any slashes or bites, but—you know that line in Star Wars about Wookiees ripping people’s arms off? Yeah, well, I doubt this guy was killed by a Wookiee, but…you do the math.”

  “I…see.”

  “Do you know anything about this, Stone?” Blum’s tone took on an edge that hadn’t been there before.

  “About the murder? No. As I told you—if this was Mr. Tanuki, he stole something that my friend here is trying to get back. They didn’t find a bronze chalice inside the residence, did they?”

  “That’s what you’re lookin’ for? I don’t think so, but this report doesn’t include a list of everything in the house. The Oakland guys are tryin’ to find next of kin, but so far they haven’t turned up anything.”

  “Do they know the victim’s real name?”

  “Hang on a sec…Yeah, here it is. The house’s owner is listed as Ricardo Estevez, down in L.A., and he says he leased it to a guy named Wayne Poole. They had to identify him with dental records—he’d been in there a while when they found him. Not a neighborly guy, apparently, and the houses up there aren’t too close together.”

  “So you think this Wayne Poole was Jimmy Tanuki.”

  “It’s a good guess. Same basic build and description as the guy you told me about—as much as they could tell, anyway. And it sure as hell sounds to me like something supernatural could have killed him.”

  Stone tapped a rhythm on his desk, thinking. He had an idea—it was a long shot, but he’d dealt with worse before. “Detective, could you give me the address of this house? Is it currently occupied?”

  “Stone…what are you planning?”

  “Best if I don’t tell you. But unless you can get me access to the place officially…”

  “Yeah, that’s not happenin’. Nobody’s livin’ there right now, though. They released the scene a while ago, but Estevez is gonna need to have some serious cleanup work done in there before it’s habitable again. What are you thinkin’ about doin’?”

  “Nothing,” Stone said. “I’m not thinking about doing anything. But a violent death like that is bound to leave traces behind—traces someone like me might be able to interpret.”

  Blum let his breath out. “I don’t wanna hear it. Just don’t tell me. Far as I know, you don’t have a damned thing planned. But off the record—if you get caught, don’t call me. I won’t be able to help you.” He read off the address. Then, in an offhand tone, added, “It’d be a shame if the place had a burglar alarm, you know? I can think of about 7,243 reasons why it might…”

  Stone made a note. “Don’t worry, Detective. I won’t say a thing to anyone. Thank you for your help—it’s most appreciated.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Give me a call next time you’re up my way and we can have a beer. Good luck. Oh, and Stone?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you do figure out what’s behind this, even if you can’t say anything about it officially, I’d appreciate a heads-up. I really want to know we don’t have to start worrying about a rash of giant apes dismembering people in their homes.”

  “That’s a promise, Detective. I don’t think it will be a problem, though. As I said, I think this one is…smaller in scope.” He glanced at Garra, who nodded. “I think it was related directly to this item, and won’t be repeated.”

  “I sure as hell hope you’re right.”

  Stone broke the connection and hadn’t even gotten the phone back in his pocket before Garra said, “I want to go with you.”

  “Yes, I assumed that.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Dr. Garra—”

  “Tonight,” she repeated firmly. “I heard the address too—if you don’t go, I’ll go myself. I can’t wait any longer.”

  He didn’t like it—he would have preferred a bit more time to prepare—but he also knew she wasn’t kidding. “Fine. We’ll go tonight. I haven’t had a chance to fix your amulet yet, though.”

  “That won’t stop me. When can we leave?”

  “I’ve got a meeting this afternoon—I can’t get out before six. But best if we go under cover of darkness anyway.”

  Frustration crossed her face—clearly she wanted to get up and leave immediately—b
ut she sighed. “Fine.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing if you went through my desk and set a private investigator on me, you know where I live.”

  “Guilty, yes.”

  “Pick me up there, then. If you don’t show up by seven, I’m going without you.”

  28

  Traffic was heavy heading up toward Oakland on a Friday evening, even by the standards of a typical Bay Area rush hour. Garra sat in the passenger seat, the impatience sluicing off her like waves obvious even without a glance at her aura.

  In an effort to get her mind off the gridlock, Stone said, “Tell me more about this chalice. How does it work?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” She glared out the front window as if trying to will the cars in front of them out of the way. “As I said, it’s been among my people for many years. When a female wishes to conceive, she seeks out the elders of the clan and they make it available to her.”

  “Is there some sort of alchemy involved? Where does the elixir come from? The chalice doesn’t produce it, does it?” If it did, that would indeed be wondrous: even magic couldn’t produce something permanent from nothing.

  “No. I don’t know if the liquid used matters. From what I understand, water is sufficient. The chalice’s magic transforms the liquid into the elixir we need.”

  “So you’ve never used it yourself? Forgive me if that’s an inappropriate question.”

  “No, I haven’t. I wish to have a cub someday, but I don’t know if it will be possible, since I don’t participate in the clan enough to find a mate.” She gave a tight smile. “Before you ask, yes, it’s possible for us to reproduce with humans, but most of us find it distasteful.”

  “I thought you said your mother married a human man.”

  “I said most of us, not all of us. And I didn’t say we don’t have sex with humans—just that it’s thankfully difficult to conceive children with them.” She gave a bitter chuckle. “Most humans find our kind sexually attractive—both the males and the females.”

  “You’re very—er—open about that sort of thing.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Sex is a part of life. You humans are far too psychologically unhealthy about things like sex and nudity.”

  “Yes. Er. I suppose we are.” Stone fell silent, focusing on driving. That particular subject was not one he wanted to think too much about tonight.

  “What about you, Dr. Stone? Do you have a mate? Children?”

  “No. Well—it’s a bit complicated.”

  This time, her chuckle was more amused than bitter. “See what I mean? How can it be complicated? You either do or you don’t.”

  “I don’t have any children. At least not that I’m aware of.”

  “But you have a mate? I didn’t see anyone with you at Dr. Hubbard’s party…”

  Stone shot a sharp glance her way; she was watching him, her eyes glittering in the darkness. “No. Not…per se.”

  He thought about Verity. He’d considered asking her to come along tonight—though he didn’t expect to encounter any opposition, it was always good having more magical punch on his side. Before he had a chance to call her, though, she’d called him to let him know she’d be spending the night in San Francisco again. Scuro, the magical tattoo artist she did freelance healing for, was doing a big job tonight and he wanted her help, so she figured she could spend some more time with Kyla afterward. She’d asked if he minded.

  No, of course not, he’d answered. What else could he have said?

  “I’m sorry,” Garra said. “Am I prying?”

  “No,” he said without looking at her. “Not prying.”

  She didn’t speak for a while, as he picked his way across to the fast lane and increased their speed a little. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” she said at last, “you seem troubled about something. Is there any way I can help you? I know it might not be the most professional of offers, but I think perhaps after last Friday night we’ve moved a bit beyond a purely professional association.” She looked around, glaring at the cars crawling along near them. “And it might take our minds off this glacial traffic.”

  He almost shook his head and brushed her off. He barely knew her, after all, and half the time she seemed more inclined to bite his head off than to offer a sympathetic ear. He focused on the soft music playing on the stereo, and spoke before he had a chance to second-guess himself. “I haven’t got a mate, but I do have…someone.”

  “Someone?”

  “I told you—it’s complicated. She was my apprentice, and over the past few months, things have…changed between us.”

  “You’ve become romantically involved?” The words were clinical, but her voice was gentle.

  He made a small snort. “I wouldn’t call it romantic, exactly.”

  “Sexual, then.”

  “Yes,” he said, wincing. “Mostly that’s how it’s worked out.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Still, her tone was gentle. “Not if you both want it. Do you?”

  He flashed her a look. “Oh, yes. Definitely. No doubt about that.”

  “So, then, I don’t see—”

  “I love her,” he said softly. He shook his head, letting his breath out, and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I shouldn’t be discussing this.”

  “Why not?” A long pause, and then: “May I make a guess about you, Dr. Stone?”

  “If you like.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have many people you discuss such things with.”

  “You’d be correct. I shouldn’t be discussing them with you. But—” He trailed off and sighed again. Part of him, the part that observed and usually kept him from such things, couldn’t believe he was saying them. Not while sober, anyway. But Garra (or whoever the hell she is, he reminded himself) had the unusual and appealing qualities of being both detached and encouraging.

  “Does she love you?”

  “I…think she does. But there are…complicating factors.”

  Garra waited for him to continue. As impatient as she seemed with the traffic around them, her presence was otherwise calm.

  Stone tightened his grip again. What was he doing? This wasn’t any of Garra’s concern. “She’s…considerably younger than I am.”

  “I don’t—”

  “She’s also bisexual, and prefers women.”

  “Ah…” She gave an understanding nod. “I think I’m beginning to see.”

  “I doubt it.” His laugh was bitter. “Honestly, I’d be amazed if you were.”

  “She loves you, but she won’t commit fully to you because she doesn’t want to give up her relationships with women.”

  He threw her a quick, surprised glance. “That’s…most of it, yes. But that’s her right. I would never ask her to change who she is, for me or anyone else. That’s where she is this weekend—with a woman up in San Francisco.”

  Garra settled back in her seat and watched the traffic. “Do you resent her doing that?”

  “Seeing this woman? No. It’s true,” he added hastily. “I know that sounds odd, but it is.”

  “I believe you. Remember, even in this form I can read scents far better than a human. I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

  A useful skill—sort of like olfactory aura reading. “I want her to be happy, Dr. Garra. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be?”

  “It is, although it’s been my experience that most humans don’t treat it that way.” She stretched her long legs. “You want her to be happy, but you want more than she’s offering.”

  He thought about it, still wondering why he was doing this. “That’s…sort of right. Not quite, though.”

  She waited.

  “I—” The traffic around them had begun to pick up speed, and he nudged the BMW up accordingly. “She’s made it clear she has no issues with my pursuing other relationships. As far as I can tell—and I’m better at reading auras than she is at hiding hers—she’s not lying. She’s genuinely fine with my seeing other people. It’s not
just because she’s seeing someone else.”

  She chuckled. “That sounds like the kind of relationship most human males would consider a gift from the gods, Dr. Stone.”

  “Yes, well—I’m not most human males.”

  “No…I can see that. Wait a moment,” she added, twisting in her seat to face him. “I think I understand now. She encourages you to pursue other relationships, but you’re finding it difficult because you consider it disloyal to her.”

  Stone swiped a hand through his hair, wishing he’d never allowed her to draw him into this conversation. “Dr. Garra—”

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He gave up, gripping the wheel again and increasing the car’s speed. “Yes. That’s it.” He sighed. “I’ve always had a bit of a reputation in that regard—I’ve been with a lot of women over the years. They usually don’t last long, though. They move on when they get a glimpse of the odd bits in my life. But always one at a time.”

  She gave a sage nod. “So you feel if you see anyone else now, you’re cheating on her—but she won’t make the same commitment to you.”

  “I don’t expect her to make the same commitment to me. That’s what’s so buggered up about the whole thing. It’s just like you said—most men would consider this the ideal situation. So why can’t I get past it?” He made a bitter snort. “Anyway, enough about this. I don’t know why I told you any of it in the first place. You’re my colleague, not my therapist.”

  “A bit more than your colleague at this point.” She paused. “I haven’t thanked you for helping me, Dr. Stone. I genuinely appreciate it. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have gotten this far. I don’t think I was prepared for what I was getting myself into.”

  “Not a problem.” It was a relief to get back to familiar, comfortable ground again. “This is intriguing to me as well. I hope I can help you. If we find any traces at Jimmy Tanuki’s place, with any luck I can use them to track down the people who have the chalice.”

  “Or I can. Let’s hope that between the two of us we can find something we can use.”

  Once the rush-hour congestion thinned and Stone could open the BMW up, they made good time to Oakland. Jimmy Tanuki’s house was in the Oakland Hills, the eastern part of the city marked by more upscale properties. As Garra navigated, Stone drove up a winding, tree-lined road, slowing to peer at addresses on mailboxes. The homes up here were spaced widely, as were the street lights; he hoped that meant no one would notice their presence and call the police.