Blood and Stone

by King, R. L.

  He left the park and headed down Ojai Avenue, walking under the arches of the Spanish pergola that ran along the opposite side of the street from the Arcade and past the town’s iconic post-office tower. A banner strung across the street at the intersection advertised a concert at an outdoor amphitheater called Libbey Bowl on the upcoming Sunday night.

  Ojai really was a beautiful little town, but his mind was so preoccupied that he barely saw any of it, his long strides taking him past a single-screen theater, several more boutique shops, and the library. With some amusement he thought about going in, just to see if they did have a ‘magical tomes’ section. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn’t feel like dealing with another of Ojai’s relentlessly polite and cheerful service people. When he was feeling moody, polite and cheerful people tended to get on his nerves.

  He realized that this wandering, while undoubtedly picturesque, was doing him no good. It wasn’t helping him find Jason; it wasn’t even helping him get his own thoughts together. He might as well just go back to the house; if nothing else, he could rest for a bit. He had a feeling he’d better take his rest when he could get it.

  He tossed his overcoat over a nearby chair and nearly missed the flashing red light next to the phone. It hadn’t even occurred to him that this rental house had an answering machine. He stabbed the button without giving it much thought, figuring it was probably a message for the house’s owners or the previous tenant.

  The voice that spoke was male and sounded older. “Yeah, uh, I’m looking for Alastair Stone. My name’s Stan Lopez—I’m with the Ventura Sheriff’s Department. Could you give me a call if you get this? I’d like to talk to you about Jason Thayer. Thanks.” He left a number and then the machine beeped. It was the only message.

  Stone’s eyebrows crept up. Had they found out something about Jason? Had they found him? He picked up the phone and punched in the number, waiting impatiently. After a few moments he was connected. “Sergeant Lopez,” said the familiar voice.

  “Good afternoon, Sergeant,” Stone said. “Alastair Stone. You wanted to speak with me?”

  “Ah. Yeah. Thanks for getting back to me so fast. Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about Jason Thayer.”

  “So you said. Has there been a development? Have you found out something about where he’s gone?”

  “No. That’s what I hoped to talk to you about. You’re a friend of his, right, from up north?”

  “Yes...” This conversation was going in an odd direction. Wouldn’t the police already know that?

  “I guess he hasn’t mentioned me. I’m an old friend of Jason’s family. His dad and I were on the force together. I’ve watched that kid grow up, him and his sister. I heard you were down here looking for him, and I just thought maybe we could compare notes if you have time.”

  Then it clicked in Stone’s mind: he remembered Jason mentioning “Stan” a couple of times in the past, when he and Verity had gone down to Ventura to visit their old haunts. “Right. Of course I do. Just tell me where to meet you. Shall I come to the station?”

  “No—I have lunch coming up in a bit. Can you come to Ventura and meet me at Fratelli’s? It’s a little place on Main, downtown. Do you know where it is?”

  “No, but I can find it.”

  “Okay, then I’ll see you there. And thanks.”

  It took Stone about half an hour and a couple glances at the foldout map on his passenger seat to find the little restaurant. It was an old place that looked like it had been owned by the same family for at least two or three generations, sandwiched between a thrift store and a walk-up rooming house. He went inside and paused for a moment in the doorway; the place was bustling.

  “Over here!” a voice called, and Stone glanced toward the back to see a figure beckoning him toward a table.

  He threaded his way through the crowds and approached. “Sergeant Lopez?”

  The man stood up and offered his hand. “Good to finally meet you, Dr. Stone. Jason’s told me a lot about you.” He was maybe fifty or a little older, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a tanned, weathered face, and a solid frame a couple inches shorter than Stone. He wore a crisp, dark blue uniform and looked like the kind of classic, no-nonsense police officer who could put the fear of God into the hearts of criminals and errant kids alike.

  “Yes, I remembered after we hung up that he’s mentioned you as well.” Stone sat down across from him at the little red-and-white-covered table. “How did you know how to find me? Did someone at the Ojai department tell you?”

  “Yeah. Ever since Jason turned up missing, I’ve naturally been following the case, doing what I can on my off hours. Pete Casner mentioned you were down.”

  “Did he also mention that he nearly arrested me yesterday?” The waitress came by and dropped off water, a basket of bread sticks, and menus, but Stone kept his gaze focused on Lopez.

  “Yeah. He did. He also told me that they’re looking at Jason as a person of interest for the murder the other day. Which is bullshit.”

  “Indeed it is,” Stone said. He leaned forward. “Sergeant, did you see Jason at all when he was down here? Did he say anything to you?”

  Lopez shook his head. “Nah. We were gonna get together on Sunday, day after the wedding, and catch up. First I heard he was missing was when he didn’t show up. Did he say anything to you before he left to come down? Mention anywhere he might be going?”

  “Just the wedding,” Stone said. “Honestly I didn’t pay that much attention. We haven’t been getting together that often these days—both been busy with our own things. But I’m sure I’d have remembered if he mentioned anything odd he planned to do.”

  “Yeah.” Lopez sighed. “Pete said something about him calling you early Saturday morning?”

  “He did. I didn’t get home until Saturday morning around ten, and the message was waiting for me. It was timestamped at around seven a.m., which is about the earliest he’d think he could get away with calling me.” He gave a wry smile. “He knows I get a bit cross when I’m awakened too early.”

  The waitress came by again to take their orders. After she left, Lopez regarded Stone soberly. “I hear you stumbled on a murder scene yesterday.”

  Stone nodded.

  “That’s gotta be rough. I hear it wasn’t a clean one, either. If you don’t mind my asking, what were you doing out there? I know that part of Creek Road—there’s not much there but trees and dust and the occasional junkie.”

  “Casner didn’t tell you that part, then?”

  He shook his head.

  “Sergeant, did Jason ever tell you what I do?”

  “Not exactly. He said you taught up at Stanford, but that’s about it.”

  Stone took a deep breath. “My subject is the occult.”

  Lopez stared. “So, like ghosts and tea leaves and that kind of sh—er—stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that got to do with finding the body?”

  “I had a sort of vision that showed me that location. I—thought I might find Jason there.”

  Lopez didn’t answer. He took a sip of his water and ate half a bread stick, never taking his eyes off Stone. Stone could almost see the wheels running in the man’s head: This guy is Jason’s friend. I can’t come right out and call him a freakin’ loon.

  “Look,” Stone said, saving him the trouble, “whether you believe it or not is irrelevant, really. What matters is that we’ve both got an interest in finding Jason. You called me because you wanted to compare notes. Shall we do that?”

  Lopez took another bite of his bread stick. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Let’s do that.”

  Stone told the man what he knew, starting with Jason’s phone message. He didn’t say anything about his suspicion that his friend was being held by some sort of supernatural force; if the guy couldn’t handle a garden-variety psychi
c vision, things from other planes of existence were going to be right off the table.

  “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Lopez said after he’d finished. “Jason’s usually pretty straight, but if he was getting together with that pack of crazies he used to hang around with in high school, I’m not surprised he got himself falling-down drunk. I’m also not surprised he decided to walk back instead of driving.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow. “You said ‘crazies.’ You don’t think any of his friends—” He let it trail off.

  “Nah, they’re all okay.” he said, shaking his head. “They can get a little wild, but they’re all good kids. Most of ’em still live around here. Jason was one of the few who left, after that business with Verity. You know Verity, right?”

  Stone nodded. “Yes. I helped Jason when he was dealing with her issues a couple of years ago.”

  “Yeah, he said something about how that was how he met you. I don’t get that whole thing, really, but it’s none of my business who he hangs around with. How’s she doing, by the way? I’m surprised she’s not here too.”

  “She’s away,” he told him. “Back east, on a retreat with some friends. I’ll call her as soon as she returns to civilization in a few days.”

  Lopez shook his head again and scratched at the back of his neck. “Man, that family’s had some heavy shit to deal with, I’ll tell you. First their mom getting sick, then Verity going off the deep end, then their dad getting killed in a stakeout, and now Jason turning up missing like this. You’d think God’d leave ’em the hell alone for a while, you know?” He sighed. “Well, anyway, thanks for coming, Dr. Stone. I wanted to meet you and give you my number, so you can give me a call if anything does come up. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come up there if it’ll help.”

  “I appreciate that, Sergeant.”

  “Call me Stan. Like I said, I’m not exactly acting in an official capacity here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t plan to do everything I can to find Jason. I’ll keep an eye on the hospitals and—that kind of thing—in case he turns up. I’m sure the Ojai guys are putting out bulletins, too. We’ll find him.”

  “We will,” Stone said, nodding, wishing it were as simple as circulating some photographs and watching for unidentified injured or dead men. Because wherever Jason was right now, he doubted any mundane means would have a prayer of locating him.

  This was one of those times when he really wished there were more mages in the world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Back in Ojai after finishing his lunch with Stan Lopez, Stone considered his next moves. He knew he’d have to go on the offensive as soon as possible: he didn’t think for a moment that whatever was holding Jason would just let him go when it finished with him. Not alive, anyway. And since he had no idea why it was keeping Jason alive in the first place, he had to assume the worst: that it wasn’t going to hold him for much longer.

  That was, if it hadn’t already disposed of him.

  Sitting at the kitchen table in his rented house, he glanced at the copy of the local paper he’d picked up on his way back. The story about the second murder hadn’t been very informative: it only provided minimal details about the specific location, and said nothing about the odd, primitive circle surrounding the body. The only bits of information it contained that Stone didn’t already know were that the as-yet-unidentified victim was a man in his thirties and likely a drifter—apparently the area where he’d been found was popular with both drifters and locals as a place to take and sell drugs. The article also hadn’t mentioned Stone at all, which was good.

  He set the paper aside. The way he saw it, he had two options: he could either do another ritual to try to pinpoint Jason’s location, or he could focus on trying to figure out what was behind the abduction—and probably the murders as well. Both had their disadvantages: since he knew Jason was being concealed by something with magical power, trying to find him without a tether object would be extremely difficult, if not impossible—and that didn’t even include the possibility that since the thing holding him now knew Stone was out there looking, it might very well be lying in wait for him to try again. And as for figuring out what the thing was—he didn’t have a clue where to start. As experienced as he was—and he had no false modesty, he was good—there were still more things out in the world that nobody knew a damn thing about than things they did. If this was one of the former, then all the magical libraries in the world wouldn’t help him figure it out.

  He scrubbed at his hair with both hands. It had been a long time since he’d felt this helpless. Unprepared, away from his familiar surroundings, and unable to shake the persistent thought that Jason was already dead somewhere, he felt his mind spin uselessly, like wheels trying to find purchase in loose dirt.

  “Damn you, think,” he snarled aloud. Without his two favorite sounding boards, he was reduced to talking to himself, and he didn’t like it. This town was supposed to be full of odd people—surely there had to be some magical presence.

  He flung himself out of the chair and began pacing the living room, staring out the window at the quiet, tranquil street. Then he spun, stalked over to the phone, snatched up the book next to it, and paged through it with frustrated speed.

  Just as he expected, the yellow pages contained nothing listed under Magic.

  Feeling very stupid and like he was just wasting time, he flipped past the Ms to the Os.

  Occult Bookstores.

  “You’ve got to be bloody kidding,” he whispered.

  But no, there it was: The Third Eye Bookshop and Mystic Emporium. The listing was accompanied by a small display ad featuring typical occult symbology: pentagram, alchemical symbols, and a pyramid with an eye hovering above it. Come in and explore your magical side! it exhorted in appropriately flowery script. Palm readings by appointment. It was right there on Ojai Avenue; he’d probably passed right by it on his wanderings without seeing it.

  Well, he wasn’t getting far with any of his other avenues. If he couldn’t find anything else to aid his investigations, he’d have to risk doing the ritual again. It couldn’t hurt to check the place out on the off chance he might find something useful. He’d found useful things in stranger places.

  The reason, it turned out, that he hadn’t spotted the Third Eye Bookstore and Mystic Emporium was that it wasn’t visible from the street. It was a little further up Ojai Avenue from where he’d been walking this morning, but he had to descend a flight of stairs into a hidden courtyard to get to it. The only thing that marked its existence from the street was a small sign, purple with golden lettering, on the side of the building near the stairs.

  The courtyard was tiny and secluded, its neat lawn bisected by an equally neat little cobbled path with two whimsical stone benches along one side. The path ended in a single shop, the top half of its purple, two-piece door standing invitingly open. The display in the window contained the usual collection of things Stone had seen at countless other such shops: draped tapestries, candles, crystal balls, figurines of dragons and wizards, and a large stuffed black cat wearing a witch’s hat cocked at a jaunty angle. Hanging from the ceiling so they caught the light were stained-glass images featuring fantastic creatures, a few crystal prisms, and a half-dozen fancy wind-chimes. A golden eye with rays emanating from it was painted on the front of the display window.

  Stone pushed open the lower half of the door and stepped inside; a bell on the inside of the knob gave a cheerful tinkle. Stopping just inside, he switched to his magical senses and scanned the interior of the shop.

  It was every bit as busy and cluttered as the window: its small confines were filled with tiny tables covered with dark lacy tablecloths, shelving units packed with books, decks of tarot cards, incense, and similar items. Every inch of the space was occupied, giving it the claustrophobic but somehow comforting aura of a crazy old auntie’s favorite parlor. An earthy, sweet aroma wafted through th
e air, so strong it made Stone’s eyes water a bit. The place certainly looked the part of a magical emporium, at least as far as the layman was concerned.

  Unfortunately for Stone, he wasn’t a layman. Equally unfortunately, this shop was about as magical as the local supermarket. Disappointed, he let his gaze linger over the shelves, paying particular attention to the books. Perhaps somewhere amid the stacks he might find one or two that might be—

  “Good afternoon!” A pleasant voice from somewhere off to his left interrupted his examination.

  He turned to find a well-padded woman in her late forties coming out from the other side of a counter that had been mostly concealed behind a rack of flowing, colorful robes and caftans. Dressed in a loose, multi-hued tunic and wide-legged white slacks, she had long, gray-shot reddish hair, a big smile, sparkling eyes, and wore far too much makeup and jewelry. “May I help you find something?”

  “I’m just browsing,” he told her. “I saw your sign as I was walking by and thought I’d see what a ‘Mystic Emporium’ might look like.”

  Her smile widened. Score another one for the accent. “Well, welcome, then. Browse all you like. I’ll be right over there if you need anything.” She waved a ring-bedecked hand in the general vicinity of where she’d come from.

  “Thank you. I’ll certainly do that.”

  True to his word, Stone spent the next ten minutes wandering the store. He devoted the most time to the bookshelves, crouching down next to a large one and scanning the titles for anything that might have a shred of magic. Most of the books were of the new-agey variety, more concerned with crystals and yoga than the actual practice of magic. He was about to stand back up when he spotted one that looked interesting: Ojai: Lore and Legends. It looked older than some of the others, its dull buff-colored cover marking it as possibly being printed locally. He slipped it off the shelf and leafed through it. It was short, only a little over a hundred pages, and contained chapters with tantalizing names like “Legend of the Char Man,” “The Headless Motorcyclist,” and “Magic of the Chumash.” Deciding it couldn’t hurt to read up on the occult happenings in the area even if they were all urban legends, he kept the book with him as he continued his browsing. He picked up a few mundane things that were useful in magical rituals such as candles and incense sticks, and carried them all to the counter.