Homecoming: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 23)

by R. L. King

  The road continued through and disappeared out the other side, and two more roads crossed it at regular intervals. Stone could see neat little houses with shingle roofs, with neat little fences surrounding neat little lawns. Up ahead in the center was a town square, complete with white-painted gazebo, wide stretch of grass, and benches. Surrounding it were various single-story businesses—Stone couldn’t read the signs from where he was, but it wasn’t hard to make out the archetypes: a drugstore, an ice-cream shop, a barbershop, a single-screen movie theater.

  But no people. No vehicles parked along the streets. No bicycles in the yards. Not even a stray dog.

  At first, Stone though this might have been Leave it to Beaver—but now he was beginning to wonder if it was The Twilight Zone.

  Maybe dragons did watch Sixties television after all.

  The familiar rumble sounded again, and once more the ground began to shake.

  Behind him, more of the terrain dropped off and away, leaving a ragged edge that looked like the teeth of a giant monster.

  “Okay…” Stone muttered. “So leaving town’s out of the question.”

  Still moving carefully and remaining watchful, he skirted the edges of the little houses as he ventured further into Springfield. His thoughts bubbled up while he walked: how powerful were these dragons? Was his old mate Stefan, with his shabby shop and his old-fashioned suit and his antique roll-top desk, hiding the kind of power that could reshape dimensions? Granted, it was a small dimension, but still. This was the guy who cadged expensive free meals, the guy he’d spent many an hour talking magic with over glasses of fine wine. What about Madame Huan, the gentle friend who’d taken him under her wing (apparently more literally than he’d thought) when he’d been a wide-eyed, overstressed teenager?

  Was anybody in his life who they seemed to be?

  Stop it, he told himself angrily. He didn’t have time for speculation or reminiscence now. Cassius was out there somewhere, and if he didn’t watch out, he’d end up right where the dragon wanted him.

  He kept going, scanning the area ahead. He was moving away from the houses now and into the center of town. As he drew closer to the park and the businesses, he could read the names on some of the buildings. The theater was the Rialto, showing Godzilla, King of the Monsters. The barber shop was Joe’s. The ice-cream place was The Scoop Shop.

  All very Fifties Americana, almost a parody of reality.

  Did that mean something?

  Where the hell was Cassius anyway? The rules said they weren’t allowed to hide from each other. Was he holed up somewhere, setting a trap?

  I need a weapon. And I need to get my magic back.

  He checked again, but he still couldn’t see the aura around his hands.

  That wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t catastrophic. A few years ago, it might have been devastating. He’d been the worst case of one-trick pony back then, relying solely on magic to solve his problems. Okay, maybe brains too. And money. But definitely not much else. Now, though, after being forced to navigate life magic-free not once, but twice, he was better equipped to handle it. He never thought he’d be grateful for the time when using Calanarian magic had burned him out, but he also never thought he’d be fighting for his life against a dragon on a pocket dimension.

  Life was funny that way, sometimes.

  He was about to try opening the door to the hardware store (Mac’s Hardware Shack, it was called, featuring a dusty lawnmower and a couple galvanized trash cans in the window) when a sudden thought sent a lance of ice spiking through his core.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  Calanarian magic.

  I’m in a pocket dimension.

  I’m not on Earth.

  His heart pounded harder, and he had to grab the doorjamb to keep from sagging.

  When Trevor Harrison had taught him how to access the burgeoning swell of magical energy that was Calanar, it had been in a specific way: with formulas that required an innate knowledge of the relative positions of Calanar and Earth. Like a switchboard, he’d explained at the time. He could access it because he knew exactly where it was. That was why he couldn’t use magic when he’d first traveled to Calanar, and how he’d figured out the rift in Colorado wasn’t the result of naturally drifting dimensions.

  But if that was true—

  “This is not good…” he murmured, closing his eyes, gripping the doorframe tighter.

  No matter what he did here, he wasn’t going to get his magic back.

  The dragons didn’t know anything about Calanar. They didn’t know he got his power from there. Even if Madame Huan remembered what he’d told her all those years ago, he’d never shared the exact location of the place. He couldn’t have—he hadn’t even known it at the time.

  So whatever mechanism they’d put into place to allow him and Cassius to regain their power wouldn’t work for him.

  Without access to Calanar, he was still a black mage, sure—but black magic required taking energy from other living beings. He hadn’t done that since his experiment with Jason, but he’d used most of that at the time. There weren’t any other people here he could draw more from, even if he wanted to. To save his life, he might let himself get desperate enough to do it, but it wasn’t an option. Not unless he could somehow manage to drain it from Cassius.

  “Okay,” he said, and shoved open the door. “That just means I’ve got to take him out before he gets his magic back.”

  But first I’ve got to find him.

  Inside, the shop was dimly lit, its only illumination coming in through the display window at the front. Stone looked around, taking in the small, neatly-arranged sections. From where he stood, he could see one for gardening, one for plumbing, one for paint, and a general hardware area with bins of nuts and bolts. To the side near the left wall were a group of implements, including shovels, axes, and clippers. All the gear was generic and old-fashioned, with no glitzy modern ads or logos. Stone looked around for a gun display, but didn’t see one. Maybe it was for the best: he’d never learned to use a gun, and he didn’t even know how to load one. This didn’t seem like an ideal time to try learning. Strangely, there weren’t even any slingshots or bows and arrows. Nothing ranged.

  Apparently, they were meant to duke this out face to face.

  This is taking too long. He could be heading here now. He could be outside waiting for you.

  Increasing his speed, he darted around the shop selecting items from the displays while taking periodic glances out the window.

  What was Cassius up to? The town wasn’t large, and the hardware store seemed the best place to get mundane weapons. What was he going to do, throw an ice-cream cone at him? Skewer him on a barber pole?

  Was he a one-trick pony like Stone had been? Or, with his greater longevity and experience, had he learned to fight sometime in his life because he was bored?

  Don’t worry about him. Worry about you.

  Damn, he wished he’d asked Jason to give him some fighting tips.

  He allowed himself a couple minutes to choose his weapons, tossing them into the open space in the middle of the floor. When he was done, he had a long-handled axe, a shovel, a pair of fixed-blade knives, and some safety glasses. He considered them, then dashed to the paint department, where he grabbed a folded drop cloth. Using the knife, he cut it into a smaller square, then dumped a bunch of large nuts in and tied it up to make an oversized sap. If he could get a good swing on Cassius with that, it might give him an advantage.

  He gathered the rest of his gear except the shovel, donned the glasses, and stuck the knives in his pockets. He didn’t want to overload himself, since he’d need to move fast.

  I’ve got to go. He could trap me in here.

  Far off in the distance, the rumble came again, followed by the ground-shake.

  The world was getting smaller.

  Time was growing short.

  He gripped the axe in one hand and the sap in the other, and headed for the door.

&nbs
p; The plate-glass picture window shattered, sending shards of glass flying into the store.

  And then the place was on fire.

  39

  Stone had only a second to take in the scene: the window at the front of the store now had a big, ragged hole in it, and a smashed bottle lay on the floor spilling out some kind of flaming liquid. The flames streaked away, following the splattered liquid, and already the floor was catching. Before he could react, two more burning bottles sailed in through the hole. One landed a few feet from the first one. The second landed on a display table, instantly lighting its cloth. Smoke began to rise.

  He had to think fast. He didn’t know if the shop had a back door. If he ran back to check and didn’t find one, the fire would have more time to take hold. But if he ran out into the street, he’d be playing into Cassius’s hands. Obviously the dragon wanted to flush him out of the shop.

  Better the devil I know. If he’s throwing Molotov cocktails, he doesn’t have his magic back.

  He darted his gaze around, and as another bottle flew through the window he spotted the display there, with its lawn mower and metal trash cans.

  Aha!

  Without pausing to let himself consider whether his idea was a good one, he leaped forward into the window and snatched the round lid from the nearest trash can. He had to drop his axe to do it, but right now a shield would be more useful. Holding it by its handle and raising it in front of him, he leaped free of the broken window into the street.

  Cassius stood on the other side, near the grassy town square. He had two more bottles next to him. He’d been bending to pick up another one and light it, but when he spotted Stone, he rose to his full height.

  “Where the hell did you get those?” Stone demanded between coughs. He stopped, still holding up his makeshift shield.

  “From the diner.” Cassius sounded amused. “Bottles, oil, and a lighter.” He looked Stone over. “What are you supposed to be, scion? Do you expect to hurt me with those primitive weapons?”

  “That’s the idea.” Stone wondered if he’d made the right decision by ditching the axe in favor of the bag of nuts and bolts. He regarded his opponent warily, waiting for his heartbeat to settle to normal levels.

  The ground shook again, harder this time. Beyond the buildings on the other side of Cassius, some of the trees toppled and fell.

  “We haven’t got much time.”

  “We don’t need much time.” Cassius wasn’t even breathing hard. He didn’t sound disturbed at all. A small, smug smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips.

  The stench of smoke began to rise, drifting out into the street. Stone wondered how long it would be before the other buildings caught too, turning the ring around the square into a conflagration.

  Cheer up. The place will fall apart before that happens.

  “Shall we finish this?” Cassius sounded bored. “Go on—I’ll even let you take the first shot, if you’re brave enough.” He spread his arms wide. “Go on. This whole thing is pointless. I want to get it over with.”

  Stone didn’t take the bait. Even though this quaint little town square had more than a bit in common with the one in Back to the Future (another movie he’d watched during his time at Barrow—it was kind of laughable how much of his pop-culture knowledge was over twenty years old), he was no Marty McFly, easily lured by taunts of “are you chicken?”

  But who knew—maybe Cassius was another story.

  “Don’t have your magic back, I see,” he called. “Afraid to fight like a mundane?”

  Cassius laughed. “You still amuse me. Do you honestly believe I have lived as long as I have without learning a wide variety of the mundanes’ fighting techniques?”

  “I do, actually.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Absolutely. If you had, you’d have attacked me by now. Plus, I know your type. Magic snobs. I’ve met a lot of them. Hell, I used to be one. If you can’t solve a problem with magic, you’re stuck.”

  “Is that so?” Cassius appeared to consider his words. Without changing expression, he made a cat-quick movement and flung something toward Stone.

  Stone reacted fast, diving to the side and raising his trash-can-lid shield.

  If the missile had been aimed at his torso, he’d have blocked it. Instead, white-hot pain lit up his right thigh. His leg faltered and failed, pitching him to the ground.

  “Do you know what else they have in diners, scion?” Cassius ambled forward toward him, moving at a leisurely, mocking pace. “Knives.”

  Stone, teeth gritted and breathing hard, had managed to hang on to both his shield and his sap. He looked in horror at his leg, where the hilt of a kitchen knife protruded from a wound already welling with blood.

  “You should never have challenged me. I wouldn’t have pursued you—it wasn’t worth my effort. I’ll find the source of that dimension on my own, long before the others gather enough evidence even to begin their proceedings against me.”

  “You…talk too bloody much,” Stone rasped.

  “Would you prefer I ended this quickly?” He pulled out another kitchen knife and approached closer. “I bear no animosity against you. In fact, I admire your courage, misguided though it might be. Hold still, and I’ll give you a clean death. It’s truly a shame you had to push it to this. There are so few of you left in the world…”

  “Get…stuffed.” Stone staggered to his feet, wishing now he’d brought the axe instead of the sap. He could have used it as a crutch, at least. This wasn’t anything like it worked in the movies, where the hero always seemed to find a way to use whatever was at hand to vanquish the villain. Right now, all his cobbled-together weapons seemed ludicrously useless.

  Remind me again why I decided to challenge a centuries-old dragon to mortal combat?

  Damn, you’re an idiot, Stone.

  He raised the shield and backed off, but he knew he wouldn’t get far. His leg was already shaking, throbbing, his trouser leg already soaked with blood. It wouldn’t last long before it gave out completely.

  That was another thing that didn’t work like the movies: even with a good, solid shot of adrenaline, real people didn’t shrug off kitchen knives buried in their legs for long. And pulling the knife out would only make the situation worse.

  The ground rumbled again, which was enough to shatter his fragile sense of balance. As he fell once more, he saw the entire line of buildings behind Cassius crack free of the street and disappear.

  It was happening faster now.

  He had to do something.

  Anything. Even if it didn’t work.

  He wasn’t going to die here—or worse—without trying something.

  His sap hand was under his body now. He released his grip on the sap and gathered a handful of dirt, then glared at Cassius again. “Come on—do it. Get over here. Let’s finish this if you’re brave enough to get close to me.” He struggled to rise again, keeping his handful of dirt behind his body.

  Cassius smiled. “If that’s the way you want it.” He moved like a snake, confident and fluid, holding his knife in a relaxed grip as he approached.

  Stone waited as long as he dared, his gaze never leaving the knife. He sagged a little, as if fighting not to pass out. Was it still a ruse if it was true?

  A little closer…

  Just a little closer…

  And—now!

  Stone wrenched his hand free and flung the handful of dirt at Cassius’s smug, smiling face.

  He honestly didn’t think it would work. Given his luck so far, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Cassius simply ducked to the side, laughing, and let the hail of dirt fly harmlessly past him.

  Instead, he staggered back with a roar of rage, his hands flashing to his face. He didn’t drop the knife, but his eyes were clamped tightly shut.

  Do it!

  Stone wasn’t sure where he got the willpower to jump to his feet again, nearly hopping because his right leg would no longer support him, but he didn’t question it. />
  Instead, he threw himself at Cassius, pulling his own knife from his coat pocket. Before his opponent could regain his sight, he plunged it into the dragon’s gut with every bit of fading strength he could manage.

  Cassius roared again, louder this time, bucking backward.

  Stone hopped away from him, fumbling in his pocket for the other knife. He had a chance now, but he’d have to move fast, before—

  Cassius’s eyes flew open, flashing with rage. “That was a mistake, scion,” he growled.

  And then he threw himself forward with frightening speed, ripping the knife from his own belly and burying it in Stone’s chest, between two of his ribs.

  Everything slowed down for Stone at that point. At the edges of his awareness he saw the growing fire, the collapsing buildings, the sapphire-blue of a sky now choked with smoke.

  He saw Cassius’s eyes, full of rage and pain and triumph, as the dragon loomed over him.

  He felt Cassius’s hands as they gripped him, picked him up, and tossed him with no more effort than if he’d been a stuffed doll.

  Pain and blackness rose, clawing at his consciousness. He hit the ground hard, the blackness fading for the moment as the impact lit up the twin centers of pain in his leg and his chest, sending jolts out to his limbs.

  Cassius was approaching him again. He didn’t look as calm now, one arm wrapped around his bleeding abdomen, a dark bloodstain spreading across his simple black shirt. The sinuous grace was gone, in favor of a hitching stagger.

  But he was still upright.

  He was still moving.

  Stone struggled to rise, but every time he moved the knives piercing his body shifted, bringing new waves of bright, hot pain.

  He wasn’t going to be able to do it.

  This place might look like The Twilight Zone, or Back to the Future, or any number of stock middle-American backlots in any number of stock middle-American entertainments, but this time the hero wasn’t going to prevail.

  He’d given it his best.

  But without his magic, his best hadn’t been enough.

  “Sorry, Stefan…” Stone tasted the copper tang of blood in his mouth, and tried not to cough. “Guess we won’t have that dinner with the kids after all…”