The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  Just a little further…

  The figure stopped again, only about ten feet away from Stone, and repeated the flashlight routine. For just a couple of seconds, the moonlight illuminated it enough for Stone to get a quick look.

  He stared.

  The figure was male, with a short and stocky form clad in a heavy coat, jeans, hiking boots, and a wool cap pulled low over his eyes—but the face was unmistakable.

  What the hell was Larry Duncan doing out in the middle of the great bugger-all at eleven p.m.?

  The flashlight shifted again as Duncan stuck it under his arm before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from somewhere inside his jacket. He lit the cigarette, stowed the pack and the lighter, and the tiny pinpoint light joined the flashlight’s larger one as he searched once more inside his jacket.

  This time, he pulled out a piece of paper, which he unfolded, consulted, and then turned in place while staring with great concentration out into the trees. He stopped again and put the paper back in his pocket.

  What the hell was he doing? It certainly looked as if he was searching for something, but what?

  Stone shifted his weight a bit, moving to put more of the tree trunk between himself and Duncan as the producer took a step forward.

  Something crunched under his foot.

  Startled, Duncan jerked and swung the flashlight around—directly at Stone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  By the time Verity and Jason made it back to their hotel room, she had mostly recovered from her magic-induced fatigue. The first thing she insisted on doing when they got there was healing the slash wound on Jason’s face. Then she dropped back into her chair with a loud sigh. “I need a magic gym or something. I’d forgotten how hard that kind of stuff was.”

  Jason flopped on his bed. “Well, it’s a blow to the male ego to admit it, but I’m damn glad you were there, V. I might have been able to take them all long enough to get away if they didn’t have a gun, but—”

  “Hey, glad to help. I gotta admit, it felt good to go jumping over those guys like I was in one of those martial-arts movies.” She sobered. “I’m not too happy that they seem to know about magic, though.”

  “Yeah, and about us asking around about Gary, too. How did they find out?”

  “Maybe somebody at the Pussycat Club called ’em,” Verity suggested. “The bartender, or one of the strippers.”

  “Could be. If that’s so, though, it implies those guys are in on whatever’s going on. Hang on,” he said, sitting back up and picking up the phone. “Let me call Roper and see if he knows anything about ’em.”

  “Are you gonna tell him we got jumped?”

  “No. Just that we saw ’em hanging around.”

  “Hey,” Verity said, remembering something. “Tell him one of them had a tattoo with an eagle or falcon or something holding a pair of dice. Maybe it’s some kind of gang symbol.”

  Jason was already punching in the number. He listened for a moment, then sighed and shook his head at Verity. “Hey, Sergeant Roper—this is Jason Thayer. Thanks for talking to us today. I’ve got a couple more questions, so if you could give me a call when you get this, I’d appreciate it.” He left a number and hung up. “I hope he’s not off for the night.”

  “Yeah. Did Fran give you a cell phone?”

  He pulled it from his jacket pocket. “Yeah. That’s the number I gave him, so if he calls we’ll get it. Until then…” He tossed the jacket back on the bed. “We gotta figure out our next step. It’s making me nervous that it sounds like magic’s involved in this—not just those guys knowing about it, but the traces you found around the dumpster. If whoever killed Gary is a mage—”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Verity said. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “Well—if magic is involved…I haven’t really dealt with any heavy-duty stuff on my own before, without Dr. Stone or Sharra or somebody else backing me up.” She studied him a moment. “I’m thinking maybe we should finally get around to seeing if that thing of yours works for me like it does for the Doc.”

  “You mean the magic battery thing? Yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea. Do you think it will?”

  “No reason to believe it won’t—our magic comes from the same source.” Even though Stone had discovered Jason’s strange ability to provide magical energy to other mages—an ability he had to voluntarily use, and one which made him much more difficult for black mages to involuntarily “drain” than most other mundanes—Verity had never gotten around to asking him if she could see if it would function the same way with her. She wasn’t sure why, exactly, but she did know at least part of it was that the idea of drawing energy from her own brother and using it for her purposes seemed…creepy. Wrong. He’d offered a few times, and Stone had suggested it might be a good idea to at least try, but she’d always found an excuse until eventually Jason stopped offering. Add that to Edna’s opinion that draining energy from anyone, regardless of their willingness or the fact that the process didn’t hurt them in the slightest, constituted the top of a potentially dangerous slippery slope leading toward black magic, and it hadn’t seemed worth the effort.

  Now, though, remembering how that simple battle had tired her and suspecting it wouldn’t be the last one they’d have to deal with in pursuit of Gary Woods’s killer, it might be prudent to rethink her objections.

  “So…” Jason was saying, “you want to try it now?”

  “Do you?” It seemed odd to be so hesitant with her own brother.

  He shrugged. “Yeah…sure. Let’s give it a shot.”

  She stood and walked over to him, shifting to magical sight to examine his aura. The blue glow was calm, with just a hint of troubled darkness around the edges—easily explained by what they’d just been through. “What do I do?”

  “Damned if I know. When Al does it, he always just grabs my shoulder or my arm.”

  Verity sighed. She wished again that she could call Stone and ask him about it. “That’s it?”

  “Have you ever pulled power from anybody before?”

  “No!” she said, shocked. “That’s black magic stuff.”

  Jason nodded toward the bracelet she wore—the one Stone had given her for her twenty-first birthday. “What about when you pull it from that?”

  “Crap!” she said. “Now I feel like an idiot. I forgot I was wearing it! It’s been a long time since I’ve had one—not since the last one blew up.”

  “But you’ve done it before, right?”

  “Yeah. I should charge this one up, actually.”

  “Well—just do it with me like you do it with your power things, I guess. Do whatever you do, and try to cast some magic that would normally be tough for you. See if it’s easier.”

  Verity chuckled. “This is all so scientific. ‘Just…try it and see what happens.’ Don’t tell the Doc, or he’ll give me detention or something.” She took a few deep breaths, centering herself. “Okay…sit on the bed and put your feet up. I’ll try to lift the whole thing with a levitation spell. That should be tough for me.”

  Jason did so, leaning back against the pillows. “Okay, go for it. I’ll focus on giving you power. And remember, V—you can’t hurt me with this. The first time Al tried it, we both thought it was gonna kill me, remember? And Al’s got more punch than you do. So don’t hold back.”

  Could she do that, even though she knew he was right? She reminded herself that the ability and willingness to use all the tools at her disposal might not only end up saving her own life some time, but Jason’s as well. She drew another deep breath, held it, and gripped Jason’s shoulder, keeping magical sight up so she could watch his aura for any signs of distress. “Ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  It was Jason’s confident tone and th
e calm of his aura that convinced her it would be all right. She focused her attention on the bed, weaving the levitation spell until it flowed out and engulfed both the bed and Jason. Then she reached out to her brother. Unsure of exactly how to do it, she did what he’d suggested, drawing energy from him as she would have from one of her stored-power items.

  Immediately and instantly, Jason’s aura flared a brighter blue—not a color of distress, but one of power—and some of that blue began to flow toward her, combining with her own aura and then bleeding out to join the magical energy surrounding the bed. Verity’s nerves sang with power, filling her with confidence that she could do anything she wanted to. She felt her brother’s willingness to share his power with her. This wasn’t painful, or selfish. It was wonderful, bringing a closeness between the two of them greater than she’d ever felt before. I should have tried this years ago!

  Next to her, the bed lifted off and floated a few inches from the floor. She stared at it in shocked horror and almost dropped it—she’d never been that great at levitation spells, and usually struggled when lifting anything heavier than her own body weight for more than a few seconds. But this time, the bed remained where it was, hovering placidly like it spent all its time six inches off the ground.

  Before long, the bright blue power began to wane, and her hold on the bed began to falter. She quickly let it down and pulled back, afraid she was hurting Jason. “Are you okay?” she said, breathless.

  But he was grinning, and didn’t look at all distressed. “You did it, V! Nice job!”

  “Are you okay?” she repeated. “I didn’t hurt you? Tire you out?”

  He paused a moment to take stock, then shook his head. “Nope. I feel fine. Great. I’m not sure, but…I think I kinda almost felt that.”

  That was weird. “Felt…what?”

  “I dunno.” His expression was halfway between confusion and wonder. “Like…we were…together, somehow. I don’t really have the magical words to describe it, but—”

  “Yeah. I think I know what you mean. It was like our auras were joined there for a couple of minutes. You’ve never felt that with Dr. Stone?”

  “No. I don’t feel anything with him. He just does it and it’s over, and by me it’s like nothing happened.”

  “Hmm…” She sat back down, thinking. “I wonder if it doesn’t have to do with the fact that we’re brother and sister. That’s one of the first things the Doc taught me—any kind of sympathetic connection between two people makes magic work more easily. Parents and children, siblings, lovers…”

  “I guess it makes sense, at least as far as I understand it. Which isn’t much, but I guess it’s getting better.”

  “Speaking of auras combining,” Verity said, “we should probably get back to hunting down this David Ames guy to see if he can tell us anything about Gary. If they really were lovers—whether David killed Gary or not—he’s probably gonna have some answers.” She leaned back, luxuriating in the feeling of the energy she’d gotten from Jason. She’d used most of it, and could feel the rest already starting to dissipate—this clearly wasn’t something she could store long-term—but she was reluctant to let the feeling fade any faster than she had to.

  “We’re kinda stuck until Roper calls back, aren’t we?” Jason asked. “I mean, I could call Fran and see if she can look into David for us, but I don’t really want to do that. She said I was on my own with this one, and I don’t want to go running to her this fast. And I sure as hell don’t want to go back by the Pussycat Club until we have more info to go on.”

  Verity nodded slowly. “I have a couple of ideas, but I think I’d rather save one of them till tomorrow when it’s light.”

  “What about the other one?”

  She jumped up and grabbed her jacket. “I’m hungry. Let’s go have dinner.”

  “Dinner? But V, we—”

  “At the Obsidian.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A series of quick expressions passed across Larry Duncan’s face—shock, fear, suspicion—before he flashed his familiar grin and waved. “Hey hey! Doc Stone! I didn’t expect to see anybody out here this late.”

  He lowered the flashlight so it was pointing at the ground between them and took another drag on his cigarette. His aura had flared bright red, but quickly calmed back down until the red spots only danced around the edges of the orange.

  “I could say the same thing, Mr. Duncan.” Stone stepped out from behind the tree. No point trying to hide now—the disregarding spell wouldn’t stand up to direct scrutiny.

  Duncan chuckled. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Must look pretty weird that I’m tromping around out here this time of night, isn’t it?”

  Stone shrugged. “None of my business when and where you go walking. I…had a bit of insomnia, so I decided to get some air. When I spotted the light moving around up here, I investigated.”

  “Right. Right. Of course you did. I was just about to head back anyway—want to walk with me?”

  “Why not?”

  They reached the road and started back toward the Brunder place. “So here’s the deal,” Duncan said. “I know I don’t have to tell you anything, but hey, it’s not like I have anything to hide. The truth is, I’m tryin’ to find a location I wanted to use for the shoot tomorrow.”

  “Oh? I’d have thought your advance scouts would have identified possible locations some time ago.”

  Duncan glanced sideways at him, but then spread his hands. “They have—most of ’em anyway. But somebody just told me about a rumor that there’s a hidden graveyard up there in the hills. None of the townspeople claim to know anything definite about it, but I thought it might shed some light on those stories about a bunch o’ people dyin’, y’know?”

  “Intriguing,” Stone said. “Any particular reason you’re searching for it in the middle of the night? As I said, it’s none of my business, of course, but—”

  “Easy,” Duncan said, with another big grin. “You gotta understand, baby—I’ve been running my ass off ever since we got up here. That’s what happens when you’re the producer—all kinds of things to coordinate. Everything’s your problem. Buck stops here, know what I mean? Gotta make sure all the gear’s here and set up right, that the talent and the behind-the-camera folks are settled in and ready to go, the script’s ready, the stuff at the house is good to go—the only reason I had a chance to grab some dinner and show up at the party tonight is because it’s good PR. Gotta make nice with the townspeople so they’ll give up the good stories, know what I mean?”

  It wasn’t possible—not precisely, anyway—to tell if a person was lying by examining his or her aura. It could help, and the evidence from an examination could supplement other cues like facial tics or eye movements, but the constant, minute fluctuations of most people’s auras made them unreliable indicators of actual subterfuge. Still, something didn’t look quite right about Duncan’s aura. He was definitely hiding something. “Of course. And naturally, this was too important to send an underling out to scout during the day.”

  Again, Duncan shot him a quick sideways look, as if trying to decide whether he was being serious or sarcastic. “Truth is, if I found it, I wanted it to be kind of a surprise. I like to spring stuff like that on the team sometimes—keeps ’em on their toes, and keeps the show fresh for them. You know, change up the format a little. I was gonna take the team up there with a hand-cam guy and get their reactions.”

  One of the things people tended to do when they were lying, or at least trying to obfuscate the truth, was to talk too much. Of course, with Duncan it was difficult to tell since the man never shut up under normal circumstances. “Were you successful in locating this hidden graveyard?”

  “Unfortunately not. There’s a shit-ton of underbrush up there—more than I thought there’d be. Nearly broke my fuckin’ ankle when I caught my foot o
n a root. Guess I’ll just have to go with what we’ve got. Shame, though—I wanted to shed some light on those rumors about the curse killin’ a bunch of people.”

  They reached the end of the fire road, coming out behind the Brunder place. “I did find some old gravestones behind the church today when I took a walk around town,” Stone said. “They were mostly hidden under tall grass. Perhaps that was what your source was referring to.”

  Duncan waved him off. “Nah, I know about those. We’re gonna shoot a little over there tomorrow, assuming it doesn’t rain too hard.” He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out beneath his boot. “Listen—I’m gonna take off here, okay? There’s a couple things I still have to do at the trailer before I hit the sack.” He patted Stone’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, sport. Gonna be a big day tomorrow, and I want you at your best.”

  “Of course. Good night, Mr. Duncan.”

  Duncan waved and trotted off through the muddy lot toward the little knot of trailers. Stone continued on, moving slowly. As soon as he heard the door shut, he turned back around. The lights inside the main trailer were on, and he could see a shadowy figure moving around behind the thin blinds covering the window. He found a vantage point behind a tree and remained there for almost half an hour watching the trailer, but Duncan didn’t come out.

  It was well after eleven now, and growing colder. The wind sliced through Stone despite his long wool overcoat, and a light rain was beginning to fall again. Bugger it, he decided, and abandoned his post to resume his way up to the winery. Whatever Duncan was doing, he’d just have to get on with it on his own. There was always the chance he was telling the truth—the man was shifty enough that his aura probably looked dodgy when he announced what he wanted for breakfast.