Alastair Stone Chronicles Box Set: Alastair Stone Chronicles, Books 1 through 4

by R. L. King

  He leaned back in the seat and looked out the window, but also kept an eye on the cabdriver. Eleanor Pearsall had been killed by two men she had known well—she had no doubt been caught off guard, with no suspicion that they meant her any harm. Stone didn’t intend to be caught off guard by anyone. He suspected Jason was right: if the Evil were systematically killing mages for whatever reason, he was probably one of their prime targets. In fact, he was surprised that they hadn’t tried anything yet. Or, perhaps Eleanor, David, and the mage from New Mexico had something in common that he didn’t share. He watched the various brightly lit businesses along the Wharf flash by and filed that thought away as the cab pulled in next to the familiar blue and black logo indicating they had arrived at the Embarcadero BART station.

  He took the stairs down and walked to the platform, paying close attention to his surroundings. Mindful of the Evil-possessed man who’d pushed a woman in front of a commuter train down in the South Bay a month or so ago, he stood well back from the tracks until the train pulled into the station, came to a stop, and the cars opened their doors with a loud hiss.

  There weren’t many cars attached this time of night; most of the work commuters had already gone home, and the late-night clubbing crowd wouldn’t be heading out for at least another hour or two. He deliberately chose the rear car after verifying that it looked reasonably well populated, as it only had a single point of entry from the car in front of it. He moved to the back and took a seat where he could keep an eye on the front door and everyone inside. He was annoyed at himself for what he perceived to be jumping at shadows, but better to be overcautious and get home safely than to let his guard down and regret it too late.

  The doors closed and the train started to move. Stone looked around, taking in his surroundings. There were quite a few people in the train—enough that he didn’t feel comfortable using his spell that would cause others’ gazes to slide off him. That would have made things easier, but the chance was too great that someone would jostle him, or worse, sit on him thinking his seat was empty.

  The train continued on, stopping at the Montgomery and Powell Street stations to take on and let off small groups of passengers. Stone decided it was probably safe to relax his vigilance a bit while they were still in the City; even the Evil probably wouldn’t be desperate enough to accost him here with this many people around. Stop acting like a frightened schoolgirl, he told himself.

  To pass the time, he allowed his attention to wander over the other people in the car with him. There were about twenty in total, and he began to classify them according to potential threat. The pair of sixtyish women were probably safe, as was the woman keeping her preteen son close and watching the crowd with even more focus than Stone was. The late-teen couple across the aisle from him were so wrapped up with each other that they probably didn’t even notice there was anybody else on the train. The small knot of young men in 49ers gear near the front were potentially problematic; they talked loudly among themselves and seemed like they might be drunk, but they also weren’t bothering anyone else. The man seated near the front with two large shopping bags looked like he might be homeless—Stone wondered if he was Forgotten. The remainder of the passengers were singletons ranging from a middle-aged businessman to a couple of twenty-somethings wearing headphones to an old, blind man with a silent and watchful German Shepherd guide dog.

  The train continued traveling from station to station. At the Civic Center stop several people got off, including the group of raucous young men, the sixtyish women, the businessman, and the homeless man. Stone was glad to see the young men go, but not glad that three other tough-looking youths got on in their place. Silently he took inventory of the magical items he had with him: at least if it came down to a fight he wouldn’t pass out after the first two spells. He’d been spending his spare time when not working with Verity to construct and power a new set to replace the ones that had been destroyed in the fire at the Evil’s headquarters.

  The train moved on, stopping at the 12th Street Mission station and letting off more people. By the time they reached 24th Street they were down to six, though several more got on there. Stone sighed, now wishing he’d braved the hassle of San Francisco traffic and just driven to the restaurant. This constant vigilance was exhausting.

  He glanced around the cabin again, this time idly looking for Forgotten symbols among the riot of graffiti on the walls. He spotted a few things that might have qualified, but couldn’t tell for sure; neither the “good place” nor the “bad place” symbol was marked anywhere. He did notice, however, that the camera at the front of the cabin had been pulled out of its housing and dangled from two forlorn-looking wires. From the look of things, it hadn’t happened recently.

  Hardly anybody got on at this point. As the train stopped at each of the next stations in turn—Glen Park, Balboa Park, Daly City—some subset of its passengers disembarked at deserted platforms and hurried away. By the time it left the Colma station, Stone’s car contained only himself, the teenage couple (who had not yet come up for air, and might as well have been on Mars for all they seemed to care about their surroundings), and a large and formidable looking woman who’d gotten on two or three stops ago and who cast periodic disapproving glances at the teenagers. She caught Stone’s gaze and shook her head, then returned to reading her book.

  Stone allowed himself to relax, just a bit. Three more stops and he’d be home free. Of course, there was still the platform at the Millbrae station, which would almost certainly be deserted, and the walk out through the sketchily lit parking lot to the van, but once he was away from anyone watching he could put up the spell to make himself unnoticeable. As long as no one had broken into the van or lay in wait for him, he should be able to reach it and be out of there before anyone realized he was coming.

  Just stop it, you fool. You can’t keep doing this, or you’ll spend your life looking over your shoulder. He hoped Verity and Jason were having a good time at the concert. At least the two of them would be together on the trip home, and Jason was intimidating-looking enough that anyone short of the Evil would think twice about messing with him.

  The train slowed, preparing to stop at the South San Francisco station. The large woman stood up and was already waiting by the doors when they opened. She left the train without looking back. The train paused for a few more seconds, then the doors hissed shut and it was in motion again.

  The door at the front of the car opened. Stone stiffened as a large man dressed in shabby clothes entered and slid the door shut behind him. The man looked around, leered when he noticed the teenagers, then headed toward the back of the car. “Hey, man,” he called to Stone. “Spare a little change?”

  “Er—” Stone looked him up and down. The man didn’t quite look all there; his eyes wandered around without settling on anything, and he smelled like a visible cloud of marijuana smoke should be hanging in the air around him. Again, Stone wondered if he was Forgotten. “Sorry,” he said at last, shaking his head. “Nothing on me.”

  “Aww, c’mon, man,” he said. “Just a little. For a friend.” He smiled, revealing stained and crooked teeth with a few holes.

  Stone’s gaze sharpened. Was the man Forgotten, and trying to give him a hint, or just attempting to play on his better nature? No easy way to tell. He glanced over at the couple who were still locked in their embrace, then stood. “All right, then,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat for the change from purchasing his BART ticket. The man watched him with his silent, rolling gaze and waited.

  He felt the subtle air movement behind him with only a fraction of a second to spare. Flinging himself to the side, he barely avoided something swishing past his head at neck level. He rolled over the seat, landing awkwardly, but adrenaline helped propel him back up fast. Backing off, he took in the scene in an instant.

  The teen couple, their arms no longer around each other, surged forward almost as one. The boy held a folding pocketknife with a short blade; the gi
rl had something that looked like a letter opener. Their eyes were strange; unfocused, coldly malevolent. On Stone’s left, the homeless man took advantage of his momentary lack of attention to lunge at him, and the teens moved in as well.

  Stone just got his protective shield up before the homeless man bull-rushed him into the side of the car. The girl tried to plunge the letter opener into his abdomen, but the shield deflected it. Stone kicked her, forcing her backward, and tried to dislodge the homeless man, who was still trying to grab him with dirty hands.

  Guess I should be flattered, a perverse little voice in the back of his head said. They sent three of them against me this time. Breathing hard, he summoned up his energy and released it in a repelling charge of force, shoving all three away from him and slamming them into various parts of the car. He took that opportunity to back off again, always keeping the door at the car’s far end in sight. He thought about making a run for it, but unfortunately he’d flung the homeless man in that direction, and he was already recovering and coming at Stone again.

  Stone looked around, his gaze darting all over as he considered possibilities. He’d have to end this fast: his shield required concentration to maintain, and it wouldn’t hold up long against all three of them. And the most inconvenient part was that he had to be careful not to kill any of them. Apart from his dislike of murdering random individuals who happened to be possessed by evil entities from another dimension, killing them would almost certainly result in a lot of trouble he couldn’t afford to deal with right now. If he handled this right, he could get out and away before anyone knew anything was up, but if he killed anyone, the police would take a lot more interest in the situation.

  They were on two sides of him now, and that was dangerous. With a gesture, he picked up the girl and flung her into the back wall; she slid down, stunned.

  While she was distracting him, the homeless man dived at him again, going low this time. Stone didn’t get out of the way in time, and both of them went over. The shield held against the impact of the man landing on him, but Stone felt it fading. Gritting his teeth, he forced outward again and shoved the man away, rolling up. He’d landed badly on his leg, and feared he might have sprained something, but there was no time to worry about that now.

  The teen boy was coming in for another go. Rage suffused the kid’s face: apparently things weren’t going as the Evil had hoped, and they were getting desperate. Stone backed away again, moving so he could continue to keep the door in sight. So far, nobody else was coming in.

  The boy waved the knife back and forth in a hypnotic pattern, moving in closer while his eyes never left Stone. Stone, puffing, prepared to hit him with a stunning spell when the homeless man came in from the side again, leading with a sloppy right hook to the side of his head. Stone fell sideways and again landed badly between two rows of seats. He felt the shield go—he couldn’t take another hit like that. Woozy, dragging himself back up again, he waited for them to regroup. He’d only get one shot at this.

  The girl was up again. With a howl she ran at him with the letter opener raised, trying to stab it into Stone’s arm. She’d have succeeded, except for his heavy overcoat—her strength wasn’t sufficient to punch through the thick fabric, and the knife was deflected. Stone lashed out at her with a stun spell and she screamed, clutching her head and going down.

  The homeless man and the boy came at him from the left and the right, the boy waving the knife and the homeless man trying to get his hands around Stone’s neck. Stone blinked sweat out of his eyes and struck out again. The homeless man cried out and staggered back, his hands going to his face like he was being attacked by a swarm of bees. He tripped over a row of seats, fell over backward, and struck his head on the edge of the door. The car was slowing down—they were approaching the next station.

  The boy, sensing his chance slipping away, redoubled his efforts and found his mark with the knife, slashing at Stone’s chest, where his coat was open. The knife sliced through the mage’s suit jacket and shirt, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Stone gasped in pain, but he couldn’t afford to pause, or he’d be dead. Sweat pouring down his face, he gathered one final burst of energy and directed it at the boy.

  His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As he flung the kid across the car, the train came to a stop and the doors slid open. The boy’s unconscious body slid onto the platform and came to rest against a pillar, unmoving.

  Stone sagged for a moment against the window, panting for breath. All he wanted to do was let himself fall the rest of the way, but he couldn’t do that. Not yet. He dragged himself up, summoned one last levitation spell, and sent the girl’s and the homeless man’s motionless bodies out through the open doors to join the boy’s, thanking whatever gods looking after the lucky that no passengers were embarking or disembarking at the San Bruno BART station this time of night.

  The doors slid shut again. Stone, still breathing hard and feeling like he would pass out any minute, forced himself to remain awake by sheer willpower. He used the energy of one of his magical focus items to put up and maintain the spell that would prevent anyone who wasn’t looking for him from seeing him. He hoped desperately that whatever security cameras were normally trained on the platform in San Bruno were in as bad a condition as the one on the train, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. And in any case, all the camera would have seen was three bodies sailing out of the train and dropping on the platform. Probably not enough for them to pin anything on him.

  He remained seated, eyes locked on the door to the next car as the train swayed down the track. The few minutes it took to go from San Bruno to the Millbrae station seemed like an eternity. Blood trickled down his chest—the wound burned, but he didn’t think it was too serious. By the time the doors opened again, he had struggled to his feet, buttoned up his overcoat to hide the injury, and was waiting directly in front of them.

  The trip back to the van was slow, painful, and anticlimactic. He maintained the spell the whole way, though he couldn’t see anyone else around the station or the parking lot, with the exception of the ticket agent in his bulletproof booth. The man didn’t even look up as Stone went by.

  Several other cars occupied the parking lot; the van, parked next to Jason’s old Ford, looked untouched. He carefully opened the door and examined the entire interior for hidden intruders before climbing in. The drive home would be painful, but he couldn’t do anything about that. It wasn’t safe to remain here. He had no idea how long it would take for his three attackers to awaken, but if they came after him again, he wouldn’t be able to fight them off a second time. Before he settled in, he found a piece of paper and a pen, dashed off a quick note to Jason (“Careful. Watch for E. Call me when home. AS”) and stuck it under the Ford’s windshield wiper.

  Somehow he made it back to Palo Alto without getting pulled over for driving like a drunken old man. He used the last of his flagging energy and willpower to pull the van into the garage, stagger inside, and lock the door behind him. At this point, he was beyond caring if anyone lay in wait for him. The magical protections he’d put up should hold, but if they didn’t—well, he’d done his best.

  He managed to call Jason’s phone and leave a message for him to come over as soon as he got home, then tottered over to the couch, threw off his tie and overcoat, and allowed himself to lie down, figuring he’d rest for a few minutes before getting up and tending to the chest wound.

  He was out less than two minutes later.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Stone’s next coherent realization was of someone shaking him hard and yelling his name. “Al! Al, wake up!”

  “Mm…?” He tried to roll over and away from the annoying noise, but a bolt of generalized pain shot through his upper body and jolted him fully awake. He blinked a couple of times and the four figures hovering above him melted together, resolving into Jason and Verity, their wide-eyed faces full of fear.

  “Holy shit, you’re covered in blood!” Jason said. �
�What the hell happened to you?”

  He blinked again. “What?” He looked down at himself. “Oh. Right. It’s not as bad as it looks.” He glanced around the room, then tried to sit up. “What time is it?”

  Verity dropped to her knees next to the couch. “It’s almost three a.m. We got your message, and you sounded weird, so we came over. What happened?”

  Stone closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t feel bad, exactly, aside from the general pain, but he was so tired...”Got jumped on the BART train,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Jason shook him again. “Al, if you don’t wake up and tell us what happened, I’m calling an ambulance.”

  That got through Stone’s haze sufficiently for him to open his eyes again. “Help me up, then. I’m wiped out. And get me a drink.”

  “First let me have a look at what they did to you. Verity, bring me a pot of warm water and some washcloths, okay?”

  She hurried off and was back in less than five minutes with the requested items. Jason had Stone’s shirt open and was examining the chest wound with a critical eye. The dried blood made it difficult to tell how serious it was. He dipped a washcloth in the water and dabbed at it.

  Stone winced, pulling away. “Stop that.”

  “Shut up and quit being a baby,” Jason ordered. “You know this has to be done.”

  A few minutes of careful washing with the wet cloth revealed that the wound was nearly horizontal, about five inches long, and not very deep. “Doesn’t look serious,” Jason said, looking relieved. “You’ll have a scar, though, and I’ll have to clean it, which is gonna hurt like hell. What did it?”

  Stone, wide awake now and gritting his teeth as Jason poked at him, sighed. “Pocketknife of some sort.”

  “This I gotta hear,” Verity said. She sat on the couch next to him, swapping out washcloths when Jason called for them.