by R. L. King
Stone was already getting out. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good luck with your game—or whatever the hell it is.” As soon as the door slammed closed he drove off, rather more quickly than he might have, leaving Stone standing on the deserted sidewalk in the middle of the block.
He paused a moment to get his bearings, checking the figurine’s thread again. It still pointed in toward the middle of the block; from where he stood, he could see at least two alleys leading inward.
It occurred to him—for the first time tonight, since he’d been so focused on tracking down the other end of the thread—that he should call Blum and let him know what was going on. He wasn’t sure what the detective could do, since he doubted reporting a crime that hadn’t happened yet would gain either of them much credit with the mundane cops, but he’d promised he’d keep Blum in the loop. He ducked into doorway and pulled up the detective’s mobile number.
When voicemail picked up the call, he swore under his breath. “Blum, this is Alastair Stone. Call me back as soon as you get this—I’ve got something you’ll be interested in, regarding the objects we’ve been discussing. I’m in the Mission District—not sure of the location, exactly, but I think something’s going to happen tonight.”
He hung up, put the phone away, and stepped back out to the sidewalk, pausing to check the figurine again. The thread pointed in a slightly different direction this time, but it hadn’t changed by much. Whoever had the black piece might be on the move, but probably on foot rather than in a vehicle.
“What’cha got there?” a voice in front of him growled.
35
Bugger.
Stone had been focusing so much attention on magical sight and the figurine that he hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around him in the real world. He snapped his head up from it to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in an old army jacket and knit cap standing a few feet in front of him. The man’s narrow-eyed gaze shifted between Stone’s face and his hand, where he still held the figurine.
“Nothing of interest,” Stone said, keeping his voice even and casual.
“I dunno—looks interesting to me. You do too. Got any money?”
“No. And I’ve got to be going.”
The man let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Not yet, man. You ain’t goin’ nowhere yet.”
Stone heard quick footsteps behind him and someone else was there, pressing something into the back of his coat.
“That’s a knife,” the first man said. “Just so you know. You wanna rethink that thing about not havin’ any money?”
“Not really.” With a flick of his mind, Stone sent a wave of concussive energy pulsing out. It hit the man in front of him and sent him staggering back into the street, where he smacked into a parked car. Behind him, a yelp indicated the knife-wielding second man had been similarly shoved away.
Stone shot a fierce grin in the first man’s direction. The other thing he knew, but hadn’t had much chance to test, about black magic was that it was far better than its white counterpart with quick, burst-style magic—the kind best suited to combat. Unlike before, when he’d been a white mage, the concussion wave hadn’t even caused him a moment’s breathlessness. He called up a shimmering, nearly-invisible shield around himself and stood confidently facing the first man, ignoring the one behind him. “Do you want to rethink anything, gentlemen?”
“What the fuck?” This came from the second man, along with a scrabbling sound as he got back to his feet.
“I’m busy,” Stone said. “I’ve got no time to bother with you lot tonight. Off you go, or you’ll regret it.”
“Get ’im!” called a third voice, somewhere off to his left. Another figure erupted out of a shadowed doorway, lunging in Stone’s direction.
Stone didn’t even move. He calmly reached both hands in front of him, crossed them, and then quickly spread them, sending another blast of energy radiating outward. He didn’t want to kill the men, but he also didn’t want to waste much time dealing with them. Damn, but it felt good to have this kind of power! No focus objects, no pounding heart, no puffing with exertion. Just sheer energy at his command.
Three yelps told him he’d hit his targets again. Three thumps followed, and then three scrabbling sounds as his would-be assailants struggled up.
“Last chance,” Stone called, still looking only at the first man. “I won’t be so gentle next time. Go!”
They went. He watched, satisfied, as all three of them took off down the street, casting terrified, confused glances over their shoulders at him as they drew away.
Stone kept them in sight until they disappeared out of view, then turned his attention back to the white piece.
The thread had moved again, edging slightly to the north. It still seemed to indicate that the black piece was somewhere in this block, but he had no idea how long it would remain there. With one more quick glance to make sure the three muggers weren’t returning, he headed down the closest alley toward the interior of the block.
The alley had no lights; he didn’t want to use a light spell and draw attention to himself, so he made do with the faint moonlight and the occasional glare of cars’ headlights passing the opening. He wanted to keep the shield up, but it interfered with tracking the thread so he reluctantly dropped it. He’d just have to pay more attention as he crept forward, shifting between watching the thread and watching his surroundings.
The buildings on either side of the alley were three stories each, in bad repair, their lower levels covered with graffiti. His boots crunched and crackled on gravel and strewn trash; ahead, a small form darted from behind a pair of garbage cans, its eyes glittering as it streaked away from Stone. Probably a cat…or else a really big rat. Either way, harmless.
As he moved further in, he passed a tattered cardboard refrigerator box shoved against the wall between two dumpsters; magical sight revealed the sickly, pale aura of a sleeping homeless man inside. Stone crept by, not wanting to disturb him. All around, the odors of motor oil, damp pavement, old urine, and garbage mingled into an unpleasant bouquet.
He stole another glance at the thread, noting that it was still pointing in the same direction. Either the black piece’s holder had stopped, or he was heading away in the same general line as before. He took a quick look around with magical sight, searching for auras, but didn’t see any.
The alley opened onto a narrow, one-way track running perpendicular to it. The track hardly seemed ambitious enough to be called a road, and indeed Stone didn’t see any vehicles parked along it—functional or otherwise. Instead, its whole length was lined with more dumpsters, garbage cans, and drifts of old boxes and trash. Clouds had rolled in since he’d started moving, blocking out the moon, so a couple of dim, flickering lights on the back sides of businesses provided the only illumination. Far off to his left, the faint strains of music barely reached his ears. Probably some nightclub with its back door open.
“Where are you?” he murmured, pausing in the alley’s exit to check the thread again. He’d hoped it might point toward the nightclub—perhaps the would-be rapist was in there now, drinking and preparing himself to act. But no, it led him across the track and into another alley on the opposite side. This one looked even darker than the one he’d just traversed.
But wait—what was that?
He stuffed the white figurine into his overcoat pocket so it wouldn’t obscure his vision, then peered down the new alley with magical sight.
There—he was right. Far off down the alley, barely visible, a green aura bobbed.
There was somebody down there, walking from the look of it, heading away from him.
Was it his quarry?
He pulled out his phone and checked it, in case Blum had called and he’d somehow missed the vibration during his run-in with the three thugs, but it displayed no message indicator.
“All right,” he said under his breath. “Looks like I’m on my own.” He hurried across the track and ducked into the o
ther alley.
Staying close to the wall and the dumpsters on the right side of the wall, he crept along while keeping the bobbing green aura in sight. The alley was long, longer than the other one had been. He couldn’t even see any vehicle lights at the other end of it—but that might just mean there weren’t any. This area didn’t look like it would be popular with the tourist crowd or club-goers.
He hurried as fast as he could while still remaining as quiet as possible, and soon he was gaining on the figure. The green aura grew brighter, and now that he was closer he could see red flashes arcing around its edges. Fear? Excitement? Anger? He couldn’t tell without getting closer. He picked up his pace, fearing if he got too close his breathing would give him away, but knowing he’d never catch the man if he didn’t hurry.
The figure reached the end of the alley and paused, looking back and forth as if trying to figure out which way to go. Stone approached a little closer, focusing his sight to try to get a better look.
But wait—
Was the figure a woman?
Startled, he didn’t watch where he stepped, and his foot came down on an old can. Before he could do anything about it, the can shot out from under his boot and clattered against the side of the dumpster, the loud clang echoing around the alley’s narrow walls.
After that, several things happened at once:
The figure at the end of the alley whirled and cried out in fear.
From above Stone, another female voice yelled, “Run!”
And then came a loud buzz. Something sharp pierced his leg, and his body went rigid as an electrical current shot through him.
Unable to stop himself from falling, Stone felt his body tilt crazily and then pain flared as he crashed helplessly to the ground.
36
Stone’s mind refused to work right as the current spiked through him, setting his nerve endings on fire. He tried to call out, to yell—maybe he was yelling—but his mental impulses didn’t seem to make it to his mouth, or his limbs.
“Get him!” a female voice yelled. It might have been the same one that had shouted “Run!” earlier, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t let him run!” another voice cried.
Pounding steps, and then he was surrounded by figures. The current stopped, the rigid hold on his body broke, but before he could get his bearings the forest of legs surrounding him moved closer and began raining kicks on him. Heavy-booted feet slammed into his sides, his back, his legs.
“How do you like that, you rapist motherfucker?” a harsh voice yelled, punctuating another hard kick to Stone’s ribs.
Somehow, that got through. Rapist? What the hell? He struggled to find his voice as he wrapped his hands around his head to protect it. “Wait!” he croaked. “Stop! You’ve got the wrong man! I’m not a rapist!” He flung himself to the side, curling up so they wouldn’t have a straight shot at his crotch—given who and what they thought he was, it was probably a prime target.
“Shut up, asshole!” another woman snapped, and kicked him in the ribs again.
Stone clamped his eyes shut and concentrated—he’d only get one shot at this, so he’d better make it good. He gathered his energy and forced out with it, pushing a bubble-shaped force field away from his body and sending his crowd of punishers stumbling off in several directions.
“Fuck, he’s a mage!” one of them yelled.
Before that had a chance to register—before Stone even had time to get his bearings—strong hands hauled him up and slammed him into a nearby wall. He heard a click and a large, black automatic pistol appeared in his face. A flashlight switched on; he flinched back as the sudden light dazzled his eyes.
“Try it, motherfucker,” the gun’s wielder growled. She was tall, with an athlete’s build. Cold, dark eyes glittered from beneath tousled hair, and a mask featuring a skull’s jaw around her lower face obscured her features. “I’ll blow your head off.”
Stone, puffing, tried to get his thoughts together. Between the beating and the Taser, his brain didn’t want to work right. “I’m not—” he got out. “I’m looking for—”
“Looking for what?” Another woman, this one shorter and squatter than the first, but every bit as angry-looking, came into view. “Another woman to rape?” She snorted. “We got him, ladies. I say we make sure he ain’t gonna rape anybody else ever again.”
“Hang on a minute,” a third voice said. “Did you see what he did?”
It was hard to think straight with a gun three inches from his face, but Stone knew he didn’t have a choice. “Look,” he said, struggling to keep his voice as even as possible. “I’m not…a rapist. I was…looking for one.”
“Yeah, sure,” the short one said.
“Hang on,” the third one repeated. She stood far enough back that Stone couldn’t get a good look at her. “He might be telling the truth.” She stepped forward into the light.
Stone blinked a couple times as the other woman shifted the flashlight so it wasn’t shining in his face, but the gun hadn’t wavered. The new woman was almost as tall as the one holding him against the wall. Dark-skinned and slim, she wore the same style leather jacket as the other two, and the same style mask wrapped around her face.
She was also studying him, but not with anger. She appeared to be trying to take his measure.
“Look,” he said. “Whoever you’re looking for, you’re wasting your time holding me here. I’m not him. You’re letting him get away.”
“You are a mage,” the slim woman said.
He heard a couple of shocked exclamations from the dark figures standing out of his sightline, as well as muttered comments he couldn’t make out.
“Will you get that bloody gun out of my face?” He glared at the woman holding it, then raised a glowing shield around himself, making no effort to hide it. “I’m not your enemy, but believe me—you do not want to be mine.”
“Holy shit,” the first woman said. “You really are.” She took a step back. “Put the gun down, Zel.”
“But—”
“Put it down.”
Stone shifted to magical sight, revealing five figures arrayed around him in a loose semicircle. “You’d best do it,” he growled. “I’m not in a good mood at present. Getting my ribs cracked by a horde of madwomen will do that.”
Zel lowered the gun, obviously with great reluctance.
“Thank you,” he said, making a show of straightening his coat—an action that looked somewhat less impressive due to the wince that interrupted it. He sagged back against the wall.
“Here, sit down,” yet another woman said, stepping forward. Like the others, she wore a black leather jacket, jeans, black T-shirt, and obscuring lower-face mask. Hers had the bared fangs of a snarling animal. “Let me take care of that.”
Stone glared at her. “Just stay the hell away from me, all of you. You’ve probably already let him get away.” He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew the white figurine, shifting to magical sight. To his surprise, the thread still glowed brightly, pointing to the northeast.
“What’s that thing?” the short woman said suspiciously.
He shoved it back in his pocket. “You lot are looking for a rapist?”
“Yeah,” Zel said. She was still glaring at Stone, obviously not yet convinced he wasn’t their quarry. “What’s it to you?”
“I told you—I am, too. And he’s still in this area. But how do you know about him?”
“What do you mean?” the slim woman demanded. “And do what Hezzie said—sit down. She can fix you up.”
“So you’re not planning any more mayhem, then?”
“You’re a mage. If you were the one we were after, you wouldn’t be sneaking around alleyways.” She pointed toward the ground.
With a sigh, Stone lowered himself down, wincing as at least one cracked rib protested. Immediately, the woman called Hezzie crouched next to him, drew his coat aside and the side of his T-shirt up, and laid her warm palm on his bare skin. Pain flared
for a couple seconds and he drew in a sharp breath, but as the warmth grew it seemed to take the pain with it. In a few moments, she pulled back. “Better?”
Stone twisted experimentally, ready to stop the instant the pain hit again, but it didn’t. He still felt bruised and battered, but if he had any cracked ribs they no longer grated. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Yeah.” Hezzie rose and backed off again, rejoining the semicircle.
After a moment, Zel, still looking dour, offered Stone a hand up. When he took it, she hauled him up with a surprising amount of strength and held him steady until he’d regained his balance.
“What do you mean, he’s still in this area?” the slim, dark-skinned woman asked. She seemed to be the leader of the little group; the others deferred to her, letting her do most of the talking.
“How did you know about him?” Stone asked again.
“Why wouldn’t we know about him? He’s already hit four women in this area over the past couple of weeks. He got one in Zel’s building a few days ago. Nearly killed her.”
That didn’t make sense. If the figurine had only activated a few hours ago, how had the man he was after been doing this for at least two weeks?
Unless—
The guy had to be a latent talent if the figurine wanted him, but could it be possible he’d already been inclined toward the same activity it encouraged? “Who are you?”
The woman’s expression grew hard. “We’re asking the questions right now. Who are you? And how do you know about this guy? Why are you looking for him?”
Stone swept his gaze over her and the other four women. He could see them more clearly now that the one with the flashlight wasn’t holding it in his face. The dark-skinned woman had the tall, rangy build of an athlete; she looked to be in her middle twenties, attractive in a hard-edged way—the kind of woman who looked like she got things done and had no patience for excuses. Zel, the one who’d held the gun on him, was a little taller than the leader and a little heavier, with tousled dark hair and dark eyes. The third, shorter and solidly built with wide shoulders and blunt, square features, looked like a lady wrestler. Hezzie, the one who’d healed his cracked ribs, had pulled down her mask; she had big dark eyes, pale, plain features, and an expression of resolve. Stone couldn’t get as close a look at the remaining one; all he could tell was that she stood in an odd, ungainly crouch.