by King, R. L.
“So that’s maybe why he didn’t just summon it again once he got past your trap?”
“Almost certainly.”
“So once he started killing all those people—”
“He didn’t know what to do with the power,” Stone said, nodding. “Without that illusion to bleed some of it off, I think he might have gotten to the point where he couldn’t release it all. If he had, it probably would’ve caved in a good section of the Underground and killed us all, so it’s probably best that he didn’t. Best for everyone but him, at least.”
“So what’ll happen to him?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll go see if he’s awake and have a little chat with him. Care to come along and help me with the aura reading?”
“Sure,” she said. “But Doc—”
“Let’s go, then,” he said briskly, cutting her off.
She gripped his arm. “Doc.” Her tone was firmer that time.
“What?”
“You’ve got your magic back.”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “Sort of,” he said.
“No ‘sort of’ about it. I saw what you did—if you hadn’t hit him with that spell, I’d be dead now.”
“Well, then, it’s good that I did it, isn’t it?”
She took hold of his other arm and pulled him around to face her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
She studied him a moment. “How long have you known it was back?”
“Verity—”
“How long?” she asked, more firmly.
“Not long,” he said. “When I was building the construct. I hadn’t checked in a while—been a bit busy—so I did.”
“And—?”
He shrugged. “It was back.”
“But…” She took a breath. “If it was back, why didn’t you use it in the fight? Did you let yourself get caught?”
“No.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. She backed away from him and began to pace in a fair imitation of his own habit. “Why, then?”
Stone thought about just walking out of the room. She didn’t need to know the details. Everything had turned out all right. But—he owed her the truth, or at least some subset of it. “Because it wasn’t fully back yet. Not even close.”
She stopped, turned back. “So…you mean it was, like, healing? Just starting to come back?”
“Yes.”
She was silent for a long time. “So…” she said slowly, carefully, as if each word were delicate and she didn’t want to break it, “—you didn’t use it because you were afraid if you strained it, it might not heal.”
“Verity—”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” She came over and stood in front of him again. “So you risked losing your magic again—maybe for good this time—to save me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “Things were moving fast. I didn’t have much time to make a decision.”
“And that was the one you made, when you didn’t have time to think.” Her mouth worked, and she swallowed twice in quick succession. “Dr. Stone—”
“Enough,” Stone said firmly, turning away. “We have things to do and people to see.” He picked up his coat and shook it, scattering a light dusting of ashes. “And tailors to visit, since somehow I don’t think even a good cleaning will make me ever want to wear this again.”
Verity nodded. “Yeah,” she said, but her voice shook a little. She strode over to him in three quick steps and flung her arms around him, squeezed tight, then broke off just as quickly and headed for the tunnel. “C’mon, then. If we hurry we can get back to the Bay Area before Jason gets home, and maybe he won’t kill us both.” She stopped abruptly and turned back. “Doc?”
“Yes?”
“It…is still back, right? You didn’t—”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s still back. And no, I didn’t.”
“Cool,” she said, and hurried out.
The Forgotten had Blitz under tight guard. As Verity had said, he lay on a sleeping bag near a wall, his right wrist handcuffed to a pipe. He no longer wore Luke’s leather jacket. Somebody had wrapped a rag around his eyes as a crude blindfold. It was impossible to tell if he was asleep, unconscious, or simply not moving because he didn’t have a reason to. Two Forgotten, Zenna and a young man, sat nearby on milk crates, rifles cradled in their laps.
“What’s this?” Stone asked.
“We’re not takin’ any chances,” Zenna said. “Already told him—he makes any kinda funny move, he’s gettin’ it.” She waved the rifle for emphasis. “Wish he’d give me an excuse.”
“Would you mind if we talked to him for a few minutes?” Stone asked, indicating himself and Verity.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Alone, I mean.”
She looked suspicious, but shrugged. “I guess so. But we’re still gonna keep ’im covered.” She levered herself off her milk crate and stumped off, waving for her companion to join her.
Stone dragged the crate closer to Blitz and sat down. “Can you hear me?” he asked.
Blitz moaned.
“Do you want me to take that blindfold off? Just a warning—my Forgotten friends have very twitchy trigger fingers, and they’re not terribly pleased with you right now. So I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. Do you understand?”
Blitz moaned again, and nodded.
Stone stepped forward, with a glance toward Verity to make sure she was paying attention, bent down, and slipped the blindfold from Blitz’s face.
Verity gasped softly from behind him.
Gone was the cocky, arrogant expression the young mage had previously worn. In its place were wandering eyes and a general slackness around his face. He didn’t look frightened, or angry, or even bored. He looked blank.
“What’s his aura look like?” Stone asked Verity.
“Dull,” she said. “Not like before. When he was pulling in power, it looked crazy—all flashing and changing colors. Now it’s just kind of…drab.”
Blitz giggled. “Drab…” he muttered. “That’s a funny word.”
Stone frowned. “Blitz, can you hear me?”
“Yeah…”
“Please watch his aura,” he said to Verity. Then, to Blitz: “Do you remember what’s happened to you?”
“My arm hurts,” he said, rattling the handcuff.
“Yes, well, I can’t do anything about that at present. Do you remember what happened to you?”
He rolled his head back and forth. “I remember some lights. And a lotta people yelling.” He giggled again. “They were nice lights. Really cool. All kinds of colors.”
Stone looked back at Verity. “Is he faking?”
She shook her head soberly. “Nope. His aura isn’t moving an inch.” She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Did he…mess up his mind?”
“It appears so.”
“What about his magic?”
“Quite probably, channeling that sort of power. He could have done what I did.”
“So his power might come back, too?”
“It might…if I knew that, I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to my own case. But the way he is now, it won’t matter. He won’t be able to use it like that. Keep an eye on him until I get back, will you?”
He got up and looked around for Malcolm. Eventually, he spotted the Forgotten group’s leader talking to a couple of others.
“Hey,” Malcolm said as he approached. “How you doin’? You okay?”
Stone nodded. “Listen—I need to talk to you about him.” He hooked a thumb back over his shoulder toward Blitz.
“He fucked ’imself up, didn’t he?”
Stone raised an eyebrow. “You know already?”
“Oh, hell ye
ah. You don’t live down here without seein’ too damn many people with their brains addled. You don’t fake that, man. Trust me. Anybody who knows can tell.”
“So what will you do with him, then?” Stone asked.
Malcolm shrugged. “Been talkin’ to some folks ‘bout that. You think he’s gonna be trouble? You know, with the magic?”
“No.” Stone shook his head. “I don’t think he will.”
“I dunno, man,” he said, looking at his feet. “He killed Luke. He killed a bunch of our other folks. He even killed his own people. That’s fucked up right there. But…he ain’t that same guy no more. Seems like it’d be wrong to just kill ’im, or hand ’im over to the Evil. Don’t ya think?”
“So…what…you’d take him in?”
Again, Malcolm shrugged. “Maybe. We let him go, he gonna get killed. Seems pretty chickenshit—if we was gonna do that, we should just kill ‘im ourselves, y’know? Nice an’ quick. Or we could just keep ’im around, y’know?”
“I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?” Stone’s mind went back to his conversation with Luke in the tunnels, when the Forgotten’s former leader had told him his people would take care of him if he was incapacitated or unable to fend for himself. He sighed. “Be well, Malcolm. All of you.”
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for everything, Doc. You didn’t need to stay here to help us out, but you did. We’ll remember that.”
“With any luck, you won’t need to,” Stone said. “Take care. I think we can find our own way out now.”
Chapter Thirty
“You’re quiet,” Verity said. “What are you thinking about?”
The plane to San Francisco had taken off twenty minutes ago. Stone sat back in the aisle seat, long legs stretched out as far as he could manage, eyes closed.
“Blitz,” he said without opening his eyes.
There was a pause. “You actually feel sorry for him, don’t you?”
He considered her words. Did he? He’d spent a fair bit of time over the past few hours speculating about what the young mage’s life must have been like to bring him to where he’d ended up—killing people indiscriminately for power because he didn’t know any better. “I just wonder how many more there are out there like him,” he said. “Wild talents. People who might do something useful with their abilities if only they’d been taught properly, instead of left to work it out on their own.”
She chuckled. “You gonna go all Professor Xavier on me, Doc? Run around looking for mage kids to train? Dr. Stone’s School for the Magically Gifted?”
“Gods, no.” He opened his eyes and tilted forward. “I can’t imagine me trying to herd mundane children, let alone ones with magic.”
She patted his knee. “It’s okay. Sorry to give you nightmares, there.”
“I’ll have enough of those already, I think,” he said, his amusement at the thought of a houseful of pint-size mages fleeing as his mind returned once again to the last few days.
Verity said nothing.
“He never even had the chance to work it out,” Stone said softly. “And now he never will. Even if his magic comes back…” He shuddered. He’d thought just a few days before that losing his magic would be the worst thing that could ever happen to him. He pictured Blitz’s slack face, his wandering eyes, and wondered how he could have been so wrong.
She touched his hand. “It’s okay, Doc,” she said softly.
“It’s not okay for him.”
“Maybe it will be,” she said. “Maybe the Forgotten will help him.”
“Maybe they will.”
She stared out the window for a long time—long enough that he thought she might just want to be alone with her thoughts for a while, so he leaned back again and closed his eyes.
“Doc?” Her voice was soft.
“Yes?”
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but…what you did…”
“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—”
“Enough, apprentice. It’s done. You’d have done the same for me.”
“Of course I would have. But—”
“But nothing.” He paused, then opened his eyes and twisted in his seat to look at her. “Are you planning to tell Jason about this?”
She considered. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Probably for the best,” she said, almost as if trying to convince herself, and then settled back against the window and resumed staring out into the beautiful blue morning.
Stone leaned back again. He turned his head a little and looked at his apprentice, curled up in her seat like a relaxed cat, the sun glinting off her dark hair. He shifted his concentration just a bit, and was rewarded by the sight of a faintly glowing nimbus around her body, pulsing with power and vitality. He smiled, remembering that he’d have to get her those books he’d promised her when they got back.
“Everything all right, sir?” The flight attendant had stopped next to their row.
He rolled his head toward her and smiled. “Everything’s brilliant.”
Read On For A Preview Of
BLOOD AND STONE
Book 6 of the Alastair Stone Chronicles
Coming in Summer 2016
Chapter One
I’m getting too damn old for this.
The thought hit Jason Thayer’s befuddled brain half a second before he doubled over and threw up into the gutter.
It was somewhere on the far side of two a.m., and he was seriously regretting his decision to walk back to his motel room instead of accepting Ed’s offer to call him a cab.
“It’s not far,” he’d said. “The night air will do me good,” he’d said.
God, he was an idiot.
The only thing worse than an idiot was a lost idiot.
The party had been fantastic: Ed’s parents had a big spread, complete with bar, swimming pool, tree-filled back yard, and big-screen TV on which to watch the impressive collection of pornographic movies the guys had procured, and they’d kindly agreed to clear out for the night so their son’s friends could drink too much and get sick all over the deck. After all, Ed was only going to get married once, right?
There weren’t supposed to be strippers—Ed had put up a token protest, complaining that if his fiancée found out about them he’d be spending his wedding night in the doghouse instead of the honeymoon suite. But they’d gotten a few shots into him, and before long he was cheering along with the crowd as the two eerily limber women had done things to each other that didn’t seem anatomically possible.
Yeah, it didn’t get much better than this.
Or at least it hadn’t before things finally started to wind down. One by one the guests tottered off, either to cabs called for them or to crash on one of the many couches or beds scattered throughout the house. Things were still going when Jason left, but he could see the party maybe had another hour of life left and even through his alcohol-soaked haze he knew he wanted to get at least some sleep before tomorrow—preferably in his own bed, not surrounded by a bunch of snoring drunks.
Throwing up at the bachelor party was one thing. Throwing up on the bride in the receiving line would be something else entirely.
Now, weaving along a winding, rock-lined street that looked like all the other winding, rock-lined streets in this godforsaken excuse for a neighborhood, Jason was beginning to re-evaluate the whole cab thing. Ojai, a few miles north of his native Ventura, was a small town, and nothing was very far from anything else. But even the couple of miles he had to cover seemed like an interminable hike when his head was pounding, his stomach was doing the cha-cha, and his shirt reeked of sweat, nachos, cheap beer, and the not-so-subtle hint of whatever perfume the blonde stripper had been wearing way too much of.
She’d been one fine-looking lady, thoug
h. Tall, tanned all over (and he meant all over), and built like a brick shithouse—whatever the hell that was supposed to even mean. He had vague memories of trying to coax her into one of the bedrooms with him as she ground herself on his lap in time with the driving beat of the music, and of her laughing cheerfully and calling him a “naughty boy” before sashaying off to rejoin her fellow performer in the front room. Ah, well. He’d tried. Nobody could say he hadn’t tried.
High school had been less than ten years ago, but despite the fun time he’d had at the party, he’d gotten a good headful of the reason why clichés got to be clichés: because they contained at least a little bit of truth. You really couldn’t go home again—not like the way things used to be, anyway. The guys—chubby party animal Shane, athletic ladies’ man Kurt, and longhaired wannabe jock Chris, who everybody called “Cramp” for reasons best left in the past—had been his best buds through high school in Ventura. They’d hung out together, dated the same girls and never committed to one, played on the same sports teams, and got into trouble on weekends. Not too much trouble, since Jason already had his mind set on the police academy even at that point, but enough that high school overall was a pretty good time in his life. A time before a lot of things had gone, as his friend Alastair Stone would say, “pear-shaped.”
Now, though, with his stomach roiling and his head feeling like somebody had used it for home base, high school seemed another lifetime ago. None of the others had left the area: Shane sold shoes at the mall in Ventura; Kurt, after losing his dream to play pro ball to a bad throwing-arm break in his senior year of college, worked at his dad’s landscape supply company; and Cramp, who’d never seemed to know quite what he wanted to do with his life, still lived at home and held down a dead-end job at a local hardware store. When the four of them had gotten together for dinner in Ojai prior to tonight’s party, Jason had a hard time joining in with their conversations, and even as great as the party had been, some small corner of his mind just wanted the night to be over. Even though he’d only lived in the Bay Area a year, the apartment he shared with his sister in Mountain View already felt more like home than this did.