by R. L. King
Jason did as he was told. “Did it—find her? It sounds like it did.”
“It told me where she is now,” Stone said, gathering the candles and chalice and stuffing them into a bag. “I’ll clean this stuff up later—we need to get going.” He put the knife back in the sheath and put that in the satchel along with the bookstand, then carefully picked up the book, closed it, and slipped it into the briefcase. “Can’t do anything about the sand—it’ll take too long to clean up. Just scatter it around. With any luck, we can get back here with a broom before Madame Huan’s friend returns from his trip.”
“Where’s V?” Jason kicked the sand around until it no longer resembled a semicircle, then hustled the table back over where they’d found it while Stone finished arranging the rest of the gear in the bags.
“San Jose, in an area near downtown. There’s some kind of encampment near the Guadalupe River—more than one, I think. But the spirit’s given me enough information that I can find her. Come on—let’s go. It won’t take that long to get there from here, but the way things have been going, I want to be as fast as possible in case something spooks her and she moves again. Especially since we won’t be able to drive the whole way.”
Jason waited until Stone had shut off the lights, locked up, and stashed all the gear in the trunk before speaking again. “Encampment? You mean homeless encampment?”
“Probably.” Stone started the car and headed out through the gate and back down the winding road as fast as he dared.
Jason shivered. He knew about homeless encampments—they didn’t have as many back in Ventura County, but one of his outings when he’d still been a police cadet had been helping to roust the vagrants out of places they weren’t supposed to be. It was a dirty business—even when the homeless themselves didn’t cause any trouble, the lack of sanitation facilities made the larger camps into smelly cesspools full of flies and scavengers. “You think she’s hooked up with one of these groups of magic bums?”
“I’d be surprised if she hadn’t,” Stone said. “It makes sense—the woman we know she was with seems to be affiliated with them, and from what you’ve told me, she doesn’t have the street savvy to survive on her own. If she’s still alive, she must have joined up with someone—or multiple someones, more likely—for protection.”
Jason leaned forward, willing the car to go faster. He knew it wasn’t safe for Stone to push the old Ford any harder, but that didn’t stop every nerve in his body from being on edge. They were close now—they had to be!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They were back to the freeway. Jason checked his watch: it was almost eight o’clock. At least it wasn’t raining, and there was enough of a moon out that they’d have some visibility.
Stone drove for a few miles, then took another exit. A left turn and a few more blocks took them into the heart of downtown San Jose. Jason noticed clusters of homeless again, squatting under overpasses and in abandoned parking lots. They eyed the car as it went by, and when it stopped for lights a couple of them approached carrying signs. Stone ignored them and drove on when the light changed. Jason looked everywhere at once, always on the watch for potential danger. “Pretty quiet down here, really.”
“San Jose is fairly dead at night, from what I hear,” Stone told him. “Unless something’s going on at the Arena, which there doesn’t appear to be tonight.” He pointed up ahead. “There’s the Guadalupe River Bridge.”
“She’s down there?” Jason peered out the passenger window as they drove over it, as if he might be able to see Verity standing there waving at him.
“Close by.” Stone took the next right and drove down another quarter-mile or so, then pulled off and parked. He looked grim. “I hate to leave this stuff in the car, but I think it’s safer than taking it with us. I’ll do what I can to mask it.”
“Hurry up,” Jason said, impatient. He was already out of the car, and it was all he could do not to just take off running, calling his sister’s name.
“No offense,” Stone said, moving around to the trunk. “But I’m going to make sure no one gets hold of this book. Just keep yourself together for another minute or two and we’ll be off.”
Jason grumbled but didn’t argue. He spent the two minutes prowling around near the car, keeping watch for anyone approaching them.
“There,” Stone said at last, coming up alongside him. “Let’s go.”
Stone had parked the car near a large, open area that Jason could see was a park as they got closer. He could identify a volleyball court, a couple barbecue pits, and several picnic tables in their vicinity, and the park itself seemed to stretch out a fair distance on both sides. “They’re in here?” he asked quietly.
Stone shook his head and pointed ahead of them. “The river’s up there, and the encampment is near it. As I said, there are quite a few of them—under overpasses, under the branches of large trees, hidden in bushes—they’re all along the river. The police don’t bother them much because they don’t have the manpower, and as soon as they break up one camp, another one forms. I see stories about them in the newspapers sometimes.”
Jason was looking around as they moved forward. “This whole place is pretty creepy in the dark.”
Stone nodded. “Keep your wits about you. Do you have any sort of weapon?”
Jason pulled his knife out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Never did find a gun.” He wished now that he’d tried harder.
They were moving out of the park area now, down into thicker underbrush. Jason could see evidence of human habitation: discarded food wrappers, a mangled old shoe, some newspapers, a shredded sleeping bag. He was reminded of the story he’d read what seemed like an eternity ago, about the group of homeless who’d been discovered murdered around the remains of their campfire, and wondered if it was near here. He couldn’t recall if the article had contained any details. He glanced over at Stone; the mage was still looking grim. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Fine,” Stone replied. “Just—this sort of terrain isn’t exactly my forte.”
Jason grinned. “Guess they didn’t have Boy Scouts in England, eh?”
Stone didn’t answer. They continued to move forward; the ground sloped down now, and Jason could see trees and bushes stretching out ahead of them on either side, hiding the river mostly from view. Stone touched his arm and pointed to the left, then started moving in that direction.
They walked in silence for another five minutes or so, Jason getting more and more impatient. Every once in a while, they could hear or see indications that they weren’t alone: the far-off glow of a campfire, the sudden sound of a laugh or a raised voice, a snatch of music from somebody’s portable radio—but they all sounded far away. “Are we getting close?”
Stone nodded. “Yes. This looks like the area the spirit showed me. Spirits are notoriously bad about giving directions—they don’t understand North or South or ‘three hundred yards past the rock shaped like a bird’s head.’ They’re more about impressions. I’ve been looking around trying to match the vision it gave me with the landscape, and this looks about right. Come on—let’s go down closer to the trees.”
Jason followed him. “Did the spirit show you the camp? Is it under an overpass, or under a tree, or what?”
“Hard to say. It couldn’t really show me the camp itself. It tried, but the vision was—fuzzy. I can’t explain it better than that. It might just have been the spirit exerting its will any way it could. As you might have noticed, it wasn’t exactly ecstatic to be doing my bidding.”
“But it couldn’t have—I dunno—shown you the wrong place, right?” Suddenly Jason was even more nervous than he had been before. He wished his mind would shut up and stop giving him ideas like that.
“I don’t think so,” Stone assured him. “If I had it under control, it had to follow my orders. If I hadn’t had it under control, you saw what would have happened. I think the best it could do is try to circumvent my wishes as much as it could.”
Jason nodded, hoping the mage knew what he was talking about. They were approaching the trees now, only about twenty yards away. He squinted into the dimness, looking for movement and wishing there was more illumination than what the moon and the few functional lights in the park were providing. “See anything?” he whispered.
“Not yet.” He crept forward, moving more slowly now and trying to keep as quiet as he could, and Jason followed him. As they reached the trees and stepped under their canopy, the dim light was cut in half, leaving them with visibility of only a few feet. “If I’m interpreting the spirit’s instructions correctly, they should be somewhere close on the other side of these trees.”
Jason stayed level with him, his gaze never holding still. He spotted the symbol first, and grabbed Stone’s arm.
The mage jumped a little. “What?” he asked irritably.
“Look.” Jason pointed. On the large trunk of a nearby tree was the triangle-and-rays symbol, sprayed there in white paint.
Stone nodded, satisfied. “Then we are in the right place. Good. We—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Suddenly there was laughter—high, maniacal laughter—and it was all around them. Leather-jacketed figures stepped out from behind three of the trees, including the one with the symbol on it.
“Hey, assholes!” one yelled. “ Right on time!” The others laughed even louder, as if that were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
Jason spun around. More figures were moving from behind other trees. All of them held knives, chains, or other close-fighting weapons. “Shit!” he whispered under his breath to Stone. “DMW—we’re surrounded!”
“Stay calm,” Stone muttered. He didn’t look calm, though. He looked tense. He remained facing forward while Jason, his back to him, watched the rear.
So far the gangers weren’t moving, content to form a ring around their prey. The one who’d spoken before laughed again. “We thought you might be here. The boss told us about you, that you might be comin’. Big mistake. And now you’re gonna die. Any last words?”
“The boss?” Stone asked, sounding a lot more confident than Jason knew he was. “And who would that be? Who’s telling you lot what to do?”
Another ganger snorted in contempt. The leader moved a little closer to Stone. “None o’ yer business. But we know everything. We know you’re a magic man, and we know you should keep closer track of your little friends so they don’t talk to the wrong people.” He laughed again. “’Cause, see, I think he liked us better’n he liked you.”
“What’s he mean by that?” Jason whispered, barely moving his lips.
Stone didn’t answer. Instead, he whispered, “Get ready. I’m going to try to take out the leader. If he drops, try to break through the line where he’s standing.”
“Hey!” the lead ganger yelled. “No talking. You’re here to die, not to chat. And we’re gonna make it nice and slow, so we can enjoy it. How d’you like that?” He took a step forward, as did the other gangers.
Jason, back to back with Stone, could feel the mage tense. He turned his head in time to see Stone raise his arms and snap out a command. Bright light formed around his hands, then flew out and hit the lead ganger and the one next to him. They screamed and staggered backward; the second ganger fell, and the leader dropped to his knees.
“Get ’em!” the ganger screamed as behind Jason, Stone stumbled, reeling.
Jason didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Stone’s arm, he vaulted forward into the space vacated by the fallen ganger. If they could get out of the circle so they weren’t surrounded anymore, they might have a chance. He slashed at the lead ganger’s arm as he went by and was rewarded by an angry grunt of pain. “Are we shielded at all?” he muttered in Stone’s ear.
“Barely. Be careful.”
The gangers approached now, trying to circle back around behind them. “Take ’em!” the leader yelled, clutching his arm and trying to struggle back to his feet. “Boss says they can’t get to the bitch! Just fuckin’ kill ’em!”
Jason clutched his knife, dropping into a defensive stance as two gangers surged forward. He could feel Stone tense again, preparing another spell. The mage was still on his feet, but Jason didn’t think he’d be able to get off too much more magic before he was exhausted. He lunged at the ganger on the right, getting in under his wild swing and stabbing through his leather jacket. Dark red blood sprayed out and the ganger roared in pain.
Meanwhile, Stone went after the other one. He ducked sideways and grabbed the kid’s arm. Again his hands flared, and a glowing nimbus formed around the ganger’s entire upper body. He shrieked and dropped, but Stone’s shield flickered alarmingly.
Stone was so busy dealing with the ganger in his face that he didn’t notice one of the others in the shadows. Before he could react—before Jason even saw what was happening—a knife flew across the clearing, slipped past the flickering shield, and buried itself in Stone’s side. The mage, arm to arm with Jason, suddenly sagged, his face going dead white and his hands clutching at the hilt. He dropped to his knees, then fell over and curled up, writhing.
“Al!” Jason didn’t know what to do next. Several of the gangers were still functional, and Stone was out of action now. He stood, legs spread wide, crouched low, trying to look in every direction at once, but he didn’t see a way out of this one. There wouldn’t be any eleventh-hour rescue this time: his rescuer was lying at his feet bleeding, possibly dying.
Oh, man, V—I’m sorry. I tried. He crouched lower and waited, planning to at least take out a couple of them before they took him down.
Then, suddenly, it seemed like the clearing was full of more people than it had been before. More? I can’t even handle these—
A ganger leaped forward, swinging a chain at Jason’s head. Before Jason could jump back, a voice—a female voice—yelled “Get—out!”
The ganger did something very strange then. He clutched his head and staggered back, dropping the chain. As Jason watched, something—some sort of shimmering, barely visible ball of energy—flew up out of the ganger’s head. It paused for a moment, then darted toward Jason. Jason yelled something inarticulate and held up his hands to block it, but it stopped before it reached him. For a second it hovered there, looking as confused as it was possible for a shimmering ball of energy to look. And then it dissipated, flying into pieces and then vanishing.
Jason was so confused by what happened that he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him. But something was happening. All around him, the remaining gangers were turning tail and running. They didn’t even stop to grab their injured colleagues—they simply took off, screaming. Jason could see other figures moving around the area now, figures in shapeless clothes—bums? How could it—
Something hit him hard on the back of the head and he pitched forward and didn’t see anything else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When Jason awoke, he was lying on something soft that smelled like six weeks’ worth of BO.
“Uh?” he grunted, opening his eyes. His head felt woozy, but it didn’t hurt. He remembered getting hit pretty hard—what had happened? And then the memories rushed back, all at once. Shoving himself up to a sitting position, he looked around quickly. “Al?”
“Shh,” said a voice behind him. He turned to find himself facing a young woman sitting cross-legged by a crackling fire next to the sleeping bag he’d been lying on. A slender, pale young woman with dark brown hair cut boy-short, a battered, black leather biker jacket, and big, dark eyes.
Jason’s mouth dropped open, and he didn’t even bother to close it. Instead he spun around so he could face her fully. “Verity?”
She smiled wickedly; it lit up her whole face, making her look like a goth pixie. “Hi, big brother. Long time no see.”
He stared at her. He hadn’t seen her in years, but even back then he had never seen her look this—good. Even with her face smudged with dirt and the lingering odor that told him she hadn’t
bathed or done laundry in quite some time, her face looked alive, engaged—okay, let’s just come out and say it—she didn’t look crazy. For a minute, all he could do was look at her, drinking in the sight of her, not daring to believe that after all this time he’d finally caught up with her. When he did finally speak, all he could manage was: “Where—have you—been?”
Again, she smiled, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything. I knew you were looking for me, but I didn’t know how to get hold of you.”
“How did you—?” he started to ask, but then another thought shoved the question out of the way. “Al! Where’s Al? Is he—?” He scrambled to his feet, looking around.
He stood in the middle of what looked like a hobo camp, with a couple fires, some ragged-looking tents, and sleeping bags spread out on the ground. Several figures, covered in tattered, shapeless coats and hats, also huddled around the fires. A shopping cart full of various bags was parked to the side, and somewhere a dog barked. Jason didn’t see anybody who looked like Stone, though. “You didn’t leave him—?”
“Your friend?” Verity got up to join him. At his nod, she pointed at one of the tents. “He’s in there. He was in a bad way—Lamar’s working on him, though. He should be okay.”
Jason’s blood froze. That ganger had buried his knife—his no doubt far from sanitary knife—in Stone’s side, and some bum was working on him inside a dirty tent in a camp that smelled, quite literally, like shit? Verity momentarily forgotten, he hurried across past the fire and flung open the tent flap.
Inside, by the light of the ancient lantern flickering in the corner, Jason took in the scene: A large, middle-aged white woman in a garishly-colored sweater and a slim black man with close-cropped gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses were crouched down on the tent’s floor, leaning over the unconscious figure of Stone. The mage was dead pale; they had removed his overcoat and shirt, and Jason could see they’d pressed some kind of compress onto his side. Blood was already seeping through it.