The Stone (Lockstone Book 1)

by Seb L. Carter

  And the bullet passed right through him.

  Patrick lowered the gun. At this range, it was a sure shot. Yet Cyril still stood without a mark on him.

  He fired again, this time at Cyril’s chest. Still nothing.

  Cyril even had the audacity to smile. “I expected something like this might happen,” Cyril said.

  Patrick lowered the gun. It was useless. He moved closer to Cyril, and he reached out to touch him. Cyril made no moves as Patrick’s hand reached for him—and passed right on through. This was impossible. A hologram. Or something like it. One more thing to chalk up to a day of utter and complete weirdness.

  The gunshots had attracted attention. He saw space in the cars beyond where once those same cars were full of people standing. Some of those same people were peering over the window of the doorway between the cars. They were all looking at him. His adrenaline shot up. He was going to have to run when the train pulled into the next station.

  “If you knew Liam’s true history,” Cyril said, startling Patrick back to looking at him—or this image of him— “you might do more than leave him in a filthy motel room meant for prostitutes and drug addicts.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened. His stare hardened. Cyril knew. He knew where Liam was right now.

  But Cyril continued. “If you knew your own lineage, you might even consider yourself worthy of much so more than you allow yourself now.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I have a feeling you already know,” Cyril said. “Why do you think I went to all the trouble to hire you for this job?”

  “Because you needed somebody found.” Patrick kept watch on the other cars. The people in the other cars were slowly getting to their feet. Many of them were on their phones.

  “I’m capable of finding a great many things,” Cyril said. “Even people if I so choose. I have talents of my own that go far beyond what you’ve manifested, the ability to seek out other people and things on a mere whim.”

  Patrick glowered at him. “Then why am I here?” The train twisted again as they made another turn.

  “Have you ever considered where your little talent comes from?”

  Patrick shook his head. “Not really, no.” That was a lie. He had thought long and hard on why he was able to find things based on a feeling. But he wasn’t in a sharing mood with a man like Cyril.

  “Let me share with you a story,” Cyril said. When Patrick kept looking over his shoulder at the other car, Cyril clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have time once we pull into the next station. But you’ll want to be quick.”

  Patrick turned to him again. What was this guy?

  “For now, listen.” Cyril began his story. “There’s a story in mythology about Fionn mac Cumhaill, the warrior king of the Fianna in Ireland. He was out hunting one fine day when he came upon a young deer. But, to his surprise, when he raised his bow to take the young deer down, his hunting dogs, Bran and Sceolan, turned on him and growled. They protected the deer from harm. Fionn always trusted his hunting dogs for they were intelligent and skilled. He believed they recognized a kindred spirit in the deer, so, instead of killing it for food, Fionn relented and called his dogs to him. When the dogs came, so did the deer. The young deer followed them all the way back to the castle where Fionn ordered his guards to keep it safe.”

  Patrick could only listen. He kept watch of the way the train traveled. As soon as he was able, he planned to run, whether the story was finished or not.

  “Later that night, after Fionn had retired to bed, he was awoken by a beautiful woman standing in his room. ‘Fear not, great king. I am Sadhbh’—spelled S-I-D-H-B-H, but pronounced as Sive in the old tongue,” Cyril was quick to point out, “‘and I come from the Seelie Sidhe. I am the deer you rescued, once cursed by a dark druid until you broke his cursed magic.’ Fionn was so taken by the beauty of the woman that he eventually married her and she became pregnant with his child. But war loomed on the borders of Ireland, and Fionn knew he must go off to fight. He was forced to leave the pregnant Sadhbh behind.”

  The train emerged from the dark tunnels beneath the city, and the tracks became elevated again as they passed over a street.

  “When Fionn returned home after winning his battle—his Fianna were known to be fierce warriors that many had a difficult time besting—he found that his wife was gone, and so was his child. Fionn raged and demanded to know where they had gone. His castle guardsmen said that, not long after he had left with his armies to join the battle, it seemed as if Fionn returned with Bran and Sceolan at his side. The guardsmen found it strange that their master would not enter the castle, but the believed he may want simply to surprise his pregnant wife, so they hurried to inform her of Fionn’s return. Overjoyed, Sadhbh ran out to meet him. But when she went to him outside the castle gates, he touched her forehead with a hazel wand that turned her back into a deer as she had been on the day that Fionn and his hunting dogs found her. She was enchanted by the magic of the dark druid to follow him wherever he went. And though Fionn did manage to find his son while out hunting some seven years later, he never found Sadhbh again.”

  Cyril paused long enough that Patrick eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this?” Patrick asked him.

  “Because Patrick, that is where you come from.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You are the descendant of Sadhbh and the dark druid. And you carry some of that love for Fionn mac Cumhaill in your blood just as she had it in hers.”

  Patrick shook his head. “This is insane,” he said. Up ahead, he thought he saw a sign that they were nearing the train station.

  “That love Sadhbh had for Fionn never died. She had a son and a daughter by the dark druid, but she only had one true love in her life. And that love was carried down the generations over the course of millennia.”

  Then Patrick thought he understood where this was going, even though he said nothing.

  “Liam is the descendant of Fionn mac Cumhaill.”

  The train pulled into the Chinatown station and began to slow down, and Patrick moved to the door.

  “I really don’t understand why you’re telling me all this,” Patrick said.

  “Because, Mr. Rowe, you are the only one who was capable of finding Liam. A spell was put on Liam not long after his birth that made him impossible to find by anyone on the Council. But you, sir, are the loophole in all of that.”

  “And?”

  “And now you’ve made it so that we can find him too.”

  The tracker. It was still on him. Patrick realized this as the doors of the train were opening. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Cyril said. “I only needed to make sure you stayed away long enough for events to play out as they are supposed to.”

  Liam. At the motel. Liam was in danger. When he turned to look back into the train car, Cyril was gone.

  Oh god, what had he done?

  He sprinted out of the train and down the stairs to street level. He kept his head down as much as possible to avoid the cameras. But he didn’t care about that anymore. The only thing he cared about was getting back to Liam.

  On the street, away from the station, he hailed a cab. He dialed the phone number and prayed that Liam would answer.

  There was no answer.

  He tried the motel and had the front desk put him through to the room. Still no answer.

  Fuck. FUCKFUCKFUCK! How could he have been so stupid?

  Eighteen

  Chicago, IL - Near West Side

  Liam woke up to the sound of a car honking its horn outside the motel room. He was alone and disoriented, placing his hand on the bed in the empty space next to him. He sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around the dark room.

  “Patrick?”

  There was no answer.

  He turned the bedside light on, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed to put his feet on the
grimy carpet. As he yawned and stretched, his gaze fell on the folded clothes and the note on the round table. He padded over to read the note.

  Went out to get supplies. I’ll be back by sunrise at the latest. -Patrick

  No ‘love’. Not even a heart symbol. But then, Liam realized, that would probably be weird, especially this soon.

  Was it weird to say that he sort of wished it had been, “Love Patrick”? Yeah, it would be, he decided. And if he said as much to Patrick when they saw one another again, Liam wouldn’t blame him if he decided to back out of the motel room door and end it all right then and there.

  But Patrick had come back for him. He’d dropped everything and rushed to help him when it all went so wrong. That had to mean something. And as Liam remembered with a smile what he and Patrick had done in the shower and on the bed, once they were both thoroughly clean, it was a meaning shared between the both of them. Still, he didn’t want to rush things, not yet.

  Besides, there was a lot going on. The last thing he needed was to stress out about a new relationship.

  The clothes, as he pulled them on, obviously belonged to Patrick. A pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Liam liked the idea of the level of intimacy that followed when wearing Patrick’s clothes.

  His phone was on the bedside table, and he checked it. It was powered down, so he turned it on.

  Thirty-seven missed calls and as many text messages. They were all from Nina, Justin, and his aunt. What had they heard? The most recent message was from less than ten minutes ago from Nina.

  Liam dialed Nina’s phone number.

  She answered her phone before even the first ring had finished. “Where are you? God, Liam, we’ve been worried sick.”

  “We?”

  “I’m here with Justin. And your aunt. She called me in a fit when she couldn’t reach you after hearing about the dead guy on campus.”

  “Yeah,” Liam said. “Sorry. My phone was turned off.”

  “That’s it? That’s what you’re telling me? Why the hell would you turn off your phone?” Nina sounded a little angry.

  There was a jostling of the phone. “Liam?” It was his aunt’s voice.

  “Yeah, Aunt Jonie. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

  “Honey, you don’t know how relieved I am to hear your voice.” She breathed into the phone. “We’ve called the police and everything.”

  “You called the police?”

  “Well honey, of course we did.” She was crying. Quietly, but Liam could hear it in her voice.

  “Geez, I’m really sorry. I should have called you sooner.”

  “Well, why didn’t you?” His aunt’s voice was also a touch on the angry side. Now both of them were mad at him.

  But he couldn’t really give his reasons. Sorry, Aunt Jonie, but I killed ten people today, so I was kind of busy. That wouldn’t go over at all. “I never realized my phone was off. That’s all.” At least that part was somewhat true. After they left the house and Patrick gave him back his wallet and phone, he never bothered to check it. Of course, he’d had a lot on his mind at the time.

  “You—” she began. “You have to always keep your phone on, do you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Aunt Jonie, I do. It won’t happen again.”

  “I mean it. I could strangle you. I love you, but I could strangle you.” Her voice was more firm, a tone of relief mixed in there too. “I do love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Nina wants to talk to you. Justin is here too. They came over to the house after I called them looking for you.”

  “Wow, really? You called all my friends?”

  “What else was I supposed to do? I was even on your campus, at least once they let people back on. You know there was a guy killed on your campus, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I heard that.” A sick kind of gurgle rumbled in Liam’s stomach.

  “I’m starting to think you need to be home schooled.”

  “Aunt Jonie, they don’t home school for college.”

  “Online courses. Yes, sir, they do.”

  “Well, I’m a big boy. I think I’ll be fine.” That was a bold-faced lie, though. He wasn’t sure if he’d be fine, not after everything that happened. Still, he wasn’t about to tell his aunt or anyone else that. The only one who knew what was going on was Patrick.

  Aunt Jonie eventually gave it up, and she handed the phone back to Nina. “I want to come see you,” Nina said. “Justin wants to too.”

  “It’s late,” Liam said. “We’ll see each another tomorrow.”

  “The blue line’s still running. Or I can call an Uber.”

  “No, just get some sleep. My aunt will appreciate you guys hanging out for the night, anyway. Maybe you can convince her that I can handle living away from home, especially when I have good friends who come running when things go wrong.”

  “Don’t try to calm me down with flattery. I’m still mad at you for going off grid for so long.”

  “I know,” Liam said. “I’m glad you guys were there for her, though. And for me.”

  Nina paused. “I’m going to make your aunt show me naked baby pictures of you.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have any of those. I moved in with her when I was sixteen, remember?”

  “She’s bound to have something embarrassing. Trust me, I’m going to find it, even if I have to look under your bed in your old room.”

  “You’ll just find my old gay porn magazines.”

  “Well then I’m definitely going to be looking under your bed tonight.”

  Liam managed a little laugh. “Do what you must,” he said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He wanted to tell her about Patrick, about what they’d shared, but it would only mean a lot of questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer just yet. Like, how did it come to them ending up in bed together? He couldn’t exactly explain that Patrick helped him clean the blood off his face and body. This whole situation was going to take some thinking before he figured out what he could and could not tell people—people that weren’t Patrick.

  Liam got up to get himself some water, and he found an individually wrapped plastic cup that he tore open and filled with water from the tap. But the water had a strange metallic taste to it that made Liam think of lead pipes, so he spit the water out and threw the cup away.

  His shoes were still blood spattered, but he put them on anyway. It sickened him to think he was forced to wear other people’s blood, but what choice did he have? He decided to search for a vending machine. Taking the spare room key, along with his wallet and phone shoved into the pockets of the sweatpants, he moved toward the door to the motel room. He stopped and stared at the stone.

  Should he take it?

  That was ridiculous. He was just going to a vending machine down the hall. It was a stupid stone.

  But even as the thought entered his mind, he knew how wrong he was. Still, he decided, he wasn’t taking the stone with him. It was his way of flipping it off, telling the stone that it didn’t control him. He was in control of himself. Besides, what could go wrong buying a bottle of water from a vending machine? He left the room and left the stone behind.

  There was a vending machine he found tucked into a causeway that led from one side of the motel to the other, but the fluorescent lighting flickered on and off, and it had an out of order sign stuck to the front of it. Shit.

  Liam turned his attention to the street. It was the city. From the city skyline not far to the southwest, he determined he was still somewhere in Chicago’s West Town or even Ukrainian Village. A relatively safe part of town, so long as he didn’t go west toward Humboldt Park or too far south into the ganglands of Garfield Park. Maybe he could find a convenience store open at this time of night, and he started walking.

  He passed late-night restaurants and bars that were still open and busy. People walked along the street. Groups of them gathered in smoking clusters along the sidewalk as they couldn’t smoke cigarettes insi
de the bars. A couple made out in an alleyway that caught his eye, a sign of movement in the shadows that caused him to feel wary at first, but that, when he realized what was going on, he blushed and moved on.

  About four blocks west, he found an open Qwik Mart, and he went in to grab himself a couple snacks and a big bottle of water that he paid for in cash with his tip money from work. Then he went back out onto the street, unwrapping a chocolate bar and carrying his other purchases in a plastic shopping bag as he headed toward the motel again.

  For the first block, he barely paid attention to his surroundings, eating his chocolate and taking the occasional sip of his water. But as he crossed the street, it became more apparent.

  How quiet it was.

  Where was everybody?

  He stopped at the corner of a street and peered up one way then down the other. It was as if everybody all at once got it into their heads to rush inside in the short span of time Liam was in the convenience store.

  Back the way he’d come from the store, the lights winked out. One by one, the sodium-vapor lamps shut off. The click of each light as it went out only made it seem all the more sinister.

  Something definitely did not feel right.

  Liam turned and quickly started back toward the motel.

  The air grew heavy and humid like he was walking over damp grass. Maybe it was a power outage on this block or something. A simple enough explanation. But there were lights on a couple blocks ahead, and he saw the cars of an El train pass over the street beyond. He just had to make it through the dark part, and he’d be in light again. That small consolation did little to offer encouragement, though.

  He walked even faster.

  The other thing: There were no cars. There should be cars on this street. Even at this late of night, he expected there to be taxi cabs and people leaving bars to go home. It was Chicago. There were always cars on the streets, especially in this part of town, not far from night spots and clubs that served liquor, some of them until four and five in the morning.