Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles

by Nicholas W King

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding surprised. “He gave me the keys last night. Said something about you calling, most likely.”

  “He’s got better toys than I do,” I said.

  “See you in an hour, then.”

  We hung up and I pulled my cane from the umbrella stand near my office door. “Corvix,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “After this is over, you get a weeklong pass.”

  The oversized crow clucked his beak at me. He was smiling. Don’t ask me how I know that.

  I deactivated the protective charms and left. A quick cantrip reactivated them. When I turned around, I found Persephone standing between me and my truck. The sigils on her wand glowed with icy blue energy.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  Chapter 19

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” I said. I dropped my chin to my chest and shook my head.

  When I looked up, Persephone had raised an eyebrow while staring at me. Her stance had shifted to a defensive posture. Her arms were pulled in, wand pointed at the ground beneath me, and her legs had gone tense.

  “Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” I said.

  “No,” she replied flatly. My senses picked up the subtle fluctuations of magic around me. Persephone had channeled some power to fuel a spell.

  Wanting to avoid a fight, I asked, “What now?”

  “You are to be brought before the Assembly for summary judgment,” she said. Her expression remained static, but her eyes gave away much. I had spent too many nights staring into those eyes not to see her resolve now. Behind the resolve was a plea, a request that I not make this more difficult for her than it already was.

  But I had my task and my former lover was keeping me from it. “You already took my hair,” I said. “How long before two coins find their way into my hand?”

  “Two days,” she said. “The Rite of Charon is already under way.”

  “So my execution order was signed before I was tried,” I said. My free hand squeezed so hard I heard my knuckles pop. “So what’s the point?”

  “This isn’t a request, Nicodemus,” said Persephone. She raised her wand and pointed it directly at my chest. “You’ve knowingly exposed our world to mortals. The Veil— “

  “The Veil was a good idea. Once upon a time,” I said. I stepped down the small stairs in front of the door. When I stopped on the grass of my lawn, I heard Persephone mutter something under her breath. A barely visible shimmer of blue rose above us to form a dome before disappearing completely. I looked around and saw the circle Persephone had taken the time to carve into my lawn. It was a barrier ritual.

  When two wizards duel each other, the fight is usually taken into Sideways for a few reasons. The primary one is that this keeps mortals from seeing the fight. Another reason is that Sideways teems with magical energy in everything, making spellcasting much easier and thus far more devastating. But when a duel has to be held in the physical world, a barrier ritual is used. Any geometric design will do but circles are chosen mostly from tradition. Once inside, no spell cast can escape the dome. The circle can fall only if the person who erected the barrier chooses to release it - or is killed.

  “The Veil keeps us safe,” she said. The words were the same I’d heard from every Sentinel since I was a child.

  “It’s what keeps us aloof,” I replied, my voice raised. “There’s a blood sorcerer out there right now. He’s been sacrificing people to become a full wizard. Six people are dead, Seph. And what have you been doing? Placing a curse on me for talking to the cops.”

  Persephone didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t make any movements either, which I figured was a plus.

  “The Assembly’s priorities are skewed,” I said. I started walking slowly toward her. “I help people. What do you do?”

  The wand wavered for a moment, as if she were seriously contemplating putting the foci down and letting me leave. Then the shaft of wood blared to brilliant light as she aimed it back to me. With fire in her voice, she said, “I stay true to my calling.”

  “It’s James, Seph. The boy you saw two days ago.” I took the indignation out of my own voice and stopped my forward approach. The circle was perhaps 60 feet from one side to the other. “The sorcerer’s going to use him as a sacrifice. It’ll be what he needs to achieve his mission.”

  “Why is this boy so important?” she asked.

  “A wizard,” I said solemnly, “never abandons his apprentice.”

  Persephone’s hardened expression wilted for a brief moment. She seemed to consider my words carefully before she shook her head, perhaps shaking any sentiment from her mind. “You come with me,” she said. “I’ll help the boy. Just tell me where to go and I will see it done.”

  Her offer made a certain amount of sense. Wizards, as a general rule, don’t fight each other. One of the most steadfast laws of every wizarding group involves wizards not killing other wizards, outside of approved duels. Whatever version of the Sentinels each group has is exempt from those laws. For all her pigheaded devotion to the laws of the Assembly, I had little doubt in my mind that Seph had seen combat against other magic-users before. She probably had a damn good chance of taking Majester down. And she wasn’t wounded like I was.

  “What if you came with me?” I asked. “A trained witch at my back would be welcome.” I could see the conflict in her eyes. She was thinking about it. “Seph,” I said. “Come with me, help me, and I’ll go with you after.”

  For a moment, I thought I had reached her, thought that there was still something left of the girl I’d grown up with, the girl I’d given my first...everything...to. Instead, she became the resolute Sentinel once more She shook her head.

  “You have broken the laws,” she said. “You will come with me. Now.”

  I sighed. “No,” I said. “I won’t.”

  Persephone spoke a word of magic and a gust of wind flew in my direction.

  “Clostrum,” I said quickly, drawing on my connection to the ground beneath me. A slab of solid stone rose in front of me, wide enough for me to hide behind. The air blasted around my block of stone. From the whistling sound I had no doubt it would have knocked me on my ass.

  I crouched down and rolled to my left. A moment later the top half of the stone slab snapped off just where my chest had been. It thumped to the ground where I’d been standing.

  Persephone had guessed my attempt to move and sent another gust of wind my way. I didn’t have time to raise another edifice. My shielding spell would be useless against aeromancy. I tried to roll again and get out of the way of the blast, but I was too slow. The gust caught me mid-roll and threw me back across the ground for several feet.

  I tucked my arms in and tried roll with it rather than fight it. It wasn’t a graceful moment for me. I lost my breath as the unyielding earth met my already damaged ribs several times. When I stopped rolling, I laid out on my back. Scanning the area through half-closed eyes, I saw Persephone stalking toward me, wand pointed my direction to focus another spell.

  I caught my breath, pointed my cane at her, and said, “Caeco pulvis.”

  Persephone stopped moving forward. She raised her hands in front of her body, wrists overlapping in front of her face. A flicker of blue energy confirmed to me that she had raised a shielding spell. Her expression shifted to surprise when the loose dirt around her rose up into a swirling mass of thick dust. I lost sight of her in the whirling mess of earth, which also meant she had lost sight of me.

  A long fight wasn’t going to do me any favors. I was hurt and she knew it. I was tired, and she knew that too. She now knew that I wasn’t going to break out any of my more damaging spells against her.

  So I stood up and ran away from where I had been. I chose a spot ten feet to the right of where she had been standing, just outside of her field of vision. Resting on one knee, I pulled out my 1911 Colt. Tears rolled down my cheek from the pain in my sides. Every breath I took felt like my lungs would seize on me. I brought my
cane around and propped it up, using my arm to steady my gun hand. And then I waited.

  My former lover didn’t disappoint me. She used another wind spell, this one focused around herself, moving outward. Dust flew away like a punching bag had exploded. She focused on where I had been, wand ready to strike again. Not finding me there, she turned and gave me the opening I needed.

  Taking my time to aim, I fired once. The expression on her face was a mixture of shock and dismay. She never had a chance to raise her shielding spell.

  The bullet tore through her hip. She screamed. As she crumbled to the ground, I rushed to her, wheezing like an out-of-shape drunk at a marathon. I kicked her wand away. The gunshot would be painful enough to keep her from concentrating on powerful magic, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “You shot me,” she said stammering. “You fucking shot me.”

  “I’ve broken enough laws for one day,” I said in between labored breaths. “You’ll live. The neighbors will call the cops. Release the barrier.”

  “No.”

  “Christ on a cracker, Seph. Release the barrier.”

  She glared at me with all the fury she could muster. I hated seeing that. Her blue eyes shined brighter at that moment than they had in all our stolen moments together as teenagers. Whatever I had meant to her was gone in that moment.

  “Seph, if you don’t release the barrier, it won’t be pleasant.”

  She looked at me as if I were the most loathsome creature in the world. “What will you do?”

  “Whatever I have to,” I said. “I’m not leaving that boy to die.”

  I pressed the knotted end of my cane into the wound on her hip. She screamed and cursed in half a dozen languages.

  “Release the barrier and it will stop,” I said as I pressed my cane harder.

  She spat out something in French. I felt the spell in the circle dissolve away. Channeling some power, I said, “Curo.”

  The magic I released stopped the blood flowing from the wound and closed it somewhat. It wasn’t a full restoration spell but it would keep her from bleeding to death before the police arrived.

  “It won’t mean much,” I said. “But I’m sorry.”

  Persephone didn’t utter a word. Her face said everything. I wanted to stay, wanted to make it up to her, but I knew that would never be possible. Instead I dug my car keys out of my pocket and got in my truck. When I passed the house, I stopped long enough to disable the protection around the house, just in case the police wanted to investigate.

  As I left, I hoped my former friend would get the help she needed.

  I would miss her.

  Chapter 20

  The first time I’d gone to Patricia’s home, it had taken the cabbie more than an hour. I made it in 47 minutes. Yes, traffic laws were disobeyed. No, no one was injured.

  I pulled down the winding dirt road of the Masters’ residence as the sun started dipping below the tree line. Dusk was coming on fast and I knew James’ time was running out. For some forgotten reason, blood magic always works better at night. Maybe it’s because night has always been associated with the darker elements of the supernatural world. Maybe it’s because most blood sorcerers don’t like being awake during the day. I don’t know. I knew the ritual would take time to set up. I knew a few rituals as complicated as the one Majester was using. There would be prep time for the sacrifice, focusing and channeling magical energies, making sure the geometric designs were drawn out perfectly.

  If they started the prep work after James was kidnapped, the boy would be dead within an hour or two of nightfall.

  Patricia met me in the grassy area outside the patio. Her hair was disheveled and her cheeks were the color of cherries. It was her eyes that stopped me cold when I stepped out of my truck. They were distant and unfocused.

  “Nico,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “I’m here, Patricia.” I stepped up and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked into my eyes and pulled me into a sudden, fierce embrace. I could hear her sobs as she buried her face in my chest. I hesitated for a moment, but my arms found their way around her shoulders and I gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  My mother gave hugs like this. That’s most of what I can remember. She would give these strong, back-breaking hugs every time she left for her work with the Sentinels. Looking back, I guess she was making sure the hug would be remembered if it was the last one she gave. There was a necromancer in El Salvador my mother was sent to deal with. She didn’t come back. My father told me much later, after he’d had a serious amount of scotch, that the necromancer turned her into a ghoul. My father made sure the necromancer understood the depth of that mistake.

  She had been an encouraging mother. She was a good contrast to my father, who seemed bent on shaping me through hard lessons. Her smile, when I accomplished some task my father had set, was radiant. I’d like to think her smiles were so energetic both because I was doing well and because I was showing up my old man.

  Here was Patricia, scared out of her mind that her only son was in terrible danger. She didn’t know the first thing about magic, or blood rituals, or clichéd sorcerers seeking greater power. She just knew her son was different and that he could be hurt. Most painful of all, she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to change that. So I did what I could for her. I held her and let her cry into my dirt-covered t-shirt.

  The sound of an approaching car caught my attention. I turned my head and saw an unmarked blue sedan that couldn’t be anything but a police car. It came to stop behind my truck.

  Out of that car stepped Bart Majester.

  I released Patricia so quickly she didn’t have a chance to respond. My 1911 Colt was clear of its holster in one smooth motion. I centered my sights on Majester’s barrel chest.

  “Give me a reason,” I said, my voice cold. “Please.”

  To say Bart was fuming would be an understatement. I had him and he knew it. If he tried to draw his gun, I’d put two in chest before it cleared his holster. If he tried to rush me from around the car, I’d still put two rounds in him. Basically, anything he did other than stand there with egg on his face would earn him a pair of my bullets.

  “Nico, what the fuck are you doing?” asked Patricia. I couldn’t figure out which was more disconcerting - her scolding me like a child, or her cursing.

  “He’s the one responsible for all this,” I said. “He’s the one who kidnapped James.”

  “You’re completely full of shit,” said Majester. His upper body tensed like he was preparing to make a run at me.

  “I’ve got seven rounds that would love to find a new home,” I said. “Don’t move.”

  Patricia moved around to stand in my periphery. I could see her chin wobbling as she started to cry again. She stared at Bart with a look I can only describe as crestfallen. It reminded me of the look Seph had given me when we first parted ways as teenagers. It was the kind of look you reserved for a lover who has betrayed you.

  “Is it true?” she said between sobs.

  “Trisha, you know me,” said Bart. His voice broke slightly. His brow creased and the frown lines became more prominent.

  The images I’d seen in the Red King’s mind the night before began filtering through my head. The dead, whom Majester had taken so much pleasure in killing, paraded through my mind, limbs splattered with blood and their own viscera. I felt my finger tighten on the trigger. An overwhelming sense of righteous joy came over me at the prospect of putting a bullet in Majester’s head. It must have shown on my face, because Bart took a step backward.

  “You’re lead detective on the murders,” I said. “You’ve had access to the records. You were able to direct where the investigation went. The Red King—“ Bart growled at me menacingly. I smiled. “The Red King has been taking out dealers to become king of the meth trade to create a power base for Magdalena. Your squad takes down drug rings, doesn’t it?”

  Majester’s face became purple as I was speaking. His fists were
clenched so hard the knuckles had gone snow white. It looked like, gun or no gun, he was about ready to tear me apart with his bare hands.

  “There was also the part where two Plant City cops tried to gun me down last night,” I said. I couldn’t help but feel smug at the case I was building. “You put a friend of mine in the hospital.”

  If Bart was acting when his expression changed to one of confusion, he’d missed his true calling as an actor. Instead of reaching for his gun or conjuring a spell at me, he nervously fingered the chain on his bracelet. I kept my gun trained on him despite the growing fatigue in my arm. Something was gnawing at the back of my mind, though. There was a sense I was missing something.

  Lester’s SUV pulled up and parked next to Majester’s car. Angela parked and stepped out. She took a few moments to gauge the situation.

  “Nothing ever goes smoothly with you around, does it?” asked Angela.

  “I live in interesting times,” I replied. “Saved you the trouble of looking for him.”

  “I see that.” Angela walked around the SUV, making sure to give Majester a wide berth. “Too bad he’s not our guy.”

  It took a moment or two for my mind to register what she had said. I lowered my gun, which my arm and shoulder were thankful for.

  “Zeke spilled. Majester’s not our guy. The Red King is Terry Masters.”

  My stomach fell. I ran it through my mind. It fit. Everything that would have worked with Majester as the Red King...it worked with Terry, too.

  “Do you believe him?” I asked, my gaze fixed on Majester. His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together what Angela was laying out.

  “Terry? Terry did this?” asked Patricia, her words breaking with each syllable.

  Angela nodded in answer to both questions. “Zeke was scared shitless. He wasn’t going to lie. Not after you pulled his ass out of the fire last night.”

  “Your aura was gray, uniform gray,” I whispered, looking at Majester. My gaze shifted to Patricia. The worry lines in her brow were more pronounced. She’d aged ten years in the last day. Her eyes kept darting from me, to Bart, and then to Angela before beginning the circuit again. “There’s one way to know for sure.”