Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles

by Nicholas W King

  I stood as quickly as my body would allow. Taking my cane in both hands, I swung as hard as I could. The knot of thick wood caught the back of her skull. She stumbled, releasing Lester, who fell to the ground.

  Magdelena paid no further attention to Lester. Instead she began to circle around me. “Wizard,” she spat. “The Red King wants to kill you himself. I want your heart.”

  “I’m waiting for that special someone,” I said, taking a step back and raising my cane for another strike. “Always wanted some snake skin boots, though.”

  “My brother so enjoys your body. He should have better taste.”

  “Coming from the vampire bedding down a magic-user,” I replied with a smirk. “It must be a family weakness.”

  Magdelena stopped moving. “A means to an end,” she said. “The Red King knows this.”

  My legs started to buckle with fatigue. A smile crept over the vampire’s lips.

  “My brother will have to find a new toy,” she said.

  As she moved to strike, a shotgun blast rang out. Magdelena fell to the ground. Black blood oozed from a dozen small wounds. I turned my head to see a wrathful Angela eject the spent shell and advance forward.

  “Good thing I’m on your side,” I said. My cane wavered. My arms were numb and weak.

  The vampire stood, incensed and spitting. Her larger fangs slid forward as she hissed loudly. Angela fired off another volley, hitting Magdelena in the chest. Ejecting that shell, she leveled the shotgun and fired again. Magdelena turned away from the shot, letting her back take the brunt of the it. She fell to one knee and cast hateful eyes back at the deputy. Angela smiled and I felt the hair on my arms stand up. Blackwell advanced on the wounded monster, readying to fire at closer range.

  What Angela didn’t see was the Red King emerge behind her. In the light of day, his robes were not as plain as I originally thought. They were covered in stitched patterns of eldritch designs. He raised a hand for what I knew would be a spell.

  I didn’t have the stamina to channel an offensive spell. Even if I could, it would have been like slapping him with a broken wrist. I pushed what power I could through my body and said, “Claustrum.”

  A two-foot-thick wall of compact dirt rose behind Blackwell, separating her from the Red King. His fire spell splattered against the dirt wall a moment later. I could feel the reflected heat.

  Grinning at the Red King, I said, “Nothing like a good cock-block, you dick.”

  Shaking with rage, the Red King turned to face me. To my right I could see Magdelena’s eyes go wide as she saw the flames splash onto the ground around the dirt barricade. She sprinted off in the opposite direction, ignoring her wounds.

  The Red King unleashed a spell at me. It felt like an invisible hand had swatted me away. I flew backwards, remaining airborne for longer than seemed possible. I had the presence of mind to tuck my head before I landed. When I struck dirt, I bounced and rolled like a poorly thrown bowling ball. My already damaged ribs screamed their disapproval.

  When I finally stopped moving, I groggily turned my head to face the warehouse. It was nearly forty yards away. The Red King was nowhere to be seen. Police sirens wailed in the distance. These were the last thing I heard before everything went black.

  Chapter 13

  When I came to, I was handcuffed. I’m not ashamed to admit it’s not the first time I’ve woken up that way. This time was not as pleasant, though. My breathing was shallow and labored. I was flat on my stomach with my hands behind my back. My cane lay a few feet away in an open patch of dirty. I could see a handful of cops loitering around the area. As my vision cleared, a pair of dark dress shoes appeared an inch or two from my face.

  “Finally awake?” a recognizably gruff voice asked.

  I felt hands hook my elbows and pull me to my feet. A gasp of pain escaped my lips as fresh outrage pulsed from my ribs.

  “Looks like you’re injured,” said Bart Majester. He stepped closer so there was less than half a foot between us. “We’ll get you a medic. After we question you.”

  He jerked his chin and the person behind me pushed me forward. I groaned, but managed an easy pace. Majester walked over and picked up my cane. Getting my bearings, I could see the warehouse far off in the distance. The Red King’s spell had hurled me so far that I should have died from the landing. With the state my ribs were in, I almost wished that were so. What caught my attention was the lack of a police presence around the warehouse itself. I couldn’t make out a single squad car or person. If the Plant City PD had made it out to the scene, they should have made it a point to investigate the warehouse and the debris field around it.

  We walked under the canopy of tree limbs near the gate. A trio of dark sedans was parked behind my truck and Lester’s SUV. Both Lester and Angela were leaning against the side of the truck. They both looked a little worse for wear. Lester had some darkening bruises around his throat from Magdelena’s grip. Bruises had already darkened around Angela’s right eye, where the cinderblocks chunks had hit her. A wave of relief washed over their faces when they saw me.

  I motioned my head backward when I caught Lester’s eyes. He nodded and moved to intercept Majester. The officer escorting me stopped walking and turned me so I could see the confrontation.

  “Where are you taking him?” asked Lester. He was about the same height as Majester, but the Plant City detective had him by at least fifty pounds. Lester squared his shoulders and stared Bart in the eyes.

  “The office. I’ve got some questions for him.” Majester said. He stopped walking.

  “About what?” asked Lester.

  “Trespassing, to start,” said Majester. “This place is private property.”

  “We were executing a legal warrant,” said Lester. He put his hands on his waist and cocked his head slightly to the side. I’d seen that look before. It was the look Lester gave me when he heard me say something that made no sense.

  I turned my attention to Blackwell. The deputy gave me a look that said under no circumstances I was to speak up. I figured she knew better than me and complied.

  “You were,” said Majester, pointing a finger at the Sergeant. Turning his finger to me, he said, “He wasn’t.”

  “He was serving as our consultant,” replied Marks, stepping closer to the larger detective. The two men were practically chest to chest.

  Majester didn’t back down in the slightest. He tapped my cane on the ground a few times. “As a professional courtesy, you get to walk. So does she. He comes with me. And I’ll be reaching out to your superiors.”

  “For what?” asked Lester. His nostrils flared and I could see his fingers flexing clenched his fists.

  “For not giving us a heads up,” said Majester. “You wanna execute a warrant that could affect my cases, I deserve to be read in. You investigate a murder case in Plant City, you come to me.” Majester’s voice was a deep growl. “Now get outta my way, Sergeant.”

  Bart stepped around Lester, who tried to put a hand up to stop the detective. Majester brushed it aside with my cane. As I was led to one of the unmarked squad cars, I stopped moving and said, “Lester?”

  Marks walked over to me, getting close enough to avoid anyone overhearing. The cop escorting me looked to Bart, who seemed about ready to arrest Lester as well.

  “What is it, Nico?” asked Lester. He leaned in a bit closer.

  “They’re not covering the warehouse. Something’s up.”

  Lester’s eyes went wide for a moment. He regained his composure and nodded. “What about your weapon?” he asked. He was talking about my .45.

  I smiled. “They can’t confiscate what they can’t find. Trust me.”

  The deputy sheriff gave me a broad grin. “I’ll get you out as soon as I can.”

  “I’m not too worried. I’ve been arrested before.”

  I was put into the back of the unmarked car and driven away. Looking back, I could see the SUV and my truck leave a few minutes later.

  The dr
ive to the main Plant City station was relatively short. I was escorted from the car directly to an interrogation room. Once seated, I was shackled to the table with my arms out in front of me. No one came in for almost an hour, which suited me just fine. I rested my head against my arms and tried to rest.

  No matter how I sat or leaned, however, I could not get comfortable enough to sleep. My breathing was easier than it had been out in the field, but only to a small degree. Every muscle in my body felt like it wanted to take a year-long vacation. I tried to piece together what I had seen inside the warehouse, but my brain felt like a shortwave radio that couldn’t pick up a signal.

  The interrogation room looked just like you think it did. It had bare white walls. I could see some spots where parts of the drywall had chipped off but had not been smoothed over. The ceiling above had yellowed around the fluorescent lights. I took a deep breath and caught the scent of stale tobacco smoke.

  The door opened and Bart Majester entered. He had taken off his charcoal gray blazer and tie. He wore only a white dress shirt.

  Majester took a seat facing me. I took a few moments to study him. His massive frame was relaxed, but there was an underlying tension in his arms. It looked like he was ready to spring into action if I posed any threat. His eyes were blue-gray and they bored a hole into me.

  He had one of those chiseled, square-jawed faces people associate with cops and other authority figures. I could see a small scar on the left side of his chin. He didn’t say anything for a while; just stared. Neither of us broke the other’s gaze. I did my best to seem unfazed by the whole situation.

  “Nicodemus Atalante,” said Majester, finally breaking the silence. “Thought that was a bullshit alias.”

  I cocked my head to the side and gave him a quizzical look. “Who would choose that name? It’s one step away from being Englebert Humperdink.”

  “A con-man would choose it,” he answered. Majester leaned forward and placed his forearms against the table. “I did some research on you. You’ve been conning people a long time.”

  “How so?”

  “Tampa PD and Hillsborough County Sheriff have you on the books as a psychic consultant.”

  “Well, they can’t put wizard consultant on the tax forms.”

  “How much do you charge?” Majester asked.

  “Fifteen hundred for the first day,” I answered by rote. “Half that every day after.”

  “Pretty good money.”

  “Not if you pay property taxes,” I said. I tried to chuckle but my breath caught and it came out as a wheeze.

  “Looks like you got busted up pretty bad,” Majester said, smirking.

  I gave him a half-hearted smile. “Just some police brutality.”

  The smirk disappeared. As if by reflex, he glanced back at the camera in the room. The device sat in the corner to the right of the door. It was positioned so that everyone in the room could be seen on camera.

  “We didn’t do anything to you,” he said. He leaned back from me.

  My smile grew larger. “Not the story I’m thinking of telling,” I said, sitting back carefully. “Why’d you arrest me?”

  “I told you,” he said. “Trespassing on private property. That was just to get you here.”

  I swallowed the lump that developed in my throat.

  “I want to know what you’ve learned about my case,” Majester said.

  I started to speak and stopped myself. My mind worked through the reasons Majester would ask me for this kind of information. I remembered Lester telling me there had been five bodies dropped in Plant City with similar wounds. “What don’t you know?” I asked

  “Who did it, for starters.”

  “And you think...what?” I asked. “That I’m trying to con the county outta their money?”

  Majester crossed his arms and gave me a stone face. “I think you did it. All that cockamamie magic crap.”

  I shook my head, which wasn’t the best idea. My vision swam for a few seconds. “I didn’t know bodies were dropping until Lester called me in,” I said.

  “Why did he call you in? He think you can speak to the dead?”

  “Mediums talk to the dead,” I said. “The dead have an aversion to wizards.” I tried to swallow and found my mouth dry. “Can I get something to drink?”

  “Later.” Majester leaned in, putting himself almost halfway across the table. “What do you do?”

  “I find people, things. Helped catch a killer or two.”

  “Exorcisms as well, from what I hear.”

  I leaned back and stared at Majester for a few seconds. “You know Terry, don’t you?”

  “He works for the unit as a beat cop,” said Majester. “We’ve been friends for a long time.” He looked about to say something but then thought better of it. “You know, I could use something to drink. Coffee fine by you?”

  “Cream and sugar if you’ve got it.”

  The detective left the room and returned a few minutes later with two cups. He set one in front of me and unlocked one of my hands from the cuffs. The coffee tasted terrible, even with the cream and sugar. My brain started clearing though, so I couldn’t complain too much.

  “So exorcisms, missing persons, killers. You get around.” He said, sipping his own coffee. “Detective Cardenas says you’re a hell of an asset.”

  “We’ve worked together a few times.”

  “He know about your troubles in California?” Majester asked.

  I stopped mid-sip, the hot liquid burned the inside of my mouth. I swallowed and stared at him. He had a satisfied smile on his face. “No charges filed,” I said. “Nothing to tell.”

  “Not from what I read,” he said. “Three corpses burnt to a crisp. Barely enough for dental ID. Who would do that? Maybe someone that got his kicks cutting the organs outta people.”

  I caught a glint of silver behind his shirt’s collar. Taking a gamble, I asked, “You a religious man, detective?”

  Majester nodded slowly, his expression concerned.

  “A demon killed those people. You know what demons are.”

  “Demons, now?” he said, snorting. “Should’ve stopped at ghosts.”

  “You can believe in an all-powerful god who sees and knows all and answers your prayers, but demons are a stretch?” I said. “Monsters are real, detective.”

  “And you’re one of the monsters, I take it?”

  I smiled and took another sip of my coffee. “No,” I said. “Monsters don’t like me. My charming personality doesn’t have any effect on them.” I sat up straight and set my cup down. “Your killer was at that warehouse today. Why weren’t your men all over it?”

  “I searched it myself,” said Majester. “Nothing but burnt stone and dead junkies. Your deputy friends told me about them.”

  I craned my head until my ear was practically touching my shoulder. “You didn’t see anything suspicious?”

  “Just some burnt up stone.”

  The urge to blurt out the details concerning the Red King, Magdelena, and the ritual circle was almost more than I could bear. But that subsided as my brain worked the angles. There hadn’t been time for the Red King to clear up everything. The cops were arriving as I passed out.

  My gaze walked over Majester again. Broad-shouldered to a fault, he had the right build. Having been raised around wizards, I recognized the vibe coming off him. There’s a certain “master of the universe” attitude wizards have about them. Reworking reality on a whim does nothing to stamp down a person’s ego. From his build, I could see he’d been a fit man in his younger years, but time was taking a toll on him.

  My vision shifted. Where Majester had sat a moment before was now a figure made up of static gray energy. Auras are a constantly swirling portrait. Emotional highs and lows can shift the picture from moment to moment. Majester’s aura didn’t register any of that. The shape of it was vaguely humanoid. Around the edges of the figure was the kind of wavy static I used to see on old TV sets.

  The
n my gaze strolled down to his left wrist. The bracelet Majester was wearing gave off a slow pulse of magic, almost at a heartbeat rhythm. Within the pulse I could see flecks of crimson roiling like a furnace.

  My vision shifted back to normal. Majester stared at me as if I’d gone into seizure. My eyes locked onto the bracelet on his wrist. It was a thick gold chain with a plate on the top.

  “Nice jewelry,” I said.

  “Groomsman present,” he said. When I looked up, I could see he was eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Am I going to be charged with trespassing?”

  Majester sat silently for a moment. I took the time to finish my coffee. When I was finished, I raised my other handcuffed hand. Majester unlocked me. I rubbed the raw flesh of my wrist.

  The detective grabbed my wrist and jerked me closer to him. My chest rammed into the table, which was bolted to the floor. My breath caught in my throat and my eyes watered.

  “You’re free to leave,” he said quietly.

  Slowly I got up and moved to the door, sucking down air like it was going to run out. When I grabbed the door handle, I stopped and composed myself. “Two questions,” I said.

  Bart stared at me like I was a bug on the wall. “What?” he barked.

  “Where’s my cane? And have you given your case files to Lester yet?”

  The Plant City detective gave me a glare that could melt stone. “Both are on my desk. The other deputy is waiting for you there.”

  I nodded and walked out. I followed the sounds of people talking and moving about. I saw Angela planted in a chair next to a desk. My cane was propped up next to it. A box of files sat on the desk in the center. Angela looked both annoyed and resigned. When she caught sight of me, the tension in her shoulders disappeared.

  “You were supposed to release him a half hour ago,” she said, talking past me.

  “He’s out. There’s the files,” said Majester. I looked over my shoulder and saw he’d stopped a foot or so back from me.

  “Problems, Bart?” asked a familiar voice.

  My head snapped around to see Terry Masters approaching us. I felt the urge to grab the flat-screen monitor on Majester’s desk and smash Terry across the face with it. Instead I smiled at him. It must have not been a pleasant smile, because he stopped in his tracks.