by R. L. King
“He’d have to be careful,” Marilee said. “Forgotten look out for each other. If too many of us started to disappear, especially after attending one of his events, the groups would get suspicious.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes with her tissue. “But with him gone now—”
Jason sighed. “I don’t think it’ll stop it completely. The DMW are still out there, though I guess fewer of them now, and without their leaders, they might go back to being disorganized again.” He shrugged and looked at Stone questioningly.
“You’re still not safe,” Stone said, his normally animated tones still sounding dulled. “But I think for a while you’re safer. Until another of those things shows up to fill the vacuum. But who knows how long that will take? Who knows if there even is another one? There are so many things about them that we don’t know.” He’d already explained to Jason and Verity earlier that he had put the cube in a safe location where he could keep an eye on it to see how long it took the spirit inside to die, but there was no need to go into that kind of detail here.
The waiters arrived again shortly to begin bringing the main course, and for a while everyone was silent again as they ate. The Forgotten, faced with the best meal many of them had ever eaten, polished off the food with gusto. Jason, Verity, and Stone, still haunted by the images from the previous night, merely picked, though both Stone and Jason ordered second drinks.
When things began to wind down, and the waiters returned to pick up the plates, Jason leaned over to Stone. “Can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?”
Stone nodded, getting up. The banquet room had a small balcony for guests who smoked; he led Jason out there and stood staring out over the back parking lot, waiting.
Jason took a deep breath. “Are you okay, Al?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been acting…weird since last night.”
Stone raised an eyebrow at him. “Haven’t we all?”
“Al—”
Stone sighed, staring down at his hands. “I’ve been thinking about what happened.”
“What—”
“About how I got that door open.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I know you didn’t want to do it, but if you didn’t, we’d all be dead. It was worth it.”
Now Stone turned to face him. He had that burning, intense thing going on with his eyes again. “Don’t you see, Jason? That’s the thing. You’re fine.”
“You’re being cryptic again. Spit it out. What’s going on?”
“I could have killed you. But I didn’t. And it wasn’t because I had the control. I didn’t have it. Something…protected you. Jason,” he said, reaching out to grip his shoulders. “If what I think is true, it’s—amazing. Unprecedented.”
“What?” Jason tried and failed to keep the frustration from his voice.
“Don’t you see? If this wasn’t a fluke, some sort of anomaly—it means that it’s possible for you to power magic without suffering psychic drain. And that—” He shook his head. “That is—astonishing. There’s no other word for it.”
Jason stared at him. “No way,” he said. “Can’t be.” Something came back to him from last night. “Wait a sec—I know it can’t be. I think that’s what that Evil mage guy tried to do to me. Remember he went for me right before I shoved him through that portal? He tried something, but it didn’t work. He looked freaked out, like he was amazed it didn’t work. That’s how I caught him off guard.”
Stone’s intense gaze was fixed on him. “That’s what happened? I was a bit out of things at the time. You—he tried to—”
Jason nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I can’t think what else he was trying to do. He—” he stopped, because Stone’s expression had just gone strange. “Al?”
“Jason—could I try just a small experiment? It might hurt a bit, but if I’m right about this, it won’t.”
“Uh—sure?”
Stone took a deep breath. He reached out and gripped Jason’s arm, focusing his gaze on one of the potted plants that stood guard on either side of the balcony. “Work with me here,” he murmured. “If you sense anything, don’t fight it.” He stared at the plant for a moment, and after a few seconds it exploded with a soft little whoosh and disappeared. He spun to face Jason. “How do you feel?” he demanded, urgency in his tone.
“Um…I feel fine. Why?”
Stone nearly sagged, having to grasp the balcony rail for balance. Jason grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? Did casting the spell—”
“No!” Stone was breathing hard, his eyes alight with some sort of mad energy. “Jason!” Again, he gripped Jason’s shoulders, shaking him with intensity. “It worked!”
“What worked?” But then it clicked. His own gaze locked on Stone’s. “You mean—I can be a spell energy battery, and it won’t hurt me?”
Stone took a moment to get himself together before answering. “I think so, Jason. And—I think you have to want it! Which means that nobody can do it to you against your will!” Excitement rose in his voice. “It must be your mother. You’re not a mage—you can’t be—but she must have given you this.”
“And it didn’t—hurt your soul to do it?” Jason demanded, fighting his way past how absurd that sentence sounded when exposed to the air.
Stone shook his head. “I—I don’t think so. That was powerful magic last night. More powerful than anything I’ve ever done without a ritual. And—I feel fine. I feel right.” He took more deep breaths. “Jason—I don’t know if you want to continue with this. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to just leave this whole area behind you and forget you ever saw any of this. You can, if you want to. But if you don’t want to—if you want to stay here and help me—we could be quite a team. The Evil are still here. We’ve not gotten rid of them yet. To do that, we need to find out where they came from. And that’s what I’m planning to do.”
Jason stared at him, stunned. Truth be told, he hadn’t given any thought at all to what he was going to do now that this was over. He had begun to think it would never be over, so he’d never have to worry about the future. But now, did he even want to go back home to Ventura and resume his safe, boring life of freelance mechanic jobs and Friday night bar fights? “I—”
“Before you answer that,” came a new voice from the doorway, “You might want to hear something.”
Both men turned; Verity stood there, leaning against the frame, watching them. Jason had no idea how long she’d been there, how much she’d heard. “V?”
She didn’t address Jason, though; she addressed Stone. “You said before I could pick somebody to train me for magic. Will—will you do it, Dr. Stone? I don’t want to go back home. There’s nothing for me there. I don’t think there ever was, after—what happened to me. I want to stay here and learn magic, and help track down the Evil and get rid of it. You know I can help. And if you can teach me how to control this ability of mine better, then I’ll never have to worry about them.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “V, you—”
“It’s not your decision, Jason,” she said softly but firmly. “I’m eighteen in a month. This is what I want to do. You can either stay here too, or you can go back home. I hope you’ll stay, but even if you don’t—I am. I’ve made up my mind.” She looked at Stone. “So…will you?”
Stone didn’t answer for a long moment. He looked at Jason, then at the pot that had formerly held the disintegrated plant, and finally at Verity. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I had an apprentice once…a few years ago. It didn’t end well.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He died. And it was partly my fault.”
“How was it your fault?”
Stone sighed. “I thought all I had to do was teach him magic. I barely paid any attention to him as a person. He got into some trouble he never would have done if I’d been doing my proper job.”
“You’re not gonna do that with me,” she said. She punched Jason in the arm. “And besides, I’ve got
Big Brother hovering over me. You think he’s gonna let me do anything stupid?”
He considered. “It won’t be easy,” he said at last. “I was trained in the old style, and that’s what I teach. No slapdash methods. No quick fixes. If I take you on, you’ll work harder than you ever did in your life. I’ve been told I’m quite the taskmaster. And I’ve been on my own for so long that you’ll probably find me very difficult to get on with after you’ve gotten over the novelty of it all.”
Verity grinned. “You won’t make me do your laundry, will you? Or call you ‘Master’?”
Stone’s eyebrow quirked up. “And if I did?”
She paused. “I guess maybe, all things considered, it’d be worth it. But you’d better watch out once I’m fully trained. I’m gonna give you a run for your money.”
For the first time in a long time, Stone smiled too. “I don’t doubt it, my friend. I don’t doubt it at all.”
Jason looked back and forth between the two of them and sighed. As usual, he knew the choice he was about to make even though he wasn’t completely sure he liked it. And even when compared to everything they’d been through in the past few weeks, he suspected life was about to get very interesting.
THE THRESHOLD
PROLOGUE
Eleanor Pearsall needed a drink.
She glanced at the glowing clock on the top of her dresser: 10:30. A little late to hit the sauce, especially since she had someplace to be. She had to finish the Christmas display at Hillerman’s tonight so it would be ready for the big kickoff sale tomorrow morning. She doubted the owners would appreciate it if she had too much to drink and forgot to put pants on Santa, or posed the elves making lewd gestures at each other.
The thought made her chuckle. She got out of bed and dressed methodically without turning on the lights. Somewhere in the other room she could hear her cat, Crowley, rustling around stalking a mouse or an errant piece of kibble.
The sound reminded her of the dream.
She sat down to slip on her boots. It hadn’t been the first bad dream she’d had recently. Bad dreams normally didn’t bother her. Sometimes she even found them useful, because they gave her insights, or helped her to home in on the answer to some problem that had been plaguing her.
But this one—this one was different. For one thing, the content was always the same. For nearly a month now, every two or three days, the exact same dream.
She’s standing in a dark forest clearing, surrounded by a thick growth of trees. From beyond the trees she can hear the sounds of dozens—hundreds?—of tiny creatures milling around, skittering, testing the perimeters. She has no idea what they are—she has never seen them, and in the dream she isn’t brave enough to venture out of the clearing’s protection to investigate. Some instinct inside her knows that would be a bad idea, just as it knows that the skittering creatures don’t mean anything good for her. She just stands there, turning around and around in place, watching in fear as she waits to see if they break through.
They never do. She can sense their frustration. She can sense their almost palpable compulsion to enter the clearing—but she can’t tell what they want to do when they get there. Kill her? Tell her something? Chase her out into the darkness where something even worse lies waiting?
In her dark room, she zipped up her boots. The odd thing about this dream, aside from its repeat performances, is that it never caused her to do any of those cliché things like waking up in a cold sweat with her heart pounding, or sitting bolt upright in bed—or even waking up at all. After a time, the creatures simply gave up and went away for a while. Like they were regrouping. She wondered if at some point they’d finally just get sick of the whole business and give up for good. While the dream didn’t exactly interrupt her sleep, it certainly played havoc with its quality. She’d been tired and stressed out for the last couple of weeks. That was why she’d grabbed the brief nap before she had to head out to Hillerman’s.
She grabbed her heavy coat, wool hat, and scarf off the chair by the door, shrugged into them, and picked up her purse. Calling out a cheerful, “Back later, try not to get into too much trouble!” to Crowley, she headed out into the night. She didn’t lock her door—nobody in Woodwich ever locked their doors. It just wasn’t that kind of town. And in any case, anybody who tried to enter her home uninvited might find themselves facing a few surprises.
Outside, the moon sparkled on a fresh snowfall. Eleanor loved this time of night: the quiet and peace of a picturesque little town after most of the world had retired behind closed doors and tucked their children in. Sometimes she even enjoyed doing her rituals in the big clearing behind her house—which was nothing like the sinister one in her dream—even if it meant risking discovery. She smiled; most of Woodwich already thought she was eccentric, but in a harmless, dotty-old-aunt sort of way. There were a lot of unusual personalities in this small Vermont town, and they all coexisted with each other in a surprisingly amicable manner, all things considered. But they didn’t know the half of things about her, and it was better for everyone if it stayed that way.
The walk downtown took her about fifteen minutes; she took a shortcut through the woods and never once felt fearful or threatened. The sounds of hunting owls and small prowling creatures comforted her, and when she emerged from the woods a block away from Woodwich’s tiny main street, she was humming to herself in contentment, already going over in her mind what she wanted to do with the display. She planned to try something different this year: instead of the typical Santa and his elves in their traditional red and green outfits, she would dress them up in more earthy, primal garb, turning the North Pole toy factory into a kind of cheery woodland revel. She didn’t know if Mr. Hillerman would approve, but she was pretty good at persuasion, and she did think the tired old display needed something new. The children would love it, she was sure. And it was almost always easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
As she stepped out onto Main Street, snow crunching under her boots, and prepared to cross the street, a figure emerged from the shadows and shuffled toward her. For two or three seconds she did feel a twinge of fear, but then the figure passed under one of the old-fashioned streetlights and she smiled. “Hello, Ted. You startled me. You’re out late tonight.”
Ted gave her a vague nod. Hunched and wild-bearded, he wore a baggy sweatshirt under a shapeless old coat, too-large pants, and a shabby knit cap with a New England Patriots patch. On his back he carried a threadbare green backpack with various items sticking out the top and attached to the sides. “On my way t’the park,” he told her. His voice was scratchy with disuse.
Eleanor nodded. “Is everything all right?” There weren’t many homeless people in Woodwich—it wasn’t that the town discouraged them, but it wasn’t a particularly hospitable place for those who lived on the streets, especially in the late fall and winter, since it had no official shelter. Most of the homeless headed for the larger nearby towns with better services. But Ted was kind of a fixture around here.
He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. Some guy gave me a five-spot, so I picked up a sammich and...” He grinned guiltily, showing a mouth with as many empty spaces as teeth, and held up something in a paper bag. Eleanor couldn’t miss the whiff of cheap booze. “Runnin’ a li’l late, is all.”
“All right, then. You be safe, Ted. Have a good night.” Eleanor smiled a farewell and continued on her way across the street.
“You too, Miz Pearsall.” He started to shuffle off again, then stopped. “Miz Pearsall?”
Eleanor turned back. “Yes, Ted?”
The grimy face looked troubled. “I...I dunno. Just—be careful, okay?”
“Any particular reason?” Her brow furrowed. This was something new. Ted rarely had anything to say to her beyond a greeting and the occasional request for a handout.
“I—” Again he shrugged, a little shudder running through his hunched body. “I dunno. Just be careful, is all.” He raised his bottle in its paper bag and took a swig, swiping
his filthy jacket sleeve across his mouth.
Eleanor regarded him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I will, Ted. I promise. You’d better get going. It’s late, and you need to get yourself somewhere out of the cold.”
Ted made a vague gesture with the hand holding the bag of booze, then trudged off again without a word. Eleanor watched him go, standing there for a moment in the middle of the street, then started off again. She liked Ted, but he wasn’t exactly ‘all there.’ Putting him out of her mind, she crossed the other half of the street and continued to her destination.
Hillerman’s Department Store was as much a fixture in Woodwich as Ted was, a kind of central hub where everyone ran into everyone else while going about their daily routines. It didn’t do the same level of business anymore since the mall had gone up in Helmford a few years back, but the old-timers still did most of their general purpose shopping here, from clothes to hardware to small appliances and kitchen gadgets. It dominated its block on Main Street (which was only three blocks long), the space behind its two large display windows always lit up and decorated for the latest holiday, sale, or local event.
For the past ten years, it had been Eleanor’s job to design and set up these displays, and she was semi-famous around town for it. People were always stopping her at the grocery store or the gas station, slyly asking her what she planned to do next. She never told them; she liked the element of surprise, and she thought they did too. This Christmas display idea she had would be a departure from her usual, but she was sure it would be a hit. She imagined the looks of delighted surprise on the shoppers’ faces as they arrived at the store for the sale tomorrow morning.