by R. L. King
“Still,” she said, reaching out to stroke his jawline. “I heard you say ‘tuxedo.’ Are you going to be wearing a tuxedo?”
Stone could see there was no easy way to get out of this. “Yes. I’m going to be wearing a tuxedo.”
“I’ve never seen you in a tuxedo. I want to.” She grinned. “Between the accent and the tux, you’ll be irresistible. Besides, it’ll give me an excuse to break out the sexy black dress I bought a couple of months ago and haven’t had a chance to wear yet. And even better, for one time since we met I might actually be able to see the front of your hair laying down like a normal person’s.” She reached out and ruffled it, making it worse. “So—am I coming with you to the ball, or are things going to get ugly? And by things, I mean a certain Dr. Stone’s love life?” Her eyes twinkled to take the sting from her words. “Seriously, Alastair, is there any reason we can’t go together?”
“I suppose not,” he said, still reluctant. “Though I won’t have a lot of time for dancing and whatnot. As I said, I’ll actually be working. Keeping an eye on things.”
“In case the ghost or whatever it is decides to disrupt the party?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I’ll watch out for ghosts,” she promised. “And I’m sure I can find somebody to dance with if you’re not around. Tommy Langley, maybe. Now—how about you let me treat you to dinner for a change? You need a break. You can go back to ghostbusting tomorrow. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” he agreed.
He tried to forget about the horror in Adelaide’s basement and focus on enjoying a pleasant evening with Megan. They had dinner at a new restaurant in Saratoga, then went to see a movie that both of them had expressed interest in and hadn’t gotten around to yet. They ended up back at Stone’s place a little after eleven, and shortly after midnight they were both asleep, snuggled close together under the covers.
“…I’m going to kill you…” said a voice in the darkness.
Stone stirred, opened his eyes. He was still where he thought he was, Megan’s cheek warm against his bare chest, his arm draped protectively over her back. He listened for a moment, then shook his head. He must have imagined it. Or maybe it was the wind. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 1:42 a.m.
Megan muttered something and snuggled closer to him, and he settled back.
“…I’m going to kill you, and everyone you ever cared about. As soon as I am free, I will rip their entrails from their bodies…”
His eyes flew open again. He sat up a little, looking around, then shifted to magical sight. Nothing was out of the ordinary on either the mundane or the magical plane. “Who’s there?” he whispered, not wanting to wake Megan.
“…I will flay your skin from your body, and boil your eyeballs until they pop. You will beg for death...”
Stone looked around, trying to identify the source of the voice. At first he saw nothing, but then a faint light caught the corner of his eye. He turned.
There was a crack in the door to his walk-in closet. A thin line of unhealthy-looking greenish light shone from it, creeping out into the room.
And the line was getting thicker.
Stone sat up the rest of the way, carefully moving Megan’s arm. She murmured something, rolled over, and began to snore softly.
The greenish light crept inexorably closer, but that wasn’t the only thing going on in the room. As he watched, horrified, the dresser drawers slid open one by one and glutinous tendrils oozed from them, flailing as they reached toward the floor.
The bed began to shake. For a moment Stone thought they were having another earthquake, but the other furniture wasn’t moving. The bed rocked back and forth, then bucked a few inches forward. Next to him Megan slept on, oblivious. Soft, mocking laughter echoed through the room.
Once again shifting to magical sight, Stone nearly cried out in surprise as the entire room lit up with magically active energy. The ooze coming from the dresser glowed with a reddish aura, and the entire floor under the bed flared a sickly, radioactive green. Something wet and dark trickled down the walls on all four sides, puddling on the floor and creeping toward the bed.
They had to get out of here! He prodded Megan’s shoulder, but she just mumbled something about it not being a school day and shoved him away. “Megan! You have to get up!” he urged.
Something dropped onto his head.
That time he did cry out, reaching up to claw at it with both hands. It was soft and yielding, and everywhere it touched, it left burning trails behind it. “Megan!” he yelled. “Wake up!”
The bedroom door flew open with such force that it slammed into the wall behind it. Stone, kneeling on the bed and still flailing at whatever was on his head, stared in horror.
The creatures from Adelaide’s basement ritual room had found him. They were flowing through the door, shambling one after the other, their wicked sloth claws reaching for him. He tried to gather the energy to throw a spell, but the oozing thing on his head dropped down over his eyes, probing its ropy tendrils into his nose, his mouth, his ears—
He tried to scream and a tentacle plunged down his throat. Another one reached down further and wrapped around his neck, and a third gripped his shoulders, shaking him—
“Alastair! Wake up! Oh, God, please, you have to wake up!”
He snapped awake. For a moment he had no idea where he was, where the creatures had gone or even why he was still alive. The room lights were on. There were no creatures, no ichor, nothing dripping down the walls. He was kneeling in the middle of the bed, drenched in sweat, his arms up as if trying to ward something off.
Megan knelt in front of him, her eyes wild with terror, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Alastair? What are you doing?” she demanded. Her voice pitched high and bright, radiating fear.
For a moment he just stayed there like that, his breathing coming so hard and fast that his ribs shrieked in protest. “Megan—”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re all right. It was just—some kind of bad dream.” Her voice shook; he could hear her trying hard not to sob.
She reached out, trying to pull him into a hug, but the memory of the slimy thing shoving a tentacle down his throat caused his gorge to rise and he knew he was going to be sick. He shoved her away and dashed for the bathroom, barely making it in time. When he finished he just slumped over the bowl, shaking, shoulders heaving, deciding that maybe death might not be such a horrible thing after all, compared to this.
And then Megan was there kneeling next to him, putting a gentle arm around him. “You okay?” she asked softly.
“Don’t—don’t touch me, Megan,” he muttered, miserable. “’M disgusting.” He reached up without raising his head and flopped his hand around until he found the flusher.
“Oh, I’ve seen a lot worse in college,” she assured him, brushing his hair back from where it was plastered to his forehead. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
She got up long enough to get him one, then dropped back down next to him. “Come on, honey, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.” Putting her arm back around him, she tried again to pull him into a comforting embrace.
This time he let her. He took the glass and drank down the water. “Thank you...” he whispered, lowering his head until his face was buried in her shoulder. They sat there on the floor like that for a long time, and Megan held him and stroked his back until he stopped shaking. When he at last looked up at her, a little color had come back into his face.
“What—was that?” she asked, clearly afraid that even asking might set him off again. “A nightmare? I’ve never seen one so bad. I’ve never seen you even have one before.”
He shook his head. “It was—a nightmare, yes. But—I think there was more to it than that.”
“More to it?”
He nodded. “I—had a similar one the other night, at Adelaide’s place. Not as bad, though.” He sighed and dragged himself slowly up to his feet. “Let me take a
shower, Megan. I feel ghastly.”
She looked uncertain. “We’re not in any kind of danger, are we?”
“No.” Not yet. “Go on—get back in bed. No need for you to be cold. I’ll be in shortly.”
It was obvious she didn’t want to go, but she took one last look at him, nodded, and left the bathroom.
Stone stood for a moment gripping the sink, staring at his sunken-eyed, corpse-pale reflection in the mirror. What the hell was that thing doing? How could it reach out to him from such a distance? If it could do that, then it had to be even more powerful than he’d feared.
He met his reflection’s eyes. Standing there at nearly two in the morning, bruised and sweating and tired in both his mind and his body, he wondered how he ever thought he was going to be able to fight this thing.
I don’t really have a choice, though, do I? If I don’t do it, who will?
He pushed off the sink and turned on the shower. He didn’t have an answer for that question. He might be able to call in some other mages—doubtful on such short notice, even with the portals—but so few of them nowadays were equipped to deal with these kinds of threats. There were still a fair number in this country, in England, in Europe, but most of them never pursued the Art this far anymore. It just took too much effort, too much time to really get good at it, and most of them would never even come near the kinds of threats that required Stone’s level of magical ability to combat. Most of them contented themselves with learning a few techniques, enough to make their lives easier, and let it go at that. He’d be sending them to their deaths if he asked them to fight something like this with no preparation. “You’re a dinosaur,” he told his reflection, then got into the shower.
Megan was waiting for him when he came out, towel wrapped around his waist and damp hair sticking up in all directions. “Better?” she asked.
“Much.” He noticed that she must have gone downstairs, because there was the most beautiful bottle of Scotch in the world sitting on the nightstand. “Ah, Megan, you are brilliant.”
“Thought you might like that.” She poured him a glass and handed it over.
He drank it down, reveling in the feeling of the burning liquid as it warmed him all the way down. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said with a satisfied sigh, crawling back into bed and tossing the towel on the floor. He turned to her and gave her a tired smile. “Thank you, Megan. For everything.”
She tousled his hair. “Now you have to take me to that party, you know. You owe me one for tonight. Just because you don’t have long hair to hold doesn’t mean it’s not the same idea.”
He nodded, realizing that it didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t keeping her safe by refusing to take her to the ball. If that thing in Adelaide’s basement got out, she wouldn’t be safe wherever she was. What had it said? “I’ll kill everyone you ever cared about.” Better to keep her close by, where he could keep an eye on her. “I’d be honored. You might even convince me to dance.”
“Let’s not go too far,” she said, reaching over to shut off the light. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Go back to sleep. I promise not to scare you again.”
“See that you don’t,” she murmured, moving over to snuggle close to him. He stroked her hair gently until she dropped off to sleep a few minutes later.
He himself lay awake for the remainder of the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Stone picked up Ethan in San Jose on Thursday afternoon. He only had one final to administer that day, so they got an early start. The boy climbed into the Jaguar’s front seat and tossed his backpack in the back.
“So, ghost hunting again,” he said as Stone drove off.
“Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,” he said. “Mostly information hunting today. But I do want to show you where the spirit is imprisoned, in case I need to send you down there on Saturday. That, and I want to reinforce my defenses again.”
Ethan nodded and settled back, appearing deep in thought. Stone glanced at him a couple of times as he drove, still convinced that something was going on with him that he was keeping secret. He wanted to ask about it, but right now he didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with the inevitable defensiveness it would cause.
He was still curious about where Ethan had learned the trick with the circle, but it wasn’t like it was anything particularly impressive or dangerous. It was a simple technique taught to every student of circle-casting. In fact it was possible—not likely, but possible—that Ethan had just picked it up instinctively on his own. Stone himself hadn’t, but he’d known a couple of mages who had an inherent affinity for circles and were able to do things like that even before being taught. Maybe that was where Ethan’s talent lay. He made a mental note to investigate it further after Saturday, but for now it had to be a lower priority.
They reached Adelaide’s house around 1:30. Again, Stone had to show his ID to the patrolling security guard, and introduced Ethan as his assistant. The guard waved them through, and before long they were sitting in Adelaide’s living room with cups of hot coffee delivered by Iona.
“I know you want to get right to it,” Adelaide said, “But I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you’re doing this for us, Dr. Stone. It means so much to me. This is a horrible thing, but I have every confidence that you’ll be able to take care of it.”
“You have more confidence than I do, Adelaide,” Stone said. “But I’ll do my best to make sure that your party isn’t disturbed by anything supernatural.”
They got away as soon as they politely could, and Stone led Ethan down to the basement. The boy looked around nervously as they went through the room with the towering stacks of furniture. “This stuff looks like it could fall on us any minute.”
Stone nodded. “Yes, and I think has done in the past,” he added, indicating the ruined player piano. “I wish I’d taught you a shield, but there’s no helping it now. Just look sharp and keep your wits about you. I’m hoping that I’ve got that thing locked up tight enough that it won’t be able to pull off any more shenanigans, but never take that for granted.”
He pulled open the secret bookcase door and motioned Ethan inside. For a moment the boy could do nothing but stare. “Wow,” he breathed. “That is some circle.”
“It is indeed. You need a big circle to deal with a big spirit like this. But we don’t have time to stay here and study it—the attic calls. Just take a look at the creature’s prison magically, and watch while I add a few touches to the barriers I’ve put up.”
Ethan did as he was told. After Stone finished, he followed him back out of the room and Stone slid the heavy door shut behind them.
Upstairs, they found Adelaide again: she was in the sitting room with Iona, watching a soap opera. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said from the doorway, “but can you show us how to get into the attic?”
“Of course,” Iona said with a small shudder. “I’m glad it’s you and not me going up there, though. There are all sorts of nasty things. I hate spiders. Please be careful.”
She took them up to the third floor, down a side hall to a nondescript door. “It’s up there,” she said. “You should be able to reach the whole thing—it’s mostly a big open space, with a few smaller areas. I don’t know if the furniture and stuff have shifted around, though. You might have trouble getting through some of it.”
“Do the lights work?” Stone asked, eyeing the bag of gear Ethan was carrying, which included two heavy-duty flashlights and a lamp.
“They should.”
Well, that was something. “All right, then. Let’s go.” He opened the door and mounted the narrow staircase. Ethan followed him.
At the top was another door. Stone shoved it open and stepped into the attic, moving aside to let Ethan in. They stood near a wall; Stone hunted around until he found a light switch and flipped it. To his surprise, several naked bulbs high overhead blazed to life. It wasn’
t much light for such a large space and it created more eerie shadows than illuminated areas, but at least they could see where they were going.
“Hold on to that bag,” Stone ordered. “You’ll need the lights when we separate to search. If the overheads go out, I can make my own light if I need to. That’s another thing I have to teach you soon,” he added as an afterthought, his mind already on the task ahead.
He began walking forward, then stopped. “That’s odd...”
“What?”
Stone pointed at the floor. “There’s a lot of dust up here. But look there—looks like recent footprints. Somebody’s been up here, and not too long ago. Wonder who it was.”
Ethan shrugged. “Maybe one of the workmen?”
“Probably,” Stone agreed. “I doubt Iona would come up here, and in any case those are definitely a man’s prints. Come on—let’s see where they go.”
They followed the footprints, which were quite easy to see in the thick dust. They didn’t go far: they’d only walked for a couple of minutes before the prints veered off to the right and stopped at the end of a jumbled pile of random furniture. A large, wooden-framed mirror stood there next to the crumpled form of the sheet that had obviously covered it until recently.
Stone stopped, examining the mirror. “Not dusty,” he said. “Whoever was up here, it was definitely recent, and it looks like they pulled the cover off this. I wonder why.”
“Dunno,” Ethan said. “Maybe they were looking for stuff to sell, and thought it was something else?”
Stone leaned in for a closer look. “There doesn’t seem to be anything odd about this...” He shifted to magical senses. “Interesting...”
“Interesting?”
He nodded. “There are traces of magical energy around it. Very faint, but they’re there.”
“Are mirrors magical?” Ethan asked.
“Not inherently. I’ve seen a couple of enchanted ones, but this one doesn’t seem to be enchanted...just seems like something magical might have occurred near it recently.” He looked down at the footprints again, then shook his head. “Another mystery I’d like to get to the bottom of, but it’ll have to wait until later. We need to get on with this.”