Core of Stone

by King, R. L.

  Stone smiled faintly. He wasn’t sure if she was kidding, but had no trouble believing she wasn’t. Her real business, selling exotic magical items—both those she purchased from her far-flung network of contacts and those she created herself—was run out of the back part of her shop. The part he could no longer see unless she allowed it.

  “Come on, then,” she said, pushing aside the curtain. “I sense this isn’t entirely a social visit. Let’s go sit down where it’s more comfortable, shall we?”

  He followed her through the doorway and didn’t feel the buzz of the ward this time. As soon as he passed through to the other side, the view changed: instead of an unremarkable storeroom stacked with haphazard boxes, he stood in a small parlor featuring a round table draped with a red linen cloth, four carved wooden chairs, and an elaborate crystal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Exquisite Asian prints and several small sculptures decorated the intimate room, all of which Stone knew from previous experience would be equally at home in the finest museums on Earth.

  “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll get us some tea and refreshments, and then we can talk.”

  Stone lowered himself into one of the chairs facing the curtain. The ward only obscured vision in one direction: anyone back here could see the front of the shop as it was. He folded his hands on the table, stared down at them, and waited.

  In five minutes Madame Huan returned, bearing her usual tray of teapot, cups, and a stack of delicate cookies. She settled it in the middle of the table and sat down across from Stone. “So then,” she said, “How have you been?”

  Stone thought a moment about how to answer that. Finally, he said, “Remember the Evil?”

  “Of course.” It had been several months since Verity had come to her and spilled the story of the Evil and the quest to destroy their portals. Stone hadn’t discussed the subject with her since then, and as far as he knew, she hadn’t heard anything about their trip to Burning Man. “Have there been…any new developments?”

  He nodded. At her gesture toward the tray, he picked up the teapot, poured two cups, and took one. “They’re gone.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really? Gone?”

  “Well…their leaders are gone. I’m sure there are quite a lot of the lower-level ones still knocking about.”

  She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “And how did that come to be?” she asked. “I suspect you had something to do with it.”

  “We all did,” he said. He stared down into his cup, finding it hard to meet her gaze. “Jason and Verity and another mage friend. I assume you heard the news from Burning Man?”

  “I…heard something happened a week or so ago,” she said. “I don’t follow the mundane news as much as I probably should, to be honest. But there was some sort of…terrorist attack, yes?” She paused a moment, then nodded. “Ah. Yes, of course. It wasn’t a terrorist attack at all, was it?”

  “No.” He gave her a brief description of the leader Evil’s plan to open the permanent portal, and what they’d done to stop it. All he left out was the part about using Harrison’s magic, and what had happened to him after. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell her yet, but perhaps he wanted to give her time to digest the first part before he dropped the rest on her.

  “I…see,” she said when he finished. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Well done, Alastair. I remember the last time we spoke, you weren’t sure you’d even be able to close the original portals, and now this.” Her brow furrowed, and she frowned. “But I sense that you’re troubled about something. Is it safe to assume you didn’t come here to share your success in dealing with the Evil?”

  His gaze came up. “Have you looked at my aura since I arrived?”

  “No. I never like to pry.”

  “Could you do it now?”

  “Of course, if you like.” She looked perplexed, but leaned back in her chair and her eyes took on the faraway, fuzzed-out look indicating that she was observing the unseen. She blinked, tilted her head, and looked again. Then she switched back on. “Interesting…”

  “How so?”

  “You don’t see it?”

  “What do you see?” he asked softly.

  “There’s something…different,” she said. “It’s subtle, and I might not have noticed it if you hadn’t asked me to look, but it’s definitely there.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well,” she said, “It’s as if there’s something…extra there. Your normal aura is that lovely shade of violet with bits of gold overlaying it. But now there’s a new color, right at the edge. A sort of…silver. It nearly blends with the gold, which is why it’s so hard to see.” She leaned in a little. “Do you know where it came from? Does it have something to do with what happened with the Evil?”

  He bowed his head, one hand clutching the other. “My magic’s gone, Madame Huan.”

  “What?”

  When he brought his eyes back up, he saw a look of shock on her face. With slow deliberation she set her cup down on the table. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Gone,” he said bitterly. “Burned out. I’ve been trying for days—I can’t even manage a simple aura reading.”

  “How—how did this happen? Did the Evil—”

  “The Evil had nothing to do with it—at least, not directly. I had to use…a different sort of magic I’ve been studying—a more powerful type, but one I don’t have much control over yet—to stop them. And when I woke up in hospital three days later, it was gone. All of it was gone.” His voice shook, and he made no effort to stop it.

  She was silent for several seconds. “Oh, Alastair…” she whispered at last. She covered his hand with hers again. “I’m so sorry.”

  He grasped her hand, forcing himself to remain gentle, and met her gaze with his haunted one. “Can you take a look—a deeper look—and see if you can see anything else? I need to know if it’s permanent, or if there’s a chance it could come back, over time.”

  “I can try,” she said. “Can you tell me anything about this different sort of magic?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. It’s something I learned from…I suppose I can’t exactly call him a friend, but someone who helped us with the portal in Las Vegas. He sent me the bare bones of it in a notebook, and I’ve been studying it for months, trying to work out how to use it.”

  “And this was the first time you’ve ever used it?”

  “No…but it was the first time I ever used that much of it. The other times it was always just a bit. Just dabbling. It…using it…involves opening a conduit to another dimension, and pulling the power in from there, instead of from within myself, or taking it from other people.”

  She stared. “Alastair…you must realize, of course, that if such a thing actually exists, that’s…revolutionary.”

  “Revolutionary,” he said, the bitterness seeping into his tone again. “Yes, it’s revolutionary, all right. Everyone who tries to use it burns out their ability to practice magic. I’m sure it will be all the rage.” He sighed and bowed his head again, plowing up his hair into spikes with his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shh.” She got up and sat back down in the chair next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. It’s all right. Come with me, and let me take a look at you. Maybe I can find something to encourage you.”

  He got up and silently followed her out of the room, this time through another doorway in the back. In all the times he’d visited Madame Huan, he’d never gone beyond the sitting room. If he’d been feeling more like himself, he might have taken more of an interest in what he walked past as she led him down a hall, up a flight of stairs, and into a room. As it was, all he noticed was more artwork, some Asian and some European, and a general impression of minimalist luxury.

  “Here we are,” she said. “Lie down, make yourself com
fortable, and let me see to a few things first.”

  Chapter Three

  In the center of the room was a narrow bed with a silk covering and a single pillow embroidered with Chinese characters and the image of a waterfall spilling into a small pond. Surrounding the bed as a permanent feature of the intricate, stone-tiled floor was a magical circle. Stone slipped off his boots and lay down; only then did he notice the far-off, peaceful sound of water babbling as if from a fountain, though he could see no such fountain here. The only other furnishings were a nightstand with a silk-shaded lamp, and a high-backed wooden chair near the door. The room had one window, covered with heavy, closed drapes.

  Stone lost track of time until Madame Huan returned. “Here we are,” she said. She pushed a wheeled cart containing a series of items, covered with a cloth as on a surgeon’s tray. Stone watched her, but it didn’t occur to him to be concerned. If he could not trust Madame Huan, then he was in trouble. Especially since he’d just revealed his defenselessness to her.

  She pulled the cover from the tray to reveal the typical array of items used for a magical ritual: candles, crystals, sticks of incense.

  “What will you do?” he asked. He knew from their previous discussions that her magic tended far more toward the subtle arts than his did: her talents lay in divination, psychometry, intricate ritual magic, and the creation of enchanted items. He had never seen her cast any sort of offensive spell, though he suspected her to be fully capable if the need should arise.

  “Just take a deeper look,” she murmured as she moved around the circle, most of her attention focused on setting the candles into position at each of its points. When she finished, she picked up a series of tiny crystals from the tray, each one no bigger than a quarter. “Lie very still,” she told him, and proceeded to place each one on his body: one on his forehead, and then she lifted his T-shirt and placed one on his chest above his heart and one on his abdomen. Finally, she gently took his hands and turned them palm-up, and then placed another crystal on each of them. All of them felt pleasantly warm on his skin, like the tiniest of hot-stone massages. He couldn’t move his head without dislodging the crystal on his forehead, but the tilt from the pillow allowed him to see that the two under his T-shirt were glowing faintly through the black fabric.

  “All right,” Madame Huan said in a soft, soothing tone. “Close your eyes, and try to relax as much as you can. Deep, cleansing breaths. If you fall asleep, that’s fine—once I begin the ritual, the crystals will remain where they are.”

  Stone did as instructed, closing his eyes and employing one of the meditation techniques he used to get himself into the proper frame of mind for performing ritual magic. The floral scent of incense wafted around him, and Madame Huan’s low, musical voice began to recite an incantation—Stone neither spoke nor understood any of the Chinese languages, so none of it made any sense to him, but nonetheless he soon found himself drifting off, floating peacefully as if on water, or borne up on a cushion of air. He hoped the ritual would reveal something definitive…

  He woke, blinking, to find Madame Huan bent over at the circle, picking up the candles. He no longer felt the slight weight of the crystals on his palms, so he risked lifting his hand. Sure enough, the little thing was gone. He rolled over on his side. “That’s it?” he asked. “You’ve barely started.”

  “You’ve been asleep for over an hour,” she said gently.

  He sat up abruptly and glanced at his watch. She was right: it was nearly four o’clock, and he’d arrived before three. Almost afraid to ask, he said, “Did you…find anything?”

  “Yes.” She continued picking up the candles and stowing them in an embroidered bag.

  “And…?”

  She sighed and turned to face him. “I can find no trace of magic within you, Alastair.” Her expression was both kind and sad. “I’m sorry.”

  A chill rose up his back, and he gripped the edge of the bed. “Does that mean it’s permanent? That there’s no chance it will—“

  “I don’t know,” she said. “That, even my ritual couldn’t reveal. As of this moment, your body is free of magic. Whether it will heal over time like a physical wound…I don’t know.”

  Stone slumped. He felt like a patient whose doctor had just given him a devastating diagnosis. “Have you ever seen anything like this before? Ever seen anyone lose their magic?”

  Madame Huan took his hand. “No,” she said, still in the same gentle voice. “I’ve seen cases where it’s atrophied from lack of use, but that can be remedied by simply beginning to use it again. I’ve never seen a situation like this before.”

  “Then…it’s over,” he said, head bowed. “I’m done.”

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go back out front and talk.”

  “I should go,” he said. “I’ve got things I need to do.”

  Her dark eyes met his. “One of those things wouldn’t be going home to get your affairs in order, would it?”

  He could tell he hadn’t hidden the astonishment in his eyes well enough—especially since she was probably still looking at his aura. He didn’t answer.

  “Come with me,” she ordered again. “You’re not leaving until we talk.”

  “You’d prevent me, then?” he asked, gaze coming up, a little edge touching his tone.

  “Of course not,” she said mildly. “I would never do that.”

  “You could.”

  “I could,” she agreed. “To be fair, I could have before, when you were at the height of your power. But I never would.”

  Stone didn’t doubt she was speaking the truth. He’d never tested the limits of her power. “Fine,” he said. He hopped off the bed and shoved his feet back into his boots.

  Once they were back out in the sitting room and Madame Huan had brought out a fresh pot of tea, she resumed her seat across from him. “Tell me about this magic,” she said. “And the man you learned it from.”

  “I told you already,” he said. “It draws energy from another plane. The instructions he gave me were quite basic—hints as to how to find the plane, and more hints about what to do when I found it. But nothing about this. About the consequences.”

  “And you’ve never experienced anything like this before when you used it?”

  He thought back to the times over the past year when he practiced, always taking care to open the way between the two planes only a bit—the barest pinhole in a dam that held back an ocean. Even doing that had been difficult; in fact, most of his effort in trying to get a handle on using the magic was making sure he could keep that pinhole small and manageable. “I don’t think so.”

  “So it’s not a matter of simply touching this other plane,” she mused, and sipped her tea. “It’s a matter of degree. Minimal contact doesn’t affect you.”

  “Not so much minimal contact,” Stone said. “I like to think of it as using one of those high-pressure hoses that they use on house fires. You can control how much you open it—whether you get a trickle or something that could erode rock.”

  “And this business at Burning Man was more of the ‘eroding rock’ end of the spectrum.”

  Stone nodded. “Essentially, I just opened the conduit and let fly. I didn’t expect to survive it, honestly. But it was the only way I could find to deal with the situation. I was exhausted and injured at the time, and my normal magic was useless against it.”

  “I see,” she said. “So you just tried this because you had no other choice? You didn’t know whether it would work either?”

  “I wasn’t sure, but…” Stone paused as a memory struck him. “Wait a moment…”

  Madame Huan regarded him silently and took another sip of her tea.

  Stone leaned forward and gripped the edges of the table. “There was another time,” he said. “When I used more than a bit.” In his mind’s eye, he pictured the large open room that fo
rmed his black-mage associate Stefan Kolinsky’s ritual space, the spirit they’d summoned, and the ritual spiraling out of control. He’d used more than a bit of Harrison’s magic then, too, to disrupt that spirit. In fact, that had been what gave him the idea to try it with the one at Burning Man.

  “And what happened then?” she asked. “I’m assuming it didn’t burn out your magic, or you’d have mentioned it.”

  “I…” His grip on the table tightened. “I didn’t think it had, but…” He stared at her. “I was doing a ritual with someone else. It went pear-shaped about halfway through, and I ended up using this technique to deal with it. I used more than usual, though not nearly as much as I did at Burning Man. It wiped me out. My colleague was injured…I tried to heal him—well, as best I could, anyway—but nothing happened. I chalked it up to exhaustion. But perhaps it was more than that.”

  “You think it did burn out your magic, at least temporarily.”

  He nodded, trying to remember the time after the ritual. He hadn’t even tried to use magic until the following afternoon, when he’d gone to A Passage to India to travel to his home in England. “But it’s already been almost a week since I got back. That time, it couldn’t have been longer than a day.”

  “Perhaps it’s exponential,” she said. “Or…I’m sorry to suggest this, but it’s possible you did push yourself too hard this time, and made it permanent.”

  Stone bowed his head again, looking down at his hands wrapped around his teacup. They shook, and he carefully loosened his hold so he didn’t crush the delicate porcelain.

  “Tell me about this man,” she said. “The one who taught you the magic.”

  He spoke without looking up. “His name is Trevor Harrison. I’d never heard of him before we met in Las Vegas, which is odd, given that he’s one of the most powerful mages I’ve ever met, if not the most. And that includes my old master, who’s no slouch.”

  “Odd,” she said. “I’ve never heard the name either. Difficult indeed to hide that kind of power.”