by R. L. King
“Al?” Jason leaned forward, grabbing his shoulder. “You okay? What is it?”
“He’s alive...” he whispered. “Bloody hell, he’s alive.”
“Who?” Verity demanded.
Stone pointed at the notebook. “Do you know what this is?”
“No idea,” Jason said, getting impatient. “Maybe you could tell us?”
“These,” Stone whispered in a tone of near reverence, “are instructions. Just the bare bones. He didn’t give me all of it, not even close. But with time and research—” He looked up at them. “Remember I said I didn’t think he was a black or a white mage, or anything in between?”
Jason’s eyes widened as he caught on. “You’re kidding. But how did—”
“I don’t know. I have no idea.”
“But I thought you said nobody could—”
“I know what I said,” Stone cut him off. He took a deep breath. “But clearly I was wrong, wasn’t I? Or at least—there’s something about our friend that makes normal rules not applicable.” He made a brushing-off gesture, as if that weren’t important, then picked up the notebook again. “But—this. This is the beginning of how he does it. He’s showing me where to start.”
He looked at them again, appearing with reluctance to drag himself back to the real world, and shook his head in amazement. “I think…he’s thanking us for doing what we did—and letting us know he’s alive. And...I think he’s—challenging me. To see if I can get anywhere with what he’s given me here.”
Verity looked down at the notebook. “I don’t get it,” she murmured. “How can he—”
Stone shook his head. “Don’t ask me. And I’m not about to ask him. I think he’s made it fairly clear we shouldn’t contact him again. I doubt we’d be able to, honestly. But what he’s given me—it’s just the tip of the iceberg, the entry point for years’ worth of study. If I can make sense of even the smallest bit of this any time soon, though, it might just help us if the Evil decide to get up to their tricks again. And I’ve no doubt they will—probably a lot sooner than we’re hoping.”
Jason and Verity saw no reason to argue with him about that.
EPILOGUE TWO
Las Vegas
Sirens split the night, interrupting the peace of an unassuming, middle-class Las Vegas residential neighborhood. People stood around outside in their nightclothes, watching as bright flames tore upward as if reaching to ignite the stars. All around them were police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances, their lights adding red and blue to the white headlights of cars and the yellow of the sodium vapor streetlights. Emergency personnel scurried around carrying hoses, taking reports, helping the injured. The sounds of radio chatter crackled over the hushed conversations of knots of nearby residents.
“Did they get out?” one older woman asked her neighbor. “Oh, God, they’re not still in there, are they?”
The neighbor patted her hand and shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. “Nobody’s come out. I talked to one of the policemen—he said they think it might be a gas explosion. They never had a chance, poor things. They’re trying to contain it now so it doesn’t spread to the other houses.”
The first woman looked down at her hands. “How horrible,” she murmured. “So soon after their little boy was involved in that terrible kidnapping, too...And now the whole family...just...gone.”
A police car rolled past them; they didn’t even look up from their conversation. At the wheel was a young man in an LVPD uniform, driving slowly and watching the scene as he picked his way past the people and vehicles.
Nobody noticed the small figure in the back seat, his eyes glittering with malevolent intelligence as he watched his former home burn.
THE SOURCE
PROLOGUE
Darla Beecham cursed under her breath when she heard the cheerful tinkle of the bell at the diner’s entry. Tossing aside the rag she’d been using to wipe down the counter in the kitchen, she glanced up at the wall clock: Ten fifty-five p.m. Five minutes to closing.
Hell, José had already departed, with the food all put away and the grill spotless as usual. All Darla had to offer latecomers now was old coffee, a few decrepit-looking pastries, and the dusty display of candy and gum at the register. Who came to a diner in the ass end of nowhere at 10:55 on a Wednesday night? She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a customer this late, hence José’s early exit.
She sighed, straightened her uniform, and marched into the dining room area. Maybe she could get rid of them. Nobody wanted lukewarm coffee and stale bear claws. “Welcome to Maxie’s,” she said, forcing a cheerful tone into her voice. “What can I—” She stopped.
Two people stood just inside the doorway: a man about thirty and a boy of perhaps nine or ten. Both wore unremarkable traveling clothes, and through the glass door behind them, Darla spotted an equally unremarkable tan four-door car parked close. The man looked around, taking in the diner’s interior, but the boy’s eyes fixed on Darla as soon as she made her appearance. There was something disquieting about his level scrutiny.
“Uh—” She struggled to get back on track, focusing on the man. “Can I help you? We’re just about to close up, but I’ve still got coffee—”
“Coffee’s just fine,” the man said, smiling. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him to the counter, where they both sat down. “And a Coke for my son if that’s all right. We won’t keep you long, but it’s been a long drive and we need a little break.”
Darla nodded, relaxing. The man’s eyes and smile were friendly, and the boy wasn’t watching her anymore. Long drive for sure, she thought. The diner wasn’t exactly on the main tourist route; they didn’t get much traffic ever since the Denny’s had opened up next to the freeway six months ago. They mostly stayed open for the locals, most of whom were in bed by now.
She bustled around pouring coffee, then retrieved a can of Coke from the cooler and placed it in front of the boy with a glass of ice and a straw.
“Thank you,” the man said, smiling again. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.” He picked up his coffee cup, then set it back down again. “Son, I left my wallet in the car. Can you go grab it for me, please?”
The boy nodded, hopped off the stool, and left the diner. The bell tinkled again in his wake.
Darla busied herself with her last few cleanup tasks, but always kept an eye on the man. She’d been a waitress here for a long time; she felt like she had pretty good instincts for the ones she should be afraid of, and this guy wasn’t one of them. In fact, he had that clean-cut look that suggested ‘public servant’—a fireman, maybe, or an off-duty cop. Even so, though, it was better to be safe when she was alone. She thought about making an obvious call to her boyfriend to let him know she’d be home soon (she didn’t have a boyfriend, and had lived alone with her cat Biff for as long as anybody could remember) but dismissed it as silly. After all, the guy had a little boy. How dangerous could he be?
Just as she was wondering where the kid had run off to, he returned, dropping a worn brown leather wallet down next to his dad and re-mounting the counter stool. He poured Coke into the glass and watched Darla. When he caught her watching him back, he smiled. He had a nice smile, like his dad.
She left them to their drinks as she took a last swipe at the counter with the rag and tossed it into the laundry bin. The only thing she didn’t do was count out the register; even though the two looked harmless, there was no point in tempting fate by waving money around. She glanced sideways at them: the boy sipped his Coke and the man had just finished his cup of coffee. “Anything else I can bring you?” she asked, hoping very much that the answer was no. If they left now, she could just make it home in time for the beginning of the Late Show.
The boy smiled at her. “You’re scared of us, aren’t you?” he asked in a conversational tone.
She frowned. “S-scared? Of course not. Why would I be scared?”
His smile changed. “You sh
ould be, you know.”
Something froze on the back of Darla’s neck as she tensed. “Oh? And—why is that?” she asked, edging toward the register. Clem, the owner, kept a loaded revolver under the counter in case of robbery. They’d never had a robbery, though. She wasn’t completely sure the gun was loaded, or even if it was still there. “Are you planning to rob us?” She glanced at the man in the hope that his son was just playing a little joke, and Dad would set him straight.
The man smiled too, now—the same strange smile as the boy. Both of them appeared to be enjoying Darla’s fear. He shook his head. “No, ma’am. We’re not planning to rob you.”
He reached into his coat. Darla dived, but he was faster. “I wouldn’t try to reach any guns,” the boy said as the man leveled a pistol at her. “I don’t think that will work out too well for you.”
Oh God . . . She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, staring in silent terror at the gun pointed at her chest. Her gaze shifted toward the parking lot as she hoped somebody—anybody—would come by. If they weren’t planning to rob the diner, then— “Wh-what are you planning to do?” she asked. “R-rape me? In front of your son?”
Again the man shook his head. “No, ma’am. As I told you, we just came in here for a little break and a little sustenance.”
“And you’ve had it,” she said. “Please—please go. Take the money. Take whatever you want. But please don’t hurt me.”
The boy’s smile widened. His childish voice held a decidedly non-childish tone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s a request we won’t be able to grant.”
Nobody heard Darla’s screams for the next hour. She didn’t make it home in time for the Late Show. When José the cook showed up early the following morning to get ready for the breakfast regulars, he was shocked to find firefighters picking through the charred and water-soaked remains of the diner. He was even more shocked when he spotted the sheet-wrapped form, oddly shrunken, being wheeled toward a coroner’s van parked discreetly off to the side of the scene.
PART 1: GATHERING
CHAPTER ONE
Jason Thayer knew something was up when he saw flickering lights in the attic window of Alastair Stone’s Palo Alto townhouse, and he was pretty sure whatever was going on up there, it wasn’t anything good. When it came to situations involving Stone, “not anything good” was always a reasonable bet. The only better one was “thoroughly weird.” Or “potentially dangerous.” Some combination of the three was never off the table either.
“Hurry,” his sister Verity urged as he pulled the old Ford into the driveway. The garage door was open, revealing Stone’s gleaming black BMW sedan.
The two of them had just returned from spending a few days in their former hometown of Ventura, visiting old friends and getting out of the Bay Area for a while. They’d phoned Stone half an hour ago, and been surprised when he hadn’t answered; he knew they were coming home today, and the three of them had made tentative plans to go out to dinner that evening. They decided to swing by his place, and had immediately spotted the strange lightshow coming from the attic.
Jason often wondered what Stone’s neighbors must think of him. Then again, it wasn’t like they’d figure out he was performing magical rituals up there. At least not anybody that people would be inclined to listen to.
Verity was already out of the car before Jason brought it to a complete stop, running up the walk to knock hard on the door. By the time Jason caught up to her, nobody had answered. She pounded harder. “Dr. Stone? You in there? It’s us.”
Still no answer. Verity opened her bag and rummaged for the key Stone had given her when she’d first become his apprentice.
Jason had to control himself to keep from grabbing it out of her hand as she fumbled it into the lock. When she finally got it, he threw the door open and hurried past her, taking the stairs toward the attic two at a time. “Al? You up there? You okay?” Behind him, the door clicked shut and Verity’s quick footsteps joined his.
Light shone from under the attic door; it flickered and danced ominously, accompanied by some kind of unintelligible gibbering sound.
“Is that—?” Verity began, wide-eyed, but Jason wasn’t listening. He flung open the door and thrust his head into the room.
Stone’s attic sanctum was a wide-open space, with a hardwood floor, sloping walls, a single window, and a skylight. Jason had been up here enough times that he paid no attention to the sigils on the floor, the framed prints depicting magical diagrams, the chalkboard scrawled with arcane formulae, the flickering brazier in the center of the room, and the rest of Stone’s collection of weird shit. What he did notice instantly was what was out of place.
Specifically, Stone’s still form crumpled on the far side of the room—and the small, implike figure capering not five feet from where Jason currently stood.
Verity gasped. “Jason! It—” She shoved forward to stand beside him, taking in the scene with horror.
Jason’s gaze flicked between Stone and the imp. “Stay back, V,” he said under his breath. “We don’t know what it—”
The thing giggled, leaping from one little clawed foot to the other. About a foot and a half tall, it had shiny, red-brown skin and long, gangly limbs. Its monkeylike gaze, red, glittering, and malevolent, met Jason’s in challenge.
“Uh—” he began. “V—do you know what the hell that is?”
She shook her head. “Never seen one of those before. I guess that’s part of the advanced curriculum.”
“Isn’t stuff like that supposed to be inside a circle or something?”
“Yeah, that’s the usual plan.” She glanced over at Stone. “Jason…is he—?”
Before Jason could answer, Stone stirred. “Al!” Jason called, relief and anger in his voice. “Al! Wake up! We got a situation here!”
Stone’s eyes flickered open. He seemed unaware of where he was for a moment, and then suddenly sprang to his feet, his eyes alight with manic energy. “Jason!” he said between panting breaths as he swiped a hand through his unruly dark hair. “And Verity! Excellent timing!”
“What the fuck—”
Stone bounded across the room, giving the imp a wide berth. The little thing glared at him as if he were the cause of all its troubles. It lunged in his direction, but he stepped nimbly out of the way.
As he drew closer, Jason saw his sudden burst of energy didn’t conceal his exhausted pallor. Jason grabbed one shoulder and Verity the other. “Dr. Stone, what’s wrong?” Verity began. “What is—?”
“Shh!” Stone held up an emphatic finger, then glared at the imp. “And you, my obnoxious little friend—you’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to go back where you came from. Jason, if you please—”
“Me?” he protested. “I don’t—”
“Power, Jason.” Stone didn’t take his eyes off the imp, but his right hand clamped onto Jason’s free wrist. “Nice and easy, that’s the way…” His breath still came fast; his hand on Jason’s arm was cold and clammy.
It was over in a few seconds. Stone pointed his other hand at the imp, muttered something under his breath, and then snapped out a command. The little creature looked indignant and gibbered in annoyance as it winked out of existence.
“Brilliant!” Stone said, grinning. “Thank you, Jason. Perfect timing.”
Jason grabbed him by both shoulders. “Al, you’re gonna tell us right now what the hell’s going on!”
Stone nodded several times as he spoke. “Quite so. What’s going on, Jason my friend—is that it’s clear that I’m going to need a lot more study before I try that again.”
And then he fainted.
Stone appeared downstairs an hour later to find the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, snacking on a plate of cookies and thumbing through a pile of old magazines.
Verity looked up as he walked in. “Feeling better?”
Stone nodded. “Yes, thank you.” He still looked tired, but the grayness underlying his normally
pale complexion was gone. With his tousled hair, faded jeans, and black Pink Floyd T-shirt, he looked more like one of his own students than their professor.
Jason tossed his magazine aside. “So—wanna tell us what you were doing up there?”
Verity looked serious. “This has to do with that notebook, doesn’t it?”
“Which notebook?” Jason asked, frowning.
“The one Mr. Harrison sent him. Every time I come over here for magic training, he’s got his nose buried in it.”
Stone puttered around the room, gathering the components for a cup of tea. “That true, Al?” Jason asked.
Stone shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a surprise. I told you before—there’s some amazing stuff hinted at in those pages, but it won’t be easy to sort out. And not just because Harrison scribbles like a demented weasel on LSD, either. It’ll take a lot of study and practice. And more than a few wild leaps of logic.”
He dropped into a chair across from them with his cup. “Thanks for dragging me back to my room, by the way. I’m used to waking up on the floor in all sorts of interesting configurations when I’m doing research, but I’m getting a bit old for it. Perhaps I should invest in some cushions.”
Jason wasn’t going to let Stone change the subject. “So…did you summon that thing? I thought you told me summoning stuff alone was dangerous.”
“It is.” Stone waved a dismissive hand. “But that little thing wouldn’t have caused much trouble even if it got loose. That’s why I chose it.”
“Oh, sure,” Verity said, grinning, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Imp creatures running wild up University Avenue. Happens every day! If nothing else, it would freak the religious nutjobs right the hell out.” She affected a crazy tone: “The end is near! We’ve seen the devil! Funny, we always kinda thought he’d be taller, but hey, whatever!”