by R. L. King
“No, you’re fine.” Quickly, Stone opened the boxes and made a show of setting up his “detection gear” as quickly as he could. He plugged it in and switched on the various pieces, pleased to see that they were performing as he expected them to.
Langley looked up with interest, examining the flashing lights and meters. “That stuff is going to help you find the evil boogeyman?” he asked in the same sort of tone he’d use to converse with a four-year-old about Santa Claus.
“Hope so.” Stone continued to focus on watching the meters until he heard Langley pick up his book and settle back in his chair. Then he closed his eyes and cleared his mind, reaching out with his senses.
Even without the extra effort he could feel it in here; stronger than outside, but not as strong as before. He was almost certain this wasn’t where it lived, though. It was in the house somewhere, or perhaps on the grounds nearby, its power emanating outward. But what was it? Why was it trying to hide from him? If he was going to find it, he’d have to—
From far off came a distant popping sound, followed by a scream.
Immediately, Stone snapped his senses back and whirled. “What was that?”
“Downstairs!” Langley was already pulling himself out of the chair. Before he’d made it up, though, Stone was out of the room and moving fast, taking the stairs downward two at a time at breakneck speed.
He skidded to a stop when he reached the ground floor. “Adelaide?” he yelled. “Iona? Are you all right?”
“In here!” Iona called from the direction of the TV room. Langley had reached the top of the second-floor stairs now, huffing badly.
Stone didn’t wait for him. He ran into the room and stopped, taking in the scene.
Adelaide sat on a chair near the doorway, shaking, her face in her hands. Iona hovered over her, her head swiveling back and forth between the doorway and the television set.
The television tube had exploded. Shards of glass and metal covered the rug, the coffee table, and glimmered on the couch where Adelaide and Iona had been sitting. “What—” Stone began.
Langley came barreling up behind him. “What happened?” he demanded. Then he got a look over Stone’s shoulder. “Holy shit! Aunt Adelaide!” He shoved past Stone in the doorway and crunched his way over to his aunt.
“It—we were just sitting here watching it. Iona was just helping me to the bathroom, and as we were leaving the room it—exploded,” Adelaide said, her voice shaking.
“It was horrible,” Iona agreed. Tears streamed down her face. “Thank God we’d gotten up when we did, or—”
“Are you hurt?” Stone asked. He moved over to the television set, which was still sparking, and surreptitiously used magic to pull the plug from the wall. He didn’t see any blood on either of the two women.
“No—we were far enough away that none of the glass hit us. But look at the floor!”
Langley looked frazzled. “Oh, man,” he breathed. “If you had been sitting here in front of this—that’s it, Aunt Adelaide. You’re getting a modern TV, and that’s all there is to it. You could have been killed!” He took her arm and helped her up. “Come on—let’s go sit in the other room. You shouldn’t be tracking this glass and stuff around.”
Adelaide allowed Langley to lead her out of the room, with Iona trailing behind them. “Coming?” he asked over his shoulder to Stone.
“In a minute,” Stone replied, distracted. When the three of them had gone, he squatted down and took a closer look at the destroyed television, once again reaching out with his magical senses. He had a suspicion: the explosion had occurred just as he had begun ranging out to try to pinpoint the location of the entity in the house. The entity that didn’t want to be found. That was too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.
It didn’t take long. “There you are, you bastard,” he murmured in triumph. It couldn’t completely hide its traces from someone with his power, and now there was no doubt in his mind: the entity, whatever it was, knew he was here and didn’t want him to find it. And it was willing to put people in danger to prevent that.
He sighed, rising up from his crouch. This was going to make things even more difficult. Before tonight, he’d suspected it was here and didn’t know it was dangerous. Now he knew it was both here and willing to hurt the residents of the house. Preoccupied, he headed back out to where the others had gathered in the sitting room.
“—should probably have an electrician over to look at the wiring,” Langley was saying. “But I’m guessing that ancient TV you’ve had practically since I was a kid finally gave up the ghost and blew.”
“Probably,” Adelaide conceded. She looked less shaken now, though Iona was still trembling. The old lady looked up as Stone came in. “Are you all right, Dr. Stone? You look...odd.”
Langley shot him a warning look from behind his aunt, and he nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I think we should clear out and leave you two alone,” Langley said. “Promise me you won’t go back in that room until you’ve had somebody in there to clean up the mess and haul the TV away, all right?”
Iona nodded. “Don’t worry, we won’t. I’ll have Maurice and Cory come clean it up tomorrow. They’re the handyman and one of the landscapers,” she added to Stone.
Langley, apparently assured that his aunt and Iona had recovered from their shocks, shepherded Stone upstairs to gather his gear. Stone followed willingly, but slowly. “What’s up?” Langley asked him. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
Stone shook his head. “Nothing. I’m—fine.” His mind was moving fast, trying to figure out a way that he could get himself invited back to the house without either pissing Langley off for breaking his promise or unnecessarily frightening Adelaide. It was getting more imperative now since the entity, whatever it was, had shown that it was willing to do more than just sit back and bide its time.
But, he rationalized while disconnecting the meters and stowed them back in the boxes, maybe I’m the reason it did what it did. It was afraid I was going to find it so it did something to cause a distraction. If I weren’t here—
He slung the strap of the leather satchel over his shoulder. He knew it didn’t work that way. If there was something here and it was trying to make contact, it wasn’t going to give up. Even if it was willing to wait for now, eventually it would get impatient. If it was gathering power, it would soon grow potent enough that it could do more than frighten mildly sensitive old ladies. He couldn’t let that happen, but for now he was fresh out of acceptable ideas.
Back in the car, after they’d bade the ladies good night and put the boxes in the trunk, Langley glanced over at him. “That was damned weird,” he said. “I’ve never even heard of a TV blowing like that. Not even one that old.”
“Did you ever think perhaps it wasn’t the TV?” Stone asked carefully, eyes on the road.
“What do you mean by that? Of course it was the TV. You saw the mess all over the—wait a minute...” He shifted in his seat to glare at Stone. “Are you trying to tell me you think this had something to do with all that bullshit you were doing upstairs?”
Stone shrugged. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that the possibility exists. I was—getting some good readings when your aunt screamed down there.”
Langley let his breath out in a long loud blast. When he spoke again, his voice held a dangerous edge. “Alastair—you promised. You are done with this. There are no spooks in Aunt Adelaide’s house, and I’m not going to let you keep scaring her because you’ve got some wild idea that there are. You got it?”
“Yeah,” he said, unwilling to fight about it right now. “I’ve got it.”
They made the rest of the trip down the hill to Los Gatos in uncomfortable, stony silence.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ethan shoved the cart up and down the supermarket aisles, his head down and his feet shuffling. Occasionally he’d pause, consult his scrawled list, and toss some item into its basket. He’d been doing
this for the last half hour, and had only worked his way through half the list.
Part of this was because his mind wasn’t even close to being here. His body moved by rote but his thoughts whirled, chewing with relentless tenacity over the same topics. He wished he could just make them shut up for a while.
Nothing was going right. It had been a week and a half since they’d taken his mother to the hospital and she was still there. He visited her every day, spending hours sitting next to her bed, making small talk when she was lucid, trying to reassure her that everything would be fine and she’d be back home soon. Even though he couldn’t bring himself to believe it anymore.
When the hospital people or his mother finally kicked him out and ordered him to go home and get some rest, he’d just collapse in front of the television set, turn on something mindless, and spend his evenings in a half-stupor without the motivation to get up and do anything. Every time he thought it might be a good idea to do something other than sit on the couch, his brain steadfastly refused to cooperate. His life had become a groove worn between the apartment and the hospital.
He’d thought about calling Stone a couple times, but decided not to. Stone was a strange guy—Ethan couldn’t decide whether the mage gave a damn about him as a person or not, or whether he was even supposed to. Ethan was his apprentice; that just meant that Stone was responsible for his magical training. He hadn’t signed on to be some kind of father figure or somebody Ethan could dump his load of emotional baggage on. Alastair Stone didn’t seem to have a lot of patience with emotional baggage. For that matter, Ethan couldn’t really picture him as anyone’s father.
Stone had actually called twice, but Ethan let the calls go to the answering machine and deliberately waited until he knew the mage would be at Stanford before returning them, so he could leave a vague “I’m fine, I’ll let you know when Mom’s doing better” message and not have to talk to him. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t want to talk to Stone, but he didn’t. Brains were funny like that—sometimes you just knew you were doing something that didn’t make sense, but you did it anyway.
He had spent quite a bit of time practicing the levitation spell. In fact, aside from visiting his mother and vegging in front of the TV, the spell was the only thing that motivated him. He had not yet gotten over the fact that he, Ethan Penrose, childhood beloved of bullies everywhere, was now capable of making coins and pencils hover in the air with the power of his mind.
It wasn’t just coins and pencils, either. He had started out following Stone’s directive, lining up bits of change, paper clips, pens and pencils, and other light items on the coffee table in the living room. He practiced visualizing the pattern as Stone had taught him, imposing it on the world in the area occupied by the item, and lifting it up. When he’d gotten to where he could do that, he practiced moving it around until he could make it zip around the room and settle back down in front of him.
He couldn’t believe how tiring it was, though. Whenever he finished a session of practice he felt like he’d just spent two hours pumping iron at the gym. Or, more correctly, how he imagined someone must feel after doing that. Ethan had nothing but contempt for the kinds of people who spent their time at gyms lifting weights. He wondered how Stone was able to do the spell so effortlessly—was it just practice? Experience? It did seem to get a little less exhausting as he went on, but not much.
Midway through the previous week, his impatience had gotten the better of him and he’d started trying larger objects: first one of his mom’s pill bottles, then a paperback book, and finally the smallest of the collection of magical tomes Stone had lent him. He’d quickly discovered that the heavier the object was, the more energy he had to expend to make it do his bidding. His first attempt at lifting the magic book had left him bathed in sweat, nauseated, wilted into the couch cushions like he was trying to become part of them. Was this ever going to be easy?
And Stone had said that if he had to, he could lift a small car? Either he was lying, or he was a hell of a lot more powerful mage than he was owning up to. Ethan wasn’t sure which, and he wasn’t sure whether the thought of his being that powerful pleased him (because having a powerful teacher was a good thing) or frightened him (because the consequences for any screw-ups could be dire indeed). In any case, Stone did seem to be holding up his end of the bargain: Ethan was now capable of performing magic, albeit in a very limited manner. He wanted more, though, and he didn’t think Stone would have too much patience with that attitude. He wondered if all apprentices were like him: impatient, dazzled by the potential of what they’d be able to do someday, and chafing at having to wait months, possibly years, before they’d be able to even start thinking of themselves as real mages.
Ah, well. It wasn’t like he had a choice. He could read the books Stone gave him and try to learn what they taught, but he didn’t exactly know where to go to buy more magic books, and he doubted that there were any other mages in the phone book he could call for some supplemental training. He was at the mercy of Stone’s schedule, and that was all there was to it. But until his mother was stable and able to come home, it wouldn’t do him any good to get back into the habit of studying regularly with Stone. That was just a reality he’d have to accept. Maybe it was the universe’s way of teaching him patience.
He’d finally broken away from his grueling schedule of visiting the hospital, sleeping in front of the TV, and levitating objects around the room when he’d hauled himself up to get something to eat and found the cupboards and fridge nearly bare. When Mom had been home Mrs. Hooper had taken care of most of the shopping, with Ethan being sent out to pick up occasional one-off items, but now that Mom was in the hospital, there was no need for the caregiver to be here. That left things up to him. Fortunately Mom had left a credit card that he could use for groceries and household emergencies, so he’d taken a fast shower, thrown on some clean clothes, and set off for the supermarket. And that was why he was walking around in a half-stupor, trying to track down the items on his list and get back home in case the hospital called.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
Ethan was startled out of his fog by a sharp female voice. He looked up quickly: a woman a few years older than he was had ducked down and was in the process of picking up several cans that had scattered when he’d apparently hit her with his cart.
“I’m sorry!” he said quickly, moving to help her gather her stuff. “Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking at all. I—”
She balanced three of the cans on top of each other and rose, flashing him a grin. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, reaching out to take the two that he’d picked up. “Should have gotten a basket.” She was tall and slim, dressed in tight, artfully ripped jeans and a T-shirt from a band Ethan had never heard of. Her dark-red hair was cut short, her makeup in an understated punk style.
Ethan sighed. “I really am sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “Seriously, no big deal.” She looked him up and down with appraising eyes. “Have I seen you around here before? You look familiar.”
“Uh—” For a moment, he literally couldn’t think of anything to say. It was like the gear that connected his brain to his mouth slipped, and his thoughts were spinning their wheels. “Maybe,” he finally said, mentally kicking himself. Smooth. Real smooth. She had a series of intricate tattoos on her forearms, and her fingernails were painted a deep blood red.
“I don’t bite,” she said, laughing. “I promise. Not unless you want me to, anyway.”
He laughed a little, hoping he didn’t sound forced. She was very attractive.
“You know, I’m sure I’ve seen you around here before,” she said. “I’m good with faces. My name’s Trina, by the way.”
“I’m—uh—Ethan.” How can you forget your own name? “Ethan Penrose. I guess you might have seen me. I don’t live too far from here.”
“Ethan Penrose. Why does that name sound familiar?” She considered for a
moment, then shook her head. “I can’t remember. I’d swear I’ve heard it before.” She shuffled the five cans in her hands when one started to slide off.
“Hey,” Ethan said quickly, recovering his manners and indicating his cart. “Why don’t you put that stuff in here for a minute and I’ll go get you a basket? That’s the least I could do after I tried to murder you with my cart.”
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
He returned after a moment, doing his best not to run. “You know what?” she asked as she retrieved her items from the cart and stacked them in the basket. “I notice you don’t have anything frozen in there. There’s a Peet’s a couple of doors down from here. Want to go get a cup of coffee or something? I’m still convinced I recognize your name from somewhere, and I want a little more time to try to figure it out.” She punctuated her words with a smile that made something deep inside of him feel very pleased with itself.
He tried not to stare. This woman—this attractive, sexy, older woman who clearly had no idea the effect she was having on him—actually wanted to have coffee with him? She didn’t want to get away from his geeky, awkward self as fast as she could? “Uh—sure. Yeah. That’d be cool,” he said before she could change her mind and realize who she was talking to. “I’m almost done here. I’ll just finish up, and—”
“Sure thing,” she said, smiling wider. “Tell you what—I’ll just go pay for my stuff and stash it in my car, then go over there and wait for you.” She reached out with one red-nailed hand and touched his arm briefly. “See you soon, Ethan Penrose.”
He waited for her to disappear around the end of an aisle before he let all the air out of his lungs in a rush, gripping the cart’s handle for support. He had no idea what that had been, but he wasn’t going to argue with it. It had taken him half an hour to finish the first half of the list—he did the second half in five minutes. Hurrying to the checkout line he let his thoughts spin off freely, weaving all sorts of scenarios. Some of them even seemed plausible.