House of Stone

by R. L. King

  Harsh light sprang up from a naked bulb, illuminating a ten-by-ten-foot space. Stone took a quick look around. Shelves lined three of the walls, sides and back, and each one was stacked with the sorts of supplies you might find in every school: reams of paper, boxes of clips, neat piles of old textbooks, and similar items. A box on one of the bottom shelves held a mishmash of what might have been lost-and-found or confiscated items. The floor was scarred wood, worn smooth by many feet.

  “I don’t see anything strange,” Ian said, bending to pull a deep maroon blazer with a torn sleeve from the lost-and-found box. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “Give me a moment.” Stone shifted once again to magical sight, sharpening his focus. Right now, he wasn’t looking for anything hidden, but simply trying to pick up any odd feelings or emanations that might be bleeding from the room. If a number of schoolboys had noticed something, a fully trained mage should have no trouble picking it up.

  And he did pick it up, almost instantly: a strong sense of wrongness that sent an uncomfortable chill running through his body. A wave of nausea settled over him. “Bloody hell…” he murmured.

  “Got something?”

  “Yes. Do you feel it? Use mundane senses.”

  Ian paused a moment, turning around slowly in the center of the room. “I feel something. Can’t quite put my finger on it, though, except that it’s not good.”

  “Keep your eyes open—magical and mundane. I’m going to take a closer look around, and I don’t want anything to jump us.”

  “Yeah, go ahead. I’ve got this.”

  Stone swallowed hard, trying to drive down the nausea. It wasn’t strong, but it was definitely distracting, making it hard to focus. Whatever was in here wasn’t just garden-variety magic. The more he concentrated, the more he got the sense that it was something that shouldn’t be. What had Brathwaite been up to?

  He closed his eyes, trying to get a better sense for a more specific location where the queasy feeling originated. It took a few moments, but eventually he turned toward the back part of the closet. “I think it’s back here. Anything?”

  “Not yet.” Ian sounded tense.

  Stone began pulling items off the back shelves, shifting them to the sides when he could or stacking them on the floor when he ran out of space. He ran his hands over the wall behind each of the shelves, reluctantly heightening his focus once again.

  When he reached the lowest shelf, crouching to press his palms against the wall, he shuddered.

  The wall felt warm.

  Not just warm, but oddly soft, as if he were pressing not against wood, but rather the smooth hide of some disgusting otherworldly creature. He jerked his hands back.

  “You okay?”

  Stone swallowed again as another wave of nausea crested. “Fine. But I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not sure yet. Keep watch.”

  Stone didn’t want to touch that wall again. Whatever was down there wasn’t simply malevolent, the way the chamber beneath his own house had been. It was more than that—something worse. Now that he’d noticed it, he wondered how anyone could not notice it. No wonder this place had gotten a reputation for being creepy. He was surprised that any boy with even a shred of magical potential hadn’t either run screaming from the closet or lost his lunch all over the floor.

  “Dad?” Ian’s soft voice came from behind him.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t feel so well all of a sudden.”

  Stone turned back around. Ian leaned against the door, and his tanned face had taken on a decidedly green cast. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t either. There’s some serious psychic nastiness around this place. Mental shields help, but mine aren’t taking care of it completely. You can wait outside if you like.”

  “No…it’s okay. But if you could hurry a little, that would be great.” He levitated a small trash can closer to him and swallowed hard again. “Just in case.”

  Stone nodded and bent back to his task, forcing himself to reach out once more and touch the warm, yielding surface of the wall. It had to be an illusion, probably sustained by the ley line running through the building. With only one ley line, though, and this much time having passed since it was cast, it couldn’t be much of an illusion. He should be able to punch through it easily, except for the distraction from the nausea. If only he could…

  “Hang on…”

  “What?” Ian sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth now.

  Stone shifted back to mundane senses. Immediately, most of the nausea abated. The creepy feeling still persisted, but that he could handle. “Shift back. It’s affecting magical senses.” He didn’t look back this time, but instead got down on his stomach and used a bright light spell to peer at the wall beneath the lowest shelf.

  Behind him, Ian let his breath out. “Yeah. That’s better. What’s going on?”

  “Not sure. Something designed to affect mages, obviously. Bloody strong—it would have to be, to still persist after all these years. Why don’t you wait outside, and keep an eye out for anyone who might be approaching? I’ll yell if anything happens.”

  “I don’t like leaving you alone in here.”

  “You won’t do me any good if you’re getting sick all over the floor. Leave the door open if you’re worried. I hope this won’t take too long.”

  Ian still looked reluctant, but opened the door and slipped outside. “It’s better out here.”

  “I thought it might be. Now let me concentrate.”

  Still flat on his stomach, Stone continued shining the light around and feeling the wall. To mundane senses it felt like a normal wooden wall, but the problem was he couldn’t see anything else—no hidden catch or other indication there might be another passage or chamber behind this one. If Eddie was right and it was a priest hole, there had to be a way in, but if Brathwaite’s family had discovered it and repurposed it for something more magical, they’d have hidden the entrance more carefully.

  Reluctantly, Stone shifted back to magical sight, taking a deep breath and holding it against the fresh rising nausea and focusing his concentration to see past the illusion.

  As the feeling he was going to be sick any second grew, he feared he wouldn’t spot it—or that it wasn’t there at all. But then, in the corner of his eye, a tiny imperfection appeared. Without changing his perspective, he shot his hand out toward it before the illusion reasserted itself.

  His triumph as his fingers closed around a small catch mechanism nearly submerged the nausea for a second or two. He flipped the catch and then pushed, feeling the lower part of the rear wall swing a couple inches inward. The shelves remained where they were.

  “Got it,” he called, scrambling up while still keeping his hand on the wall so it didn’t swing back into place. From his new vantage point, he could see that the break in the top part of the moving wall section would have been hidden behind one of the shelves when it was in place, making it impossible to spot.

  Ian hurried back in and closed the door behind him. “Open it. I want to get out of here.”

  Stone didn’t waste any time on slow reveals this time. He pressed against the wall and pushed harder, leaning forward. “Check the shelves. At least one of them has to move—I’m guessing the lowest one.”

  Ian squatted next to him, cleared the items from the lowermost shelf, and tried to lift it. It came free readily. He pulled it out and leaned it against the wall. “I guess we crawl.”

  “Makes sense. If this did used to be a priest hole, they wouldn’t have wanted a large entrance.” He got back on his knees and held a light spell out, peering through. The nausea was rising again; he paused a moment to quell it with a meditation technique, but it was harder each time. “I’ll go first. I’m with you—I want to get out of here too.”

  Conjuring a shield around him in case anything was waiting for him inside, he dropped down and bell
y-crawled through the opening. Once through, he got back to his knees and held the light spell up, examining the area.

  He still didn’t know if the space had originally been a priest hole—it was impossible to tell now—but it definitely wasn’t very large. Barely five feet deep by four wide and five high, it had rough wooden walls and floor and smelled of mold, dust, and a hint of decay. Its rear wall contained several shelves haphazardly stacked with items, and in front of the shelves stood a locked metal strongbox, larger than the one they’d found in the alcove back at the Surrey house. Garish, hand-painted sigils and symbols lined the other two walls.

  “Do you see anything?” Ian called.

  “Yes. Give me a moment.”

  Stone swept his gaze over the shelves. He blinked a couple times as dizzy disorientation joined the nausea. He hated to risk magical sight, but he didn’t have a choice: whatever was in here was obviously profoundly magical, and he needed to get a good read on it.

  “Keep an eye on me,” he muttered. “If I pass out, pull me out of here.”

  “I’ve got you. Be careful.”

  He took several deep breaths, reinforced both his shield and his mental barriers, and then shifted.

  The entire place lit up with a miasma of horrific energy.

  To his left and right, the sigils glowed a faint red, pulsing like the viscera of some massive creature. He glanced up, spotting more of the same sigils on the ceiling, and suddenly he felt as if the entire space were pressing in on him—almost as if the creature were trying to digest him. A sense of profound unease gripped him, and he almost pushed himself backward out of the space before he got control over it.

  He took more deep breaths. His shields were holding so far; he couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed as if opening the hidden space had dissipated some of its energy. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he did know he needed to get out of there soon. Before that, though, he needed to do something to disrupt the space’s power. He couldn’t leave something this malevolent in a school where it could affect innocent mundanes.

  “Dad?”

  Stone swallowed and pulled his bag around in front of him. “I’m all right. It’s too small in here for both of us. Just—keep watch.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Yes. Let me work.”

  Ian fell silent, and Stone continued his examination of the shelves in front of him. There were only two, and each included items that looked as if they’d been returned there hastily. He spotted several dusty candles and holders, a collection of grime-coated jars and bottles, some rolled scrolls, and a few books. Ritual materials, it looked like. This room was too small to do any rituals in, though, and the bare floor supported that hypothesis. Whatever they were, Brathwaite had probably done them in some other part of the house. This was likely just a concealed storage closet.

  Stone scanned the area for obvious magical traps, and relaxed a bit when those he found appeared inert. That made sense—while it might have been possible with the ley line to sustain a tiny illusion for all these years and even for the vile sigils to hold on to some of their power, traps required more active energy. If they weren’t reinforced periodically, they eventually faded.

  He swiped his hand across his face, surprised when it came away damp. It was getting warm in here, and the nausea was growing again. He didn’t have a lot of time for a full examination—he’d have to take the items with him and look at them later.

  He opened his bag and pulled a few of his own ritual materials out, setting them aside. Then he grabbed the stoppered jars along with all of the books and scrolls, and stuffed them inside. “All right out there, Ian?”

  “I still feel like I’m going to be sick any time now. Are you done soon?”

  “Moving as fast as I can.”

  He blinked sweat from his eyes and dug his notebook from his pocket. He wished he’d thought to bring a camera with him, but he hadn’t so there was no point in regretting it now. The sigils probably wouldn’t photograph properly anyway. Instead, he made quick sketches of several of them from both side walls and the ceiling, then stowed the notebook away. “All right,” he called. “I’m going to shove a strongbox out there. Grab it and move it out of the way.”

  He didn’t touch the box, but used levitation to slide it across the floor and through the opening. As he did, he attempted to lift it. It was heavy, but not overly so. Working together, he and Ian could probably get it back to the car without too much trouble. He blinked again, bracing himself against another wave of dizziness. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he thought he might pass out. The energy in the room was draining.

  “Got it? Use magic to move it. You can—”

  “Wait!”

  Stone stiffened. Ian’s voice sounded suddenly urgent. “What is it?”

  “I heard something! Hold on.”

  Stone heard footsteps as Ian crossed the room, and then a moment later: “Somebody’s coming!”

  Damn.

  He couldn’t panic now. They could deal with this, but only if they kept their heads. “Send the strongbox back in here, and come in after it.”

  “Is there room?”

  “I’m coming out.”

  He crawled back out, looking around. The door was closed now. In all likelihood, anyone coming around wouldn’t bother to check inside the storeroom, but they couldn’t take chances. “Go on,” he urged Ian.

  His son cast him a questioning look, but didn’t hesitate. He used magic to shove the strongbox back through the hole, then crawled in after it.

  As soon as he was in, Stone slipped the panel shut and levitated the shelf back into place, then listened at the door. All they’d have to do is wait for the footsteps to recede, and then—

  A key rattled in the lock.

  Bugger!

  Heart pounding, Stone quickly used magic to move the objects on the floor back to the shelves, though they were nowhere near as organized as they had been. Then he pulled up his invisibility spell and levitated to the top of the closet, flattening himself against the ceiling. The nausea persisted; he swallowed hard, hoping he could keep control long enough not to be sick all over some security guard’s head.

  The door began to swing open, and only then did he realize Ian’s jacket still blocked the crack and the light was still on. Concentrating harder than ever—even after all the power he got from Calanar, invisibility was still difficult for him—he wrenched Ian’s jacket across the room and into the lost-and-found box, and flipped the light switch off a mere second before the door opened and a heavyset figure with a flashlight appeared in the space.

  “Anyone in here?” he asked tentatively, shining the light around. When he didn’t see anyone, he flipped the light switch on.

  From his vantage point, Stone could see a balding head, a portly figure dressed in a blue shirt and work jacket, and a hairy hand holding a flashlight. He swallowed again, harder. Get out…get out…

  The guard looked around suspiciously, his gaze falling on the haphazard items on the lower shelf. He clumped over to give them a closer look.

  Go…Stone urged him. His stomach was doing flip-flops at this point, exacerbated by the energy he had to expend to keep the spells going. A drop of sweat dripped from his forehead and landed in the guard’s thinning hair, and Stone froze.

  The guard stopped, absentmindedly reaching up to swipe at his hair, and then looked up.

  Stone gritted his teeth. Even in his current state he could hold the levitation spell for a long time, but the invisibility would drop any moment now. Get out of here…he projected at the man, shaking.

  “Hm,” the guard said to himself. “Weird. But whatever.” He switched the flashlight back on, turned off the overhead light, and exited the storeroom, closing the door behind him. The lock rattled again.

  Stone let his breath out, dropping the invisibility spell mere seconds before it failed. He lowered himself back to the floor and listened once more at the door. Wh
en he didn’t hear anything for a solid minute, he hurried over to release Ian from the priest hole.

  “What the hell—?” his son demanded, scrambling out.

  “No time. We’ve got to get out of here in case he gets suspicious and decides to take another look. Take the box out and let me do what I can to take care of this room.”

  He didn’t do a very good job—he would have liked to take at least an hour to make sure all the magic in the room had been neutralized—but by the time he and Ian carefully crept out of the storeroom with the strongbox levitating between them, he was reasonably certain the feeling of “haunting” the Crofton boys had experienced over the years would be a thing of the past. Some of them might find that disappointing, but it couldn’t be helped.

  29

  Stone wanted to dive right in to examining the items they’d found as soon as they returned to the London house, but he forced himself to wait until the next morning when he could call Eddie and Ward to join them.

  The strongbox continued to give off unpleasant waves, but a quick trip to secure it in Desmond’s warded vault at Caventhorne—the same one that had held the extradimensional ritual object his grandmother and her crew of mad druids had used in their powerful ritual—proved sufficient to block the waves from getting out. That meant the only reason for starting early was to assuage his own curiosity. He decided even that could do with a brief rest, especially since both he and Ian still felt dizzy and out of sorts by the time they returned.

  He retired to bed, but didn’t sleep well, haunted by nightmares featuring the throbbing sigils and the persistent feeling that they had something important to say and he was putting himself and his friends at risk because he couldn’t read them. Finally, he dragged himself up at six a.m. and fixed an industrial-strength cup of coffee. He’d have preferred something stronger, but even he couldn’t justify drinking this early.

  He did justify calling Eddie, though. He stood in one of the sitting rooms, looking out over the gray, overcast day, and waited for his friend to pick up.