The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  Was the Evil still involved?

  More thoughts flooded in, tumbling and cascading through his mind as he tried to put them in some kind of order: Ian had asked about moving tattoos, and Scuro had said they could indicate being oathbound to some kind of demon or extradimensional entity. Was Trin the mysterious friend from Los Angeles who had them? Was she still in league with the Evil? Could she even be harboring one of their number within her? That would definitely count as being oathbound to something not of this world.

  But the Evil didn’t deal in magic, right?

  They never have before…but things can change.

  He gripped Ian’s shoulder tighter. “Ian—where is she now?” He glanced over his shoulder, almost as if expecting her to erupt into the room and attack them. “What does she want? Are you supposed to contact her after you’ve killed me?”

  “Not…supposed to kill you…” Verity whispered.

  “No? What, then?”

  “Just…incapacitate you. Then…call her. She…she wanted to do it herself.”

  “Al…” Jason warned. “Look at them. You have to stop this…”

  Ian’s forehead was dotted with sweat now, his face dead pale, his breath coming fast. Next to him, Verity showed similar agitation.

  “All right. All right. One more question, though—I’ve got to know this. Ian—where is she now? Where is Blake? Is she nearby?”

  He writhed on the bed. “Yeah…yeah…not far…She’s waiting…Supposed to call her…when…when…”

  “Okay…okay…” Stone narrowed his eyes as a plan came to him. “Jason—there are some glasses out in the kitchen. Can you get Verity some water, please?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, please. She’ll need it when she comes out of this.”

  “Okay…” He sounded reluctant to leave, but he quickly got up and hurried out.

  Stone glanced up to make sure he was gone, then leaned in close. “Ian—where is he?” he asked in a hushed, firm tone. “Do you have an address where she’s waiting?”

  Ian and Verity were both clearly resisting. Ian squirmed on the bed, trying to shift away from Verity’s hand, but didn’t make it.

  “Give me the address, Ian.” He spoke quickly, afraid Jason would return at any moment. “If you truly want to make this right, you’ve got to tell me. Where is she? Where is Blake?”

  Verity muttered something, still with obvious reluctance. Her jaw clamped around the words like a last line of defense. But they did come out.

  There! Stone gripped Verity’s shoulder and squeezed. “All right, Verity. You can let him go now.” He wondered if she even heard him.

  Verity swallowed and wrenched her hand away from Ian’s forehead almost as if tearing it free of a bond. When she spoke again, it was in her own strained voice. “I can’t do this anymore, Doc. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

  The instant she removed her hand from his forehead, the tension drained from Ian’s body. He slumped into his pillows, fully unconscious now.

  Verity likewise sagged, expelling a long breath. “Wow…” she panted. “Edna didn’t tell me it would be that tough. I hope you got something good.”

  Jason came back in, carrying a glass of water. “Here you go, V. Drink this.” He shot Stone a questioning, suspicious look, then focused on Ian. “He okay?”

  “He will be,” Verity said. She sipped from the glass, made a face, then took a longer drink. “I think he’ll be out for a while, though. That was rough on him. Did you get anything? Did he tell you who did this to him?”

  “You said it was Trin,” Jason said, frowning. “How can that be? I thought she was dead.”

  “Trin?” Verity demanded. “The chick from Burning Man? With the Evil?”

  Stone nodded. “I thought she was dead too. But apparently she’s as hard to kill as I am.” Disgust flooded him. “And somehow she’s managed to find my own son and set him on me.” He thought he’d plumbed the depraved depths of what Trin Blackburn was capable of, but apparently he was wrong.

  “Ian said she was near here—waiting,” Jason said.

  “Waiting for what?” Verity glanced at Ian, then at the door.

  “Waiting for word from him,” Stone said. “He wasn’t supposed to kill me—just incapacitate me and contact her, so she could show up and do the honors.”

  “Wait,” Verity said suddenly. “You said his friend was oathbound to some extradimensional thing. Could that be—”

  “The Evil. Yes, it’s quite possible. I never knew for sure whether she was possessed—didn’t get much chance to talk when we were trying to kill each other last time—but why else would she work with them?”

  “I thought all the big Evil got killed when the portal blew up,” Jason said. He, too, glanced at the door as if expecting someone to burst in.

  “So did I. But perhaps when I tossed her away, she was far enough that she didn’t get caught in the blast.”

  Verity let her breath out. “It kind of makes sense, then—if she’s Evil, sending your own son to betray you and set you up for her to kill you would certainly be right up those things’ alleys. Those kinds of feelings could feed even a big one for a month.”

  “So what do we do?” Jason asked. “We don’t know where she is, so V can’t evict her.”

  “I doubt I could anyway,” Verity said. “Ever since the portal went down, all the Forgotten have been losing their powers, remember? After all this time, I’m sure my ability’s gone.”

  “So, what?” Jason demanded again. “We just sit here and wait for her to show up?”

  “Do you think she will, if she doesn’t hear from Ian?”

  “Good question.” Stone got up. “Damn…” he whispered. Once again, he forced himself not to dwell on all the implications of what he’d learned tonight. Trin Blackburn had nursed enough of a grudge against him, starting ten years ago when he’d thwarted her plans back at Adelaide Bonham’s house and continuing through the Evil’s massive Burning Man plot, that she’d tracked down his own son—the son he didn’t even know he’d had. She’d used a magical oath to turn him against his father. Probably a lot of lies and psychological manipulation, too—that had always been her stock in trade, even before the Evil. She had sent Ian against him like some kind of sleeper agent, directing him from the shadows. How long had she been working her game on him? Had she instructed him to bond with Stone, to establish a relationship so the betrayal would make the kill all the sweeter? Hell, had she taught him magic? The Ian he knew would not have been capable of generating a blast with such force.

  Ian—no, Trin—had been playing him all this time.

  His anger rose again. He pictured her face, her glittering green eyes, her mocking expression, as she sat waiting for the call from her would-be partner in crime.

  Waiting for Ian to call so she could come and kill him. And probably not just kill him, either. She had a lot of years to make up for, and she wouldn’t make his death quick.

  Perhaps she’d even planned to coerce Ian into helping her.

  He clenched his fists. No.

  This ended tonight.

  He flung himself to his feet. “Keep an eye on him,” he said. “I need some air.”

  “Is that smart?” Jason asked. “If she’s coming—”

  “She’s not coming. You heard what Ian said—she’s waiting to hear from him. We’ve got some time yet. And if she does show up, I can bloody well handle her.” He heard the snarl in his voice, but didn’t care. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay with him, please, and make sure he doesn’t wake up.”

  Neither of them looked happy about it, but they didn’t argue. Maybe they’d seen something in his face that he didn’t even know was there.

  Stone didn’t pretend he was thinking clearly. Right now, clear thought was not only beyond him, but he didn’t even make an effort at it. He strode outside and closed the door softly behind him, looking out over the small open area in front of the cabin.

  She wa
s out there—less than five miles away. His rage boiled as he pictured her there, smug and satisfied like a malignant spider at the center of a twisted web, waiting for her little pawn—his son—to contact her with the news that the deed was done.

  “Well, Trin,” he murmured softly aloud. “Let’s see what we can do about buggering up your loathsome little plan right and proper, shall we?”

  His hand closed around the BMW’s keys in his pocket. He glanced back toward the cabin, the logical part of his mind knowing this was an unwise decision he was about to make.

  Right now, he didn’t give a damn.

  His mind, his rage, his single-minded purpose were all fixed on one thing.

  Trin.

  He stalked to the car, got in, and drove off.

  58

  Blake—Trin—paced.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket, glanced at it to make sure it was still functional, checked for voicemail, and thrust it back in her pocket.

  She glared out the window at the darkened forest beyond. “He’s not going to call.”

  “It has been less than thirty minutes,” Razakal said from the sofa, where he lounged with apparent disregard of the plan going up in flames around their ears. “Give him time. He can’t leave until Stone leaves him unattended. Perhaps he has more patience than you do. Not that that is a difficult thing.”

  She whirled on him and squelched her impulse to throw something at him, but it wasn’t easy. Instead, she cast a glare his way and turned her attention back to the window. “How long are we supposed to wait? You want me to sit here with my thumb up my ass all night, with no idea what the hell is going on over there? Stone could have killed him and taken off by now.”

  “Stone has not killed him. I would know that.” His voice remained even, reasonable, but still holding that faint warning tone that told Trin not to push him too far.

  “So what’s he doing, then? What’s Stone doing?”

  “He is probably trying to figure out why his son has tried to kill him. But he will not find the oath.”

  “You don’t think so? You don’t know him.” She flung herself back into a chair and picked up her drink. “He’s like a damn snake, always finding ways around what should be airtight traps. What the hell do we know about whether he can deal with magical oaths?”

  “Why would he even expect one?” Razakal leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “He barely knows his son. He has no idea what the boy might be capable of. He could easily think the boy came up with this plan on his own.”

  “He won’t think that for long. He’s smarter than that.”

  “He doesn’t need to think it for long. Only long enough for the boy to make his escape and return to us.”

  Trin blew a loud blast of air, slamming her empty glass down on the table. “I wish you weren’t so fucking smug about the whole thing. Or I wish I could be.”

  “Patience. I don’t think it will be long now.”

  “I hope you’re right. Because—”

  A loud BOOM sounded as the living-room door blew off its hinges and rocketed into the room.

  59

  Stone didn’t pause to consider his actions. At this point, he was beyond such considerations. Rage could be a good thing sometimes—it gave you power, and burned off anything that wasn’t relevant to the matter at hand.

  Trin’s hiding place was a large, wooden house at the top of a narrow, winding road less than five miles from the cabin where his friends were. Stone flung the BMW through the curves; fortunately, there wasn’t any other traffic on the road this late. Once, the car’s wheels slipped off the edge onto the low shoulder, and without thinking he used magic to wrench it back on track.

  Nothing was going to stop him tonight. Not this time.

  He barely brought the car to a halt before he was out, striding up toward the door, nearly running. His heart pounded, his breath coming fast but steady, his nerves thrumming with his pent-up energy and growing hatred. This was the third time Trin had nearly killed him—the third time her schemes had tried to destroy something he cared about.

  This time, he didn’t plan to leave her continued existence to chance. He was stronger now—a lot stronger. Let her get a good, solid taste of Calanarian power.

  The door was tall and weathered, made of heavy wood and carved with a geometric pattern of squares. Stone’s only consideration for prudence was to glance quickly at the house number next to it, to verify it truly was the one Ian had given him. Then he gathered power, pointed his hands, and released it.

  The loud BOOM sounded like a bomb going off. The door tore free of its hinges and flew into the house, slamming into the opposite wall. Stone, shield at full strength, followed it in, plunging down the hall and into the large sitting room.

  When he saw the shocked woman leaping from where she’d been seated on the sofa, for just a second something clenched in his chest.

  That isn’t Trin!

  Even after all these years, he remembered the details of her face as if he’d seen her last week: her angular features, short hair (either red or blonde, depending on when he’d encountered her), her hard, bright-green eyes. This woman’s face was different, her body subtly changed.

  Had he somehow gotten the wrong house?

  But then he saw the tattoos on her arms. Intricate and elaborate, they snaked from her wrists all the way up to where they disappeared beneath the short sleeves of her T-shirt—and more importantly, they were moving. She didn’t look like Trin, but there was no mistaking those tattoos.

  “Trin!” he roared, and without giving her a chance to respond, sent twin beams of pure magical energy ripping toward her. He didn’t hold back. He was past holding back. Trin Blackburn would be lucky if she ended tonight as an intact body instead of a pile of ashes on the wind.

  The tattoos on her arms writhed, and the beams slammed into a glowing shield around her. She staggered backward, but none of the energy got through.

  She smiled.

  “Stone. Good to see you. You look good.” Her drawled tone was mocking.

  Stone was in no mood for talking. How had she blocked his attack? She was strong, yes, but after Calanar he had to be stronger. He glared at her, teeth gritted, and sent another bolt flying.

  Once again, her shield blocked it, but this time he couldn’t miss the quick look of apprehension that crossed her face. She glanced toward an empty chair near the sofa where she’d been sitting, then fixed her gaze on him and made a gesture.

  Something thundered into his shield with the force of a bus and blew him backward into the room’s far wall, shaking it with the impact. The shield held, but he lost his balance and stumbled, reaching back to catch himself against a credenza. Bloody hell! Where did she get that kind of punch?

  It didn’t matter, though—she might have learned some new tricks since he’d seen her last, but so had he. “You’re not getting out of this one, Trin,” he snarled. He raised his clenched fist and made a wrenching motion.

  Trin took a step back as Stone’s spell sucked the air in her shield away in a whirlwind. She gripped her throat, looked momentarily fearful, then her gaze locked back on him. She gestured, flinging a hail of tiny knives made of magical energy at Stone. “Don’t blame me, Stone—not my fault your bouncing baby boy can’t stand the sight of you!”

  Stone’s shield blocked most of the knives, and the few that got through sputtered and died before they reached him, but he had to focus his concentration on them and drop the spell on Trin. “Why did you do it?” he demanded. “Why not just come after me, if you wanted me dead?”

  She laughed, but her eyes were as hard as ever. “That’s no fun. I don’t want you dead—not yet, anyway. I want you to suffer.” She made a complicated sign in the air, then flung herself behind the sofa.

  Suddenly, the air inside Stone’s shield felt superheated, as if she’d shut him inside an oven. Sweat sprang up on his forehead and ran down his back and chest.

  Dropping the shield to d
issipate the heat spell before his exposed skin began to blister, he took hold of the sofa with a telekinetic grip, driving it backward with all his magical strength. It slammed into the plate-glass window and broke through, shattering it around the crouching Trin and driving her out onto the deck.

  Without giving her a chance to recover, Stone surged forward through the hole in the window and aimed handfuls of pure Calanarian energy at her as she rolled back to her feet. Even now, in his rage, he knew he didn’t dare use anything like fire or lightning—he wanted to kill Trin, not start a conflagration that would destroy acres of land and possibly kill other people. Besides, he didn’t need those kinds of spells. Trin was tough, but he was confident he could take her.

  Moving faster than he thought possible, she threw herself sideways and barely avoided the blasts. In fact, it almost looked to Stone as if something had yanked her free of harm’s way—but that was absurd. “Still carrying around your Evil hitchhiker, are you?”

  She rolled free and ducked around the deck, disappearing around the corner of the house. “Oh, Stone, there’s so much you don’t know,” she called—and then was silent. Even her footsteps on the wooden deck faded.

  Stone didn’t follow her. Instead, he shifted to magical sight and lifted off the deck, up toward the roof. If she was lying in wait for him around the corner, he’d come at her from the other side and hopefully catch her by surprise before she could react.

  Except she was already on the roof.

  He got a brief glance at her glowing form—is her aura different now too? How can that be?—before something invisible barreled into him and threw him backward off the edge.

  As he fell, he twisted his body around and grabbed hold of her just before she disappeared from his line of sight. Her yelp of surprise told him he’d succeeded, and a second later she was plummeting off the roof behind him. Both of them crashed through the deck railing, hit the dark, rocky ground beyond, and rolled down the hill toward the babbling creek at its foot.