by R. L. King
Jason chuckled. “Okay, fine. Yeah, I’m seein’ someone. Her name’s Kristen, and she’s an EMT. I met her at the hospital last month when I was checkin’ on a guy there for a job.”
“Well, good for you,” Stone said. “Perhaps I can make it down there soon and you can introduce us.”
“We’d love to see you,” Verity said. “But I know you’re not gonna go anywhere until you figure out your mystery. Let me know if you want me to come up there and help out. I was planning to go visit Sharra for a while, but if you need me I’ll stay around. I’m sure Edna’d give me a break. Jason’s probably too busy, though.” Her smirk came through in her voice.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said dryly. “But don’t postpone your trip on my account. I’m sure I can sort this out on my own. You two take care. It was good talking with you.”
“Say hi to your cat for us,” Verity said. There was the grin again.
“It’s not my cat. I told you—it’s temporary.”
“Yeah, you keep on believing that, Doc.”
Chapter Nineteen
The more Stone thought about it, the more Verity’s idea about going back to the construction site when the workers weren’t there made sense, and after an hour the temptation grew too strong to ignore. He had no idea if the strange figure he’d seen earlier hung around the site or if his overworked imagination was just blowing things out of proportion, but if there was any chance he might see something, he intended to take it.
He waited until ten o’clock, so he could be sure no late-evening walkers might be strolling through the area, checked to make sure Raider’s food and water dishes were full (he caught a glimpse of the cat dashing back under the armoire when he opened the door—he supposed that was a bit of progress) and headed off.
After dark, the job site looked a lot different from that morning. A few lights illuminated the area, but few enough that most of it was still wreathed in darkness. Stone parked closer this time in case he had to get out in a hurry, and didn’t waste time looking at the concrete foundations. The skeletal framed houses loomed eerie against the dark sky, like some kind of zombie buildings ready to pull free of their moorings and shamble after him.
He’d brought a flashlight but didn’t use it—the dim light was enough to make sure he didn’t trip over anything, and what he was looking for would show up far better under magical sight. He hadn’t thought to check out the mysterious figure’s aura—he’d barely had time to spot it at all before it disappeared—but if anything alive lurked around here now, it would be easy to pick out from the featureless gray of the houses and construction equipment.
The most logical place to start was probably the house where he’d seen the figure before. Careful not to trip over anything, he began walking the perimeter, keeping magical sight up and alert for any sudden movements.
A small form darted off, startling him until he identified the faint green aura of some kind of creature—perhaps a stray cat or raccoon. He must have startled it more than it had him.
“I know you’re here,” he muttered. “Come on out and let’s have a look at you.”
Nothing answered, of course. He finished his perimeter walk around the house without spotting anything; he even used the flashlight, shielded with his hand, to double-check the dusty patch under the window, but found no sign of footprints or other evidence that anyone or anything had been there.
He’d been inside when he spotted it last; lengthening his strides, he hurried back around to the front of the house and slipped in through the front doorway, scanning the large entry area with magical sight before entering. “Are you in here?” he called. “Don’t be shy.”
Still no reply. Magical sight picked up nothing but more gray, unremarkable features: the wooden frame, stacks of drywall, construction debris.
He hadn’t looked upstairs before—it was possible that what he’d seen was nothing more than homeless people who used the places for shelter. It was hot enough in the summer that they wouldn’t need a roof, just somewhere to sleep in peace away from the cops.
The house had one of those sweeping, curved staircases so popular in ostentatious mini-mansions, though it looked much less impressive in its naked wood form. Stone mounted it slowly, shifting his magical gaze back and forth. It wouldn’t do to have someone surprise him at the top. Still nothing to see—if anybody was hiding in here, they were doing a good job of it.
He checked the rooms quickly: five large bedrooms, including two master suites with enormous baths and what looked like walk-in closets, two additional baths, a linen closet the size of a small bathroom, and what appeared to be some kind of office or nursery with a tiny second attached room.
His footsteps rang hollowly against the bare floors, the air full of typical construction smells: drywall dust, fresh wood, caulking. Every few seconds he’d glance out the window, but no glowing auras hovered there.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He was seeing even less now than he had earlier. Surely he must have either imagined the figure or it had been something innocuous, like a workman or a local kid. Either way, it was likely a waste of time to remain here for long and risk being spotted by a night watchman.
He headed back for the stairs, pausing for a moment at the top to scan the area below.
The series of quick steps behind him barely registered before something shoved him hard from behind, and he was falling.
Chapter Twenty
Stone tumbled down the stairs, pain lighting up his left shoulder as it took the brunt of the impact, rolling over and over until he managed to get his shield up an instant before he slammed into the curve halfway down.
As he lay there, stunned and panting, he just spotted a shadowy figure darting back into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Ignoring the pain, he made the quick shift to magical sight. No glow showed around the figure as it disappeared.
Bloody hell.
A humanoid figure with no aura could only mean a small number of things: it had vanished before he could get a proper look, it was an illusion…
…or it wasn’t alive.
Neither of those last two possibilities were good news for him right now.
Stone struggled to a sitting position and took stock. His shoulder throbbed, but not enough to make him think he’d broken it—fortunately he’d gotten his protective shield up quickly enough that he hadn’t gone arse-over-teakettle all the way down the stairs and probably brained himself in the process.
He jumped up, taking advantage of the adrenaline rush, and ran back up the stairs, following the path the figure had taken. The house was big, but in its skeletal state it didn’t include too many potential hiding places. Either the figure was still in here somewhere, or it had jumped out the window and taken off. But why would it shove him down the stairs and then run?
One thing was sure: he wasn’t imagining things anymore. Something was here, and it was out to get him.
A quick sweep through the rooms on the side where the figure had run revealed no sign of it. Stone didn’t rely only on magical sight this time, but turned on the flashlight and swung its beam around, trying to pick out anyone crouching in a shadow. Suddenly the big house felt cramped and close, with too many places the thing could be lurking in ambush. Where had it gone?
He didn’t bother going down the stairs this time, but merely climbed out through an upstairs bedroom window and stood balanced on the roof beams overhanging the three-car garage. His heart pounded along with the throbbing in his shoulder, but he ignored it.
A quick noise, just above him.
He reacted without conscious thought, flinging himself sideways as something heavy hurtled down from the roof above him and crashed into the space he’d just stood. Whatever it was dropped through the opening between the wooden beams and slammed into the floor.
This time, though, Stone was more pre
pared. Instead of rolling off the roof and landing hard on the ground, he called up a levitation spell to stop his momentum before he reached the edge and twisted his body so he could see the roof level above him.
The dark figure crouched there, half-hidden behind a massive brick chimney, holding something in its hand. This time it wasn’t trying to hide, though—it leaned out further and whipped the object toward Stone.
Stone didn’t bother trying to get a good look at either the figure or the object. He shifted to the side and gathered more magical energy as the object sailed past him, then loosed a concussion spell at the figure with a roar.
The spell blew the figure backward; it tumbled over itself and dropped off the roof without a sound. It also tore a hole the size of a large dog in the side of the chimney, sending a spray of bricks and dust flying after the figure.
“There you go,” Stone muttered in satisfaction, levitating up and over the house to follow the figure’s trajectory. The force of that spell, even striking only a glancing blow, should have been enough to incapacitate any normal, nonmagical human.
Of course, normal, nonmagical humans had auras, and this thing didn’t.
He reached the roof’s edge on the other side and peered down, looking for a prone form.
Nothing, other than more chunks of brick and dust cascading over the edge and pattering to the ground.
Where the hell was it?
Stone levitated down, landing on the ground about twenty feet out from the house. Summoning his shield again in case the figure decided to chuck more building materials at him, he stood in the middle of what would eventually be the street, with plenty of room around him, turning a slow circle in an attempt to spot where the figure had ended up.
The shield flared pink as something hit him hard from behind.
He spun.
This time the figure didn’t make any attempt to move, but merely stood there, half-crouched, watching him. It held another brick in its hand, but didn’t throw it.
It was too far away to make out any features, but Stone got the impression of roughness, as if it were humanoid but not quite properly formed. He was sure now that whatever it is, it didn’t have an aura. In fact, it almost seemed darker than the darkness around it.
“What do you want?” he called.
Something else hit his shield, and once again it flared pink.
Stone took a quick glance over his shoulder and spotted a second figure standing in the same half-crouched pose, shifting from foot to foot as it watched him. Like the first one, this one didn’t have an aura either.
What the hell are you?
A third brick struck the shield from yet another direction, the pale pink of the impact glowing a little brighter this time. Whatever they were, they were strong.
He turned slowly, picking out three figures all together. Each one stood around fifteen feet away from him in a loose circle, close enough that if he made a run for it they could probably take him down before he got past them. Likewise, he couldn’t stand here all night letting these things pitch bricks—or worse—at him until his shield failed.
But damn it, he had to at least take a shot at figuring out what they were. If need be, he could get out of here with his levitation spell. Sure, they might lob a few more bricks at him, but he could get himself gone fast enough that even if a couple got past the shield, they’d have to have bloody good aim to peg him anywhere likely to do permanent damage.
It was worth the risk.
He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and aimed it at one of the figures. “You want to play? Let’s have a look at you, then,” he called.
The thing shied back as if the light hurt its eyes, but not before Stone got a look at its face.
It did look human—it had all the standard-issue parts—but at the same time it looked oddly alien, as if its features had been fashioned from rough clay by a sculptor who wasn’t quite sure how to represent a human figure. Stone got a brief impression of beady black eyes, a lumpy nose, leathery skin, and a thin slit of a mouth before the thing took a couple steps back and shielded its face with its arm. It wore jeans, a denim work jacket, and a dusty plaid shirt.
Two more bricks hit Stone’s shield from behind.
“Damn it, that’s quite enough of that!” He whirled, sighted on one of the figures, and flung a concussion beam straight toward the center of its chest. Maybe if he could knock it out, the others would take off and he could question it.
The thing didn’t see it coming, but to be fair, concussion beams were hard to dodge. Unlike more showy spells like fireballs and lightning bolts, they appeared as nothing more than air rippling between the caster and the target. Aside from being Stone’s go-to choice when he wanted to hit something without making it obvious he was throwing spells, he also didn’t want to kill whatever this thing was. Not yet, anyway. If he killed it, he wouldn’t be able to make it tell him who’d sent it.
The spell slammed into the figure and blew it backward, halfway across the cleared space where the street would eventually be. It hit the ground hard and rolled into the debris-strewn front “yard” of the house across the street, but scrambled quickly up again. It didn’t even look like it was breathing hard.
Stone took a quick look around again as two more bricks hit his shield. So far, these three seemed to be the only ones in the area. “What do you want?” he called again, as the one he’d plugged resumed its spot in the loose circle ringing him. “Tell me about your boss. Perhaps the two of us can have a chat.”
He backed off a bit. The three creatures moved along with him, keeping the same distance between themselves and him. He flashed the light around between them. Odd—they all looked almost identical, as if they’d been cast from the same imperfect mold. Were they some kind of construct or golem? Had the thing he’d seen forming from the vile heart in Dennis Avila’s apartment created them?
A thought chilled him as another brick smashed into the shield: Perhaps these things, or something like them, were responsible for the murders.
It all fit: they wouldn’t have fingerprints, which explained why none were found at the sites. Clearly they were capable of manipulating objects—but did they possess the fine motor control necessary to skin a human body?
And just how many of these things were there?
“Let’s have a few less of you, shall we?” he murmured. His shield was glowing more brightly now—it was in no danger of failing yet, but he couldn’t stay here all night. He gathered magical energy and formed it into a more potent, more focused concussion spell—one that would hit like a bullet instead of a boulder. He didn’t target the same one as before, but spun at the last second and threw it at one of the other two.
This time, the effect was more dramatic. Instead of tumbling backward, the creature jerked in much the same way it might have if shot. It made a little whuff! sound and crumpled into a heap on the ground.
Yes! At least magic could affect the things.
Stone hurried over toward it, taking advantage of the momentary opening in the circle around him. He expected to see the creature lying there unconscious, but when he reached it he could only stare.
It wasn’t unconscious—it was gone. All that remained were its clothes, lying spread in the shape of a prone humanoid figure, and a large quantity of dust. It resembled what happened when a black mage fully drained a victim for magical power—a process the magical community referred to as “ashing.”
But this wasn’t ash—it was dust. Stone crouched and quickly gathered a handful of it, jamming it into the pocket of his jeans as something a lot heavier than a brick smashed into the top of his shield.
He leaped back to his feet, panting, in time to see a dented water heater rolling away from him, back down the slight rise toward the street. One of the two remaining creatures was running back toward its companion from the direction of the nearest
house.
All right—enough playing around.
“Didn’t your mother—or whatever—tell you it’s rude to throw things at people?” he called to them. Without waiting for them to answer (not that he expected them to), he aimed another focused beam at the one on the right.
Apparently, however, the things were capable of learning. As soon as he pointed his hand at it, it threw itself sideways and rolled behind a pile of debris. The other one took off in the opposite direction and disappeared behind another skeletal house.
Stone didn’t push it. He couldn’t hold the shield forever, and it would take time to get it back to full power again. And now, he thought, fingering the dust in his pocket as he headed back toward his car, he had something tangible to analyze.
When he reached the car he paused, scanning the area to make sure the creatures hadn’t sneaked around and followed him. Nothing moved. He wasn’t disappointed—his shoulder throbbed now that his adrenaline was fading, and he looked forward to getting home and healing it up before it got too bad.
He settled in and fired up the BMW; its engine purred reassuringly, and music from his most recent live Pink Floyd bootleg CD filled the cabin. “Comfortably Numb”—how appropriate. Perhaps he’d have a Guinness or two when he got home, after the healing. Was it safe to give Guinness to cats? Probably not, which was a pity—maybe it would calm Raider down.
He’d heard the song dozens of times, and wasn’t really listening to it as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Even so, he only made it a few feet forward before the laughter registered.
Low and faint, it came out of the car’s speakers barely louder than the music. Stone pulled the car back over and stopped, staring at the controls, then shook his head in annoyance. He was being ridiculous. It was a new CD—a different remix of the song. Maybe the arranger had added the laughter as some kind of ironic counterpoint to an otherwise thoroughly depressing piece. He tapped the button to advance to the next track.