Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles

by Nicholas W King

  “Ground rules,” I said, thumping my cane down into the floor board. For a second, I remembered how my father’s voice had taken on an authoritative tone when he was beating some new lesson into my head. “You’ll live here, you’ll go to school. And you’ll do whatever your mother tells you to do.”

  I waited for them to respond. James nodded with the eagerness of a puppy. Patricia did her best to hide a satisfied smile. She knew now that I wasn’t going to undermine her authority as a parent. I shot her a quick wink, which made her smile larger.

  “Second,” I said. “When we train, you will do exactly as I say. I’m not her or your Uncle. I’ll be harsh and unforgiving at times. Learning to harness your abilities is gonna suck. Some days you’ll be so exhausted you can barely move. But I believe you can do it.”

  Patricia beamed at me. I felt like the Grinch on Christmas morning. “Patricia,” I said, “do you mind if I talk with James alone?”

  “Not at all,” she replied. She got up and kissed her son on the cheek. “I’ll be right inside.”

  James and I took a walk to my truck.

  “You didn’t tell her about... you know?” asked James. He kept his eyes on my truck instead of looking at me.

  “The incubus?” I said, leaning against my Jeep. “Wasn’t my secret to tell. When you’re ready, you should tell her. If she can handle this, she can handle anything.”

  He mulled over my words and nodded. “Thanks. Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “Because I made a similar mistake,” I said. “I was sixteen, arrogant and stupid. Found a name in one of my father’s notebooks.” Suddenly I couldn’t draw a breath. The horrid stench of sulfur and brimstone filled my nostrils. I closed my eyes and the sight of the devil flooded my imagination. Wings spanning eight feet from tip to tip stretched out like a cobra’s hood. A tail with a blackened scorpion’s stinger swayed back and forth. A row of bones jutted from the forehead like a crown.

  “Nico?”

  James’ voice dispelled the memory. I found I was using the truck to keep myself upright. When I looked at James, his face was scrunched up with concern.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Bad memory,” I said. “The name I found was for a devil, an archdevil from Hell.” I breathed slowly for a minute or so, my heart rate slowly returned to normal. “My summoning circle was incomplete. The devil got free. It was pissed that some boy had tried to control it. My father arrived at that moment. It seems this particular devil and he had a long, bitter relationship.” I stopped. My mouth had gone dry. “My father took my place. The devil took him back to the Hells.”

  “Like literally straight to Hell?” James shivered at the thought.

  “Almost twenty years ago,” I said.

  James pondered my revelation, probably wondering if he should leave well enough alone. The sound of a car pulling up behind me stopped him asking more. From the look on the teenager’s face, I could guess who had arrived. A car door opened and closed.

  “James,” said Terry from behind me, “What are you doing home?”

  Chapter 10

  Terry Masters was not happy to see me. His face flushed purple. He was also wearing a Plant City Police uniform, which stretched as the muscles in his arms bulged. James took a step to put himself between his uncle and me. Terry’s complexion took on an even darker shade.

  “You’re not welcome here,” said Terry. His voice was strained, even venomous. “Leave. Now.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. I didn’t think there were darker shades of purple, but Terry surprised me.

  “Uncle Terry,” James began to say. He stopped when his uncle shot him a withering glare.

  Moving up behind James, I placed a hand on his shoulder. James looked to me as I walked around him. “Here’s your first lesson,” I said. “Do not interfere.”

  Terry towered over me. He glared and stepped within a hair’s breadth of me. I could feel his breath on my face. My guess was that this act had worked many times with other people. No matter what other people say, a police officer’s presence is intimidating. Very few people have the balls to stand up to a cop.

  The cops I’ve worked with didn’t need to bully people. Granted, they have magic at their disposal. An ape with an attitude problem and a badge is significantly less threatening than a wizard in authority.

  “Say what you’re gonna say,” I told Terry, locking my eyes with his.

  “James, go inside,” said Terry. He balled up his fists and released them.

  “No,” I said, stretching my arm back to block any movement.

  Unsure how to respond, James hesitated. Terry stepped back and planted his back foot.

  “If you’re going to do this, he gets to see,” I said. I set my cane against my truck and raised my hands. I’d pinned my hopes on James’ presence being enough to discourage Terry.

  I was wrong.

  The stiff right hand to my ribs shattered that illusion. I heard the distinct sound of cracking bone and I crumbled to my knees.

  “Uncle Terry,” said James, his voice cracking. I turned my head and saw the teenager getting ready to step between me and his uncle.

  I raised my hand and said, “Do not interfere.”

  Terry glowered at me, his fists balled so tightly the skin had gone white.

  “Not your style to hit a man while he’s down?” I asked, turning my attention back to the Plant City cop.

  The answer to that question was a swift kick to my midsection. I flattened and turned onto my side. Another kick followed. More of my ribs broke. Terry brought his size 12 shoe down just above my hip. My mouth opened but no sound came out.

  Instinctively my mind reached out to tap into the latticework of energy around. It would be so easy to call up a burst of flame to consume him, or alter the gravity around him to squash him like an insect. It would feel wonderful to beat him down with my magic, to teach him that I was the stronger man. But I didn’t do that. Instead, despite the pain, I let him get in a couple more kicks.

  Terry never uttered a word during the barrage. When he was finished, he took several steps back. His breathing was heavy. Once he’d caught his wind again, he adjusted his belt and straightened out his uniform.

  James kneeled next to me, putting his body between me and his uncle. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he whispered.

  Before Terry could answer, Patricia was coming down the steps of porch. She had a fire in her eyes that could have melted an Abrams tank.

  “Get away from him, Terry,” she said.

  When he finally spoke, Terry couldn’t keep the surprise out of his tone. “He can’t be trusted,” he said.

  Patricia didn’t hesitate. She stomped over to her brother-in-law and punched him. It didn’t look like the first punch she’d ever thrown. I gulped down a lump in my throat and reminded myself never to cross her.

  “James is my son, not yours,” she said. “I decide who to trust when it comes to him.”

  With James’ help, I got into a sitting position with my back against my truck. I gave the boy a weak smile and nodded to Patricia. She returned the gesture. Terry looked at her and then turned a murderous gaze to me. Without saying a word, he stalked off to his squad car. Within a minute, he was peeling out and driving off, flooring the accelerator.

  “I’m sorry, Nicodemus.” Patricia said. “Terry’s been through a lot recently. He hasn’t been the same since...” She just let the statement hang in the air.

  “It’s okay,” I said. I grabbed my cane and used it to stand up. Terry’s first punch had caught me square in the left ribcage. A couple of his kicks had managed to catch my right side, too. Breathing took a bit of effort but in a few minutes I could do it without wincing. My lungs felt like they were packed in sandbags.

  “You could’ve fought back,” said James. His brow was furrowed and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You could’ve kicked his ass.”

  “First lesson,” I said, raising an index
finger. “Power and how to use it.” I glanced at Patricia, who seemed to understand what I was trying to get across. “If I wanted to, I could’ve killed your uncle,” I told James. “Easily. That’s the power I have. That’s the power you have to learn how to control.” I pointed in the direction of Terry’s departed squad car. “How do you want to use it?”

  James looked down the driveway for several long minutes. He turned to his mother and gave her a silent nod. “When do we start?” he asked

  I grinned broadly. “Once this case is over,” I told him. “And I’ve grown some new ribs.” Turning to Patricia, I asked, “Mind if I use your phone?”

  James went on ahead into the house. Patricia walked beside me as we followed. “You didn’t have to take a beating to teach James a lesson,” she said.

  “Learning sometimes involves pain,” I told her. “Lessons stick in your head better that way.”

  “Your father teach you that?”

  “Every time.”

  “About James and his lessons—”

  I waved a hand to cut her off. “No charge. I’ll look after him.”

  She smiled and didn’t say much after that. Once inside, I called my voicemail service. Sure enough, Lester had left me a message. I asked for a pen and a pad of paper. After I jotted down the address he gave me, I tore off the sheet and handed the pad and pen back. “I have to go. When this case is over, we’ll work out a schedule.”

  As I was leaving, a thought occurred to me. I stopped and turned back to her. “Patricia,” I said, “why did Terry show up?”

  Patricia smiled. “The school calls him when James doesn’t go.” She shifted her head in her son’s direction. “He’s gotten good at impersonating my voice. Called in his own absences a few times before we figured it out.”

  I logged that fact in the back of my brain and left.

  * * *

  Lester and Angela were waiting for me in the parking lot of a supermarket off Florida Highway 39 in Plant City. Angela had dark rings under her eyes. A thick bruise crept down the side of her neck and under the collar of her shirt. She fidgeted a bit as I approached. I pretended not to notice.

  When I reached the two of them, Lester handed me a bottled iced coffee and a cheese bear claw. I ate and drank as they filled me in.

  “Coronet Road is right nearby off 574A,” said Lester. “The warehouse is private property. I got a warrant this morning to search it.”

  “How’d you convince a judge?” I asked, bits of flaky crust falling out of my mouth.

  “I told him a confidential informant gave up the address,” he answered. Blackwell, looking at him, shifted from side to side. “The property’s owned by Midnight Housing LLC, based out of Tampa.”

  “A shell company,” added Angela. She’d made sure Lester was done speaking before jumping in. “It’s owned by a parent company, Sunshine Limited. They hold a bunch of properties throughout Tampa Bay.”

  “Vega,” I replied. “Lots of fingers, lots of pies.”

  “What can we expect?” asked Lester.

  I finished off the liquid in the bottle and shuddered a bit. “You know this barely qualifies as coffee, right?”

  Lester smirked while Angela rolled her eyes.

  “Most vamps can survive in sunlight,” I said. “They’re just weaker.”

  “How much weaker?” asked Angela. She kept her distance from me. Her eyes kept moving from my face to my cane.

  “Difference between an Olympic athlete and someone who works out to stay healthy,” I answered. I looked straight at her. “Do we have a problem?”

  “Nope.” She turned her head to face Lester. “The one that shot us ran a lot faster.”

  “It was dusk then. Closer to nightfall, the more powerful they get,” I said.

  Lester stroked his chin and thought it over for a minute. “Shotguns and tac vests?” he offered.

  “Gonna use some of that special ammo?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Official business, department ammo.”

  I sighed. I understood the logic but if we encountered a pissed off vamp or group of vamps, I wanted every edge we could get our hands on. “Those’ll do. Just aim center mass. Major organs are used for blood storage. Blood loss weakens vamps quickly.”

  “You got anymore anti-venom?” asked Blackwell. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at me intently.

  “Not at the moment,” I said. “I’ll get some brewed up tonight. I should have some ready by tomorrow morning.” I reached into my coat and produced the remaining two bulbs of holy water. “If a vamp gets close, use these.”

  “How many pockets does that coat have?” Angela asked, looking puzzled.

  I shrugged. “A wizard never reveals his tricks. Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  Lester gave me the address and off we went. Angela decided to ride with him. The drive to Coronet Road was short and sweet. As I drove, I watched the rapid changes in landscape. Less than fifteen minutes from the Publix where we’d met, the mini-malls and shopping centers vanished. Replacing them were fenced-in grasslands browning under the approaching winter. On County Road 574, I drove through the middle of a thick gathering of trees. Most were a good ten feet from the two-lane highway but they seemed to be suffocating the area. Moss hung off many of the branches.

  As we got closer to Coronet Road, my view shifted again. Where there had been a seemingly impenetrable wall of foliage, there was now open ground with only small collections of trees scattered about. In the open dirt and sparse grass, the trees looked almost like grave markers.

  Coronet Road itself was barely paved. Cracks and warped asphalt bumps were abundant. It was obvious to me as I drove over them that neither the city nor the county had been out here for routine maintenance in some time. No doubt whichever vampire directly controlled this property had made certain there wouldn’t be any prying eyes around a potential dump site or lair.

  A broken-down gate stood open just off the County Road. We stopped at a fork in the road beyond that gate. The path to our left led to an open grassy area. The path on the right was blocked by a padlocked fence. A thick canopy of branches covered the dirt road.

  I stopped my truck, turned off the ignition, and walked around to take a look at the left side of the fork. There was a massive debris field some 150 yards back. Surrounding the remains of a demolished building were at least a dozen open-air metal dumpsters. When I returned to my truck, Lester and Angela were parked and getting ready. They were in the midst of strapping on their tactical vests. Opening up his weapons cache in the back, Lester produced two shotguns. He ejected all of the shells in both and then reloaded with the standard buckshot shells the Sheriff’s office provided. Their side arms were holstered at their hips. If it came to using those against Magdelena, we would be in too much trouble.

  They nodded at me. I went to the back of my Jeep and opened up a toolbox I kept attached to the side of the bed. I pulled out a pair of bolt cutters. When I joined them at the fence, a wave of nausea came over me.

  “This place feels wrong,” I said aloud. “Can’t quite put my finger on it, though.”

  Angela grunted in reply. “Anything more concrete?”

  Instead of replying to Blackwell, I scanned the gate and the path beyond it. Some of the metal links on the fence had begun to rust. The chain and lock keeping the gates closed were fairly new, though. Beyond the gate were two rows of dirt amidst knee-high grass. Some of the grass had been trampled flat recently. Whoever had driven through had strayed from the main path. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I caught the faint scents of rich gasoline and burning motor oil on the air.

  I cut the chain and kicked open the fence. After putting the bolt cutters away, I walked back over and pointed forward. “Bad guys thataway,” I said. “Concrete enough for you?”

  Angela rolled her eyes and looked at me sternly. “Why do you have bolt cutters with you?” she asked.

  I smiled and said, “I get interestin
g jobs.”

  The canopy extended thirty feet from the gate. I walked forward and peered out around the edge. Three hundred yards of open ground stood before us. A lone warehouse stood near another copse of trees. There was a road after the drive through the tall grass, but it was studded with potholes.

  What made my heart beat a few skips faster was the sight of the grass. Brown, dying grass is not uncommon in October. The grass around the warehouse was desiccated. There was not a single ounce of green in the immediate vicinity. From what I could see of the circle of trees, the branches were gnarled and misshapen.

  I nearly jumped out from behind the cover of the trees when Blackwell nudged me with her elbow.

  “Thought you were more composed?” she asked with a biting smile on her face. She pushed down some branches to get a clear look at the terrain. “If there’s a look-out, we’ll definitely be seen.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I’ve got an idea about that,” I said.

  Angela looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Nothing grand or destructive,” I said, raising my hands up defensively. I motioned with my head for Lester to come join us. When he had the chance to survey the field, he shook his head. “I have an idea.”

  When Lester shot me the same brow-raised expression, I mockingly threw up my hands.

  “What’s your plan, Nico?” he asked, giving me a wide grin.

  “You two have the warrant? Search warrant, right?” I asked.

  Lester nodded in reply.

  “Good,” I said. “Then just roll up like you would normally. Wear your jackets to hide the TAC vests. Serve the warrant.”

  Angela shot me a glare. “And what will you be doing?”

  “Sneaking in,” I said.

  “How?”

  I leaned against a tree and contemplated my options. With the open patches of dirt, I could conjure up a dust cloud thick enough to obscure my approach. The problems with that included my less-than-precise control of aeromancy and my inability to breathe in a cloud of dust. I closed my eyes and felt for any other elements I could utilize.