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

by R. L. King

  Stone couldn’t deny it. It would be pointless to even try. He eyed Kolinsky for a moment, considering, then nodded. “All right, Stefan. Done. You translate my papers—quickly—and I’ll help you with your ritual. But I’ll add one more condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll want a copy of that ritual for myself.”

  Kolinsky’s smile widened. “I’d have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kolinsky didn’t waste any time setting up the ritual: perhaps he was concerned that Stone would change his mind after having some time to reconsider. He dispatched a messenger to Stone’s townhouse the next day, bearing an invitation to dine at his home in Los Altos Hills that very evening. Kolinsky was old-fashioned: he didn’t do phones unless he absolutely had to. He thought they were gauche.

  Stone had never been to Kolinsky’s home. He assumed the black mage had someone else doing his wards there, which didn’t offend him: the fewer favors he had to do for old Stefan, the better he liked it.

  It was dark by the time he arrived at the gates. He’d expected an impressive spread and wasn’t disappointed: Los Altos Hills was one of the small enclaves in the Bay Area that made Palo Alto look like a middle-class suburb by comparison. The wrought-iron gates stood open, so he drove the BMW through and up a long, tree-lined gravel driveway, and parked in front of a large and impressive two-story gothic structure. It wasn’t quite big enough to qualify as a “mansion,” at least not by the standards of this town, but it was still sizeable enough that its property taxes probably totaled more than most people’s yearly mortgage payments.

  Stone was glad he’d decided against his usual wardrobe. He wasn’t sure his decision to wear a tailored dark suit along with one of his nicer black overcoats was meant to be sarcastic or sincere, but either way, at least he wouldn’t look out of place. He actually had a collection of the coats in varying weights—it had become sort of his trademark, but wearing heavy wool in the summer was no fun.

  Kolinsky himself answered his knock, which was a surprise: he’d expected a liveried servant, or maybe a butler in tails. “Evening, Stefan. Nice place you’ve got here.”

  Kolinsky inclined his head with a sly little smile. “Alastair. It is good to see you. In truth, I wasn’t sure you would come.”

  “What, and miss the chance for you to pick up the tab for dinner for a change?”

  “The least I could do,” he said, chuckling. “I want your blood fortified, after all.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow and followed him inside, feeling a slight buzz as he crossed the threshold that indicated the presence of powerful wards. He had never met a vampire: in fact, he had never heard anything in all his years of practicing magic to indicate that they even existed. If they had, however, Kolinsky would have been his first target of suspicion. Even his house had a bit of “Castle Dracula” feel, though it was more subtle and less theatrical than Stone might have guessed. The place was actually quite tasteful, if a bit dramatic. This fact elevated Kolinsky a step in Stone’s mind: having grown up with wealth, he wasn’t intimidated or impressed by it, but his British sensibilities found ostentatious displays of it to be tacky, as if one was trying too hard.

  What he didn’t see, however, surprised him. Kolinsky led him down a carpeted hallway lined with fine works of art and into a small sitting room dominated by an impressive gray-stone fireplace (currently unlit), a grouping of fine black leather furniture around a small coffee table, and a dramatic floor-to-ceiling window offering a view into an unobtrusively lit back garden.

  “No magic,” Stone remarked. “I’m surprised. I’d have expected your home to be fairly brimming with it.”

  “I prefer to keep business separated from pleasure,” Kolinsky said. “Would you care for an apéritif? Dinner will be served shortly.” He waved him toward one of the chairs.

  “Thank you.” Stone sat, studying the view. In truth, though he would never let Kolinsky see it, this whole show made him more than a bit uneasy. That was the thing with Stefan: you almost never had any idea what he was really after. Stone was no slouch in the intellect arena and knew it, but Kolinsky was not only older and more experienced than he was, but had a well-deserved reputation for being a chessmaster. As far as Stone knew, however, the man had never played anything less than straight with him, and never tried to hide what he was: an unrepentant black mage, who did what he liked without offering explanation or apology for it, and who valued knowledge and the power it provided more than anything else on earth.

  Stone might not see eye to eye with him on his methods, but he understood his motivations. He even shared some of them. That was why the two of them could do business when most of Stone’s white-mage associates both feared and avoided Kolinsky, mainly because they didn’t trust him not to betray them. That was what black mages did, after all, if it suited their purposes.

  Stone considered him a challenge. He respected Kolinsky’s mind, and the chess games helped him keep his own mental skills honed. Plus, he had to admit: after all these years, he was actually getting to like the guy.

  Like. Respect. But not trust. That would just be foolish. “So,” he said, leaning back. “How long do you expect this little ritual to take? I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where you got hold of it?”

  Kolinsky gave him an indulgent smile and handed him a glass. “It came to me from an associate overseas,” he said, “as a gift of gratitude for some…work I did for him.” He took his own glass and settled into the chair across from Stone. “As for how long it will take—I am not entirely certain. As I mentioned, I’ve haven’t tried this particular summoning yet, lacking as I was a…necessary component.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow. “Come now, Stefan. I know you better than that. You don’t leave your house without a detailed study of the possible implications of every potential route.”

  Kolinsky made a little gesture of acquiescence and sipped his drink. “Fair enough. I would plan on remaining here for several hours. That will allow time for the summoning and any recovery time required afterward. I wouldn’t want you to drive if you are impaired in any way.”

  Stone began to think there might be more to this summoning than Kolinsky had initially presented. “Indeed.”

  “You know how these things go. Even with careful planning, there are always aspects of…unpredictability when dealing with the denizens of other realms.”

  “Stefan,” Stone said, his eyes widening. “You’re nervous.” The idea came to him all at once, and he gave it voice before he’d had time to fully work it through. He leaned forward, meeting Kolinsky’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. “You don’t want me here because you want my blood. Or not only for that reason, anyway. Otherwise you could just ask me for some and get on with it. You’re not sure you can pull it off on your own.”

  This was something new. Either his past interactions with Kolinsky had made him sharper, or else the black mage was so eager to complete this particular ritual that he was slipping.

  Or maybe he was just letting himself trust Stone a bit more.

  That, of course, wasn’t something Stone would allow himself to believe. That way lay red flags and neon Here there be Dragons signs. Rule number one when dealing with someone like Kolinsky: Never get complacent.

  The black mage shrugged. “I’ll admit to a certain amount of prudence,” he said. “But don’t flatter yourself too much, Alastair. There are any number of individuals I could have sought for assistance.”

  “And yet you chose me,” Stone murmured. “Stefan, I’m touched.”

  Kolinsky was spared responding to Stone’s sarcasm by the arrival of a young woman in a black uniform. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said softly. “Dinner is served.”

  Stone had to say this: Kolinsky didn’t skimp when wining and dining his sacrificial summoning partners. Dinner consisted of three courses, including a main course of a light grilled salmon in wine sauce. Each was paired with an appr
opriate fine (and very expensive) vintage, all of it served by two silent black-uniformed young people, one man and one woman.

  “I could get to like this, Stefan,” Stone said as he sipped an exquisite after-dinner liqueur. “And to think I’ve been dealing with you all this time in that tatty old shop of yours.” He leaned back, savoring the taste. The meal had been perfectly prepared, light enough that he didn’t feel overfull, just comfortably satisfied. He chuckled. “Of course, this could all just be for show, too. Be honest: do you normally just phone out for pizza? Ah, that’s right,” he added with a quirked eyebrow. “You don’t like phones. Just send out engraved requests for pizza, then?”

  Kolinsky merely favored Stone with another of his enigmatic half-smiles. “Tell me, Alastair: how have you been? I understand you ran into a bit of trouble recently in your travels. I trust that’s all been sufficiently dealt with?”

  “For the most part,” he said. “Still a few bits left to sort out.”

  “Perhaps related to a missing German portal scientist?”

  Stone shrugged. “I doubt it, but I suppose anything is possible.”

  “It seems odd that you would be so interested in the translations of her papers if there weren’t more to the story than simply a missing woman. Have you even met her, or did you merely hear of her by reputation?”

  “Once,” he said, setting his glass down. “At this year’s Symposium down in L. A., the weekend she disappeared. I’m going to assume you haven’t found out anything else about her whereabouts since we last spoke.”

  “I have not attempted to do so,” Kolinsky said.

  Stone nodded. “Are we going to get on with this summoning, then? Not that I don’t enjoy our little chats, but—”

  Kolinsky inclined his head and rose. “Of course.” He made an “after you” gesture and followed Stone out of the dining room.

  Like the rest of his home, Stefan Kolinsky’s magical work area was much more opulent than Stone’s. Set up in a large outbuilding that was far too elegant—and far too secure—to call a “barn,” it consisted of two rooms. The first was a smaller preparation area containing workbenches, cabinets, and shelves lined with magical paraphernalia; the second a much larger open space with a massive permanent circle built into the stone floor. The ceiling soared over two stories above them; two large skylights and a series of sconces along the walls provided light. Kolinsky lit the sconces with a gesture. Surprisingly, given Kolinsky’s dislike of them, the room also contained an old-fashioned telephone on a small wooden stand.

  Stone was, in spite of himself, impressed. He had a similarly sized setup back home in England, but he got over there so rarely these days that he didn’t often get a chance to use it. “I won’t even ask who does your wards out here,” he said.

  Kolinsky, as expected, didn’t reply. Instead, he picked up a small sheaf of papers from a table and offered it to Stone. “You’ll want to look over the ritual before we begin. I’ll be performing the actual summoning, of course, but best if you know what to expect. I’ll finish the initial preparation while you familiarize yourself.” He walked back and forth along the shelves, gathering components and other gear.

  Stone settled into a nearby chair and began to read. The ritual was written in an ancient form of Latin; it appeared to be an original, or at least a handwritten copy. It included a large diagram of the necessary circle as well as a series of smaller explanatory diagrams and several pages worth of text. Stone’s gaze flicked back and forth over the lines, skimming first to get the big picture, and then going back for a more in-depth examination.

  He could see why Kolinsky didn’t want to do this alone. It was a highly complex ritual, probably best suited to at least three mages, but Stone was reasonably confident that at his and Kolinsky’s power level, they could safely get away with two. The purpose of it seemed to be to draw a spirit from a plane of ethereal beings, and convince it, by offering blood from magically potent individuals from both the dark and the light sides of the practice, to aid the summoner in performing various mental or magical tasks. Stone had never seen a similar ritual: summonings almost always involved brute force, bending whatever spirit was called to the summoner’s will. It was essentially enslavement, which was why Stone didn’t like to do it. Not that he had any particular compunctions about binding extraplanar beings if necessary, but he suspected his definition of “necessary” was a lot more stringent than Kolinsky’s. Summoning was a dangerous business that went wrong more often than it went right unless the summoner accounted for every possible variable, and it could prove quite messy if mishandled. Stone could count on the fingers of both hands the times he’d done or participated in even moderately rigorous summonings, and at least half of them hadn’t gone as expected.

  That said, however, they weren’t inherently the province of black magic, despite the enslavement aspect and the fact that they usually involved some amount of blood or other bits of sentient beings like hair or nail clippings (or more intimate bodily fluids, but that kind of summoning was something Stone stayed well away from on purpose).

  It was one of those philosophical aspects that Stone sometimes had trouble getting through to very young or idealistic white mages: at its core, black magic simply involved taking power from others, as opposed to generating it from within oneself. That was it. Everything else was window dressing. There was nothing that prevented white mages from killing, from exploiting their powers to gain benefit for themselves, or from doing things like using blood in the performance of magical rituals, as long as it was one’s own blood or was given freely and knowingly by someone else. None of these things would result in the “dimming of the soul” (there were better ways to describe it, but they didn’t work too well when dealing with beginners) that could lead to a gradual loss of the ability to perform white magic.

  Conversely, no requirement existed for black mages to do “evil” things with their magic. There were plenty of black mages out there who got their power by drawing it a little at a time from a series of unwitting mundanes, usually in crowd situations like nightclubs, shopping malls, and sporting events. Others had volunteers who willingly gave them power in exchange for other considerations—Kolinsky no doubt fell into this category, since Stone couldn’t picture him voluntarily subjecting himself to a crowd of people.

  Stone finished studying the ritual, got up, and entered the room containing the circle. He would have liked more time for his study—a few hours at least—but he felt he’d gotten enough to provide the minimal assistance Kolinsky asked of him.

  Kolinsky glanced up from where he was putting the finishing touches on one of the small circles within the larger one. “I’ll be ready in a moment,” he said. “Please, feel free to look over my work. A second pair of eyes is always welcome.” He’d removed his jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, revealing the intricate black lines of thaumaturgical symbols tattooed on his powerful forearms. Stone realized he’d never seen Kolinsky in anything less than a full suit before.

  Coming from Kolinsky, his statement about the second pair of eyes couldn’t help sounding a trifle macabre, but Stone didn’t respond except to begin pacing around the outer edge of the large circle, comparing Kolinsky’s work against the images on the pages. He found only one minor inconsistency; Kolinsky did good and precise work. He pointed it out and waited while the black mage corrected it.

  “There,” Kolinsky said at last, stepping out of the circle and looking it over.

  Stone did so as well. It was a masterwork: not simply a single circle but two, one within another, with ancillary workings around both designed to channel power precisely into the center. A small table had been placed outside the center but within the outer circle; it contained a shallow carved bowl, another copy of the ritual spread out on a bookstand, and two black knives, one on each side. The spirit would be summoned into the center circle and held there while Kolinsky, with Stone’s help, directed the power and fed it in a little a
t a time, offering it to the spirit along with a taste of the additional power it could have if it agreed to the terms of the summoning. Of course, if it didn’t agree to the terms, the center circle was designed to hold it in place long enough to send it back where it came from. That was where things could get sticky.

  That was also where it got fun, though. Stone’s excitement built: as potentially dangerous as the summoning—any summoning, really—could be, it was also a rare opportunity to pit his own magical skill against something unknown. He didn’t often get that kind of chance, and when it came right down to it, that was why he’d agreed to Kolinsky’s bargain.

  Still studying the circle, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid it off, tossing it to the side and well away from the edges of the circle. He took off his tie, dropped it onto his jacket, and turned up his own sleeves. Then he faced Kolinsky. “Shall we, then?”

  Kolinsky nodded. As he focused on the work at hand, his hooded, hawk-like features seemed sharper than usual. He stepped into the circle, taking his place on the left side of the table. After a moment, Stone followed him and stood to his right. They both paused, taking deep, centering breaths.

  Stone willed his mind to calm, clearing it of all outside influences. It was never good to have less than your full focus on what you were doing during any magical ritual, and it was particularly true for summonings. He closed his eyes, hands hanging loosely at his sides, and listened as Kolinsky began reciting the ritual. His voice was deep and precise, pronouncing each word with great care. It wasn’t quite a chant, but it had the melodic quality of poetry. Stone focused on his words, following their course as he felt power beginning to build within the inner circle. He knew the actual summoning wouldn’t take long: it was the preparation that consumed the majority of a ritual’s length.