The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  He focused on the flickering red energies, trying to gather them together, to bolster them with his own power. They flitted away from him, almost mockingly. At the edge of his awareness, he heard Mortenson moan again.

  It wasn’t working! He closed his eyes and concentrated harder, focusing on nothing but the magic and the tendrils.

  Again, they danced away from him.

  He gritted his teeth in frustration. Damn it, why wasn’t it working?

  And then he heard Verity’s voice in his mind, almost as if she were right there speaking to him: “You can’t force nature, Doc. You have to work with it. You have to feel it.”

  Feel it. He was rubbish at feeling. He always had been, ever since he was a child. Every time he tried it, it blew up in his face. Thinking was safer. Thinking made sense.

  Mortenson’s grip on his arm tightened. “Please…make it stop…”

  Stone swallowed and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to fail at this!

  He reached out again with his power, but this time, instead of trying to corral the flickering energy and force it into a pattern, he examined it, watching what it did, studying its own pattern. For several seconds nothing happened, but then, faintly behind it, he began to discern another pattern. It sort of looked like the pale outlines of a coloring book, while the red, painful energies swirled around, coloring outside the lines. Everywhere the energies touched the outlines, brighter spots flared.

  He was tempted, now that he saw the pattern, to try grabbing the energies and returning them to their normal channels. It seemed as if it would be so easy to—

  —but as soon as he tried it, the red tendrils started to get away from him again. He settled back, let his mind quiet, and then let it fill with images of the Mortenson he’d known over the years. The cat lover. The smart, dedicated professional. The lover of vampires and shapeshifters and trashy paranormal romance books. The woman who’d come to his house and helped him and the traumatized Raider understand each other. The way she’d been so frustrated and jealous of being overlooked and passed over for an event she’d worked to set up. Her deep devotion to the supernatural and its study. Her belief in the world on the other side, even though she’d never seen any evidence of it.

  He almost didn’t see it—the red tendrils beginning gently, tentatively to flow back into their grooves. When he did spot it, he almost upset the fragile balance by trying to hurry it along, but stopped himself just in time. He made himself focus on his grudging affection for Mortenson and her cranky ways, discovering that the energy was easier to nudge now that it was running in its proper channels. With careful, subtle manipulation, he made his final changes: redirecting the channels that ran up from her abdominal area, blocking the energy from flowing from her lower body to her upper.

  He didn’t get it perfect. Verity or Edna probably could have tied everything off with neat bows and completely stopped the pain. But he figured he should quit while he was ahead, before he tried to do too much and ended up breaking the fragile work he’d already managed.

  Sadly, he didn’t think it would have to hold for long.

  He carefully pulled back, then shifted out of magical sight and sagged back on his heels, shoulders slumping with the effort. He had a new respect for Edna Soren—this stuff was hard work. “There…” he rasped. “Did that help?”

  He could already see it had. Some of the pain had left her face, and she looked more relaxed despite the occasional wince or shudder. “What…did you do?”

  “Is it better?”

  She nodded slowly. “It…doesn’t hurt so much.” Her voice was so weak. “Did you…fix it?”

  He thought for just a moment about lying to her, telling her he’d fixed it and everything would be fine. Instead, he squeezed her hand. “No…I can’t do that. I’m not sure anyone could. But I’ve blocked some of the pain away.” His shaking grip on her hand tightened. “I wish I could do more…I’m so sorry, Edwina…”

  “Magic…” she whispered. “You do…magic…How wonderful…”

  For all the bloody good it’s doing me now. “I’m sorry I never told you…I should have trusted you…”

  She was getting pale now; it was evident even under her coating of mud. “I…want to tell you something…” she said.

  “Anything.” He shifted position until he was sitting next to her, gripping her trembling hand in both of his. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

  “I just want you to know…I’m sorry about the way I treated you all these years. It…wasn’t your fault.”

  “Edwina…please. I told you—it’s fine. I know I can be a right arse sometimes…”

  She turned her head a little and looked up into his eyes. “I never told you…I was almost married once, did I?”

  That was a surprise, but he supposed it shouldn’t have been. She’d been in her fifties when he first met her, so it was certainly possible. He realized he knew next to nothing about her personal life, beyond the fact that she had a sister in Los Angeles and three cats. “No…you never told me.”

  “It was…just after I left college. I met him there…at Berkeley.”

  Stone, sensing this story wasn’t going to end happily, didn’t reply.

  She shifted a little, gritting her teeth. “He was handsome…brilliant…very charming. I was deeply in love with him…and I thought he was with me too. We were engaged…but gradually he changed…tired of me—or perhaps I just finally saw him as he truly was. He was…verbally abusive…narcissistic…He never missed an opportunity to belittle me to…make himself look better.”

  “I’m so sorry…” Stone had a hard time picturing the flinty, confident Mortenson staying with a man like that, but people often changed as they grew older. He certainly wasn’t the same person he’d been even ten years ago.

  “Then…I thought I was pregnant. I was so happy…I thought a child might...finally bring us back together. But when I told him…he just laughed. He told me I was on my own and left. By the time I found out it was a false alarm, he’d disappeared. I…never saw him again after that.”

  “Edwina…”

  She squeezed his hand and looked up at him again. “When I met you…you reminded me of him. Handsome…charismatic…never took anything seriously—you even resembled him a little. All these years…I think I projected everything I grew to hate about Jim onto you. I’m not sure I even…realized I was doing it.”

  Stone gently swiped her hair off her forehead. “It’s all right, Edwina. I forgive you. I’m no prize as a colleague, and that’s certain—I could have been kinder to you as well. I wish I had…”

  Her chuckle ended in a wince. “I suppose…we all have our regrets. If it matters…I forgive you, too.”

  “It does matter,” he said. “It absolutely matters.”

  “Will you…tell my sister what happened? And…make sure my cats…”

  “I promise. I promise.”

  She gave him a faint smile. “Thank you…Alastair. Thank you for…showing me the magic.” Her voice barely had any volume now. Her aura twitched and faded once again.

  His throat clenched, and hot tears stung his eyes. “Here…Edwina…look at this…Look at the magic.” He lifted her head gently into his lap, then switched off the flashlight and raised his hand, summoning magical energy into a dazzling, multi-hued lightshow that danced around it, illuminating her pale, mud-streaked face in a riot of brilliant color.

  “So beautiful…” she whispered, eyes shining. “So…beautiful…”

  He didn’t need to watch the light fade in her eyes. Instead, he focused on her aura as it flickered and receded, and felt her body go limp.

  Slowly, he lowered his hand, letting the lightshow fade. He didn’t turn the flashlight back on.

  He’d have to get moving soon. But now, for just a few moment
s, all he wanted was the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Verity spun around, dropping the invisibility spell. All around the room, the figures lounged—all male, all well dressed, all of them holding guns on her and Jason. She counted eight she could see, but couldn’t identify which of them had spoken.

  “Drop your weapons, please, Mr. Thayer,” the voice said. If it had come from one of the men in the room, he was a ventriloquist, because none appeared to speak. “You might manage to shoot one of us before the others can act, but even those odds aren’t good.” The voice was pleasant, with a faint hint of an accent—German, possibly. Verity couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Are you gonna show yourself?” she demanded.

  “Why not?” The air shimmered around one of the couches on the far side of the room, revealing three more figures—a man and two young girls. Immediately, two of the other men moved behind the couch and pointed their guns at the backs of the girls’ heads.

  Verity barely noticed, though. She was staring at the man. Tall, slim, and dressed in a light gray suit, he appeared perhaps thirty years old. His white-blond hair, clear blue eyes, and even tan made him look like some kind of Eurotrash matinee idol, but his expression, equal parts calculating intelligence and decadent indolence, spoiled the effect. One thing she was sure of: she’d never seen this man before. Next to her, she felt Jason tense.

  The man smiled. “You can call me Mathias. It’s not my real name, but it will do for our time together.” He had one arm casually draped around the girl on the left, who wore a sequined gown far too old for her and the makeup of a child beauty queen. The other girl, leaning against him, had no makeup and was clad in an outfit typical for her age, which couldn’t have been more than eight. Both of them were smiling, though the smiles looked faraway and disassociated, as if they weren’t quite sure where they were.

  “So you’re the head sicko behind this pervert factory,” Jason said, his face twisting with disgust. He hadn’t dropped the gun yet.

  “If you like,” Mathias said. “I prefer to look at it from a different perspective. Please, Mr. Thayer—the gun. Now. I’d very much hate for one of my friends here to become nervous, and so would one of these young ladies here.”

  Jason sighed and put his gun and the pipe on the floor.

  “Very good. Thank you. Just kick them toward one of my associates there.”

  As Jason did as he was told, Verity faced Mathias again. “Aren’t you going to kill us? Isn’t it a little comic-book-supervillain to keep us around and tell us all about your plans?”

  Mathias’s smile grew wider. “Oh, whether I kill you depends very much on you.” He tilted his head, looking her up and down. “You’re an accomplished mage, Ms. Thayer. Better than I expected. I honestly didn’t think you’d find your way up here—or at least I thought you’d discover my hidden elevator and opt for that way.”

  “Yeah, like we were gonna get in a sealed box you control.”

  Mathias glanced around the room, with its four sets of closed doors. “And yet you have done just that. It’s just too bad you didn’t take my wards into account. They weren’t designed merely to conceal, but to alert. I knew you were here from the moment you passed through the fire door. An understandable mistake—especially since, based on your age, I’d guess you’re still an apprentice. Am I correct?”

  Verity didn’t answer.

  “Your ruse with my men downstairs was nicely executed, though. I approve. And levitating to the roof—I didn’t expect that, either. You’re quite resourceful, for an apprentice. I’d like to meet your master.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” she said. “He’d rip you to pieces.”

  “Perhaps he might. But we’ll never know, will we?” He lounged back, leaning half against the couch and half against the little girl. “Honestly, I don’t understand why we even have an issue.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jason asked. “You’re a fucking pervert. You’re kidnapping kids for sex, and charging other perverts to come here. You don’t think we’d have a problem with that?”

  He sighed ruefully. “I provide a service, Mr. Thayer. It is only outdated law and the sentiments of moralizing fools that makes what we do here perversion. We’re not hurting anyone. The children are well cared for. They receive good food, entertainment, and what education is necessary. My clients are kind to them. Some even bring gifts to their favorites.”

  “You’re not hurting anyone?” Verity asked, staring at him in shock. “You’re kidding, right? You kidnapped these kids. You’re holding them here against their will and forcing them to have sex with your bunch of perverts. In what reality is that not hurting them?”

  In the background, her thoughts whirled as she tried to figure a way out of this that wouldn’t get them or the two girls killed. No way was her shield good enough to stop that much gunfire, and Mathias had already proven that not only could he see through her invisibility spell, but he apparently had one of his own that was good enough to not only hide this many people, but hide their auras too. For all she knew, he could still be hiding more.

  Mathias waved an airy hand. “It’s the nature of the strong to subjugate the weak, Ms. Thayer. It is the way of the world, and has been as long as history has existed. You and I disagree on what constitutes ‘harm.’ And in any case, when they no longer fit my clients’ needs, they will be released, safe and unhurt.”

  “You…” Jason’s fists clenched, and his voice shook with rage. “You’re fucking kidding, right? You’re insane. You actually expect us to believe you’ll let them loose? Not like that changes a fucking thing, anyway.”

  “With…certain mental modifications, yes. We are not monsters, Mr. Thayer. As I said, I merely provide a service.”

  “Uh, free hint, Chester: I think you pretty much fit the textbook definition of monster,” Verity said. She spread her hands. “So what’s the plan here? Is this when you ask us to embrace our inner sadist and join up with you, so we can all rule the world together? Is that what you meant about not killing us?”

  “Ms. Thayer…” Mathias stroked the right-side girl’s hair in a way that made Verity want to throw up. “Your worldview is so limited. It’s truly a shame.” He nodded toward two of his men on Jason’s side of the room. “Let’s separate them for a while. I’d like to have more time to talk with Ms. Thayer. I think I might still be able to persuade her to my way of thinking—though I fear her brother is a lost cause. On second thought—” He gestured again toward the two men. “Take him and kill him. Dispose of him in the usual way.”

  The two approached, still grinning. As they got closer, Verity could see the double-fours tattoo on the side of his neck. She gathered magic to her and prepared to strike—it was probably a death sentence for both of them, but she wasn’t going to let them take Jason and—

  From behind them, gunfire filled the hall as the doors slammed open.

  “Nobody move!” yelled a voice.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  It took Stone more than an hour to get out of the cavern. He wanted to go faster—had to keep forcing himself not to go faster—but the risk of upsetting the precarious balance of the rockfall and burying himself made him pick his way with slow, methodical care through the blockage. Standing back and using telekinetic magic to do the work, he removed one rock at a time, floating them over and depositing them in a pile on the opposite side of the chamber from Sarah’s makeshift altar.

  He tried not to look at Mortenson. He hadn’t removed the rock that pinned her—there was no need in order to clear the passage, and nothing to be gained from viewing the ruin of her lower body. He’d pulled his coat from beneath her head and spread it over her so he didn’t have to look; it didn’t seem right to stare into his colleague’s lifeless face while he worked. And anyway, the exertion of all the magic he was throwing around and the growing tempe
rature in the cavern had heated him up to the point where he was sweating runnels down through the streaks of mud caking him from head to toe.

  He’d discovered early on that some of his pain had come from Duncan’s wild shot, which apparently had sliced through his coat and grazed the top of his shoulder. The wound was bleeding, but not serious enough to worry about under the circumstances. He’d have to get it looked at later—along with Denise’s slashes—if he got out of this, but for now his priority was getting out.

  When he’d finally removed enough rocks to make a hole large enough for him to crawl through, he paused a moment, taking a last look around the cavern. He had no idea if anyone would even risk coming in here to retrieve Mortenson’s and Duncan’s bodies. If one timber had failed, would that put more stress on the others? If the experts deemed it unsafe, it might be weeks or months—if ever—before anyone came in here to get them out. The thought of some animal entering the passage and feasting on their remains distressed Stone, but he knew it wouldn’t be wise to take the time to bury them or cover them in a cairn of rocks. This place could come down at any moment, and the curse was still active. There were still—he hoped—living people in Brunderville he had a chance to save.

  Finally, he settled for leaving his coat to cover Mortenson. It was a small and futile gesture of respect, but it was all he could give her. Duncan was on his own.

  He grabbed his leather bag of ritual materials and the flashlight, summoned a protective shield around himself, and levitated to the hole he’d cleared. He hoped it would hold long enough for him to get through, and that the area past it was open. He was already exhausted from moving the rocks—if he had to clear out the rest of the passageway, he could be in trouble.