by R. L. King
“Nearly?”
Jason beamed at Verity and clapped her on the back. “V was amazing, Al. You should’ve seen her. While I was runnin’ around trying to help the crew keep people from panicking, V was up here, making sure nobody got blown over. She was using barriers, grabbing people with magic and tossing them back on here—it was really impressive. I didn’t have any idea she was that good these days!”
“That’s—brilliant. Verity—I’m truly impressed. Nice job.”
She ducked her gaze, looking embarrassed, but her eyes shone with pride. “It felt good to be effective. I think I see now why you keep getting involved in stuff like this. It’s kind of a rush.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about it later.” Already, he could see the boat had changed direction and was chugging back toward the marina. It was nowhere near midnight, but he didn’t think anyone would object to cutting this particular cruise short. “Did anyone see you?”
Her eyes got big. “Oh my God, Doc, you were right! I wasn’t sure I really believed you before about mundanes not seeing what they don’t want to see, but it’s true! I was grabbing people from those snake things, tossing them through the air, putting up shields to stop them—but nobody even looked at me! A few of them kinda freaked out at what they were seeing, but I heard a couple guys talking about it—they think it was the waves!”
Stone chuckled. “It’s fairly amusing, isn’t it?” He leaned against the railing, watching the tiny form of the capsized ski boat bobbing along next to them, hoping the SFPD had good insurance since they were likely going to be buying Troy a new one. He continued maintaining the illusion to hide his bloody clothes, feeling guilty at how easy it was.
“Doc? You okay?” Verity appeared alongside him and took her place leaning on the rail.
That was a hard question to answer. He thought about Tate downstairs; whatever he’d done, he was nothing but an innocent victim caught up in something he couldn’t hope to resist. He hadn’t deserved to have his life force stolen. Stone wondered what he would do if the man died.
“I—” he began, and let it trail off before trying again: “I…will be. I’ve just got a lot of things on my mind.”
“You saved a lot of people tonight, Al,” Jason said. “That’s what you should be thinking about.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. But he didn’t meet his friend’s gaze.
55
So, that was quite a ride,” Leo Blum said.
“That it was,” Stone agreed.
They sat in the back of a little bar in San Francisco two days later, Stone halfway through a pint of Guinness and Blum nursing an Anchor Steam. The detective had asked Stone to come up so he could brief him in person on how everything had turned out.
“I kinda want to say it was exciting—definitely a lot different from my usual job trackin’ down murderers and drug dealers—but I think I could go the whole rest of my life without anything like that happenin’ again. No offense,” he added, glancing at Stone.
“None taken. I quite agree.”
“Yeah. They’re still tryin’ to figure out how they managed to lose track of a thousand-passenger cruise boat in the middle of the bay, and what caused the so-called ‘freak weather pattern’ that made the waves act up like that. The weather wonks are gonna be gettin’ papers out of this one for years—it’ll be fun to read all the theories they manage to come up with.”
Stone stared down into his glass. “How’s Tate?”
“No change.”
Dale Tate, it turned out, had been an engine-room crewman on the Beau Monde, which explained why he’d chosen the ship for his murders when the black serpent had taken hold of him. He’d been a demolitions expert in the Army many years ago, and had retained enough knowledge to construct the two small devices with which he’d planned to blow up the ship’s engines and tear gaping holes in the hold. Due to his long and exemplary record with the Symphony company, no one had questioned him when he’d showed up on board carrying a large duffel bag. He’d been able to smuggle his explosives down into the engine room, and then it was just a matter of waiting until the ship was underway and, with the help of the game piece, disabling the remaining engine-room personnel so he could deploy them. “Do they think he’ll pull through?”
“Yeah, eventually. There’s nothin’ physically wrong with him that they can find—just exhaustion. And his mind’s just…scrambled. They’re already seein’ a little improvement.”
“But he’s to be arrested.”
Blum sighed loudly. “Yeah. Nothin’ I can do about that, unfortunately. Nobody’s gonna believe ‘taken over by an ancient magical game piece’ as an alibi. Oh—that reminds me.” He pulled something from his pocket and put it on the table. “A little souvenir for you if you want it, since you lost the white one.”
Stone regarded the black winged-serpent figurine, now cracked and dead, and raised an eyebrow. “Stealing evidence, Detective?”
“Yeah, right.” Blum snorted. “Not like it’s gonna help with the investigation or anything.”
“Thank you, then. I’ll add it to my collection.” He left it there on the table for now, turning it so he could look into its clouded purple eyes.
“Yeah. But anyway, since Tate literally had no motive for what he did, they’ll probably go for some kind of insanity plea. Not great, but beats the hell out of the alternative.”
“I suppose it does,” Stone said. On both of the previous two nights, nightmares featuring Dale Tate’s accusing face had awakened him from sound sleep. Every time he felt the magic coursing through him, guilt followed along with it. He glanced up, forcing himself to change the subject. “You’re quite the hero, I hear.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s hard to bask in the adulation when I know I didn’t do jack shit and I can’t even tell anybody about what really happened.”
The official story, which had appeared in the next day’s front-page story in both the Chronicle and the Mercury News, was that Blum had received a credible, last-minute anonymous tip about a potential bomb aboard a bay pleasure cruise ship. He’d commandeered a boat and tracked down the correct ship, managing to stop the mad bomber just in time before he could set off his devices.
No explanation was forthcoming for how one of the devices had managed to explode without causing even minor structural damage to the Beau Monde, but that got glossed over in all the kudos being slung at Blum from all directions. He’d already been featured on several local news broadcasts, was set to receive a commendation from the mayor of San Francisco later that week, and would likely get a promotion.
“But you did do something,” Stone reminded him. “You got us out there to the boat on time—and you saved my life, which I won’t forget. If you hadn’t grabbed me when I was trying to get back on board, I’d have drowned.”
“Yeah, I guess. But that ain’t exactly something to deserve all this happy horseshit, is it? That’s just doin’ my job. Don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly. “I’m glad it worked out like it did, and I totally get that you don’t want your name involved. But still…”
Stone nodded in sympathy and sipped his Guinness. “So it’s true that no one was killed?”
“Not a one, which is a fuckin’ miracle if you ask me, with all those idiots out on the outside decks for as long as they were. Even the engine-room guys are okay. I think Tate or that thing of his used magic to knock ’em out.”
“Which seems odd, given that he planned to kill everyone,” Stone said. “But perhaps he was still in there somewhere, exerting some small bit of humanity.”
“Maybe so.” Blum drained the rest of his pint and set the glass down. “Well, anyway—it’s been an experience, Stone, I’ll say that. It was good workin’ with you, though I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ I hope I don’t have to consult you again any time soon.”
“I understand. But if you do happen upon any other cases with supernatural involvement, feel free to give me a call.”
�
��I’ll do that. But I gotta tell you—I’m definitely plannin’ to stick to the murderers and drug dealers for a while. Maybe not as exciting, but a hell of a lot safer.”
56
Stone asked Verity to come over the following evening. As usual, she insisted on cooking dinner. She showed up at six with two bags of groceries. “Are we having a lesson tonight? I thought you’d be tired.”
“No, not tonight. I just wanted to talk to you for a bit after dinner.”
She began unpacking the bags, waving him off when he moved to help. “How long before we’re doing this at the new house?” Raider leaped to the counter, anticipation shining in his big green eyes. She gently returned him to the floor.
“I suppose I should get on about looking for some new appliances, shouldn’t I? I’d appreciate your help with that if you have time—especially since you’re the only one who ever uses them,” he added with a wry smile.
“Sure. That’d be fun. Just let me know when.” She pulled a cutting board down and started chopping chicken. “Are you feeling better after getting more power?”
Jason had left two days ago to return to Ventura. He’d been reluctant to go, and Stone could tell from both the state of his aura and the glances he tossed Stone’s way that he hadn’t entirely finished working through the whole business with Stone and Verity. Nonetheless, he bid them both goodbye and told them he’d likely be investigating options in the Bay Area in a couple of months after he’d passed his test and obtained his private investigator’s license.
Before he left, he insisted on giving Stone power. “It’s been almost a month since last time,” he said. “You’ve gotta be getting low by now, especially after what happened. Let me top you up before I go, and I’ll come back next month too.”
Stone didn’t argue with him, even though the energy he’d taken from Tate still surged through him, a constant reminder of his guilt. Jason never felt anything when he gave power, so it was easy enough to grip his shoulder for a few seconds, assure him that everything had gone fine, and thank him for his contribution.
Something else for Stone to feel guilty about—lying to one of his best friends—but that didn’t even rate compared to the one-two punch of his own weakness and the horrors of his family history.
He and Verity discussed neutral topics until dinner was ready. Stone poured two glasses of wine and took his seat. “How have you been? This has been quite a lot of excitement over the last couple of weeks.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “It was a little hard to go back to work today—you know, fixing lattes kinda pales in comparison to nearly getting blown up on a boat in the middle of a magical storm, but I’m dealing with it, you know?”
“Of course you are.” He had no doubt about it. It was one of the things he admired most about Verity: she rolled with whatever oddness life threw her way with a surprising amount of calm. Perhaps it was her age, or perhaps the fact that she’d experienced enough strange events before he’d even met her that she was getting used to them by now. Either way, Stone had always prided himself on his resilience until he met Verity.
“Are you okay?”
He glanced up. “I’m fine,” he lied. “The game’s over. Things are calming down. I’m looking forward to a quiet, uneventful summer.” Just in case he let anything show on his face, he looked down at his plate and busied himself with another bite of Verity’s delicious chicken stir-fry.
“Okay,” she said, an odd edge to her voice. “You know you’re terrible at that, right?”
“At what?”
“At lying to me. Something’s up. Why don’t you want to tell me what it is?”
“What makes you think something’s up?” He knew it wasn’t his aura—he’d been making an extra effort to keep it under control around Verity lately, and she wasn’t good enough yet to punch through his masking when he paid attention.
“Because,” she said patiently, “you just saved a whole boatload of people from drowning or being blown up this weekend. Seriously—I know Jason and I helped out some, and so did Detective Blum, but mostly, it was all you. You should feel good about that. I’ve seen you before when you did something you were proud of. But this time you’re not acting like you are.”
“Of course I am. I’m very happy we were able to stop that. Especially since no one was killed.” He still didn’t look at her.
“But something’s wrong. If you don’t want to tell me I guess I’ll have to accept that, but I thought we’d come further than that by now.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “Come on. You know it always helps to talk about stuff. Let me be the good listener this time. It doesn’t have anything to do with us, does it? Or with Jason finding out?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Or with me seeing Kyla?”
“No.” He gripped her hand and let his breath out. “I didn’t ask you over here to tell you my troubles.”
“I know that. But I want to hear them anyway. That’s what you do when you care about somebody. Then you can tell me whatever else you wanted to say.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. For several more seconds, he didn’t look up as he struggled with himself over whether—and what—he wanted to tell her. Finally he sighed and dragged his gaze up to meet hers. “I’m…having a bit of trouble coping with being a black mage,” he said softly.
She looked surprised. “Trouble? But I thought Jason—”
“Yes. Jason’s power works just as it always has. But after what happened with Acantha—well, I’m finding it difficult to resist the temptation to seek out…other sensations.”
Her hand tightened and her expression stilled. “You mean the rush you were telling me about. The one that black mages get when they take power.”
“Yes.”
“And…Jason doesn’t give you that rush?”
“No.” He looked away, then back at her. “Please—don’t ever tell him. I can get everything I need to do proper magic from him.”
“But not everything you want.”
He didn’t answer, except to pull his hand back.
“So…” she said slowly, “You still want the rush. Can you get it from the other people—like the one you went to see before?”
“Yes. If I can trust myself to do it again.” Damn, this was hard. He’d never been good at discussing his feelings—if it had been anyone other than Verity across the table from him, he probably would have made some biting remark and ended the conversation right there.
But it was Verity. “But…that isn’t it either,” he finished.
“What is?”
Go ahead. Tell her. If she leaves you, it’s probably for the best anyway.
Angry at that uncharacteristically maudlin thought, he hardened his expression. “I’ve taken power without permission, Verity. I’ve given in to the temptation. Twice, in fact. And I’m not at all sure I won’t do it again.”
There, it was out.
He watched her, heart pounding, fists clenched on the table, halfway convinced that her next action would be to get up, cast him a look that was half judgment, half pity, and make an excuse to leave.
She didn’t do that. Instead, she reached back across the table and took his hand again. “When did you do it?”
He swallowed, letting himself relax fractionally. She hadn’t left—that was a beginning. “The first time was the rapist I told you about—the one I tracked down with the Harpies.”
“That piece of crap? He’s lucky you didn’t kill him.”
Once again, he pulled his hand back, surprised at her response. “How is what I did any better than what he did, Verity? He forced himself on those women—and I forced myself in a different way on him.”
Instead of addressing that, she met his gaze again. “Who was the other one?”
“Tate. On the boat this weekend. I nearly killed him. I would have killed him if Blum hadn’t pulled me off.” His voice shook. “I…I wanted to kill him.”
“But you had
to do that to stop him,” she protested. He’d already told her and Jason the whole story of what had happened in the engine room—everything but what he’d done to Tate—on the way home the night of the Fourth. “You were out of magic. If you hadn’t done that, he’d have blown up the boat.”
“Maybe. But even so—I could have stopped him some other way. I could have knocked the remote control away from him. I could have partially drained him and then backed off. But I didn’t. I wanted to bleed him dry until there wasn’t anything left. And if Blum hadn’t stopped me, I would have done exactly that.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. When she didn’t respond, he glanced up, afraid of what he might see.
She was watching him, her expression full of gentle resolve. “And now you’re afraid you’ll do it again.”
He nodded. “Temptations are easy to resist when you’re content and happy and satisfied. But apparently not so much when things get a bit more uncomfortable.” Bowing his head, he added, “What if I kill someone next time, Verity? Even knowing I had a willing source of all the power I’d ever want from Jason, I still ended up chasing the rush when things went pear-shaped. I feel like a bloody drug addict.”
She put her hand on his, but didn’t grasp it this time. “Don’t jump down my throat for this, all right? I’m sure you’ve already thought of it, but I’m just trying to help.”
“I’d never do that,” he murmured.
“Well, you would,” she said, voice laced with fond amusement. “But…I know you were trying to get Mr. Harrison’s magic to work for you before. Is that…getting anywhere?”
“Not really.” He had thought of that—several times in fact—since he’d gone black, hoping it could be an alternative if he could ever manage to work out how to control the bizarre, extradimensional magic source without burning out his own magical abilities for anything from a few hours to several weeks. He’d even called Nakamura at the Obsidian a few weeks ago to ask if Harrison had ever shown up, but his assistant hadn’t seen him since the time Verity had briefly chatted with him last December. “I’ve hit a plateau, I think. Best I can do is use a bit of it in rituals, but anything more and I end up with nothing. Not really an option if I want to keep doing regular magic.”