The First Stone

by Mark Anthony

  Beltan frowned at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not particularly.” She glanced at Anders.

  “Don’t look at me, mate. I’m beginning to think I’m not the one with the brains here, after all.”

  “You don’t have to be smart to think like a thief,” Beltan said, pacing lionlike alongside the table. “The Scirathi must want the arch for something important. Why else would they go to all the trouble of stealing it? However, it’s worthless to them if they don’t have the keystone. That means at some point they will have to come for it.”

  “But the Scirathi can’t know the keystone is here,” Deirdre said, trying to follow his logic.

  “They could be made to know.”

  Anders let out a low whistle. “So you want to set a trap for them, to lure them with the keystone and nab them.”

  “No,” Beltan said, his voice hard, “I want to let them capture the keystone. Once they have it, they will surely go to where the arch is located. All we have to do is follow them.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “I did not say it would be easy,” Beltan growled. “I imagine it will be anything but. Yet it is our only chance of getting to the arch.”

  Anders looked queasy. “I suppose it is. All the same, I can’t imagine the Philosophers will let us take a priceless artifact from their collection and dangle it out there like a piece of bait.”

  “They will, if you convince them to.”

  “I don’t know, mate. . . .”

  Beltan leaned on the table, green light flickering in his eyes. “You promised to help me.”

  Deirdre knew she had to intervene before this came to blows. “It’s a good plan,” she said, standing up and touching Beltan’s shoulder. She felt the big man relax. “But we still need to learn what we can about the arch before we do this. If we’re going to follow the sorcerers back to where they’ve hidden the arch, then we have to be ready to act when we get there. We won’t get a second chance.”

  Beltan grunted; he couldn’t disagree with that.

  Anders gave her a grateful look. “There’s one thing about all this that doesn’t make sense. The Scirathi already had a gate, and they used it to kidnap Nim. So what do they need the arch for?”

  Deirdre chewed her lip. She couldn’t answer that one. “The only ones who know the answer to that question are the Scirathi themselves.”

  “Then why not ask one?” Beltan said.

  Anders scowled at him. “This is no time for jokes, mate.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  By the look on his face, Deirdre knew he wasn’t. Anders stared at him, then suddenly grinned.

  “I’m starting to like the way you think. Better to do something, however bonkers, than to sit around on your bum. Mind if I join you on your little hunt?”

  Beltan nodded. “Your help would be welcome indeed.”

  An alarm sounded in Deirdre’s skull. She gripped Beltan’s arm. “We don’t know how many Scirathi are still on Earth. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I can’t just wait here, Deirdre. I need something to do. And this can help us, you know it can.” His expression softened a fraction. “Don’t worry. We won’t take unnecessary risks.”

  “Come on, mate,” Anders said, putting on his suit coat. “Let’s go see if we can nab ourselves a sorcerer.”

  Once they had gone, Deirdre spent the remainder of the afternoon combing through the documents on her desk—ostensibly trying to find any clues she might have missed, but mostly trying not to think about Anders and Beltan, or what might be happening to them.

  They’re big boys, Deirdre. They can take care of themselves.

  Then why did she feel like she needed to run after them and protect them? Especially Anders. He was strong. He had a gun, and he was trained to use it. But he didn’t have experience facing enemies with magical powers, not like Beltan did. Except that wasn’t true; Anders had taken out the one sorcerer at the Tube station.

  Deirdre rose and moved across the office. He had left the sorcerer’s gold mask on his desk. She picked it up, touching the bullet hole between the mask’s eye slits. What if that had been a lucky shot? Anders might not be so fortunate the next time he came face-to-face with a sorcerer. Or make that sorcerers. She went back to her desk, propped up the mask against a stack of papers so that its serene gold face seemed to gaze at her, and kept working as the wall clock ticked away the silent seconds.

  The back of her neck tingled, and she looked up.

  Sasha stood in the doorway, slender arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb.

  Deirdre gasped. “How long have you been there?”

  “Just a minute or two,” Sasha said, her red lips parting in a smile. “I was watching you.”

  Deirdre scowled, now more annoyed than startled. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. I’m a naughty girl. But you look so adorable when you’re working manically, I couldn’t resist.”

  “I was probably picking my nose,” Deirdre said.

  “If only. I would have snapped a picture.” Sasha gestured to the tiny digital camera that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. She wore it all the time these days, like a piece of jewelry, and was constantly catching people in compromising positions and displaying the resulting snapshots on her computer. “Do you mind if I come in?”

  Before Deirdre could answer, Sasha sauntered languidly— she never merely walked—into the office. Today’s fashion included saffron slacks and a fluttery chartreuse top that made her look like an exotic bird. Her coffee-with-cream skin gave off a healthy glow despite the office’s fluorescent lights, which made Deirdre—who wasn’t exactly well acquainted with the sun these days—look like she had consumption.

  After all their years working together, Deirdre still wasn’t entirely certain what Sasha did for the Seekers. She was an attaché to the Director of Operations, which meant these days she spent most of her time with Richard Nakamura. Although precisely what she did for Nakamura, Deirdre couldn’t say. All she knew was that, more than any other Seeker, Sasha seemed to have her finger on the pulse of the organization. Nothing seemed to happen that she didn’t know about first, or know more juicy details about than anybody else.

  Probably because she’s always spying on people. And who knows? Maybe that’s her real job.

  Deirdre wasn’t worried. Nothing she was doing here was clandestine. In fact, she had already begun to draft a preliminary report on the events of the last thirty-six hours for Nakamura. Deirdre might as well give Sasha a copy since she was there. She opened the document on her computer and clicked PRINT.

  “So what have we here?” Sasha said when Deirdre handed her the copy, still warm from the printer.

  “A draft of a report I’m writing for Nakamura, to keep him apprised of what we’re doing.” Deirdre sat on the edge of her desk.

  Sasha folded the papers without reading them. “That’s good of you, but it’s not necessary. You’re Echelon 7, Deirdre. You’ve got free rein on this mission—it’s under your complete control. There’s no need for you to submit a report until you deem the case is closed.”

  Deirdre wasn’t sure whether those words were reassuring or not. It was good to know she wasn’t going to be second-guessed all the time. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely certain she knew what she was doing here. How did the Desiderata apply when the otherworldly being you had vowed not to interfere with also happened to be a dear friend you had vowed to help? It was hard to rely solely on one’s own judgment.

  “Take the report to Nakamura anyway,” Deirdre said. “I don’t want there to be any secrets here.”

  “Funny you should mention secrets,” Sasha purred. “That’s just what I came to talk to you about.”

  Deirdre gripped her bear claw necklace. “What do you mean?”

  Sasha glanced at the door, then drew in close, her expression no longer one of sly amusement, but rather solemn. “Do you remember how I once to
ld you to keep your curiosity outside the Seekers, that it was better not to turn up stones left untouched?”

  Deirdre felt a chill pass through her. She could only nod.

  “Well, maybe it’s time to start turning up a few of those stones after all.”

  “What are you talking about? What stones?”

  Sasha picked up the gold mask and ran a long finger over it. “So this is one of the masks they wear. Those sorcerers you’ve written about in your reports. It’s so much more beautiful than I ever would have thought. Only it covers ugliness, doesn’t it? Ugliness and hate.”

  None of this made any sense. Deirdre ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “Sasha, what is this really about?”

  The other woman was silent for a time. Finally she spoke in a low voice. “The sorcerers aren’t the only organization that requires its members to wear masks, Deirdre. Sometimes the Seekers do, too. And you can’t always know what’s behind those masks. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes they’re keeping secrets to protect you. And sometimes . . .”

  Deirdre was sweating, but she felt cold. “What do you know, Sasha? If you know something, you have to tell me.”

  Sasha shook her head. “All I know is that there are secrets. Things that most of us don’t know, that others don’t want us to know.”

  “Secrets like what?”

  Sasha set down the mask. “This was a mistake. I’ve told more than I should have. But I just wanted you to . . . you need to keep your eyes open, that’s all.” She started toward the door.

  Deirdre stood up, her heart thudding in her chest. “Sasha, please. You’ve got to tell me what you’re talking about.”

  Sasha hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes unreadable. “Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?”

  Deirdre could only stare.

  “Take care of yourself, honey,” Sasha said, then headed out the door, leaving Deirdre alone.

  22.

  It was late. Deirdre gazed out the window of her flat, watching as rain snaked in rivulets down the panes. She held a glass of scotch in her hand; she hadn’t taken a sip since she poured it two hours ago.

  Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?

  Like uninvited guests, Sasha’s words from earlier that day slipped into her mind. Deirdre tried to ignore them. She didn’t know what Sasha was trying to do, but she wasn’t going to suspect Anders of wrongdoing. Not after he had saved her life— and the lives of others—multiple times. Not after she had vowed she was going to trust him.

  But what if you’re being blind, Deirdre?

  Was that her Wise Self speaking, the shaman in her who often saw things in a clearer light? Or was it her Shadow Self— her darker and more destructive side—that was speaking?

  You’ve developed feelings for Anders—you can’t deny that you have. And what if that’s what he’s been counting on? The co fee, the flowers, the designer suits and expensive cologne— what if it’s all been part of a precise operation, one designed to charm you, and to distract you from things you would otherwise see. Great Spirit, no one can be that cheerful all the time. It has to be an act.

  No, she wouldn’t believe that. Anders was a good man. A true heart beat in that barrel chest of his, she was sure of it. Besides, if someone had wanted her to be seduced, surely they would have sent an agent more suave, more good-looking than Anders to do the deed.

  Or would they? Not if they were clever—not if they knew Deirdre well. She had fallen for a striking, mysterious man once—for Hadrian Farr—and she wouldn’t make that same mistake again. If Anders had been too slick or handsome, her guard would have gone up at once. Instead, Anders had infiltrated the barriers of her affections like a stealth jet, flying low and under the radar.

  This is ridiculous, Deirdre. Now it was neither her Wise Self nor Shadow Self talking. It was just her plain old Angry and Afraid Self. Anders isn’t an airplane, he’s a person, and he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. You know it.

  Really? Or had her judgment been impaired by broad shoulders, a gravelly voice, and crinkly blue eyes? Because, much as she had done her best to ignore it these last three years, Sasha was right—there was one secret Anders kept from her. He still had never told her why he was allowed to carry a gun when no other Seeker had that privilege.

  Not that she was entirely sorry that was the case. More than once he had used that gun to protect her and others. All the same, the fact that he did carry it nagged at her, now more than ever. He had told her his story—how he had worked security for the Seekers before becoming an agent, and how, since he had the proper training to use it, Nakamura was letting him keep the gun temporarily, until a final decision about it came down from the Philosophers.

  But such a decision had never been made, at least not as far as Deirdre knew. So why did Anders carry a gun? Did he have special connections in the Seekers? That seemed absurd; Anders was still only a journeyman. However, the fact that a former security guard had been admitted to the organization at all was unusual. It could be there was more to Anders’s becoming a Seeker than was visible on the surface.

  Deirdre sighed. Her head throbbed, and it was long past her bedtime. She could think about all of this tomorrow. She started to push herself up from the chair—then froze.

  Something moved in the darkness outside the window.

  She leaned forward, until her breath fogged on the glass panes. She had only glimpsed it for a second, but it had been a vaguely manlike shape, she was sure of it. Only it hadn’t been down below on the street. Instead, it had seemed to float in the night, directly outside the window.

  There was a soft click as the door of her flat closed shut. The glass of scotch tumbled to the floor. Heart pounding, Deirdre sprang out of the chair and whirled around.

  There was no one there.

  “Anders?” she called out. “Is that you?”

  He had a key to her flat; he always took care of her house-plants when she was away. But there was no answer. Not that she expected any. Whatever Sasha thought of him, Anders was a gentleman; he always knocked before entering. Besides, he had said he was going to stay at the Charterhouse that night to keep an eye on Beltan.

  Earlier that evening, the two men had returned: wet, hungry, and more than a little grouchy from their mad hunt for a sorcerer. They had found no signs of the Scirathi in the city. Not that Deirdre had expected any different; it wasn’t as if sorcerers tended to hang out at the local coffee shop. Though maybe the blood bank would have been a more likely place to find them.

  Despite their failure, Beltan’s resolve to find one of the Scirathi had not lessened, and Anders wanted to keep close to the blond man in case he decided to try continuing the search on his own. Deirdre had agreed; in his current frame of mind, it was best if Beltan wasn’t left alone.

  And what about you, Deirdre? Are you alone right now?

  She didn’t know what she had glimpsed in the window, but there was one thing she was certain of: Whatever it was, it hadn’t been outside her flat.

  It was a reflection in the glass. A reflection from behind you. Someone was in here.

  Whoever it had been was gone now. A thorough exploration of all the rooms of her flat—as well as the closets—confirmed her instincts. The intruder had fled. She headed back to the kitchen, thinking maybe she had better give another glass of scotch a try. Her hands shook as she tilted the bottle, and she slopped half the liquid onto the counter. She reached for the roll of paper towels.

  A manila envelope lay on the countertop. She had not put it there.

  Deirdre gulped down what scotch she had managed to get into the glass, then picked up the envelope. There was a lump inside it. She undid the string, opened the flap, and tilted the envelope. A small black cell phone slipped out. She drew in a deep breath, then picked up the phone and switched it on.

  It rang.

  She was so startled she near
ly dropped it. She fumbled with the buttons, then held the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Deirdre.”

  She had known it would be he. Once before he had made contact with her in this fashion. All the same, a thrill ran through her at the sound of his rich, accentless voice.

  “Who was just in my flat?” she said. “You or one of your minions?”

  Laughter emanated from the phone. “Minions? What a marvelous word. It makes me feel like a villain just to say it. I really must try to have more minions.”

  “So it was you.” Fear rippled through her, and excitement. He had been here, in her flat—her Philosopher. She moved to the window and peered out into the darkness and the rain. “Where are you?”

  “Close, Deirdre.” His words were a murmur in her ear. “I am always close now. The worlds draw near. And so does the end.”

  “The end of what?”

  “Why, of everything.”

  Deirdre sank down into the chair. She had to be smart, she had to think of the most important questions and ask them first. He wouldn’t stay on the phone long; he never did.

  “Where is the arch?”

  Again he laughed. “That’s why I like you, Deirdre. You always get right to the point.”

  She bit her tongue. If she was silent, he would have to keep speaking. There was a dreadful pause in which she feared he had hung up. Then, once more, his rich voice emanated from the phone.

  “It’s nearer than you might think. However, I’m not going to tell you where it is. Now is not the time to seek it out.”

  “Why?” she said, unable to stop herself.

  “Because if you do, you will die. So will the man from the otherworld, the knight Beltan. I cannot let that happen.”

  This time it was he who paused. Deirdre had no choice but to say something or risk the conversation ending. “Beltan is determined to find the arch, and I can’t control him. Today he and Anders went looking for a sorcerer to question.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Do go have a chat with a sorcerer. That will help you see your next step is not to seek the gate. There are other mysteries that must be attended to first.”