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

by R. L. King

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Zack pushed through the ward and stood blinking on the other side, the only light coming from his tiny flashlight.

  The wards had felt familiar somehow, like maybe he’d gotten through others created by the same mage before, but his memory wasn’t good enough to correlate them with any of those he’d breached over the past few days. He was finding more and more often these days that all the weed he smoked had made holes in his memory, much like he made holes in the wards. He struggled even to remember the simple incantation to reach through the shop’s door and open the physical lock so he could gain entry.

  He hoped desperately that this was the last job the pretty, scary lady planned to give him. She claimed it was: before she’d sent him off with his instructions, she’d told him that after he handed over this last set of books, he’d get his promised rewards. She’d even given him an ounce of absolutely primo herb, admonishing him to make sure it was out of his system well before he was ready to do the job. “Fail me, Zack,” she warned, stroking his chin with a long, blood-red fingernail, “and you’ll be in for a world of hurt. But do this right and you’ll get what you deserve.”

  Zack and his considerably tighter jeans assured her that he would do a good job. She could count on him. Absolutely.

  She’d gotten him a plane ticket to San Francisco (coach, to his disappointment: he’d hoped she’d spring for first class, so he could pretend to be a big shot), and arranged for a friend of hers to pick him up and deliver him to his destination. The job was to get in, grab the indicated books, get back out, and then meet up with the getaway driver a block down the street. Hand over the goods and wait to hear from her for his payment. Quick, easy, and done.

  He was nervous. For one thing, this was a shop instead of a residence. In his limited experience getting through wards, he’d found that most mages relied on their magical defenses to keep their personal stuff safe. Of the places he’d broken into, all but a few of them had relied solely on their wards to keep thieves out. They didn’t have burglar alarms, motion detectors, or even overly barky dogs to deter him. He’d studied a bit of lockpicking back when he’d first decided that this might be a good career for him, and could still get through most normal household locks if his hands didn’t shake too bad. But those were residences. This was a shop. True, it was a pretty crappy-looking shop, in a pretty crappy neighborhood. Maybe the guy who owned it figured his wards would be enough: they were heavy-duty wards, after all.

  The scary lady hadn’t told him who owned the shop; just that she’d gotten word through her information network that he was storing a collection of books there for a special invitation-only sale he’d be holding the following night. “I can’t tell you which books to take for sure this time,” she’d told Zack, “because I don’t know what he’ll have. But the intel I got said that some of them would cover summoning. Take those, and a few more you pick at random. Don’t take too long, though.”

  Now, standing inside the shop and closing the door behind him, Zack was sweating. So far it had been easy, but every minute he spent in here was another minute he expected the owner or a security guard or some freaky bound spirit to show up and zap him. He’d never even learned how to do a shield, so if that happened he’d be screwed.

  “Come on,” he whispered, swiping a hand across his damp forehead. “Just do it quick and get out. This is it. Do this and you’ll be rich.” He paused for a moment to let his mind drift over all the things he could do with a million dollars (most of them centering around finding a luxurious place to stay, some hot chicks, and a whole lot of top-shelf weed) and all the things he and the scary lady would do together. Scary as she was, he wouldn’t pass up a chance at having some of that.

  He stood there for a moment longer, shining his little flashlight around the front part of the shop. There were a few display cases and a desk near the back, its roll top closed. She’d said the books he wanted would be in the back, so he headed for the door at the far end of the shop.

  It was unlocked. This guy is pretty careless, Zack thought idly, pushing it open. Maybe this would be easy after all.

  The back room contained a series of file cabinets, credenzas, and a large work table. Piles of books were stacked with neat precision on the table. This room had no windows, so Zack risked switching on the light. He shrugged off his empty backpack and tossed it down next to the stacks, then began scanning their spines for the ones he’d been told to look for. His lips moved as he read each title. “Summoning…” he muttered, as if to remind himself. On the second stack, he found a likely candidate about halfway down. He reached out to shift the rest of the books to a different pile.

  “I wouldn’t touch that,” a voice said.

  Zack literally jumped. He also made a little eep! sound and barely avoided wetting himself. He scrambled a couple of quick steps back, searching the room for the source.

  It wasn’t hard to spot: A man stood on the other side of the table, against the wall, where Zack was sure there had been no man before. He was tall, wore a dark suit, and his black eyes were the dead cold of a hunting predator. His gaze was locked on Zack; his face had no expression.

  Heart pounding, breath wheezing in his throat, Zack could only think of escape. He spun and prepared to take off at a run toward the exit door. He could still get out if he hurried—

  Except another man stood in front of that door.

  This one was taller, thinner, and younger than the first one, dressed in a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and long black coat. Unlike the first one, he was smiling, but it was not a pleasant or encouraging smile. He looked like a happy shark.

  Zack skidded to a stop, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I—” he began, his weed-addled mind casting desperately for an excuse, for something that would get him out of here in one piece. He couldn’t come up with one. “I—”

  The younger man looked him up and down, contempt all over his face. “You don’t look like anything.” His accent was British. “How did you even get in here?”

  “Uh—” Zack began. He thought about trying to make a run for it anyway, to bowl the tall British man over and try to get past him. Maybe he could make it. He tensed, indecisive.

  His body went rigid as some force took hold of him. His hands locked at his sides, his body rising off the ground and floating over to the older man. Oh, holy shit…what are they gonna do to me—?

  “You,” the older man said implacably, with no change of expression, “are going to answer some questions.” He had an accent too, but it was slight, and Zack couldn’t place it.

  He tried for bluster. “Or what?” he demanded. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because if you don’t, you will die. Unpleasantly,” the man said.

  The British man came over, unhurriedly, like he had all night. “He’s right, you know,” he said. “You don’t want to make him angry. He’s not a nice man. I’m not a nice man either,” he added. “So you’d best answer. And I suggest you don’t try to lie: we’re both quite good at reading auras, so we’ll know.”

  Zack, never the bravest of souls, deflated under the intensity of their twin gazes. “Fine,” he said, blowing air out loudly. “Yeah, fine. I’ll answer.” A million dollars and hot sex with a smokin’ babe were great, but continued existence always won out. “Whaddya want?”

  The older man seemed content to let his companion do the questioning. He remained to the side of Zack, a silent and threatening presence. “What’s your name?” the Brit asked.

  “Z-Zack.”

  “You’ve been busy, Zack,” he said. “Quite the world traveler.”

  “Huh?” Zack stared at him. It actually took him that long to put the thoughts together: he’d been in England recently. This guy was English. Oh, fuck…His face fell.

  “You’ve been poking your nose around in quite a lot of places it doesn’t belong,” the man continued. “How have you been doing that? How did you get past the wards?”
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br />   “If I tell you, will you let me go?” Zack’s voice shook, but he was beyond the point where that could embarrass him. Shame was a luxury somebody in his current position couldn’t afford.

  “Oh, you will tell us,” the man said. “You won’t be making any bargains. It’s just a question of how unpleasant things are likely to get for you before you do.”

  Oh God… Why was the world so full of scary people who were more powerful than he was? This is why he’d gotten out of the business in the first place, and now he’d been dragged back into it. He took a deep shuddery breath. “I…I’m really good at getting through wards,” he said.

  The older man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  The British man nodded. “I suspected something like that. Where are the books, Zack?”

  “What books?”

  He shook his head, looking disappointed. “Wrong answer. Let’s try again, shall we? Where are the books you stole?”

  “I-I don’t have ’em.”

  “Who does? Who did you steal them for?”

  “Look,” Zack said, struggling to free himself from the older man’s iron magical grip. “I’ll tell you everything I know. You just gotta promise to let me go. That’s all.”

  The force holding Zack got just a little tighter, and the older man’s eyes flashed warningly.

  “No promises,” the British man said. “No bargains. I’m losing patience, Zack. Talk. Now.”

  Zack bowed his head. “Fine,” he breathed. “Fine.” Scary lady hadn’t given him anything yet. Even his low-wattage brain could work out that there was a decent chance she’d never intended to give him anything close to a million dollars, or the other things. “There was this chick,” he said. “I didn’t even want to do it. I was out of the business. Too scary. Too dangerous. But she sorta made me do it.”

  “She made you do it? How did she do that?”

  “She offered me a lot of money. And she said she’d kill me if I didn’t.” His eyes widened and he looked up to meet the Brit’s eyes. “You didn’t see her, man. She was scary as hell. And hot as hell. You’d have done it, too.”

  “Did you get her name?”

  Zack shook his head several times. “Nah, man, and that’s the truth. She never gave me a name.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Like I said: hot. Red hair, green eyes, big boobs—”

  The Brit glanced at the older man, who shook his head. He re-focused on Zack. “Where was she? Where did you meet with her?”

  “New Mexico, man. Not sure where, exactly. Not too far from where the portal is. She sent somebody to pick me up when I came through.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “You know about the portal. That surprises me. I wouldn’t think you could manage it without getting killed. Where is the house? Do you have an address? What did it look like?”

  “I dunno, man.” Zack shook, trying to remember. “Honest, I don’t. It was some big Spanish-lookin’ house. They’re all over the place around there. She’s not there anymore, though. She was just usin’ it, I think.”

  “Do you know any of these people?” the man asked, pulling a folded newspaper photo from his coat pocket and spreading it out. “Have you seen any of them at all?”

  Zack examined it. It showed a middle-aged woman, a man of about the same age, and a young girl. He shook his head. “No. No. I ain’t never seen any of ’em.” He wondered what the man was trying to get at, and almost wished he had seen them. Anything to get him out of here alive.

  The man’s expression remained unreadable as he put away the photo. “What were you supposed to do with the books when you got them? Were you to deliver them to this woman?”

  Zack closed his eyes. He had no idea what to do here. His brain spun so hard trying to find an option that would keep him alive that he thought he might pass out. “Nah…” he said, then looked up, grasping at any straw he could find. With more bravado, he added, “I got people waitin’ for me! I was s’posed to hand over the books to them, and then wait for instructions. They’re gonna get suspicious if I’m gone too long, you know.”

  The Brit and the other man exchanged glances, and the other man nodded and quickly left the room. It was then that Zack realized he’d fucked up again. He slumped, tears welling up in his eyes. “Aw, man…” he blubbered.

  “Just be patient,” the Brit said. “We’ll get back to you shortly.”

  Zack didn’t move, except to sob silently. He didn’t even try to get away now that there was only one captor instead of two. He knew it was pointless.

  Five minutes later, the other man returned. When he looked at the Brit and shook his head, whatever remaining hope Zack had departed. The Brit crossed his arms over his chest and looked smug. “Apparently your ride has left without you, Zack,” he said. “Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

  Zack racked his brain. Now that he knew his getaway drivers had left him in the wind and he was in ‘spill his guts’ mode, he desperately wanted to dredge up something that would get these two frightening men off his back. “No. That’s all. Oh! Wait. Yeah, there was one other thing.”

  The man made a ‘go on’ gesture.

  “There was a kid there too. Like ten or so. Maybe it was her son, but she didn’t look old enough to have a kid that age. And he seemed like he was interested in the books, too.” He took a long deep breath. “She got really pissed when she saw one of the books, and then she showed it to the kid.”

  The younger man exchanged glances with the older one again. “Do you know why she was angry?”

  He nodded, again repeating the gesture several times as if afraid they wouldn’t notice. “Yeah. She got mad at me because I broke into a place I wasn’t supposed to. I thought I was doin’ a good thing. You know, gettin’ extra books. But I thought she was gonna kill me when she saw that book.”

  “Why is that? Where did the book come from?”

  “Some big spooky house down south of London. I heard some guys talkin’ about it in a pub. Belonged to a guy named—oh, damn—Rock, or—No, wait! Stone. It was Stone. When she saw that name, she freaked. I thought she was gonna kill me, man.”

  Once again the two men looked at each other. “So—she didn’t want you stealing from this Stone?” the Brit asked.

  Zack shook his head. He was truly amazed how much of the meeting with Scary Lady he’d managed to remember. He supposed this level of terror blew away a lot of pot-fogged cobwebs. “She said I might have caused her trouble, and if she had trouble, she’d give me trouble.” He was shaking again. He looked beseechingly into the Brit’s eyes. “Please, man. Please. Just let me go. I’ll be outta here pronto. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again, and neither will she. I know when to cut and run.”

  The Brit sighed. “Just—stay here a moment,” he said. He nodded toward the other man, who made a slight gesture that spun Zack around so he was facing the wall.

  He tried to turn his head but he couldn’t see anything. “Oh, God,” he murmured. “I am so dead…”

  Stone led Kolinsky to the other side of the room, where they could converse without Zack hearing them. Both of them kept a close eye on the skinny little stoner, even though Kolinsky’s spell held him suspended and immobile.

  “Odd,” Stone whispered. “Whoever orchestrated this little plan, they specifically didn’t want their flunky stealing from me.” His magical library in Palo Alto was untouched, and he’d found no sign that anyone had broken into his home by magical means or otherwise.

  “Do you believe it to be this Evil you spoke of?” Kolinsky asked in the same tone. “Do you recognize either of the people to whom he referred?”

  Stone shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. They can change bodies if they need to. I know they prefer not to because it means killing the previous host, but if they’ve got a black mage on their side, then disposing of bodies becomes much easier. And I’m sure trying to trace her now will be pointless. She wouldn’t be foolish enou
gh to remain in the same place, especially since I suspect she knows what an idiot Zack is, and how likely he might be caught.” He glanced toward the kid. “Now the hard question: what do we do with him?”

  “That isn’t a hard question, Alastair.” Kolinsky’s gaze was still and cold, his expression neutral.

  “You can’t just kill him.”

  “Can’t I?” He frowned. “Be realistic. He is dangerous. To have such a talent without the skills or the sense to use it? I am frankly surprised that he’s survived as long as he has. And at any rate, if we let him go he will simply return to his masters and tell them everything that transpired here.” After a pause, he added: “And if what you’ve told me is true, it’s possible that he is one of them.”

  Stone sighed. “I’m not going to commit murder, Stefan. Not for this.”

  “Nor do you need to,” Kolinsky said. “You can simply leave now. You’ve gotten the information you need, have you not?”

  “I don’t think there’s much else we can get from him,” Stone said with some reluctance.

  “All right, then,” Kolinsky said, his tone deceptively soft. “Go home. I will deal with our friend, and you needn’t know how I do it.”

  Stone gritted his teeth, frustrated. He didn’t like it, not at all. But he also wouldn’t try to justify it, to himself or anyone else. If he walked out of Kolinsky’s shop, Zack was a dead man. His mind returned uncomfortably to the discussion he’d had with Jason in England, when he’d discovered that his own wards had been breached and his books had been stolen. He’d been ready to kill the thief then. Was this really so different?

  This was, after all, a war. People died in wars. Sometimes innocents died.

  Whatever else he was, Zack was no innocent.

  Stone faced Kolinsky, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’ll leave dealing with him up to you. I don’t want to know what you do with him. But if you keep him alive, make sure he’s out of the way until we get this sorted. Don’t underestimate the Evil.”

  Kolinsky nodded gravely. “You will hear nothing more of the matter, I assure you.”