Stone and a Hard Place

by R. L. King

  Friday morning he briefly thought about calling Stone, but decided not to. He didn’t know what the mage would say: whether he’d insist on coming down and helping Ethan deal with things, or whether he’d offer perfunctory condolences but be so distracted by the business at Adelaide’s that he’d remain distanced from the situation. Either way, Ethan didn’t think he could stand it.

  The hospital had introduced him to a woman who would help guide him through the process, and he was grateful for that because he was mostly numb. He didn’t have any relatives that he knew of; it had pretty much always been just his mom and himself since his father had died. He supposed he could contact Walter Yarborough, but it hardly seemed right to drag him all the way over here from England just to hold Ethan’s hand. He was eighteen now—an adult. He should be able to deal with this.

  But not too many eighteen-year-olds had to navigate the confusing seas of administering their mother’s last wishes and making sure that things like funeral arrangements and burial details were taken care of.

  The woman from the hospital, Mrs. Jackson, probably got him through the day. She gently explained what needed to be done, told him he didn’t need to make every decision right now, and helped him make the ones he did have to make. He drifted through the day on a fog of confusion and grief, signing where they told him to sign and going where they told him to go, and didn’t arrive back home at the apartment until after eight o’clock that night. He threw himself down on the couch, wishing he had a big bottle of something alcoholic to help dull the pain. Once again, he thought about calling Stone. At least the mage might take pity on him and buy him a bottle of booze.

  His answering-machine light was blinking. Blink-blink. Blink-blink. Two messages.

  He thought about not playing them. He’d already listened to the one from yesterday from the hospital, the carefully professional voice of Matilda the nurse letting him know that he should go there as soon as he got the message. These two were new. He didn’t want to listen to anybody right now.

  He dragged himself over to the machine. Better to get it over with. He stabbed the button.

  “Ethan? Stone here. I forgot to ask you if you wanted us to pick you up for tomorrow night, or if you’ll be driving yourself. Let me know when you can. Give your mum my best when you see her.”

  Hot tears formed, and he angrily forced them back, clutching one of the couch pillows so hard he nearly split it. He doesn’t know, he reminded himself. Nobody’s told him yet.

  A beep sounded, and then the second message. “Ethan? It’s Trin. You there?” Pause. “Okay. Well, I was just wondering if you found out anything about that stuff we talked about. Give me a call tonight whenever you get home, ’kay? Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Bye!”

  He slumped back into the couch cushions. He hadn’t even thought about Trin all day. He wasn’t sure he wanted to call her now, but he supposed he should let her know what was going on. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to even go to the ball tomorrow night. The last thing he wanted was to put on a monkey suit and stand around in the middle of a bunch of old rich people pretending to have a good time. Stone would understand, he was sure. And as for Trin—she could just come by tomorrow and pick up the stuff he had for her. He didn’t even want to go outside.

  He picked up the phone and punched in her number. She answered on the third ring. “Hello?” She sounded distracted.

  “Trin?”

  “Is that you, Ethan? You sound weird.” There was a muffled sound in the background.

  “You left a message,” he said. “I’m calling back.”

  “Oh. Uh—right. So, did you find anything?”

  “Yeah. I got you some stuff. We found it up in the attic. And I saw the thing in the basement.” In a monotone, he described what he remembered, including the existing prison, Stone’s efforts to reinforce it, and the massive summoning circle in the basement room.

  “That’s great!” she said. “You’re awesome, Ethan. So when can I see you so I can get the stuff? We need some time to look it over before the party. You can get us in, right?”

  He paused. “Trin...I don’t think I’m going to the party.”

  Now it was her turn to pause. “What do you mean, you’re not going?”

  “I—” He waited to make sure he could keep his voice from betraying him. “My mom died yesterday, Trin.”

  “Oh, man...” There was a long pause, and some muffled sounds in the background again. “I’m sorry, Ethan. Really, I am.”

  He nodded, even though she couldn’t see that. “Thanks. I just—don’t think I can go, you know? I still need to call Dr. Stone and tell him I’m not gonna be there to help him.”

  “Ethan...” Her voice sounded careful. “We really kinda need you there. We planned the ritual with four. If you’re not there, we can’t do it. I’m really really sorry to ask you—I feel like the world’s biggest heartless bitch for asking right now. But—is there any way you could come for even a little while? We can probably figure out how to get inside on our own, but we can’t do this without you. And we won’t have another chance.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Look,” she said softly. “I know this is horrible for you. I’m so sorry. If you can just help us out for a little while, we’ll go somewhere after and hang out. Just the two of us. We’ll just talk, if that’s all you feel up to. You really should be talking to somebody about this, Ethan. I take it Stone’s being his usual hard-ass self?”

  “I...dunno. I didn’t tell him about it yet.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll help you, Ethan. What are friends for? We can talk all night if you want to. But if you could just do this one little thing for me—”

  He sighed. Right now his libido, which usually did his thinking for him when Trin was around, was silent. But the kind tone in her voice did reach him. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come for a while, and let you in. I’ll bring the stuff, too. I think it’ll be helpful.”

  “Great,” she said. “Thanks, Ethan. Really. And if there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  He hung up the phone and stared at it for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Stone spent the rest of Thursday evening and all day Friday studying the books Ethan had found, and powering up as many magical focus objects as he could. He knew he had to be careful: every bit of his power that he put into them was that much less he’d have to draw from within himself, so he’d have to make sure he had time to recharge before the ball. It wasn’t helping that he hadn’t slept after Wednesday’s nightmare, and barely at all on Thursday night. He didn’t tell Megan how much the nightmare had affected him—especially since it was the second one he’d had in less than a week. He wondered if he’d even be able to fall asleep before he was so exhausted that his body just took matters into its own hands. He didn’t have time for rest this weekend anyway.

  Megan had a couple of finals on Friday, so he had the day to himself. The books, unfortunately, turned out to be mostly useless for what he needed, though they were fascinating magical texts in their own right. One in particular, bound in brown leather with a red gem on the cover, was unusually potent and contained detailed information about how to summon several different types of powerful and useful creatures. Of course the book practically reeked of black magic, but that was where Stone had gotten most of his “pale gray” distinction: if it had to do with magic, it was like catnip for him. He didn’t care if it was good, evil, or somewhere in between—he wanted to know its secrets. And besides, there was a big difference between knowing how to perform a particular technique and actually doing it. That was why he was pale gray instead of dark gray: because he didn’t have any particular lust for power beyond what he could get from white magic techniques. He just wanted to be able to recognize the others, and understand the mechanics and philosophy behind them.

  He ca
ught himself wondering idly how much old Stefan Kolinsky would offer for these books, but immediately dismissed the thought. Sure, it would make things easier, since he’d probably take them in payment for his last bit of very useful help instead of some of the more…interesting means of repayment he usually came up with, but Stone wasn’t ready to let them go just yet. Maybe, if he was able to get his hands on the ones from the basement summoning room, he might offer a couple of them to the black mage. But that would come later.

  Mrs. Olivera showed up at midday with his tuxedo, which she’d picked up from the cleaners, and stuck around to make him lunch when she saw that he’d gotten so busy with his research that he’d forgotten to eat. She shook her head in mock maternal concern. “You should marry that woman, Dr. Stone,” she told him. “You need somebody to look after you.”

  He chuckled. “Come on, Mrs. Olivera. You know better than that. We’d drive each other mad if we got married. I’m too much of a hermit for that much togetherness. Besides, what makes you think she’d even have me? I’m not exactly the world’s best catch, am I?”

  “I think you sell yourself short,” she said, but let it go at that. She’d learned long ago to leave him alone when he got like this. It was easier for both of them that way.

  By the evening, he’d managed to get through all the books with at least enough comprehension to tell that they didn’t contain the true name of the thing in Adelaide’s basement and probably wouldn’t be any help in dealing with it. He had just called Ethan and left a message asking whether he wanted to be picked up tomorrow night when the phone rang.

  It was Tommy Langley. “Hey,” he said. “A couple of the other guys and I were gonna go out and have a few drinks. Thought you might like to join us. You know—get your mind off all this heavy hocus-pocus shit for a while and talk about boring stuff like the old days.”

  He almost said no, but realized that his only real alternative was to crawl into bed and probably not sleep. At least if he got drunk enough, he might not have the nightmare. “All right, Tommy,” he agreed. “That sounds like just the thing.”

  And it was. They met at a little pub where they usually got started, and Stone bought the first round. The “other guys” were three fellow professors, one from the Computer Science department, one from Mechanical Engineering, and the third from Journalism. They were all around Stone’s age, give or take a few years, and their interests were eclectic enough that even when drunk they were full of fascinating stories and anecdotes.

  It felt good to be back together with them again—to be normal, even if it was just for an evening. Every once in a while—not that often, admittedly—Stone caught himself wondering what his life would have been like if he hadn’t been born with the potential to be a mage, and raised among those who had the ability to recognize and nurture that potential. Sometimes he felt like his life had been mapped out for him from the time he was a small child, and occasionally he resented it. Sometimes he just wanted to be mundane, with no idea what kinds of things were out there in the world, right beyond the edge of where those who didn’t have the Talent could see them. At times like that, blissful ignorance seemed like a pretty damned good idea.

  The feeling never lasted long, though. He loved magic, loved using his will and his training to shape and control the world around him, even in his own small way. He knew it was an occupational hazard of mages, and worse among those at higher power levels: they often succumbed to arrogance about their own abilities, believing that there was nothing out there that they couldn’t handle. Though he had succumbed himself on more than one occasion, Stone usually knew better. That’s why he had accepted Langley’s invitation: he just wanted to forget about it all for a night, before it all came crashing back down on him tomorrow. There was a very real possibility that he might not survive the weekend—that was a good enough excuse to get roaring drunk the night before. Hey, it worked for the Vikings.

  He’d lost track of how many Guinnesses he’d downed when Langley took him aside for a private chat—not that it mattered, since the other members of their group were busy entertaining each other with a raucous tale involving (as near as Stone could pick out of their slurred delivery) a naked woman, a rabbi, and three goats.

  “You never did tell me what you wanted me to do tomorrow night,” Langley said with a goofy grin. “You want me to—punch that ghost a good one in the nose?” He pantomimed this activity, flailing his fists around so wildly that Stone had to lean back and nearly lost his balance on his chair.

  “It’s not a ghost. And I’ll—figure it out as we go along,” he said, righting himself.

  “What—you don’t have a plan?”

  “Not really.” Stone finished his pint and contemplated whether he wanted another. “Hoping nothing happens at all. Probably won’t. We’ll just have a nice night with your aunt and a bunch of elderly rich people.”

  Langley nodded, suddenly looking melancholy. “I’m scared, Alastair. I want to help you, but I’m scared.”

  Stone nodded. “So am I, Tommy.”

  “You are?” His look of surprise was almost comical. “But you’re Mandrake the Magician. Master of the Mystic Arts, or whatever.”

  “No.” Stone shook his head. “I’m just a poor sod who’s out of his league. And I’m afraid that if I bugger this up, people will die.”

  “You’re serious.” Langley leaned in close. “Die?”

  “Die, Tommy,” Stone said softly. His pleasant buzz was threatening to morph, as it sometimes did when he got drunk while in the wrong frame of mind, into a black depression. “Not too late for you to back out, you know.”

  “For you, either. You could still just tell them to cancel it. Aunt Adelaide would do it, if you said so. She’s pretty impressed with you.”

  He shook his head, staring down into his empty glass. “Too late now for that. I think it’ll be all right.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Ignore me, Tommy. I get like this sometimes. Just tired, I guess.”

  Langley patted his arm. “It’s okay. Come on, have another drink and forget about it for a while.”

  “No, I think I’ll be heading home,” he said, dragging himself to his feet. “Got a lot to do tomorrow, and I’m already going to be wasting half the morning fighting off a hangover.”

  Shortly after that, he sat in the back of the cab heading back to his house, window rolled down, deep in thought. Even through the fog of alcohol, he couldn’t help thinking there was something he’d forgotten. Some factor in all this that he wasn’t including in his plans.

  And as the cab stopped in front of his townhouse and he got out and paid the driver, he suspected that, whatever it was, he was going to regret not remembering it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  By the time Stone dragged himself out of bed slightly before noon on Saturday, Ethan still hadn’t called back. He tried again. To his annoyance, he got the machine. He’d swear that boy was avoiding him. “Ethan, this is Stone,” he growled. “I really need you to call me back and—”

  The phone picked up. “Hi, Dr. Stone.”

  Stone frowned. Ethan’s voice sounded very strange. Colorless. Though he supposed he shouldn’t talk: his own probably sounded like someone had run his throat through a cheese grater. “Are you all right, Ethan? You sound odd.” There was a very long pause on the other end. “Ethan—are you still there?”

  “I...uh...yeah. My—mom died, Dr. Stone.”

  For a moment Stone was speechless. If someone had asked him to list the top ten things he thought the boy might say, that wouldn’t even have made the list. “Ethan, I’m so sorry,” he said at last, dully. “When?”

  Another long pause. “Thursday afternoon. I—found out when I got to the hospital. She was—already gone by the time I got there.”

  Stone closed his eyes and bowed his head. Ethan’s mother had died while he’d had the boy poking around through rubbish in an attic, chasing some obsession that he had no right to even involve him in. “Why didn’t you tell me?�
� he asked, his tone gentle. “Have you been all alone down there?”

  “No—the people from the hospital have been helping me out. Helping me deal with stuff that needs to be done. I’m—okay.”

  You don’t sound okay. “Do you want me to come down there? I could help you—”

  “No, it’s okay. Thanks, but I’ll be all right. Yesterday was kind of rough, but today’s a little better. I—kinda guess I knew this was coming.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier, though, I know.” Stone sighed. “If there’s anything I can do—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call me. You shouldn’t be handling this sort of thing alone.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Stone. I appreciate it.”

  “I mean it. Any time of the day or night. You take care of yourself, Ethan. Don’t worry about anything else until you’re feeling up to it again.”

  “Oh—right—you wanted to know if I needed you to pick me up for tonight. You don’t have to. I can drive myself.”

  Stone stared at the phone. “Ethan, you don’t have to come tonight. I wouldn’t expect you to—”

  “No, it’s fine. I want to. It’ll—take my mind off things. I kinda want the excuse to get out of the house for a while. If it’s still okay, I mean.”

  “It’s—of course it is. If that’s really what you want to do. Please don’t feel any obligation. I can handle it without you if you’d rather not—”

  “I’ll be there,” Ethan said. “Six o’clock. See you then.”

  Stone hung up the phone and slumped back onto the bed. Guilt clawed at him: if he hadn’t insisted that Ethan help him hunt through Adelaide’s attic, he could at least have been there with his mother when she’d died. Bloody brilliant job I’ve done, helping him deal with anything. No wonder half the time it seems like he doesn’t even want to talk to me. I don’t blame him.

  Despite the fact that he had a lot of things he needed to do before that evening, he couldn’t bring himself to rise from the bed. He lay there, half dressed and face down in the pillows, for nearly an hour before he could rouse himself sufficiently to get up.