Stone and a Hard Place (10 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When Stone dragged himself back up to consciousness, the students were gone. He was lying on a narrow bed with rails that was surrounded by a fabric curtain and lit with harsh fluorescents. Beyond it were the sounds of hurried footsteps and busy people calling to each other. There was a chair next to the bed, and sitting in the chair was— “Megan.”

She looked up, startled, from the magazine she was paging through. Relief washed over her face. “Alastair. My God, what happened? Someone called me—” She reached out and gently clutched one of his hands. “They said someone beat you up in the parking lot at your office.”

He nodded. Risking the pain, he pulled himself up slightly so he could get a look at himself. His shirt was gone, the lower part of his ribs wrapped in heavy white tape. An IV tube snaked from his arm up to a plastic bag of clear liquid. Reaching up with his other hand, he felt the back of his head: no bandage there.

“You’ve got a nasty lump back there,” she said. “I should let the doctor give you the details, but it sounds like you got lucky. Two cracked ribs on your right side, but nothing badly broken, and they don’t think you have any internal injuries. Possible mild concussion. They said they want to keep you overnight for observation.”

“Sorry...” he murmured, trying for a smile. “Guess I’ll have to—give you a rain check on dinner, won’t I?” He looked around. “What time is it?” He tried to make his voice sound stronger, but it came out as a weak croak.

“About ten. I got the call from some girl—a student. I guess she must have found my number somewhere. She said she and her friends came upon you getting beaten up by two thugs next to your car. Can you tell me what happened?”

He looked around. Wherever he was, it didn’t look like a hospital room. “Where is this?” His voice sounded a little stronger now, but putting any volume behind it hurt.

“Emergency room,” she told him. “The doctor should be in soon to talk to you. Once he figured out you weren’t in any danger, he went off to deal with other patients.” She squeezed his hand. “Do you have any idea why someone would beat you up?”

He shrugged, which also hurt. He could already tell this was going to be inconvenient. “No idea. Robbery, possibly? Did they take my wallet? I vaguely remember someone feeling around in my coat before I passed out.”

“I think they must have—they didn’t find it on you when they took your clothes.” She sighed. “Did you get a look at them?”

He thought about that, trying to picture them. “No. Never saw one of them, and the other one was wearing a mask. All I saw was that he was big—heavier than I am, but not as tall. Not much help, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure the police will want to talk to you when you’re feeling better, but for now try to get some rest, okay? How do you feel?”

“Ghastly. Why haven’t they given me any of the good drugs? I thought that was the whole point of hospitals.”

“I think they wanted to make sure they weren’t masking any pain that they needed to pay attention to.” She squeezed his hand again.

He nodded. “I really appreciate your coming, Megan, but you should go home now. I’ll be all right. There’s no point in you sitting here watching me lie around in bed, and I don’t fancy worrying about you being out late when there are dangerous sorts running loose.” He gave her a pained smile. “Don’t worry about me. Really, I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than I look.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult,” she said, chuckling, leaning down brush a kiss on his lips. Then she grew serious again. “I hope they catch the guys who did this soon. I’d hate to think they’re running around campus and this might happen again.”

As Megan had predicted, they kept Stone overnight at the hospital for observation to make sure that his minor concussion wasn’t anything more serious. The fact that he didn’t protest would have told anyone who knew him that he wasn’t feeling well at all, because he normally hated anything to do with doctors or hospitals.

A young policeman showed up in the morning to take his statement about what had happened. The campus police had recovered his wallet not far from where the Jaguar was parked; it was missing the cash and his credit cards, but fortunately they’d left his driver’s license. He told the cop what he knew, which wasn’t much.

The doctor finally sprung him around noon on Friday. Megan took time off from her classes to pick him up and take him back to his townhouse. She found him in his hospital room, standing in the bathroom clad only in jeans and examining the blossoming collection of bruises on his chest, abdomen, and chin in the mirror. “They already took off the rib wrap?” she asked.

“Apparently they don’t do that anymore. Something about pneumonia.”

“You look a lot better than last night, even with the bruises.”

“That’s because they’ve got me dosed up on so many painkillers that you could hit me with a baseball bat and I wouldn’t notice.” He grinned, a little glassy-eyed. “And I’ve got a prescription for more.”

“Oh, nice. Well, let’s get you home and you can spend some quality time resting. No argument. And no baseball bats.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. She helped him get dressed, and he followed her slowly out to her car. “Where’s the Jaguar, by the way?”

“At your place. They fixed the tire and dropped it off over there this morning. Oh—you might be interested to know that you didn’t run over anything. Somebody let the air out of it.”

He frowned. “Which means they were lying in wait for me. Odd...” He filed that thought away for the moment as the nurse came in with his discharge papers.

Megan took him home and hovered over him until he was safely in bed. Mrs. Olivera, who was there cleaning the place, promised to check in on him periodically. “I’m not a bloody invalid,” he protested, glaring at both of them. “Both of you—I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I’d appreciate it even more now if you’d both just clear out and leave me to recuperate in peace.”

Megan kissed his forehead. “I’m going now, but if you’re a good little boy and listen to Mrs. Olivera, I might bring you some ice cream tonight.”

“Off you go,” he ordered, making a ‘shooing’ motion.

Once he was alone, the first thing Stone did was call Ethan. The boy wasn’t home, but he left a message on his machine asking about his mother and informing him that it would be at least Monday before he could get back to any further magic lessons Ethan might want to restart. Then he lay back on the pillows in frustration.

Alastair Stone was a terrible patient. He hated inactivity more than almost anything else, and the thought of being stuck in bed for even the next day or two annoyed him. Another thing that annoyed him was how easily he’d been jumped. No two ways about it: he simply hadn’t been paying attention.

And worse, he hadn’t been prepared. If he’d been in any kind of magical fighting trim, he could have summoned up a shield and a stun spell, and had the two attackers laid out on the pavement before they’d done more than hit him once. Instead, he’d let himself be a victim. Indirectly, in Stone’s somewhat skewed way of looking at the world, this made his injuries his own damned fault. Which meant that they didn’t deserve coddling when there were things to be done.

Frowning, he sat up, testing his ribs. They didn’t hurt much right now, due to the pain pills, and neither did the rest of him. The doctor had told him that moving around wouldn’t do him any harm as long as he didn’t overdo it, though it would be better if he’d just rest for at least the first day.

The hell with that.

He got out of bed, pulled on jeans and his favorite Pink Floyd T-shirt, and headed slowly downstairs. In all likelihood he wouldn’t ever be attacked again, but if he was, he was bloody well going to be ready for it.

Managing to avoid Mrs. Olivera as he worked his way down toward his basement workroom, he closed and locked the door behind him. Yes, it was a little dangerous if something went wrong and he passed out again, but he always kept this room locked. Wouldn’t do to have one’s housekeeper—or one’s girlfriend—finding one’s magical sanctum. Far too many messy questions to answer.

Moving slowly, he gathered the items he’d need, glad that he’d stocked up a few weeks ago. Practicing magic while in the grip of powerful painkillers was one thing, but he thought if he tried to leave the house and drive, Mrs. Olivera would wrestle him to the floor and sit on him until he saw sense. The thought amused him as he dumped the items on the table in the middle of the room and set about his work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was eleven-thirty on Friday night. Ethan looked at his watch again to verify it. Was this late enough, or should he wait until midnight?

He was sitting in his car a couple of blocks down from Darkwave. The club took up an entire block of Murphy Street in Sunnyvale, which was a small street mostly full of ethnic restaurants and smaller dance clubs. He’d driven past it and could already hear the pounding beat coming from inside. Several knots of people, dressed in everything from ripped jeans to leathers to sleek suits, miniskirts, and slinky gowns, lounged around outside, smoking and chatting.

If it hadn’t been for the memory of Trina’s dazzling green eyes and the way she’d smiled at him when she’d given him the card with the information about the party, Ethan would have just driven on past and back home. This wasn’t his kind of place. Sure, he desperately
wanted
it to be, but all through high school he had steadfastly lacked whatever gene was necessary to understand the vagaries of the cool kids. Even when he tried to get the latest hot fashion item, listen to the latest hot band, or otherwise poke hopefully at the edges of that rarefied territory, it always seemed like he was a week late and everyone else had moved on. The cool kids didn’t exactly bother him about it—by high school he’d grown sufficiently and was attractive enough that he didn’t fit in with the habitually bullied, either—but sometimes he thought what they did was even worse. They pretty much ignored him.

He was halfway convinced that when he arrived inside, Trina and whatever mage friends she’d promised to bring along wouldn’t be there. Sure, she’d showed up at the coffee shop, but this was different. Girls—
women—
like her weren’t into guys like him. That was just the way of the world.

He’d never know if he didn’t try, though. The worst that could happen would be that he’d have to hang out there by himself for a while before heading home. He might even meet somebody else. He really did need a social life, even if it didn’t involve other mages. He’d been thinking about that a lot today as he sat on the couch watching a mindless game show after visiting his mother at the hospital. She was doing a little better, but the earliest she might be able to come home was next week. Aside from her, his only regular contact with other people was Stone, and he wasn’t exactly best-buddy material.

He’d heard the phone ring today, and listened as Stone left the message saying he wouldn’t be available until Monday. He’d sounded oddly strained—sick, maybe. Ethan wasn’t sure he was glad about it because it meant he didn’t have to keep putting the mage off, or resentful because Stone was supposed to be teaching him magic. Never mind the fact that he himself was the one who’d been slowing things down.

He sighed, getting out of the car. He checked himself in the side mirror: black IED T-shirt he’d picked up at Paramount Imports, the trendiest jeans he owned, hair artfully mussed. It was the best he could do. He hoped it was enough not to get him laughed out of the place.

As he walked up, Ethan felt the eyes of the lurkers outside on him, scrutinizing, evaluating, judging. They didn’t say anything, though—at least nothing he could hear. The doorman didn’t look twice at him, just took his cover charge, checked his ID, said “Have fun,” and motioned him inside.

Inside, the music was even louder. It pounded all around him, getting into his bones and making him feel alive. He didn’t know the band, but he didn’t care. Ducking off into an alcove, he consulted the card Trina had given him. In her offhand scrawl was a name: “Nightmare Room.” He glanced around, but didn’t see anything by that name, so he moved further into the club.

The place was packed now, writhing bodies on the dance floor mingling effortlessly with the knots of people on the sidelines drinking, talking, and soaking up the music. The band on stage pumped out the decibels with enthusiasm, their lead singer running all over the stage and occasionally diving into the crowd. When this happened, a cheer went up and hands shuttled him back to the edge of the stage, ripping at his clothes and screaming their approval.

Ethan headed to the bar. It took him a while to get the attention of the attractive female bartender, but finally she smiled at him. “Sorry, honey,” she said, pointing at his arm. “No wristband, no alcohol. Club policy.”

“What?” He hadn’t even been thinking about alcohol, so her words confused him for a moment. “Oh—no. I don’t want a drink. I’m trying to find the Nightmare Room.”

“The what?” A cheer had gone up again as the singer had tossed himself once more into the crowd.

“The Nightmare Room!” he yelled.

“Oh.” She pointed toward some stairs on the far side of the room. “It’s up there. Invitation only, though.”

He grinned at her. “I’ve got an invitation.”
I hope.

She flashed him a dazzling smile and a thumbs-up, then went back to her duties.

Doubt rose within him as he mounted the stairs. He was certain he was about to be humiliated. At the top were double doors painted black and festooned with frightening figures in fluorescent paint that glowed under the club’s black lights. Two large men in matching suits lounged on either side of the doors. When they saw Ethan, they looked at each other and smirked. “Back downstairs, kid,” one of them said, pointing back the way Ethan had come. “Invitation only up here.”

Here goes nothing.
“I’m with Trina’s group,” he said, injecting as much confidence as he could into his words. “My name’s Ethan Penrose.” Calling on the memory of his elation when he realized he really was a mage, he met the speaker’s gaze with a steady one of his own and waited.

The two bouncers glanced at each other. “Yeah, right,” said one, but the other held up a “wait here” hand and slipped inside.

After a moment he came back, looking stunned. “Damned if he isn’t,” he muttered. Ethan had to read lips to get it, but he grinned as the other one, looking equally flummoxed, opened the door and motioned him inside.

The Nightmare Room was much smaller than the one downstairs, and once the door was shut, almost all of the sound from there was blocked, replaced by the beat of another band Ethan could see on a stage at the other end of the room. This music wasn’t pounding or loud; it was eerie, atmospheric, and downright creepy. Ethan loved it. Feeling much more confident now, he glanced around taking in the scene and looking for Trina.

The room was dotted with tiny tables only big enough for two people—three if they were very friendly. Opposite the band was a small bar manned by a slender young man in a black suit. There was sort of a dance floor in the middle, but nobody was dancing; the closest was that a few couples, both opposite sex and same, stood around with their arms draped over each other, swaying in time with the strange rhythm of the music. Ethan wondered how many mages there were in here.

Then he spotted Trina. She was sitting at a table at the edge of the room, lounging in her chair like she owned the place, and flanked by two young men, one blond and one dark. All three were dressed in black: leather and ripped denim and hints of velvet and silk. Even fashion-blind Ethan could tell that they weren’t following trends here, they were setting them. A flash of jealousy rippled through his mind at the sight of the men—he wondered if they were the “friends” she’d spoken of, and realized that subconsciously he’d just assumed they’d be female.

She spotted him and grinned, motioning him over. She said something to the blond man, who got up, grabbed a chair from another table, and plopped it down. He and the dark-haired man pushed their chairs back to make room; Trina herself didn’t move.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I hoped you’d make it. Was beginning to wonder. The door guys give you any trouble?” It was still a little hard to hear in here, but much better than downstairs.

“Nah,” Ethan said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“Excellent.” She indicated first the blond man, then the dark-haired one. “These are my friends, Oliver and Miguel. Guys, this is Ethan, the one I was telling you about. He’s one of us.”

Oliver nodded to him. “Another one, huh? Cool. Not many of us around the area.” He motioned at the chair. “Take a load off.”

Miguel looked him up and down as he settled into it. “Hey,” was all he said.

Trina raised a hand, and in a few moments a cocktail waitress in a leather miniskirt and bustier came over with a tray, setting drinks down in front of each of them. “You do drink, don’t you, Ethan?” she asked.

“Uh—” He glanced at their arms. None of them were wearing the wristbands from downstairs. “Sure,” he said, a little defiantly. “Thanks.” Picking up the glass, he took a sip. It was spicy, and had an odd aftertaste.

“So,” she continued to the other two. “Ethan’s an apprentice. Yeah, I miss those times. Pain in the ass, but looking back it was a helluva trip, having all that potential and knowing what you were gonna be able to do.”

Miguel nodded. “You got that right.” Addressing Ethan, he said, “So, what are you learning? How long have you been at it?” He threw back half his drink and fixed him with a snaky smile.

“Still pretty new,” Ethan admitted. “My—um—master likes to take things slow.” The word sounded so strange, so old-fashioned.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “Really? So do I. Maybe I should hook up with him sometime.” Trina shot him a look, but he just grinned.

“Don’t worry,” Trina said. “It might seem slow now, but before long you’ll be doing things you never believed were possible. That’s what rocks so much about magic. There’s really no limit to what you can do—well, no limit except your own will, and how far you want to take it.”

“We could help you with that, you know,” Miguel said, watching the band.

“You—can?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We could show you a few things. That’s the way it is with mages. We learn from each other.”

Ethan hid his nervousness under taking another sip of his drink. What had Stone told him about seeking out supplemental instruction? He’d made a huge point back at the beginning about setting the pace, and Ethan would just have to live with that. “I—” He took a deep breath. “I probably shouldn’t. I’m not really supposed to be studying anything outside of what Dr. Stone’s teaching me.”

Oliver snorted. “Yeah, of course not. He’d say that, wouldn’t he? He just wants to control you, man. They’re all like that, the old guard. They want to keep everything under wraps. They don’t even understand the way magic can sing if you let it.”

“He’s not old,” Ethan protested, nettled. “He just wants to make sure I learn it right.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Ol,” Trina said, giving Ethan an encouraging smile. “Don’t try to mess with his training. That’s not cool. It’s up to him what he wants to do.”

“Yeah, okay,” Oliver conceded. “Sorry, man.”

They fell silent for a while, listening to the music and watching the writhing bodies. Miguel got up at one point and said something to a slim man in a tank top and tight jeans, and a couple of minutes later the two of them were draped over each other, swaying on the dance floor. The sight of them drained a little bit of Ethan’s jealousy away.

Oliver caught him looking. “Miguel’s a slut,” he said. “What can I say?”

Ethan didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just shrugged and smiled. He was hoping that Trina would ask him to dance—there was no way on Earth he was brave enough yet to ask her—but she seemed content to just lean back and watch the room. Occasionally little groups of people would filter by their table and greet her and Oliver like they were some kind of royalty. They even smiled at Ethan, and he realized that somehow he’d finally managed to work himself into the circle of people who were genuinely cool—even if he was only a little way in. It was better than he’d ever done before.

“Are there…a lot of mages here?” he asked, leaning in closer so no one outside their table would hear.

Trina shook her head. “Not really. A lot of wannabes, but I haven’t seen any others with the real deal, besides us.”

He nodded. “Dr. Stone said we’re pretty rare.” It felt good to say
we
.

“That’s why we’ve gotta stick together,” she said, smiling at him.

Ethan couldn’t help smiling back. Something about her eyes and the way she looked at him just turned his insides to jelly. He glanced down and realized he’d finished his drink without even noticing.

“So, I take it you didn’t have any trouble getting away?” she asked as Miguel came back to his seat. “Didn’t you say your mom was sick or something?”

“She’s in the hospital,” he said. “There’s nobody home but me right now. And she wants me to get out and have fun.”

Trina nodded. “What about Dr. Stone? Did you have to clear it with him?”

“Nah.” Ethan shook his head. “I think he might be sick or something, too. My lesson schedule’s been spotty because of my mom, but he called this afternoon and said we wouldn’t be starting again until Monday at the earliest. He sounded kind of weird on the message. I didn’t tell him I was going out tonight.”

“Way to go,” Oliver said, exchanging a glance with Miguel. “Just because he’s your teacher doesn’t mean he runs your life.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed. “Yeah. He doesn’t.” He accepted another drink from the leather-clad cocktail waitress and smiled.