The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “You don’t give up, do you? Go away, Alastair. I have nothing to say to you.”

  Damn. He was hoping she’d calmed down by now and was at least prepared to talk. “I’ve brought you a flashlight,” he lied. “So you don’t have to sit in there in the dark.”

  “I’ve got candles. Go away.”

  So that was it. Now he’d have to make the first of what promised to be several decisions he didn’t want to make. But hell, what was a career worth if everyone was likely to be dead by tomorrow? He focused on the lock until it slipped, then pushed open the door.

  Inside, the only light came from a pair of candles on the small table, revealing Mortenson stretched out on the bed. She leaped up with far more energy than she usually exhibited, keeping the bed between them as Stone entered and closed the door behind him. “What the hell—what are you doing in here? How did you get in?” she yelled. “Did your bimbo give you the passkey? I told you to go away! Get out of my room! Get out now or I’ll scream!”

  Stone’s stomach clenched at her words. “I’m sorry, Edwina,” he said softly. “Truly I am. If there were any other way to do this—”

  “Get…out!” Her voice pitched higher, now mixed with an undertone of fear that cut right through Stone. She snatched a book from the nightstand and flung it at him, backing up.

  He swept it aside with a bit of telekinetic magic and continued inexorably forward, though everything inside him screamed for him to stop, to turn around and leave, to find another way—any other way. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “It’s got to be done. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  She backed up more, until she hit the wall and couldn’t progress any further. Her aura erupted with fear and anger, their different shades of red mixing with the third shade from the engulfing cloud of mist. She threw back her head and opened her mouth to scream.

  Nothing came out, though, as Stone got his silence spell off in time to cut her off. Her eyes widened in panic.

  Dear gods, what am I doing?

  But he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate. Using more telekinesis, he pinned her against the wall, then extended a hand toward her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a strangled croak, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Alastair, what are you doing? Please, for God’s sake, stop!”

  “I’m sorry…” he whispered, and reached out with his power to weave a shield around her mind. If he could stop the curse’s influence on her as he had on himself, she might listen long enough to let him explain things to her. If not—well, it was unlikely she’d get the chance to have him arrested, because the way the curse was progressing, none of them would survive the next couple of days.

  He closed his eyes, as much to focus his concentration as to block out the sight of her terrified, tear-filled eyes, but he couldn’t do it. He gritted his teeth, blinking back frustrated tears of his own, and kept the energy coming.

  Just a little further now…almost got it…

  His groin lit up in white-hot agony as her knee came up hard between his legs.

  He bit off a shriek and staggered back, tripping over his feet and crashing down onto Mortenson’s bed. Waves of pain and nausea sluiced through his body as he drew his knees up, and for several moments he could do nothing but clench his eyes shut, moan, and fight not to get catastrophically sick all over the comforter. If, at that moment, Mortenson had wanted to clock him in the head with her nightstand lamp, he could have done exactly nothing about it. He hadn’t thought prim old Edwina had that in her!

  “…Alastair…?”

  It took several more seconds, but eventually her voice cut through the throbbing, gradually lessening surges of pain. Slowly and with utmost care he began to unclench, releasing his death grip on his drawn-up knees and cracking his eyes open. He rolled over on his back and looked up.

  Mortenson stood over him. The candlelight behind her was too dim to provide a good look at her expression, but even so he could tell it was disturbed. The anger was gone, replaced by confusion laced with horror.

  With effort, Stone shifted to magical sight. The red mist around her had dissipated—so he’d managed to succeed in getting the shield up before she’d taken him down. “Bloody hell, Edwina,” he said in a strangled, shaky tone. “You pack quite a wallop.” He resisted the urge to cradle the area in question, but it wasn’t easy.

  “What’s…going on?” Her voice shook almost as much as his did. “What…happened to me?”

  Gingerly, he tried to sit up. Nothing exploded between his legs, and he no longer felt in imminent danger of throwing up. He came to the tentative conclusion that, while she’d gotten him good, she hadn’t connected quite as solidly as initial damage reports had indicated. Thank the gods for bad aim—or at least that I’m so much taller than she is. “Are you all right now?”

  Eyeing him warily, she stepped back until she encountered the edge of the nearest chair, and dropped into it. “Alastair…please tell me what happened. I feel terrible. It was like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. I remember saying…horrible things to you…”

  “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t you. I know that.”

  “What do you mean—it wasn’t me?”

  He rubbed at his face, trying to organize his thoughts. “Listen—Edwina—I know this is going to sound mad coming from me, but you’ve got to listen. It’s imperative you believe me. All right?”

  “What are you talking about?” She blinked. “How could I have said those things? I’m so sorry—I never meant—and I hurt you—” With a feeble gesture, she indicated his lap.

  He waved her off. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. I’m sorry about what I did, but I had to stop its influence on you. Edwina—the curse. It’s real.”

  “What?” She stared at him in shock, as if wondering just how hard she’d hit him.

  “I know. This is me saying it, and you don’t believe me. I get that. But you have to. It’s real, and it’s dangerous, and I’ve got to stop it. But I need your help.” Damn, this is taking too long. He glanced at his watch: it was already after five-thirty. The Other Side crew was probably already all up at the Brunder place, setting up and getting ready for the shoot. They’d be expecting him at the makeup trailer at six.

  “The…curse? You mean…the Brunderville curse?”

  Stone got to his feet with care and gripped her shoulders. Her frightened flinch sliced through him like an icy blade, but he pressed on. “Edwina…we’ve been colleagues for a long time. We’ve known each other for years. I know I’m not your favorite person, but have I ever given you cause not to trust me?”

  “What does that—”

  “Answer me, Edwina. Have I ever?”

  She looked troubled, shifting under his grip. “No. But—”

  “Will you trust me now? It’s vitally important that you do. Will you?”

  Something in the intensity of his gaze must have gotten through to her, because she nodded slowly. “Yes…all right. Yes, I trust you. But will you tell me—”

  He still didn’t let go of her, but kept his touch gentle. He never wanted to see that fear in her eyes again—certainly not of him. “The curse is real. It was affecting you. It was affecting me earlier. That’s why we were saying those horrible things to each other. That’s what it does. We’ve thrown it off now, but no one else has. We can’t leave—the roads are out. We’re stuck in Brunderville until they clear them. So I need to figure out where the curse is originating and deal with it. That’s what happened before, Edwina—that’s why they all killed each other. The best I can work out is that it amplifies strong emotions. Anger, jealousy, lust—and that’s what happened to them.”

  She stared at him as if he’d just gone crazy. “How do you know this?”

  “I can’t explain it right now. You said you would
trust me—this is where I need you to do it. Look at what you did today. If you were in your right mind, would you have kicked me like that? Said those things to me, even if you thought them?”

  “No,” she said, looking stricken. “No, but—”

  “Please, Edwina.” He turned quickly to check that nobody was coming in through the door, then back to her. “There isn’t a lot of time. Believe me, if I can’t stop this, a lot of people will probably be dead before tomorrow. Can I count on you?”

  He watched a series of expressions flit across her face: suspicion, confusion, distress, and finally resolve. “All right. I’ll help you. But I don’t know what I can do.”

  “For a start, I need you to finish going through those papers as fast as you can. If you find any reference to the curse—who caused it, why it was cast, anything—I need to know it. It will be easier to stop it if I know the reasons behind it.”

  She swallowed. It was obvious a thousand questions were going through her mind. “Even if you’re right…how are you going to stop it?”

  “That’s something else I can’t explain right now. I’ll tell you later. I need to go.”

  “Where are you going? You aren’t going to leave me here alone, are you?”

  “Not for long. I need to move fast, though, and you—I’m sorry, but it’s true—can’t do that. I need to look into something here at the winery, then go up and talk to the Other Side people. I’ll come back after that and we’ll decide our next move.”

  He gripped her shoulder. “It will be all right, Edwina. We’ll deal with this, I promise.” He wished he was as confident as he sounded. “Just look for that information. If it’s there, we can use it.”

  “I found something already,” she said, still looking numb.

  He’d turned to head for the door, but he spun back. “You did? What? Where?”

  She bowed her head, miserable. “I was going to mention it when you came by, but as the day went on I just kept feeling more…resentful…angry…”

  “Don’t worry about it. No apologies, Edwina. What was it?”

  “The old woman’s diary. From when she was a young girl during the Depression period. She talked about how her family got out of town when things started getting strange, and then everyone was dead. I didn’t read the whole thing—I just set it aside so I could keep going. But when I threw everything back in—”

  “I’ll bring the box back to you. Brilliant job. Just find it again, all right? And anything else. I’ll be back soon. Hang on.”

  He hurried out of the room and into his own. He still moved a little awkwardly, but the adrenaline rush took care of most of it. He had to hurry.

  The box was still where he’d left it in the closet. He grabbed it and strode back to Mortenson’s room. “Here you go,” he said, dropping it on the bed. “Thanks, Edwina. Back soon. Lock your door and don’t let anyone other than me in. Here—take this.” He thrust the flashlight at her.

  As he was about to leave, her fearful, tentative voice reached him: “Alastair?”

  “Yes?”

  “How do I know…it won’t happen again? I won’t start—feeling that way again?”

  “You won’t. I promise.” The protection he’d put up on her wouldn’t wear off for at least a day. By then, he hoped all of this would be settled. Before she could say anything else, he closed the door and hurried down the hall, using a light spell to illuminate his way.

  Nobody was in the lobby when he reached it. He moved behind the desk and opened Denise’s cabinet. Good—more flashlights. He grabbed two, kept one in his hand, and stuck the other one in his coat pocket. He didn’t turn them on yet, though, since he didn’t want anyone spotting what he planned to do next.

  Outside, the rain fell harder than ever. He hurried across the courtyard and tried the door to the wine storage cave.

  It was locked.

  That was odd—why would anyone lock it now, when it had been open since yesterday?

  No matter, though: a simple spell took care of the lock. He slipped inside and locked it behind him to keep anyone else from discovering him.

  The flashlight beam darted crazily around the shadowy, damp space as he hurried down the cask-lined passage to the back. The hobbit-hole door was closed as before and appeared undisturbed, but when he tried to push on the knot, nothing happened. It didn’t push in, and the door didn’t swing open as it had the other two times he’d seen it in action.

  Had someone been here before him?

  He directed the flashlight beam at the knot, but no obvious reasons presented themselves for why it remained stuck shut. He took a couple steps back, concentrated on the knot, and applied some telekinetic energy to it. For a moment it held fast, but then whatever had stuck it in place gave way and the little section of wood shot back into the space beyond, leaving a hole two inches in diameter.

  Stone stuck his fingers into the hole and pulled hard. The door swung open.

  Even before he shone the flashlight inside, he knew something had changed. The smell in the dark cave was different: less dank, more dusty, and tinged with a strange, musty overtone. He stepped inside, bringing the beam up.

  The reason for the change quickly became obvious: the brick wall at the back of the cave had been crudely demolished. A ragged hole just large enough for a man to climb through yawned open, ringed by fragments of broken bricks. A sledgehammer lay on the dirt floor just in front of the hole.

  “Bloody hell…” Stone whispered, and then coughed as the dust reached him. Someone had tried to get into the mine—and not that long ago, judging by the fact that the dust hadn’t even settled fully yet. But why? Did they know about the curse too? Or were they looking for something else?

  Were they in there now?

  He stuck his head through the hole, shining the flashlight beam in front of him. The light revealed a narrow passage, perhaps six feet across, stretching out into darkness. It was hard to see past the dust, but he spotted modern wooden beams bracing the ceiling, and a few broken wine casks spread haphazardly around the floor. Fred Duchesne had probably had this nearby section shored up before closing it, in anticipation of using it for more storage later on. But what was further in?

  He switched to magical sight, and wasn’t surprised to see more evidence of the shifting red mist—the mist he knew now was connected somehow with the curse—that had suffused the whole town. It was definitely stronger now, but no stronger here than it had been in other areas.

  Tentatively, he took a few steps inside, crouching down and following the cavern until it angled off to the right and began to descend. The mist’s concentration didn’t change, and now that he was past the lingering cloud of dust from the demolition, he didn’t see any sign of a human aura ahead. The air, as he expected, smelled even mustier down here.

  He paused, looking around and thinking. Why had someone been so determined to break in here today? While it was unlikely they’d be caught with everyone so busy with the television production, it still seemed odd timing. He didn’t think it was one of the townspeople—they’d have had plenty of time to do it, unless they wanted to make it look like one of the TV crew had done it. But again—why? His gut told him it had to be one of the outsiders. But who would be poking around old mines when they should be—

  “Hang on…” he murmured as he remembered last night, when he’d caught Larry Duncan tramping around on the hillside above the winery with a flashlight—back and forth, back and forth, as if searching for something.

  When confronted, he’d said he was looking for an old graveyard, but when Stone had mentioned the same old graveyard to him the following day, he’d looked confused until Stone reminded him of what he’d said.

  What if Duncan hadn’t been looking for a graveyard at all, but another of the rumored entrances to the network of mines?
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  It still didn’t make sense—why would a Hollywood producer be interested in finding an old, likely dangerous mine on his own in the middle of the night? Did he know about the curse? Was he looking for the source of it himself, perhaps so he could spring the story on the crew?

  But he hadn’t looked excited last night. He’d looked nervous, and agitated.

  He’d looked like a man who was desperately trying to find something, and stressed out because he couldn’t.

  Stone hurried back through the hole in the brick wall and out into the storage cave, carefully closing the big, round door behind him and replacing the knot in the hole.

  He glanced at his watch. Six forty-five. He was already late for makeup. With the rain falling this hard, it would take him at least fifteen minutes to get to the Brunder place. Would they have started the filming without him? Would they even be doing any filming, with the power out? They probably had generators and battery backups, and Stone wouldn’t put it past Duncan to keep things rolling, deeming the outage “more atmospheric.”

  Regardless, his next step was to have a long, hard talk with Larry Duncan.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “How do you want to do this?” Verity asked.

  They sat in the Mustang in the parking lot of the Palomar Club. A small, unassuming (at least by Vegas standards) place set back from the street three blocks from the Pussycat, it featured two full-sized green and brown neon palm trees flanking the club’s name in old-fashioned green script. The parking lot was half-full, and most of the patrons they’d watched entering and exiting had looked like locals. “You want to just walk right in?”

  They’d already driven around the back and scoped out the other exits; they’d found four in total: three in the back, presumably from various restaurants and bars, and the one large one in the front.

  “I don’t see another option, do you? I guess we could just stake the place out and wait for him to come out, but who knows if he’s even in there? Could be a long wait for nothing if he’s not—and we can’t watch all the exits at once. We could also try sneaking in, but it might be more dangerous than the frontal approach.” Jason frowned, watching an older couple get out of their car and head for the door. “Ned said the Hard Eights aren’t workin’ for the Zocchis, so there’s probably not a great chance the guys inside would even recognize us if we play it cool. I just want to get a look around for now, and then we can make plans once we have more info.”